Build an Ark

Look up at the sky filled with rain
Just another day in Manchester again
Storms and floods, rivers bursting banks
You'd think we'd be used to it, us Mancs

You're low on Vitamin D, the doctor said
For a dose of the sun, head for the Med
But I've got ginger roots, said I to him
He looked at me like I was dim

He gave me some pills to give me a boost
I felt a bit better and not quite as goosed
The sun appeared so I ran out of the door
Then there were clouds and it rained some more

In my 'hood one Sunday a flash flood did arrive
I now had a lake where once stood a drive
I went to the shop in a pea green boat
No owl or pussycat, just a high visibility coat

Winter was sodden , now Spring is damp
It may be midday but I've turned on a lamp
If you want to spend time now in your local park
Climate change is here, you'd better build an Ark!

Manchester City V Manchester Utd - September 1989

This is a football related post but, for those who have no interest in the "beautiful" game, please bear with me as this is also a human interest tale of a maelstrom of emotions all to occur on one September day in 1989.

I am a Manchester City fan and when Connie (my Man Utd supporting wife) and I first got together in 1988, City were in the old Second Division and United were a First Division team. The fact that the 2 teams were in different divisions meant that there wasn't the same football related ferocity in the air as there had been previously and has been in more recent years. We had made each other aware of our football loyalties right from the start so we both entered into our relationship with our football eyes wide open and never envisaged there would be a problem. Oh how naive we were!

In May 1989 City won promotion from the old Second Division so Manchester derbies were now back on again. On a couple of occasions the previous season Connie had accompanied me to Maine Road for matches and there hadn't been any issues. In September 1989, when the first derby of the season would be played at Maine Road,  the football world was very different to today. It was only 5 months since the Hillsborough disaster and the Taylor Report  was a long way off being fully implemented. This meant that tickets for the City sections were on sale to City membership card holders but it also entitled the holder to 4 tickets. This was always going to be a recipe for disaster for this derby as the teams hadn't met for over 2 years and the media hype had gone into overdrive fuelling an already volatile football atmosphere in the city.

I had attended many derbies in the previous years with my mates and there was nearly always an atmosphere of real hatred in the ground. I was in the Kippax stand for a derby only 3 years previously in 1986 when it "kicked off" massively around me. When Utd took the lead in the game, around 50 Utd fans, who had made it into the Kippax stand near where I was standing, celebrated their goal. There followed a mass brawl, which I got caught up in, and it took the police an eternity to wade in and sort out the troublemakers. A year later in 1987 I attended a derby at Old Trafford and the City section I was in was pelted with coins for 90 minutes.

In late September 1989 Connie and I decided to attend the Maine Road derby together. In light of my previous experiences I insisted that standing was not safe (this was still in the aftermath of Hillsborough remember) and that we should only go if we can get seats in the North Stand. This was a City section and Connie assured me there would be no obvious celebration from her should Utd score. I went along to the Maine Road ticket office the week before the match and successfully bought 2 seats together in the North Stand using my City membership card.

On the day of the game neither of us wore any football "colours" and I drove to the ground, arriving about half an hour before kick off. We took our seats about 15 minutes before kick off and 2 issues struck me straight away. This was my first game at Maine Road since the Hillsborough disaster and I was horrified to see that City still had fencing around the ground. The only difference was the gates in the fencing were left open. The second issue was the atmosphere. It was very menacing and it was apparent some Utd fans were in the City section where we were seated. I was very uneasy but tried to play it down and assured Connie the police would quickly sort out any trouble.

By the time the teams ran out it was obvious hundreds of Utd fans had infiltrated the North Stand.  Around 50 of them behind the goal openly started chanting Utd songs. Connie and I were around half way back  in the corner of the stand and pockets of City fans were becoming agressive around us and were making moves towards the Utd fans behind the goal. As the game kicked off so did the fans. The first real trouble occurred in the Kippax Stand opposite where we were. The segregation had obviously failed there as well and we could see brawls breaking out in several areas. This led to the police, who were in our stand, rushing over to the Kippax to help their beleaguered colleagues.

