The Madonna and the Hyenas

I have written many times before about what a lucky little bunny I have been in life. To be honest I don't really deserve the happiness I have surrounding me in my life, but I'm thankful for it.

I could, if truth be known, just wrap myself up in the comfort of my semi-detached suburbia and live in blissful ignorance of the daily suffering people endure. But unfortunately I seem to be under the delusion that I can make a difference to people's lives. So I seem to be compelled, like some missionary lemming, to work within the community, I think I'm more of an hindrance than  a help to people who really do make a difference.

The thing about working with people from all walks of life is that you encounter some really wonderful people. These people have usually overcome great obstacles in their own lives only to use their knowledge to help others. I get to meet people who are on various stages of their life journey; some are recovering from something while others are trying to come to terms with recent news, and of course, I get to meet lots of people in denial. I have no right to judge or pass comment on any of these people as we have all found ourselves in situations where we can't understand just how we arrived there.

Last week I was invited to a Christmas lunch put on by the manager of a local pub (bar). The meal was free and I was with a group of people who are themselves on a life journey trying to overcome lots of things that life can throw at you. I have to say that these men were fantastic company; happy, witty and not a trace of malice or bitterness about the situation they were in. Rather than this free lunch being some cynical marketing ploy or a tax dodge, it was given from the heart. The lady who managed the pub had herself received dreadful news that a young member of her family had been diagnosed with a very rare form of cancer. Rather than withdraw, which I think I may have done in her situation, she went out fund raising to try bring happiness into her community. I have to say that this lady bent over backwards to make the lunch such a special occasion all she asked in return was a photograph with the group for her memory box. A true Madonna (Lady).

Also this week while walking through my local town centre I noticed lots of young men in various fancy dress shouting and swearing at the top of their voices, which suggested that the annual silly season is upon us again. Every Christmas people have works' Christmas parties where too much is drunk and too much is said. Every year there are people who shuffle back into work to sheepishly apologise to other colleagues or even the boss for their behaviour. There are people who cringe at the memory of the brief but passionate fling with the butch girl from despatch or the the women who have a hazy recollection of a snog with the guy with terminal halitosis from the warehouse.

As I watched these lads walk through town one of them said something to another lad within his group which resulted in him being punched in the face. Of course all hell broke loose and a major fight broke out with people who, up until fifteen minutes previously had been all good friends. The fight was witnessed by people with small children, it was mid afternoon on a busy shopping day. There was fists and feet flying swearing and shouting. Some of the group sat bloodied and dazed as the wails of police sirens could be heard, this at a time which is supposed to be about peace and goodwill. Children cried and shoppers reprimanded the idiots.

It's strange that an event such as Christmas can bring out such different emotions in people, those who want to help and those who want to selfishly over-indulge. I know that we all over-indulge at Christmas when it comes to feasting, but it's how we react with others that's important. Which brings me back to the beginning. I realise that I have everything I need in life, I'm loved by the people who matter and live a life of my choice. There are lots of people out there, not only this Christmas but the whole year round, who don't have any of the things which I have in the past taken for granted. I don't want this posting to end with a sickly sweet sentiment or my usual cynical bite at life, I just want people to remember that here are lots of hyenas out there, destroying lives. These come in many forms - remember, pack mentality starts a hunt and a hunt always ends in death. But where's there's Ying there must also be Yang and there are also lots of good people out there, people who devote their whole lives to make a difference to others. They are not as visible as the hyenas, but you should thank your God that they exist!

Then I Touched Her Perfect Body With My Mind

In the mid 'seventies I was a feral teenager, I had no rules except to survive and enjoy. I had little or no regard for anyone except my Nonna and did very much as I pleased. My wife claims that not much has changed.

One evening my brother John and I ended up in a tacky night club. I seem to remember all night clubs being quite tacky back in the 'seventies. I think it's safe to say that we had both drunk far too much and, like all teenagers under the influence of drink, we became immortal and incredibly attractive to the opposite sex. These two beliefs often had me visiting the local A&E and suffering a deflated ego. But this evening would be different, as we had met two girls. These girls were different to any other girls I knew at the time. No they didn't have any extra man bits, it was the way they dressed and spoke. They were not conventional for the time, and they laughed and mocked both my brother and I but they did it in a playful warm way.

The funny thing about personalities is how quickly we form an opinion about people when we first meet them. Of course our assumptions are often way off the mark, but we have to make snap decisions - this is how we function. The other thing is how amazing it is the way we gravitate to certain people, this particular evening I sat with one of the girls and started chatting while my brother chatted to the other. This wasn't a conscious decision; we just all sat feeling very comfortable with each other. The night was a success and we agreed to meet again, though next time as two separate couples. The girl I was with was baby sitting for a friend that week who had to work late, so she asked if I would like to call up and sit in with her. I didn't hear the words "call up and sit in with me", my mind heard "why not have sex with me on Thursday?" so I eagerly agreed to meet up.

I planned my night of seduction very carefully, which meant I had a bath and changed my socks. I took my favourite album at the time with me, which was Tubular Bells by Mike Oldfield. This for me was late night music that was bound to loosen the tightest of knickers. I had all the seduction qualities of a rutting ox. I knew that it was only a matter of time before this poor hapless girl would swoon under my enormous charm and charisma, not to mention Brut aftershave. How could I fail?

The girl met me off the bus. She was dressed as if she was a country squire, with a tweed hacking jacket and jodhpurs. I had really never encountered anyone like this on my council estate. She was very witty and had an instantly recognisable voice. It was educated, with a hint of vulnerability, and very attractive to me. We walked up to the house where we were to babysit and we laughed and chatted. She asked about my album that I had firmly clutched beneath my arm. I thought I would educate her about music but she just smiled in a way that said the album has had its time, move on. She was, of course, correct; the album was about three years old by then.

We walked on up to the house, which was an old weavers' cottage, the sort that dotted the outlying areas of Huddersfield at the time, the same ones that are now modernised to such an extent that they are no longer recognisable. Her friend was a few years older than her, and was very attractive and welcomed me in a way I was not used to. She hugged me and gave me a kiss. I only got this from the Italian side of my family, not from strangers here in Yorkshire.

When her friend had left to go to work and the children were in bed asleep we turned the lights down low and with a warm drink sat in front of a large coal fire with its flames brightly dancing seemingly trying to escape up the chimney. I put Tubular Bells on the record player but instead of it having the desired effect of making her fall at my feet helpless to my commands she just sat there and chatted, just every now and then she would lean forward and gently kiss me. I was confused - this is not how seduction works! Surely you listen to my album, take off all your clothes, I then have sex with you and then catch the next bus home. I was a man of the world, damn you! 

I was in uncharted territory but hadn't yet worked it out. I wasn't the one doing the seduction! We listened to the whole album and if I'm honest I was bored of listening to it by the time it had finished. In the quiet of the room by the glow of the fire I could see her smile as she leaned forward and gently stroked my hair. Back then, I sported a full luxurious head of shoulder length hair. She again kissed me then whispered, “Have you ever heard of Leonard Cohen?”

