That's What Friends Are - Four!

My son recently told me that he currently has 750 friends on Facebook!

Now I don’t doubt for one moment that he is a popular young man after all he is my son! Actually that is somewhat of a hindrance when it comes to making friends; saying that you are related to me puts people off talking to you. When I took him to task about his plentiful social scene, it soon became clear that he didn’t have 750 friends, but like nearly everyone on the planet he had four or five.

I suppose it depends on what you regard as a friend? It is often said that an acquaintance will help you move house, but a friend will help you move a body! I have to admit, if this is true then I’m not really a good friend to anyone. Besides, my friends are more than capable of burying the bodies on their own!

I asked my son to think about all these imaginary friends he had, and asked how many times in the last few months he had gone out for a drink with any of them. Can you imagine how much the first round would cost, with 750 friends? I then asked him how many times these ‘friends’ had called round to his house. He tried to defend himself by saying that he did have a full social life -which is true - but it’s a full social life that involves the same five people.

I hear this all the time from people about just how many friends they have, but when you look at the true facts we all have about four or five friends. My father always said that you will go through life meeting lots of good acquaintances but you will be very lucky to meet one true friend! I guess I have been lucky.

Friends, like families, are sometimes problematic, sometimes irritating and sometimes life-savers. But, unlike families, you chose your friends, so don’t moan about them!

As stated in previous blogs, my friends are what most people would call outsiders when it comes to society, they don’t really fit into any real niche. I hear people say “we are all mad here” or worse. they have a sign up that says, ‘You don’t have to be mad to work here, but it helps‘. But the best one is we are all rebels. My friends are all of the above but they don’t know it! They think they are just ordinary boring people, which they are most of the time.

I can’t be a rebel because it takes to much energy, and I’m far too lazy. My only foray into ‘rebeldom’ was many years ago when I worked as a social worker, I was one of a team of five. They were all good people who I regarded, and still regard, as friends, but they did the job and ignored all the politics that goes with the job.

Our team had use of a car and other teams didn’t, which made them all sad bunnies. So, as always with social workers, a meeting was called. Our team were never the flavour of the month, but we did what it said on the can, so we were generally left alone. We had heard that the powers that be wanted to take the car from us, but we didn’t usually turn up to these meetings, because it was usually people who liked to hear their own voices but had nothing to say who frequented them. But I agreed to turn up and put our team’s case forward.

I walked into the meeting and there was about thirty people waiting; all of them primed, all of them wanting their moment of glory.

When the meeting started it was clear that it was me against the other thirty, with questions and allegations coming at me from all sides. I took the tack of “Look; it’s wrong you haven’t got the use of a car, but instead of taking away our car, we should be getting cars for your use.” The meeting seemed for me to go on for hours; each time I gave a measured answer to each question and realised that I was gaining ground on them. I have to admit to using stalling tactics. Then the big head honcho said something which stopped even me in my tracks she said, “Gez, if you’re not part of the solution, then you’re part of the problem!” To be fair to her, she did stop short of announcing that we were to march on Poland!

Strangely, the next time I heard someone use that phrase it was George W. Bush, so for a social worker she was in dodgy company.

Anyway I must have said the right things because we kept the car, but I made quite a few enemies that day. In that line of work you will find people like my team (except one) who were hands on and got on with the job, then you get the careerists. These people wake each morning and flick out their forked tongues to see if there’s any fresh arses to lick so they can slither up the greasy pole. (I’m not bitter, honest).

One of these reptiles slithered up the pole far further than his capabilities should have allowed him. He did try to bully me once, I think. Trying to bully me is just a pointless exercise. I’m far too stupid to be bullied mentally, and far too big and aggressive to be bullied physically. Anyway I’m now a best-selling author, comedian and radio presenter that travels and has a wonderful life, and he’s unemployed (that did sound bitter!).

When people tell me they are crazy, they are usually stupid, or boring, or both. When someone tells you they have had a boring day except for being rushed into hospital because they ate a slug to see what it tasted like, only to find it had been contaminated with chemicals, they are borderline odd, to say the least. When I asked my friend what on earth made him try to eat a slug, he replied, “I was half-pissed last night and watching a cookery programme where they were eating snails. I’ve had snails before in France and they tasted like snot in garlic! I went outside for a smoke and saw a slug and just wondered if it tasted like a snail…” I asked, “And did it?”

“No it has to be said that snails taste better than slugs, but it could have been the slug pellet that made it taste so bad though.”