After 5 minutes of the game we had watched very little of the action on the pitch as it was so chaotic off the pitch in the stands. This is when it got even worse in our section. Suddenly there was a surge of City fans from the back of the North Stand towards the Utd fans, who had been chanting earlier, directly behind the goal. There was a coming together and, as punches were being exchanged, Connie was now terrified and in tears. This spread to our section as well and individual fights started in the rows around us. This was the worst football violence I had ever witnessed first hand and it was occuring all around us.  I shielded Connie as the blows were coming from every angle and as 2 brawling morons fell into me I took an elbow to the head.  Slowly, police started to appear and the trouble subsided slightly in our section but behind the goal in the North Stand the scenes were becoming very distressing as fans were being pressed up against the fencing in the North Stand, as they tried to escape the fighting, and were being helped over the fencing and through the (mercifully) open gates onto the pitch. At this point the referee stopped the game and the players were taken off. Over the next 15 minutes or so Utd fans either voluntarily left the North Stand or were being forcibly ejected by the police. At this point Connie just wanted to go home. I persuaded her to stay to see if it would calm down.

Once the players were back out on the pitch, it had calmed down but Connie was now possibly the only Utd fan left in the North Stand. I was on the point of calling it quits and going home when City took the lead and then scored again within a minute. All the fans (with the exception of Connie of course) now appeared to be in their designated areas so there was no trouble after each goal. City won the match 5-1 but my joy was dampened by events off the pitch. There was one bright moment for Connie as we were seated in line of Mark Hughes' volleyed goal early in the second half, however, she was too traumatised to even move.

The events off the pitch on that particular day were disgraceful and, needless to say, we never attended another derby game together. The total breakdown of segregation on that fateful day has led to segregation between us on derby days for the last 23 years i.e ,we don't even watch Manchester derbies in the same house!

Food For Thought

Where are you from?
Where are you going?
How are you living your life?
What do you think is worth knowing?

Are you making a positive difference?
Can you see the bigger picture?
Do you want a better quality of life?
Do you wish you were richer?

Look closer to home
Put your loved ones first
Drink from the well of love that surrounds you
Don't dehydrate; quench your thirst

Love alone won't pay the bills
Of this you can be sure
Don't trap yourself in worry and doubt
Think positive and find a cure

Consider the daily decisions you make
Wasting time is a preventable crime
Enrich your life in non material ways
Do it while still in your prime

Make time to listen to your friends
You chose them for a reason
Look beyond your inner circle
Find one for every season

These words are written for you
Please take from them what you need
If just one line has made you think
Then my day's been very good indeed

My Sister, My Friend

Growing up in the east of the 'hood
a shared bond with common blood
11 months divide a sister and brother
with a loving and caring father and mother

What of the sister and her early days?
the youngest of  8 and unique ways
a hundred teddies and a bunny called Bobby
a love of Duran Duran and a calligraphy hobby

She wore skinny jeans with long brown hair
an independent streak and a confident air
Beverley Hillbillies and it's ready wit
Granny, Ellie-Mae and Jed Clampett

House parties in the old huge abode
her own bedroon at 4 North Road
80s fashions, no social media or internet
mobile phones not invented yet

Always a sister and always a friend
strong and determined with an ear to lend
sharing my childhood with her was a pleasure
years of memories forever to treasure

Belfast

I have visited Belfast twice in the last 5 years. Like many other people I was fearful of visiting this part of Ireland during the worst years of "The Troubles". The daily reports of sectarian violence throughout the 70, 80s and into the 90s  made the prospect of visiting Ulster an unlikely scenario.

As a youngster I tried to ignore the problems in Ulster and was too busy, for the most part, enjoying my childhood in Manchester to be concerned with the political issues of Ireland. However, the explosion which decimated Manchester city centre in 1996 was a watershed moment in my life. How had we reached the point where people from the island of my mother's birth sought to cause serious damage to the city of my birth? I was as devastated as the city itself in the aftermath and as this was so close to home for me I began to study the history of Ireland in more detail than I had previously.

The previous paragraph was relevant to this post as it may provide you, the reader, with an understanding of why I wished to visit Belfast in particular at the earliest, safest opportunity.  In 2007 I decided the time was right and, although my wife sought some re-assurances, I informed her of the massive changes in this part of Ireland in recent years with the positive effects of the peace process (her fascination with the Titanic story also helped swing it!).