Scared she might be suggesting a threesome I retorted, “ No, is it disco crap?” Destroying a beautiful moment. She smiled and said, “No, but it might take a bit of getting into for you.” I can't stand presumptions, especially if they are aimed at me! “Put it on then,” I said. With those words I didn't realise that something in me would change for the rest of my life.

As the needle gently rested on to the record the girl moved over to me and pet her arms around my waist and kissed me with a passion I had not encountered before. The music played, it was a low rhythmic voice the music strummed along in a hypnotic repetitive call, it calmed me it relaxed me then the voice spoke to me. This was not mindless formulaic chatter of 'seventies pop, this was the cry of a man that had suffered, a man that had loved and lost. He was bearing his soul by doing this he was bringing mine alive. I was transfixed with the music and the voice. The girl slowly took off my shirt kissing my body. As she did, I too slowly took off her top, kissing her in return. This was no longer having sex, this had become making love. I had never encountered an experience like this in my life. The music by now filled the room I was aware of every word that was being said by this incredible man but it was as if it was being spoken directly to me, and he knew how I felt deep inside, I didn't need the hard man image.

We both lay semi naked on the floor in front of the large imposing fire, our bodies entwined. We moved slowly and rhythmically, kissing and caressing as the next song played he spoke a line which even now resonates with me every time I hear it. As the girl and I kissed she stopped for just a moment and looked at me and smiled gently and the song said, “Then I touched her perfect body with my mind.”

I knew what he meant. I just knew, at that precise moment, that is what I was doing, I had been seduced, not only by an attractive and clever eighteen year old girl, but by a middle aged Jewish Canadian poet. His words, his voice, this was true seduction.

Both the girl and I spent the rest of the evening in love, it was a moment of magic we all have had them in our lives My love for the words and music of Leonard Cohen has never diminished, whereas the love for the girl did. Though she altered my way of thinking about making love and seduction, she couldn't alter my stubborn arrogance, and we split after a year or so. I have not mentioned her name as she has a family now and it wouldn't be fair to her but is she reads this she will, I'm sure, laugh at the thought of that evening.

When I heard the news that Leonard had died this week I was so sad. Those of us that purport to be poets know we are just scribblers when we hear his words. I make a living from my words but I'm just a pretender, an upstart who had no right to call himself a poet, when a master can reach such an ill educated disaffected yob such as I was back then.

By the way my brother's date fared a little better than mine. He and his date that night have been together now for nearly forty years.

RIP, the wonderful Leonard Cohen. A true genius.

Thank You!

Earlier this week I had the good fortune to spend a day with a young person who , though he has had to deal with lots of issues, is still good company. The young man in question has autism, which means he sees life through a unique pair of eyes.

He wanted to go to Wakefield in West Yorkshire to visit the Waterton collection in the local museum. Charles Waterton is credited as being the first naturalist. He collected animals from all around the world and brought them back intact to Britain. One of the famous stories about him is that all the collections of snakes here in Britain had wooden heads at this time because people decapitated them for safety while collecting them. Waterton wanted to change this and show animals as they were in the wild. One day while out walking in the jungle, Waterton found a large python and is supposed to have punched it in the face! When the poor creature came round, it coiled itself around our intrepid explorer, who then calmly walked back to camp with the creature intact. Who ever first told that story had no idea how a python kills its prey. Every time Waterton took a breath The snake would have tightened its grip until it would have been impossible for him to breathe. But what ever the truth was, the young man I was with wanted to see this snake in the museum, though it is now very dead and very stuffed!

So we set off on a bus together and he happily chatted as the bus slowly manoeuvred itself on what seemed a never ending journey. As we trundled along, I noticed a person I hadn't seen in a long time. This man was at school with me and, unlike lots of other people I have written about before who attended my school, this man is quite successful. He owns a very busy and, I would imagine, profitable business. But as he walked past the tediously-slow bus, I couldn't help but notice just how he had physically changed since our school days together. He had taken on board excessive timber and was now quite portly, plus his hair, though suspiciously jet black, now had a large "helicopter pad" on the back (bald patch). He wore a suit that screamed money and which needed to be let out by a good tailor, and to round up his new look he had a pair of small spectacles precariously balanced on the end of his nose. I had to smile, because he was regarded as a good catch when he was younger, as he was good looking and slim and his father had a successful business. I suppose now he still would be regarded as a good catch by some, and he seemed happy enough and is 'financially viable'.

As he rushed on I caught a glimpse of myself reflected back at me in the window, I noticed that the years of abuse have also taken their toll on my face, As my young companion carried on chatting away I couldn't help but think of the line from the song 'Once in a Lifetime' by the 'Talking Heads' “How did I get here?”

My life, like everyone else's life, has been a mixture of highs and lows. I have worked hard to make sure the highs far outweigh the lows. I thought about those I have met recently who have trodden different paths to me and paid a heavy price. I looked at my travelling companion, who had little or no say in his life, and who found it hard to make sense of what the world around him was doing (just like a lot of us I suppose). I thought about all the times in my life that I have been rejected for whatever reason, whether it was for a job, love or life, and I started to feel so happy.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank all the people who have rejected me in the past; all the employers, women, directors, editors, thank you all! This is not a sneer at any of them, as their rejection has led me to where I am now in life, which is in a very good place. I have everything I need, family and friends. I can choose what work I wish to do and who I wish to spend my time with. I can afford my bills (for the moment) and I live a good life. If I had been successful in any other way my life may have been so different, so thank you to all those who couldn't see what others could see in me.

The World-Famous Gez Walsh!

Before you start thinking that I'm a conceited, arrogant, halfwit (which I am) for making such a claim, please let me explain the above title.

I have, for a long time, wondered just what the criteria are for being able to make certain claims. I know trading standards and other bodies are there to ensure that things such a pork sausages have at least been in the same room as a pig at some point in their manufacture. But what about other claims?

Many years ago, Morrisons, the supermarket chain, advertised their breakfasts as 'World Famous'. I have put this claim to the test on many occasions, much to the annoyance of my wife. While on holiday in foreign climes I like to mix with locals rather than do the tourist hot spots. While chatting about life in their countries, food, music, literature, and the like, I always drop in the question, “Have you ever had a big breakfast from Morrisons?” I have to say that, over the past ten years of doing this, no person outside Britain knows what I'm talking about. I usually get a blank look, followed by the look that says, 'Oh my God, he has mental health issues!” My wife has usually walked away by that point, shaking her head and calling me names that are best left between her and myself.

This year, while travelling around southern Spain, we got chatting to a lovely French couple. The man's name was Julian, which didn't sound very French to me. He was a chef, and had been for thirty years, so I thought he might be a good person to ask the question of. After telling him that I didn't like eating pig's trotter, something that was forced upon me as a child while visiting grandparents in Ireland, he proceeded to tell me the best way to cook them. I responded with, “Have you ever cooked or eaten a Morrisons world famous big breakfast?” He was intrigued, but it's safe to say that he was probably more confused by my wife calling me a 'Twat'. I have since checked, and Morrisons has dropped the 'World Famous' tag, so I shall stop my investigations.