I asked if he ate it raw; he replied, “No, I fried it! I’m not an animal, you know!”

Then I asked him why he had signed himself out of the hospital he said he felt a lot better and someone else might need his bed and besides he needed to fit a back axle on his car!

This was said without any sarcasm or irony, this was said while he rolled himself a cigarette while muttering to himself that he was nearly out of tobacco.

I then asked him if he managed to fit the rear axle on his car.

“No the bloke who was helping me had a bit of a mishap. The axle slipped, crushing his hand. It was pretty badly mangled so we thought it best to go to the hospital. I drove his car but because we were in a rush I was speeding (which he always does anyway) and the cops pulled us. My mate showed him his hand and the cops put their blue lights on and told us to follow them to the hospital; we got up to seventy on the ring road.”

I asked how the bloke’s hand was, after the bit of a mishap.

“Ok I think they’re keeping him in; he’s having an operation to put pins in his fingers. He might lose one of them, but the rest should be fine. So all in all it’s been just a waste of a day today, what have you been up to?”

The same guy once told me, “I’ve had a brilliant day today! We went out on the motor bikes and I found a fantastic pub where they do a stonking steak pie!” He has no idea what constitutes a boring day!

I work in a strange world at times, where it‘s hard to meet new friends. I’m an author, broadcaster and sometimes comedian (I know there’s no sign of this in my blogs)

Some of the people who are in the public eye are so far up their own arses it’s impossible for them to see the light. The best people who work in the media usually help people by putting in a good word here and there. They have a job to do and get on with it and can smell bullshit a mile away. Then you get the careerists who smile to your face and come across as your best friends, only to further their own career. But because the media is a beast that demands the new, it’s always changing and moving so it’s hard to make new friends.

Authors are a strange bunch; we spend far too much time on our own thinking. Some are egotistical maniacs, where others are painfully shy; I’m about mid-scale between the two, I suppose. Because we spend our time in a room by ourselves we don’t often meet unless it’s at a literary festival. I usually turn up to these for a day or so but then go on my way. Last year I was booked for the first Manx litfest. If you get chance to go to this festival, do: it’s brilliant. The people, the Island, and the whole festival were just lovely. I even liked all the authors which is a first for me. Hilary Robinson and Colin Duriez were wonderful company. But because of the nature of what we do, we are back on the road or back in our rooms alone again before too long. Not that I’m moaning; I have a fantastic life.

Comedians are just not funny people!

I also get to meet lots of very hard-working teachers at the many schools that I visit. My day is like Groundhog Day, I have to form some sort of working relationship with the teachers. Then at the end of the day I move on only to do the same thing the day after.

The other problem I have is that I try to get young people interested in education which is what we all want, but where other methods have failed I use my own unique brand for engaging young people which some people may not agree with. I use rude poems and horror stories and comedy; the fact that I travel the length and breath of Britain plus overseas as well means that I must be doing something right, but there are always those that don’t agree with anything except what they do. So it can be hard to make friends in some schools. Having said that, hello to all the teachers who I have met and worked with and had a good laugh with in the past. I know that this blog will not make me a popular bunny with some teachers and parents, because it’s not aimed at kids. I have quite a good following from young readers but this blog is aimed at my adult following (Not just police and creditors, but a few fans as well). I’m aware that it’s not kid-friendly but what can I do?

I also have quite a few good female friends, I know lots of people don’t believe in platonic relationships, but I do. My brother always claims that when a man and woman are friends one or both secretly fancy the other. I have female friends who I have been friends with for so many years that I think the moment has past to declare our undying love for each other. Most of my female friends tell my wife just how sorry they feel for her, being married to me!

So I think what I’m trying to say is that we all have a handful of people who we can honestly call friends. And though I meet lots and lots of new people all the time, and on the whole most of them are really nice welcoming and friendly towards me (though not all), my most shocking revelation has to be that my best and closest friend is my wife Carol; but don’t tell her, she will think I’m up to some sort of scam.

So why not sit down and think who you would regard as your real friends, the ones that stick with you through thick and thin. The ones who make you laugh as you take the Mickey out of them, but wont tolerate anyone else slagging them off! The ones who would leave a big hole in your life if they weren’t around any more. You might even be surprised who your real friends are. So there you go, I don’t think I want any more friends I have enough, I have my full quota. They are all mad, bad, funny and loyal’ that’s the way I like my friends thanks. But I’m glad that I’m not related to any of them - now that would be embarrassing!