I don't wish this post to turn into an advert for the Northern Ireland tourist board so will keep the rest of it as objective as possible.  I realise that many readers of this post may have visited Dublin many times for various reasons but not so Belfast. In brief it has the appearance of a modern European city now with all the rebuilding of the city centre, but parts of it still retain Victorian architecture.  However, where as Dublin city centre can be awash with stag and hen parties; paddywhackery and generic bars and restaurants, Belfast, so far, has maintained it's own individuality.  It has it's Wetherspoons as well now,of course, but authentic, friendly pubs and places to eat serving local produce are plentiful.

Further afield in Ulster, similar to further south, there are miles of beautiful countryside and the Giants Causeway IS all it's cracked up to be. If you can visit it on a dry, sunny day (not the easiest thing to do!) then you will get the whole "other worldly" experience.  Belfast city centre is, in many ways, now a safer place to be than many British or Irish town and city centres (I felt safer there than I do in Manchester on a Friday or Saturday night) but if you do venture out onto the Falls Road or the Shankill Road, then I would advise taking a guided taxi tour or jump on a sightseeing bus for a rounded view of history in this part of the world. Go on, give it a go and visit Belfast!

Feline Sleepless Nights

I have previously introduced you to Cinders. She was the loveable black and white family cat who had a taste for stick insects (see Cinders And The Stick Insects Post). She lived to quite an age and eventually succumbed to ill health. Prior to Cinders (and her predecessor Queenie) it is my understanding that mice could be a problem in the area where we lived so it made sense to keep the feline line going and get another cat.

Tibby was a male cat and was named by my mam. Something to do with his colouring (a variation on Tabby?).We bought him as a kitten and were told he was weaned but when I saw him for the first time I thought he looked quite small, even for a kitten. He was a crazy little fella and was more playful than Cinders was at the same age. He was also far more vocal than any cat I had ever heard before.

When he was less than 12 months old he came back in the house one day limping and dazed. We lived on a main road so the busy traffic was always a danger to cats. We weren't sure exactly what had happened to him so he was taken to the vets. He didn't have any broken bones but the vet concluded he had taken a blow to the head and  he had bruising to his back legs. He was still young and the vet was confident he would recover. We concluded he may have taken a glancing blow from a vehicle on the main road.

Shortly after this episode we had him neutered and this seemed to keep him in the house more than previously, at least during the day. We also noted that his behaviour was even more erratic than before and he developed a few strange tics and mannerisms. He was also fond of playing with other male cats. After neutering this was maybe unsurprising but his behaviour with the other tom cats seemed to be a bit "too friendly". Within the family it was now thought Tibby had feline sexuality issues.

As time went by and Tibby got older he still hung around the gay cat village at the bottom of our back garden. When he was in his later years I moved to a different bedroom in the family house. This bedroom overlooked the driveway and the back door. He became virtually impossible to keep in the house overnight.  Despite various different measures being taken he would always find a way to escape into the night.

This became a major source of irritation to me as between 3am and 5am every morning he would howl at the back door to be let back into the house. This was directly under my window and regularly awakened me.  He was on the receiving end of my wrath when I let him in and I would sit him down and talk through his issues with him. The following night after one of these man to cat talks he escaped again.  Sure enough at 4am there he was howling under my bedroom window.  Bleary eyed I stumbled down the stairs to let him in as I had now done a hundred times before.This time he strutted past me with a half eaten pigeon in his mouth.

I managed to grab him and he let go of the mutilated pigeon on to the living room floor.  He looked at me as if to say "I'm a cat and this is what we do". Tibby was known to us as the worst hunter in the feline world.  We had observed him trying to catch birds in the past and it was a pathetic sight. So pathetic in fact that the local magpies would sometimes circle him and have a good cackle at his efforts. As he looked at me and down again at the pigeon I told him not to think he was so clever. It was obvious he hadn't caught this pigeon, he had just chanced across it and brought it home to annoy me.

Tibby passed away at around 10 years old. He life was not as long as Cinders but he more than left his mark in my world. So long Tibby you little rapscallion.

Salford City Council's Poster Boy

In 2010 I was working for a local council. When the opportunity came to partake in a photo shoot there was no turning it down. My ripped physique and chiselled jaw line were designed for releasing to a wider audience so a photo shoot was the perfect vehicle to showcase my obvious talents.

The marketing department were requesting volunteers for the photo shoot to highlight environment issues i.e energy saving etc.  I put my name forward and once I had seen the application it was apparent I would pass all the criteria.  The questions included  "Are you fit?"  My answer - "Yes, extremely".  "Do you consider yourself photogenic?" My answer -  " Obviously, haven't you seen my portfolio?". 