This week, a young man told me that he loves cooking, and that no one could resist his 'world famous Pinkertons chocolate sundaes'. Pinkerton, by the way, is his surname. The pedant in me had an urge to go on the internet to check out his world famous boast but instead, I asked him to prove that it's world famous. It turns out close family and a couple of friends constitute his world.

I know what you're thinking right now, my wife's assessment of me is one hundred percent accurate.

But these descriptions of things for some reason annoy me, which is unusual because, as an author, I've claimed all sorts of bullshit myself! So can you imagine my surprise when this week I decided to find out just what I have to do to make such a claim as being 'World Famous' .

I had an afternoon free, which was a surprise, as I've been working non-stop for ages now. I have written before about how dangerous me and idleness are. I couldn't think of a way to prove these claims, so I decided to phone trading standards, as they should surely know. I have to say that I was passed to lots of different departments as I don't think my request was being taken seriously, until I was transferred to a man who I seem to have caught off guard. The man whom I spoke to humoured me at first thinking that my medication had worn off but I told him a little lie. (Just a lie, really). Well, I told him two lies, actually. I told him I worked for a publishing company and gave him the name of the company (sorry Steve). Then I told him that we had an author who had had a lot of success (that's not the lie bit by the way) I then told him that this author was about to embark on a tour of Europe (there you go!) and could we claim he was 'world famous' when he (me) came home?

I need to have sold books on at least three continents to be able to claim that I'm 'world famous' according to this man, who, by the end of the conversation, seemed to be losing the will to live. I have proof that my books are sold in Europe, America and both Australia and New Zealand. This means, ladies and gentlemen, and those in-between, that I, Gez Walsh, am legally WORLD FAMOUS!

Now, can I set you your homework? I have read recently in an article that Jedward (correct spelling, though my spell check keeps trying to change it to 'deadwood' which is more accurate!) are on tour. In the article it described these mighty Irish colossuses of art and literature as singer-song-writers? Your mission, should you chose to take it, is to find any evidence of either of these claims.

Signed,

The World Famous Gez Walsh

The Lucky Lucky Lucky

Ever since I was a young child I have been fascinated by acts of random kindness, I always make a mental note to remember any such acts that I witness.

Every day people do wonderful things for total strangers, and these people do not receive anything in return, other than the knowledge that they have helped a fellow human being. I first became fascinated by such acts because of my own Grandfather.

One Saturday as a small child I had to go into the local town centre with my Grandfather to meet Nonna after she had finished work. This particular day must have been in the height of summer as I remember it being one of those rose-tinted childhood warm, sunny afternoons. As both Granddad and I walked through town we could hear a man's voice shouting out . It was the standard rantings of every drunk the world over, a mixture of inane babbling and threats. We walked on until we happened upon the owner of the inane rants, a large dishevelled man who was lying on his back at the side of a busy road. He was so drunk that he resembled a tortoise that had been placed upside down; try as he might, he couldn't get to his feet. People walked past him, and cars drove perilously close to him. Some people looked on in disgust at him, while others laughed and jeered. Old ladies, with arms straining at the weight of the shopping bags they struggled to carry, chastised his unruly behaviour as the walked past him, leaving him spread-eagled at the side of the road. I seem to remember being half terrified by this man and yet half disgusted with him (I've been a snob since birth).

My Grandfather gave a wry smile and then tutted. He had a way of calming any situation just by his own calmness. I thought Granddad was about to give me a lecture about the dangers of drink (I doubted it, though, as he loved a whisky) or to tell me not to end up like this man, but to work hard instead! But how wrong I was. He walked over to the man and even though this bloke looked twice the size of Granddad, he bent down and lifted the man from the ground. The man hissed, and cursed Granddad as he helped him to a bench in the town centre. Granddad plonked the man on the bench then asked him if he had a home to go to. The man just ranted and swore at Granddad. I was so indignant with this man! How rude to treat someone who was trying to help you in such a way! Granddad asked this man if he had any money, and the man responded with a string of swear words. This was a mistake, as Granddad hated anyone swearing in front of children or women. (I don't take after him in this way!) He got hold of the drunk by his lapels lifted him off the bench telling him to  “cut out the language!” He then threw the man back down on the bench. This seemed to jolt the man back to his senses, as Granddad asked him again if he had a home, the man nodded. Granddad then asked him if he had any money the man shook his head and pulled out his pockets to prove his point. Granddad reached into his own pocket and produced 'two bob' (10p) and told the man to get a coffee and then catch the bus home (This was the 'sixties). We then walked away, leaving the man to come to his senses.

As we walked away from the man I asked Granddad if he knew him, but he shook his head.

“Then why did you help him?” I asked wondering why anyone would help such an ungrateful oaf.

Granddad replied in his soft Irish accent, “And why wouldn't I? He needed help”. I have written many times before that Granddad had a wonderful way of teaching people lessons.

I'm telling you this because While on holiday the other week I witnessed a wonderful act of random kindness.

My wife and I have just spent a marvellous week travelling around southern Spain. Anyone who has visited this area will, I'm sure, have come in contact with the 'Lucky Lucky' men. I'm not sure if it's 'lucky lucky' or 'looky looky'? as in 'have a look at my wares'. I did get talking to one of these men as he tried to sell us a handbag. In this case, he was 'lucky lucky' because he actually had the bag my wife wanted. But his luck ran out when he had to barter with her, as she has a way of disarming the most hardened sales person, only to fleece them. These men used to sell lighters many years ago, but now it's fake designer wear. I don't know where they get this gear or how much they pay for it, but he sold a leather bag to my wife for 8 euros (He started off at 35 euros). He told me that he was from Senegal - as most of the men there were. They all lived in shipping containers at the end of the beach where we were stood. 8 men and their goods to each container, and all had dogs outside standing guard.

These men walk from resort to resort in the baking heat of summer time Spain their arms full of designer wear. They do this from morning to night. Then when the summer season is over they go back to their families in Africa.

One evening my wife and I were in a crowded bar when a 'lucky lucky' man entered the bar. He looked anything but lucky. His head was held low, sweat dripped from his brow and he looked tired and depressed. He walked around the room from table to table desperately trying to sell anything. It was now nearly midnight. I watched him move about the room, as people just blatantly ignored him or waved him away as if he was nothing but an irritating fly. I noticed the barman look over to him. This barman was, my wife informs me, very good looking. All the women in the bar tried to get his attention and to flirt with him. They obviously hadn't noticed that I was in the bar, otherwise surely they would have all been crowding around me!

The barman, without anyone noticing, beckoned the 'lucky lucky' man over. He then poured him an orange juice with lots of ice in, which the 'lucky lucky' man downed in one. The barman then leaned over to a group of middle-aged women who had been flirting with him all night and pointed to the 'lucky lucky' man and gave a thumbs up sign. The women called him over and started to look at the bags he was selling. Before long, other women joined in and a bidding frenzy started for his fake designer bags. Soon the man only had one bag left, even though he had entered the bar with arms full of them. The man's demeanour had now changed. It was as if he had been given an injection to bring him back to life. He danced and laughed, then he walked over to the barman took hold of his hand then gave him a hug which said to all who witnessed it, 'thank you from the bottom of my heart'. The 'lucky lucky' man danced out of the crowded bar and the barman carried on flirting with the middle aged women, and no one had noticed this one act of random kindness the barman had just performed. He had not only given the man a drink when he probably most needed it, but also got all the punters to buy a bag from him.

I would like to claim that I to do acts of random kindness on a regular basis, but in truth I'm usually too wrapped up in my own tiny little life to notice that the people I pass in the street may sometimes need a hand of friendship. Maybe it's time I stopped watching others do these wonderful deeds, and did a few myself!

How To Book A Cheap Holiday

We are always being bombarded by holiday companies, with adverts for relaxing holidays on some foreign shore, languishing on some sun-kissed beach. The adverts will always show people with young, nubile bodies nonchalantly strolling hand-in-hand against a backdrop of sun and sea.

We all know that holidays can be quite a stressful time, where you can often wonder why you bothered in the first place. Have you packed the right clothing? Will there be enough things to occupy the kids? What if the hotel is half-built or next to a building site, the list goes on! You even start to worry that you may not have turned everything off at home before you set off, leaving you with that feeling that the bath may still be running, and you are currently 36,000 feet in the air unable to turn it off! You know the drill: if you booked the holiday then it's your fault! It's your fault that the taxi to take you to the airport was late! It's your fault that the French air traffic controllers went on strike. It's your fault that the little one has developed diarrhoea and you haven't even left Heathrow yet! It's your fault that the hotel doesn't serve the exact beer/wine/spirits that your other half likes!

All this can be avoided! Just book the holiday, and unless any of your party suffer anything serious just treat the whole episode as a new experience.

There are many ways to book a holiday, online sites, and the tried and trusted high street travel agents are the most popular. Online sites often look always the cheapest, but be careful, lots of them don't show 'live' prices, so a holiday offered at £300 per week may end up as £500 a week and more expensive than your local travel agent. Having said this, the old-fashioned local travel agent is usually the most expensive way to book a holiday. But if you want someone to do all the work for you and look after you while on holiday, then they are your best bet.

Online sites often seem to be selling package deals, but are really just selling you individual parts of a holiday so you don't have the same protection with them that you would with the high street agent selling package deals. You may also pay what you think is a bargain price for a holiday only to receive a phone call to say the price has gone up - this is because they couldn't get the flights they promised or the hotel rooms they originally priced for have been sold. This is a very common occurrence with lots of the cheap and cheerful sites. I must point out that they are completely legal and as long as you read their terms and conditions, you may get a bargain. I have tried every which way there is to book a holiday, I have used the high street agents, online cheap and cheerful, booked direct, booked villas and flights and cars: you name it, I've tried it. But I think I have found, for me, the cheapest way to book.

Firstly when you have decided which country, resort you would like to visit, go online and type in hotels then enter the name of your chosen resort, add a star rating if you wish. When you find a hotel that you like the look of, look it up on Trip Advisor or other such sites. Read the reviews with an open mind, as some of the negative ones are written by people who are merely after their money back. Once you have decided that you have found your perfect hotel in your perfect resort in your perfect country of choice, look up a variety of hotel room booking sites, there are lots to choose from. You can of course book direct with the hotel, but this will usually be more expensive, as the room booking companies will have booked lots of rooms at a competitive price. Try to book your room about five/six weeks before you go as the price will be at its lowest then. You will hear lots of horror stories about using bed booking companies but in my experience when you get bed-bumped (room not available) it is usually the hotel's fault through double-booking, though they will never own up to it. I have used bed booking companies many times and have never, as yet, ever had the slightest problem. My son uses them on a weekly basis because he travels a lot with his work, and he has only ever had one problem after hundreds of bookings and that was his fault! He booked the correct hotel on the correct day on the correct month but typed in the wrong year, so in effect he turned up a year early! I think he gets this from his Mother's side! Before you book, type into the internet "promo codes for..." then type in the company you are choosing to go with, and you may save even more money.

Book your flight direct with the airline, there are lots of good sites you can go on which will show you who is offering the best prices out there. The low-cost carriers often get a bad name but again if you read their terms and conditions they are often the best to travel with if you are only going short-haul. Remember that if they say it will cost you extra if you exceed weight or bag size, and you do either, don't be shocked and outraged when the charge you extra! Again, I have travelled numerous times with a certain low-cost airline which has a reputation for being outrageous with certain policies, as of yet I have had no problems. I would go as far as saying that they are always my first port of call when flying short-haul. Long-haul flights are different: don't go for the cheapest price or you might find that you have three of four stops before you reach your destination which could add another day to your flight! Flying to Asia seems to be the worst for this.

When you reach your destination you will need transport to your hotel. Unless you know of a cheap car hire or taxi firm personally when you arrive, always book before you travel. Again, go online and look up car rentals/ coach or taxi transfers. When you find a company offering what you want at a price you are happy with, again type into the internet "promo code" for the company and you may get even more money off. I have just come back from Spain and got my transfers for half price by doing this.

You will also need travel insurance, DON'T BUY IT FROM A TRAVEL AGENT! This is ALWAYS the most expensive way. Your bank may have cheap insurance deals, or you can use the online comparison sites. ALWAYS declare any long-term illnesses you may have, because if you don't and you fall ill it may make your insurance void.

Finally, have fun, relax, and charge your batteries up, after all it will soon be Christmas!

Adventures With Lipstick and Lycra

The other day when little Harleigh came to stay at ours, it coincided with me having to finish of a bit of work (story of my life). Harleigh is such a quiet, loving child and also very creative. She loves to paint and make things. So I set her up with a few little art projects and got on with my work. As long as you chat to her, she is quite happy to sit and paint all day.

This day, though, she wanted her make up doll. If you don't know what these macabre things are, you are very lucky, as I find them very creepy! They are just plastic dolls' heads stuck on a board, like some warning of what might happen if you pass this way! The heads have long nylon hair and a grin on their face which suggests trapped wind. Harleigh loves to give her doll a full make up, which makes the doll even more creepy looking.

The other day, while playing with the doll she suddenly stopped and looked at me, “Babbo, I think you need some work doing.” She's not the first person to mention this to me. She said this with an innocent smile on her face which said guess what happens next. Yes, that's right, Babbo had a full make over. I thought that the make up she used was children's play make up, not realising that Nonna Carol had given her all her old make up! When she had finished with me I had a face that would have scared Chucky! Using some industrial wipes, I eventually cleaned all the gunk off my face and Harleigh carried on painting her doll's face. She then asked. “Babbo, you want some lipstick to bring colour to your face?" I shrugged my shoulders, as resistance is futile. Harleigh then proceeded to smear my lips with some lipstick that Nonna Carol might have or might have not given her (as she often finds things and claims them as her own). 