On a sunny June morning I set off for "the shoot", as we models say.  I signed a few autographs on the way in as word had got out that I was making an appearance (bloody Twitter!).  My make up was applied (by me) then I was introduced to the 7 other models for the day. They were 3 men and 4 women.  Obviously, the women got very excited when they saw me but I had to disappoint them immediately by revealing this would be a fully clothed shoot as my agent had already checked with the authority and insisted any bare flesh photography had to be pre-arranged with her as it may infringe my image rights.

All 8 of us were kitted out with props etc and over the course of the day we were asked to create various scenarios for our collective shots. However, there were some unseemly scenes at times as every shot I was in brought a scrum amongst the others to be involved with me. Once all the shots were "in the can" as we say in the profession, I said my goodbyes to the others and made my way out of the building. I quickly jumped into my Renault Clio (03 plate) and headed for home.

I was told that once the shots were edited they would be released in a poster campaign throughout the city and there would also be some cardboard cut outs to be placed around council buildings.  I knew that mine wouldn't last 5 minutes before some hysterical fan ran off with it.  Around a month later the pictures were released and my vision of gorgeousness started to appear everywhere.  They used a shot of me with a few others as "wallpaper" on the council's computer screens for a while and many times as I was passing desks around the offices during the day I would catch women of all ages gazing at the wallpaper on their screen. It's true, I really am a dreamboat. It came to a point where only pictures without me on them were used as wallpaper as not enough work was being done.

When the cardboard cut outs appeared they only produced 4 and none of them were of me.  When I queried this with marketing they gave some lame excuse about budgets or something but I knew the truth.  Any cut out of me would obviously go missing and they were too stingy to replace them.

This is the end of this tale.  Some parts of it are true and some others have been altered very slightly.  I shall leave it up to you, the reader, to decide where the alterations are.

Comic Strip Crush

As a 10 year old my biggest hero was Roy Race. For the uninitiated Roy was(and still is!)the captain of Melchester Rovers Football Club from the Roy of the Rovers magazine A few pence of my weekly spends went on this publication for several years as a child.

Occasionally, my older brothers would pick it up and have a good chortle at some of the reading material within the pages. They used to find opposing team names like "Everpool" and "Sundercastle City" hilarious, being just 10 I didn't understand their mirth. I knew there were "real world" teams with similar sounding names but in my imagination they COULD have been real teams.

Every week would end with a cliffhanger on or off the pitch  i.e a penalty waiting to be taken in the 93rd minute or the Cup draw would be about to take place with all the players crowding around the radio hoping they would draw "Kings Park Rovers" or some such fantasy team.

My section of the shared bedroom wall at home with 4 brothers was covered in pictures of Roy and his teammates. He captured my imagination so intensely that for a while I even had a schoolboy crush on his drawn wife called Penny, that's right I even remember her name which of course is not in any way weird at all..

In typical 1970s style she only made an appearance when preparing a meal or attending some "gala" or other with Roy but to me she always looked gorgeous. Of course, these were the days before the WAG culture so I felt I had my 10 years old credibility intact being smitten by my made up hero's wife.

When I had stopped worrying about Roy's next move, my attention would turn to the other features. which included one which forced me into writing a strongly worded letter to Roy. They had a quiz every week which would include photos of so-called well known players which you had to guess the identity of. It wasn't a competition as such. It was just for fun and they would give you the answers the following week. At the time I felt it was one of the hardest quizzes possible for a kid my age. There were normally around 10 photos every week and usually only one of them would be a First Division player. The rest tended to be made up of journeymen players from the lower leagues.

I got really frustrated with this and one week I didn't know a single one of them. This made me so angry I very nearly didn't dream about Roy's Mrs that night.. I decided to ask a few of my brothers if they knew any of them and the ones who didn't tell me to piss off, and feigned interest didn't know them either.

I decided to write in and address my letter to Roy himself. but just hoped my criticisms weren't read by Penny as this would have made me think I had blown my chances with her. My childhood morals hadn't formed yet. A couple of weeks later a letter arrived addressed to me.  This was the first letter I had ever received in my nascent life..I was so excited my hands were trembling as I opened it. Inside the envelope was a photograph and a return letter written by.......Roy himself !  I bloody well nearly fainted!