Harleigh had just finished my lip works when Nonna shouted in from the kitchen that we needed to go to the shops and that Harleigh needed to clear away her paints. We did this together, and I completely forgot about my new lipstick smeared on my face.

As I walked into the kitchen covered in make up Nonna Carol didn't bat an eyelid or say a word, she just asked if we were ready to go. So we set off to the local shops. To say that I got a few strange looks and a few sniggers aimed at me is an under statement, I had, by now, totally forgotten about my make over. It wasn't until an old lady smiled and asked Harleigh, “That's a lovely job did you do it?” Harleigh smiled and coyly nodded as the old lady asked, “What colour is it?” 

“Peach” answered Harleigh with a look of pride all over her face.

At first I was not sure what they were talking about until the memory of the lipstick came rushing into my brain. I looked at my reflection in the window of the shop, One thing you must realise is that three year olds do not understand the concept of subtle! I had so much lipstick smeared on my face that I looked like a cross between Grimaldi and baby Jane with a hint of the Joker! I tried desperately to wipe the offending gunk off my face only to be told by my wife who was by now sporting an evil grin on her face that the lipstick that Harleigh had used was supposed to be twenty four hour lipstick which is water resistant!

I went to the nearest toilet and managed to remove most of the evil grease off my face but I did have a tinge of peach about me for the rest of the day.

Also this week a friend of mine, who has become obsessed with Triathlon, asked if I would like to go for an extra long bike ride. It has been so long since I rode a bike I thought it might be fun to give it a go, so I borrowed one of his bikes. He also offered me some clothing that he had bought as a job lot. This was serious-looking Lycra, the sort that makes you look good if you live off uncooked food and train for twenty hours a day! But it also make the smallest roll of fat look like a serious hernia!

I tried on the offending garments for a laugh, but I was shocked to find that Lycra shorts actually self-wedgies! It shot up my arse crack as if it had been hoovered up! I also didn't know what to do with my front bottom bits! Should I show them off or hide them? I tried to make them look presentable but they just looked a bank robbers face in tights! Carol came into the bedroom and burst out laughing saying, “ You look like you have a small canary tucked down there!”

Small canary! What does she mean, small canary? A small canary is an egg! Is she saying that my genitals are no bigger that a canary's egg? I would say that if we were to stick to the ornithological theme that we should be comparing things to a bald eagle or at least some kind of hawk, not a fucking canary egg!

Needless to say the Lycra got dumped and I did the bike ride in a a pair of shorts and a tee shirt. It's not been a good week for my self confidence.

 

Sex Educashun!

All the lines in the poem below have been told to me by countless students in the schools that I have visited, all over Britain. The only difference is that I have tried to rhyme them, but I have still tried to write them down as they were told to me.

Half of me finds their innocence quite funny, while the parent side of my brain is horrified that young adults are so unaware of the perils of teenage sex.

I'm a firm believer that young people should be given as much information as possible about sex, it's much better than finding things out the hard way! (No pun intended).

How does a boring old doctor know how I feel?

I talk to my mates, they keep it real!

You can't get pregnant, if you do it standing up,

And you can catch VD from a dirty cup.

You only get pregnant if you're really sloppy,

But if you do it to much your fanny goes floppy!

You can't get her pregnant if you stick it up her bum,

Because the girl's poo kills all your cum!

Toothpaste on the wart makes it go away,

You can only catch AIDs if you're gay.

You can't get pregnant if you keep it brief,

To many blow jobs give you goofy teeth!

You can't have sex more than once a day,

Wearing girls' pants will turn you gay.

When you get VD, you wee out jelly,

Going down on her makes mushrooms grow in your belly!

I know someone whose willy bone broke,

Giving someone a love bite can give them a stroke.

Girls don't masturbate, don't be silly,

How could they when they don't have a willy?

To much wanking makes your hand grow hairs,

It make you go blind, but then, who cares?

I don't need sex education, I know what to do,

I've not done it yet, have you?

The last line was said to me by a young thirteen year old in a school in Lincolnshire. He told me he knew everything there was to know about sex. He then asked me if I had ever had sex, even though he knew that I had a son and had been married for many years. But then I suppose there are people who have been married a long time with children that have never had sex! Well, at least, one of them may not have.

Janice The Gnome Slayer!

We all reach an age when our own mortality suddenly dawns on us. When you are young, you are invincible, immortal - the world, for you, will never end. But, sooner or later, time and gravity catches up with all of us.

I pride myself on keeping fit and active. When I was young, I used to leap from my bed each morning and bounce around the house like a gazelle on steroids. Now, I slide from my bed each morning and shuffle around like a eunuch with piles for the first hour of the day. I, too, have sustained an injury which I have worsened by ignoring the fact that I'm mortal like the rest of the human race. These things force you to re-evaluate your way of life and what matters the most to you most.

To be honest, as soon as I have had my op for my injury I shall be back to training again, just like I have done all my life. I know what is important in my life. I always have, even though I have not always shown it. When push comes to shove, only close family and friends really count, I suppose I knew that when I was young, but I was too engrossed in being an idiot to tell the people I loved how much they meant to me.

If you have read my previous blogs, and are now starting to think that I'm going all American sitcom, where one episode can cause you to contract type one diabetes because of its sugar content, please read on, there is a reason for the schmaltz, as the late, great, Harry Muntz used to say!

Last week the nemesis (my wife) and I had an excursion to the local DIY superstore. We paid our visit on a Sunday, which is something I normally avoid doing. I believe that a Sunday visit to a DIY store or a garden centre is the new church for the middle-aged population of Britain. I try to avoid this, because I don't want to be associated with them. It starts with the DIY store and ends up with you thinking a scone is a treat and 'Flog It' is compulsive television viewing!

By the way to all the people in the south it's pronounced "scone" to rhyme with "phone", with a capital 'O' -  that's why it has an 'E' on the end, none of this "scon" rubbish!

While walking around the said DIY store, giving reasons for not sorting out the fence which is now falling over more times than an Italian footballer in a penalty area, I noticed a strange little plump gentleman talking to a member of staff about a brightly-coloured gnome. What caught my attention was that the man was obviously consumed with interest about the little pot figure, as he talked to the young staff member, who either thought he should have listened more at school or couldn't wait for his university course to finish so he could get a proper job away from gnomes and men like the one who was dominating the conversation. But, as the little plump man ranted on about the merits of gnomedom, I couldn't help but notice a woman standing with them. She was much taller than the little plump man, and well dressed, and was quite attractive. I couldn't help but wonder that if she was gnome-man's partner, why?

This lady had a look of boredom on her face that I have not seen since I once tried to describe a boxing match to my wife. The taller woman repeatedly asked the little plump man if they could leave because she wanted to go for lunch, but he ignored her and waxed lyrical about his collection of gnomes. My wife by now was pulling me towards the most expensive fence panel that has ever been constructed. I don't know how they can charge so much for something which contains no precious metals. But, as I started to walk away, the gnome man's partner did something that stopped me dead in my tracks. She picked up a lump of timber that was on a shelf next to where she was standing, and she eyed it up, then eyed up her plump little partner. I was transfixed, as I was sure that I was about to witness a murder! I felt as if I should do something, but I was helpless. I just stared and to be honest half of me was hoping she would hit the boring little twonk with the wood.

My wife pulled me away, but I had not taken more than two steps when I heard a crash, followed by a deathly silence, which was only broken by the wails of the little plump man, “Janice, you've knocked its fucking head off!” he wailed. I peered over and found his assumptions to be correct, for, there on the floor, was one decapitated gnome. Next to the shattered pot figure was his wife holding up the murder weapon above her head and a smile of sheer evil pleasure emblazoned across her face. She turned to her partner and announced, “I'm off!”

She had a look of relief, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. The way she announced that she was going suggested that she didn't just mean "from the store", but from his life: she had had enough. One middle-aged woman had realised that life is short, and there was no time to worry about garden gnomes. I, for one, applauded her behaviour.

“Are we getting this fence panel or not?” snapped my wife. I saw the look in her eyes, the same look that the gnome-murdering woman had. There were too many lumps of wood to hand and not enough gnomes to vent her rage on, so I replied, “That's a lovely panel, love it, should look nice in the garden, you go get us a coffee from the cafe, while I go buy the panel and fasten it to the car!”

Like I said, life is already too short, and there's no need to try to make it any shorter!

Curious, Spurious, Furious!

My wife has left me a note this morning before she went to work. This is a common thing with her. If she is working and I have a day off, I usually have a list of jobs given to me to do. I think that after over thirty years of marriage she would have realised by now that I usually ignore such requests unless they really are of the utmost importance!

This morning I received a shopping list. This list was not for important provisions to see us through the next few days, but for facial creams! I hasten to add that the creams are not for me, as a full hijab is the only way to improve my looks! The new wonder cream she has asked me to buy has been recommended by 87% of the women that tried it (survey of 56 women?) Now, I have to own up and say that maths was never my strong point but surely a survey should be taken with as many participants as possible? Or (now I'm not claiming this to be true, but) could they have surveyed thousands of women who they no doubt told of the miracle qualities of they cream? Then when the results came back as only 9% liked it, could they have reduced the figures to the demographic that showed most interest? Thus giving the 87% reading. Surely they wouldn't be so unscrupulous. I bet even the women that didn't like it in the tests buy it now, thinking it new and improved. Ask any credible dermatologist and they will tell you that the cheapest creams are just as good as the most expensive, the tried and tested Vaseline (other brands available) is as good as any and has many other uses which we won't go into just now! My wife pays £6.99 for this cream. Her friend bought the exact same cream from a shop for £192! Any credible dermatologist will tell you that NO creams will make you look younger!

Humans love spurious claims. They always have. If you can't explain it, then give it a supernatural reason, that will do! But now we seem to have adopted this ideology for our politics. Look at the recent referendum. Both sides made spurious claims about what will happen if we leave the EU. None of them could be backed up, because no one has ever left the EU before. Although it is safe to say that remaining in the EU will result in a movement that will become so big it will be impossible for it to be effective, The more economically powerful countries will prosper and the weaker countries will become even weaker, which has already started to happen. The spurious claims that were made at the time were easy enough to check out, but people didn't want to, they wanted to believe them to back their gut reactions. This is not a good way of living, people!

Now we have people who bang on about democracy and the rights of the people who didn't want to leave the EU. Well as far as I understand it, democracy means that people have a right and a voice to vote for what they believe, they then abide by the decision of the majority vote. So saying we should have more referendums until they get the result they want is just so stupid. This seems to be the problem with the Labour party at the moment. Corbyn has been elected as the leader by the overwhelming majority of the party. Because the Blairites who still infect the party don't like this they have done their utmost to bring him down. He is doing the right thing to stay until the electorate says go!

My problem with him is he is like so many men I knew when I was a teenager, they say the right things, attend the rallies, back all minorities and do bugger all! Give us the beef Jeremy, what are Labour going to do if the right wing press ever give you enough coverage to get into power? What are your policies for the economy and for the improvement of the communities that have been long forgotten in this country? What are your plans to increase trade not only in Europe but around the world? How are you going to give people meaningful employment with proper contracts? I'm not interested in who did what to who years ago I want to know who's going to do what many years from now!

Talking of spurious claims over in the land of Trump-ton we have the same problem. America has fallen for the rhetoric of Donald J Trump, Homer Simpson's less educated brother! Trump has spouted some very worrying bile over his campaign if you could call it that. He claims he will make America great again? Great as in when? During the time they, like us here in Britain, had slaves? Or when it was so great during the time of the great depression of the 'Thirties when people lost their land, livelihoods, and eventually their lives! What about when they were at their most prosperous in the fifties, when they still had apartheid. Or the civil unrest of the sixties, depression of the seventies.

Or is he talking about, as I suspect, the eighties when the rich, such as his family, became more obscenely rich and created a massive chasm between the rich and the poor! Is that his idea of being great? He claims that they are to build a wall between America and Mexico and make Mexico pay for it. He said they don't want the Mexicans coming to America, then listed a series of traits which usually only apply to bankers. He doesn't want undesirables in America. He only wants good honest Nazis that the Americans gave asylum to after the war to work on their space program. He only wants to welcome the Saudi royal family to visit America, even though their human rights are just as appalling as any other middle eastern dictatorship! Again lots of spurious claims with nothing to back them up! He hasn't said anything about how he is going to change things for ordinary Americans. But like all voters the world over, the people are fed up with the system the way it is!

We also have the terrible murders in France and Germany this week. We don't really know as yet whether they were terrorist-linked but it makes no difference as the cavemen will claim they were their soldiers that carried out the murders of innocent people. Again we have people believing spurious claims. ALL RELIGIONS are based on spurious claims. If you don't agree then prove me wrong, show me your evidence? I don't want to see your religious books, as this will only force me to become childish and show you a copy of the Lord Of The Rings to prove the existence of Hobbits! 

Show me ANY evidence of a God especially a personal God that listens and acts upon your prayers. I don't want random anecdotal evidence about the time your auntie prayed that your uncle's cancer would go away and it did. I can prove to you that millions of people have prayed for their small children's cancers would go away and were ignored. These spurious claims made by people who give themselves grandiose titles such as his holiness (just what does that mean?) only profit from your devotion. It has been this way for thousands of years. They, like the politicians now, use our lack of understanding and fear against us!

In the past disaffected youths turned to drink and drugs, and they marched and tried to change the system. Now they seem to be turning to the cavemen and their spurious claims. They no longer turn to drink and drugs, they turn to guns and take away innocent lives. They take the lives of people just like them, people who can't make any sense of what is happening in the world, but unlike them they want to make a peaceful world for us all to live in!

Finally I'm curious to know why the banker caught boarding a plane in America this week after being part of a two BILLION pound scam to bring down the pound has not had much news coverage. We all knew the vultures would move in on the markets and the currency when the result of the referendum was announced but these guys bought up as much as possible trying to make the pound worthless (they can safely leave that to the government). They intended then, later, to sell it, when of course as we all know things will settle down and when deals are made the pound will rise and the low life bankers win again! Why has his family not been asked to apologise for his behaviour as this seems to be what increasingly happens to ordinary people when a member of their family does something appalling like claiming extra benefits! I don't condone anyone claiming extra benefits by the way, but as we have a knee jerk reaction to ban things which tend to only affect the innocent this also goes for benefit fraud. A few do it so the majority suffer!

People are quick to hold all Muslims accountable for the behaviour of a few. Why don't we hold all bankers accountable for this greedy bastard's behaviour? Why are we not trying him for treason? I have heard how we are going to try young Muslims that were unfortunate enough to believe the spurious claims of the cavemen and go to Syria to fight for treason. Well this man tried to bring down the whole country so he could make money - surely that's treasonous? To make your country a less secure place to live because of your actions is surely the same as selling off government secrets. Though now all you have to do is sit on a London bus and a civil servant will have no doubt left a dossier on a seat there for you to pick up!

The world is a changing place, of that there is no doubt. Whether this change is for the better only history will tell. For me here in my secure little bubble, politics has become exciting again, we have a true left wing opposition and the ghost of Thatcher has reappeared in number ten! We have become too dependant on banks: they dominate our lives. The use of cash is becoming less each day as the banks put a strangle hold on our way of life. The world will change, of that there is no denying, but lets hope it's for the better.

Now I must go and bow to the spurious claims of the marketing department of a cosmetic company and buy some facial cream at an over-inflated price, but if it makes my wife feel happier about her appearance then who am I to complain. The truth is that she already looks much younger than her years without the use of the cream.

Pokemon Zombies!

There always have been, and always will be, new crazes that will capture a generation of young people the world over. We have had everything from yo-yos to rock and roll, hula hoops to mobile phones, and everything in between! It doesn't matter if it's something simple such as the hula hoop or something as technical as a computer, the young will find it something that they cannot resist, it's the nature of youth.

I cannot remember ever being interested in any crazes when I was young. I loved my sports and fishing, but other than that I wasn't really interested in anything else. I do remember a craze for something which went by the dubious name of 'Clackers' here in Yorkshire. These were implements that would be rejected by the Ministry of Defence as being too dangerous, if they were to make a comeback. They were two hard plastic balls connected by a string, which made a clicking noise if you could get them to smash against each other. This often resulted in the balls shattering and blinding and maiming children. They would have been safer taking up smoking!

I do remember a brief craze at my school for young men to wear Brut aftershave. The problem was that this craze coincided with the girls wearing Charlie perfume! Young people don't understand the concept of dabbing on a bit of perfume, so if you stood down-wind of the average child you could smell them coming from over two miles away! The girls used to put on so much Charlie (which now has a different meaning), that you could go blind in one eye just standing next to them. If you were foolish enough to try to give a girl a love bite you would end up with Bell's Palsy, where one side of your face is paralysed. But most of these phases soon passed and were quickly forgotten, only to be replaced with another something mind numbingly pointless craze!

But about twenty years ago all this changed when technology went mad and everyone had to have a computer. The problem with this technology is that it moves so fast. I remember playing 'Pong' many years ago. This was a computer game where a small dot flashed across the screen and had to be stopped by a simple little line. This was addictive enough, so can you imagine just what it's like for today's generation with all the technology they have! The problem is that they now have access to this 24 hours a day, because everything is on their phones. We seem to have a generation of zombies that would rather email or text than talk. Sit on any mode of public transport and all the carriages are full of people looking at their phones, no interaction.

But now we have a new craze which, like the sat navs, make people turn their brains off when they turn the device on. I remember people having to be rescued from rivers which they had driven into because their sat nav had told them to! I remember someone once driving around a roundabout for an hour because the sat nav wouldn't load up properly! The new craze is called 'Pokemon Go' where people have to find Pokemon and capture them with their phones. This has resulted in people marching into doctors' surgeries while doctors are consulting patients, and even walking down train lines! This game is not a new concept by the way. I remember a few years ago while working in a school in Luxembourg, being introduced to something called Geo boxes, (I think?). A lovely man that picked me up each morning and took me home each night was obsessed with this concept. You had to look up co-ordinations on your phone then see if you could find a box that had been hidden.

But the worst thing about this craze is that young people seem to be left to play on these games as long as they want. I have been told today by a collogue who had a young man attending a course he was offering. The lad was fifteen years old but seemed to be constantly distracted by his phone. This caused lots of problems for my collogue, who asked the young man to try to pay attention. The lad was so tired that he could not concentrate. When asked if there was a problem, he said, “I was up until five this morning playing Pokemon Go, I'm knackered!” What kind of parents let their child do this when they have college the next morning? Why do certain parents blame teachers for all the problems their children experience when really it's down to lazy-arsed parenting?

The problem with today's crazes is that they are designed by companies who make major profits, and they update the product regularly, so the craze never dies, it just becomes more intense for the user. These games can be as addictive as drugs for some young people. They don't seem to be able to function around other people and become more and more reclusive. The only way to sort out this problem is for parents to become just that, parents! Stop pussy-footing around and take control, even if it means taking their computers away from them!

There will always be crazes, but let's not create a generation of zombies that live in a virtual world!

Storm In A Double'D' Cup!

My wife and I called to pick little Harleigh up from her school the other day. She attends a nursery for a couple of days each week. I have to say that it is so odd seeing her in her little school uniform looking all grown up. It doesn't seem like any time at all since she was a little baby in a pram. The nursery is by the side of a junior school and came highly recommended.

We had arrived early at the school, so we stood at the gates minding our own business when a young woman with a small child joined us. She didn't speak or acknowledge our presence, but proceeded to berate a small child that was unfortunate to have her as a mother. She constantly swore at the poor helpless little child who was desperately trying to cower away from her. I could take no more and turned to ask her to think about the way she was treating a defenceless child when a voice from further down the road screeched, “You've got some nerve turning up here, you bitch!”

I looked down the road to see a large woman who seemed to think that an egg-stained tee shirt and leggings that were obviously designed for someone ten stone lighter than her was the height of fashion, walking up with a look of hate on her face. The sight of these two neolithic blubber-monsters squaring up to each other set all my snob genes off at once. One of my pet hates is the awful TV programme, the 'Jeremy Vile show' and I now seemed to find myself stuck in the middle of an episode of this loathsome programme. Both of these ladies(?) seemed to have the physique and the dentistry of the average hippo! They both swore at each other then one accused the other of sleeping with someone or other, then the other claimed he loved her...you know how it goes. Then they both launched into a bitch fight. 

This was all in front of their children and in front of the school gates. I can't begin to tell you how angry this made me feel! I had no interest in stopping the fight, I would go as far as to say that I would have been happy to let them beat themselves senseless, but then they started off from the point of being senseless! I was deeply concerned about their children and about the children that were about to leave school. But if I'm really honest I was really angry that little Harleigh would be confronted with these two morons as she left school. We, as a family, have nurtured an environment for Harleigh where she feels safe and free from harm. She is surrounded by love; we all have our arguments with our partners, but we have them when she is not around. This also goes for her parents. It is important for her to have a childhood of fun and make believe as she will have the horrors of life inflicted upon her all too soon when she gets older.

One of the children of the two battling blubber monsters started to cry as both women rolled about on the floor pulling each others hair and scratching and biting. Their clothes were now ripped to reveal bras that were definitely not expected to hold back such a mountain of flesh. My wife picked up the child and comforted her while I went into the school to ask that the children be kept in while these two oafs were outside. Before I reached the doors of the school the fight stopped, mainly because of their love of cigarettes. It's hard to go ten rounds when you have the lung capacity of the average budgerigar! Both women made some more threats to eah other then wiped away the blood that was seeping from the scratches on their faces before walking off back down the street. 

The woman whose child my wife was comforting shouted at her child to come with her. My wife asked the child if she wanted to stay with her. One thing about my wife is that she is only small and slightly built and has never had a fight in her life, but she will stand up to the biggest bully when the time comes. The woman kept on shouting at the child and my wife kept on reassuring the child that she could stay with her if she was scared. Suddenly the woman mellowed and said, “Come on love, I'm sorry, did I scare you?” the child nodded and ran to her mother. They then walked off down the road.

By now there was a crowd outside the school gates all of them ignoring the fight.

“Who is going to pick their children up?” My wife asked a large man in a track suit smoking what looked like a much-needed cigarette.

“Their oldest girls will come up for them now!” He replied taking a long hard drag on his cig. “They do this all the time. Don't worry, they'll be friends tomorrow!”

I can never quite understand why people live such lives, why they make themselves so miserable. Surely as a parent you want the best for your children? You don't need lots of money to make your children happy, you just need to give them your time and love and security. I can't believe that these people can be so selfish as to put their convoluted sex lives before their children.

My son and his partner have taken Harleigh out of the nursery, which is a shame as it was very good, but not if she might have to encounter such behaviour. I hope that the future for the children of these women is much happier than their childhood seems to be!

The Meek Shall Inherit The Hearth

Before you start thinking that the above title is a typo, please let me explain.

I have always had a fascination for people who make off-the-cuff remarks which turn out to be so clever and really quite brilliant. I'm not talking about quotes from people like Churchill where they were written for him and rehearsed. I'm talking about people who have the ability to just say random things off the top of their heads that are really witty.

The above title was uttered by my grandfather. My family are/were devout Catholics, so quotations from the Bible were commonplace as I grew up. 'Get thee behind me, Satan' was one such quotation, often levelled at me, for some reason. As a small child staying at my grandparents' house, for me, the weekends were always manic. As you can imagine an Irish/Italian household tends to have lots of children, aunties, uncles and cousins who would all descend upon the house on a Sunday. The adults were given drinks in the front room while the kids were told to go play in the fields. Yes I know, letting children out of your sight so they could behave like children is a strange concept now. This particular day most of my cousins that turned up were a lot older than me. I was about five years old. They were aged between ten and twelve years old so they were obviously far more worldly-wise and cosmopolitan, as all children in sixties Huddersfield were!

They wanted to play at soldiers and the thought of a feeble little five year old playing alongside them didn't go down well. But, as with all these occasions the rest of the kids were told to play nice and don't leave him out, pointing to me and making me feel like some unwanted haemorrhoid (I don't really know of a wanted haemorrhoid). This of course was a problem for the bigger kids until one of my older cousins came up with a solution, he told me to sit in the kitchen in front of the fire and guard it, as this was my territory. “Don't let anyone in here!” he ordered. I agreed, so pleased that I had been given such an important job and stood firm in front of the large metal fire place. The rest of the group then ran off into the fields to play in the sun, leaving me alone in the old dark kitchen.

Because it was a warm summer's day the adults were in the front garden chatting and drinking, so everyone except for me seemed to be having a whale of a time. After half an hour Granddad walked into the kitchen and saw me standing alone in front of the large fireplace, holding my stick (which anyone with any sense could see was really a sniper's rifle) and asked what I was doing.

“This is my land and I'm defending it,” I announced with pride.

Granddad smiled, then walked out of the kitchen saying, “Ah, I see that the meek have inherited the hearth!” I didn't have a clue what he was talking about. But one thing about my grandparents was their ability to make you feel loved and important. One thing about Granddad was that he was a master at teaching people a lesson. A few moments later, he walked back in the kitchen with one of my uncles, this man was one of the loveliest people it has ever been my privilege to meet, it was also his son that had come up with the idea to have me stood like an idiot in front of the kitchen fire for half an hour. My uncle had a motor bike and side car and my auntie and him plus two sons travelled everywhere in this. My Granddad told me to get my gun as he had an important mission for me, he told me not to worry he would guard my land for me.

I went out into the garden clutching my stick/ .303 standard issue rifle with modifications and telescopic sight. When my uncle shouted out, “Germans!” (sorry, but this was Britain in the `sixties.) we both then ran.

“Quick!" shouted my uncle, “Get in the side car!” This I did, and he fired up the motor bike and we roared off up the road. When we reached the top of the road he turned around and ordered me to fire at the enemy. We roared back down the road and all of my aunties and uncles plus Nonna were hiding behind the garden wall with sticks in their hands, pretending to shoot at us.

I can't begin to tell you just how excited I was I thought that my head would explode. All my other cousins saw what was happening and ran down to join in But Granddad appeared from the house saying, “back to your games lads, this is not for you!” the looks on their faces as they sat and watched the fun in front of them was also a lesson for me. When we stopped for my family to catch a breath and have refreshments/drinks (things were so much different then) all my cousins kept begging to be part of the game. Granddad told them that they were far too old to be playing with little lads like me. They begged him, saying they really wanted to play soldiers with me. Granddad turned to me and said, “what do you think, can they play?” I felt so important. “Of course they can!” I excitedly shouted.

“You know, I think that's the right decision,” he replied in his quiet voice which had a strong Irish accent. The rest of the afternoon was a time I shall never forget. Where the sun beat down and we all took it in turns to ride in the side car the whole family as one laughed, and ate and told silly jokes.

I, like lots of people, had quite a mixed childhood. There was a lot of sadness, but I was lucky enough to have grandparents who had lived through extraordinary times and had extraordinary lives. They knew the importance of a happy childhood and the importance of inclusion, spending most of their lives as immigrants. I hope that the lessons they taught me have stood me in good stead to give my family the support and love they need. I know my son always claims that he had a fantastic childhood and he wants his daughter to have the same.

So, you see that taking time to change just one life has a knock-on effect. Soon you have lots of people trying to change just one life. But the strangest thing is that I have such a happy memory which involved me and my family pretending to shoot people. 

Did I mention that I come from quite an odd background?!