Once I had calmed down and started to read it. Roy said that he agreed some of the players were difficult to guess but he had fans of all ages so he couldn't make them too easy. Anyway, I thought "What sort of shit is this Roy?!". I'd told him I was 10 years old in my letter but felt like I had already learned everything there is to know about football so thought this was a cop out. I calmed down eventually and showed it to my semi-interested immediate family and became more appreciative that I had at least received a signed photo from the great man himself .

Don't be alarmed, I wasn't still believing in Father Christmas and the tooth fairy at this age but the waters were still a bit muddied where Roy was concerned. I do remember for a while wondering why Melchester Rovers were never in the FA Cup draw that I heard on the radio.

I finally realised it was all fantasy when I was...35.

School Year From Hell

I thoroughly enjoyed my primary school years. I made lots of friends and received an excellent education.  Due to an anomaly I wasn't given the opportunity to take my 11+. The kids who attended my primary school were split across 2 local government areas, Tameside and Manchester. There had been a boundary re-structure in 1974 and I found myself on the "wrong" side. If you lived in Tameside you could take the 11+ and , if passed, be given the opportunity to go to a Grammar school. My side of the boundary was in Manchester with no 11+ option so I was packed off to the local Comprehensive school.

My first year in my new school in Openshaw was fairly tough as many of my friends from primary school had gone to other schools (passed the 11+ etc, I'm not still bitter) so in some ways I had to start again`. I got by, however, and by the second year I was a little more settled. In the last term of this year we were told our year had to go to it's sister school in Ardwick for the 3rd year then we would return back to Openshaw for the last 2 years. A ridiculous state of affairs. It was related to class numbers and resources etc but for us this was preposterous. I had previously been able to walk to my school in Openshaw but the move to Ardwick would now entail 4 buses a day. 

In September 1980 I embarked on what would become my "school year from hell". The school in Ardwick was being closed down and was in a state of disrepair. There was only one other year left in the school.  This was an all boy "5th" year meaning they were 15 and 16 years old so were 2 years older than us. The areas we came from were hardly salubrious but this bunch in Ardwick were a different breed. Many of them were drawn from some of the toughest areas of inner city Manchester and when they saw us turning up in the first week they were watching us like starved sharks.

The playground quickly became a world of intimidation, bullying and violence. Our only hope was safety in numbers so our year realised we would have to pull together and put past issues between us to one side, at least for the duration of this school year. . in the first week of the new term, "The Ginger Twins" gave a couple of us a few slaps around the head then kicked our ball onto the school roof. This happened several more times so we just didn't bother playing football in the end and decided just trying to stay alive was a more preferable pastime.

At the end of the previous year at Openshaw, there were stories about what a hellish place this Ardwick school was. My school was RC. and the nearest local C of E school in Ardwick was known to be full of out of control thugs who carried out regular beatings in the streets around the school of their (soon to be us!) neighbours. Our new 5th year co-habitants were already aware of our fears so they also demanded "protection" money from us as they said it was common for the the other school to invade our playground for bouts of mindless violence. Oh what a marvelous time we were having!

I soon decided that my education was going to have to be put on hold for a year and It would be a case of simply surviving this daily hellish experience. My 3rd year schoolmates worked out a strategy where we would all stick together and look out for each other at bus stops etc. This largely worked although there was regular verbal intimidation to and from our school. We were vastly outnumbered of course as they had 5 full years of trouble.. The fact that the other year in our school also saw us as "outsiders" and were also trying to "do us"just made it all the more of a scene from Satan's hollow.

ne bit of light relief was the arrival of an ice cream van every lunchtime. However, just before the first half term the Ginger Twins organised a raiOd on the van which resulted in the van being tipped onto it's side with the ice cream man still inside it. The Police were called (but Sting wasn't available) but unsurprisingly, no ice cream van ever returned again to the school. Goddamn it! No education AND no ice cream.

In the aftermath of "IceCreamGate" the teachers fully implemented their corporal punishment right of the day and the behaviour of the 5th years improved slightly over the next 2 terms. This all changed again in the Spring of 1981. This was the year of massive social unrest in the UK and serious disorder and rioting was breaking out in Brixton, Toxteth and Moss Side amongst many other parts of the country. In the last term of the school year this unrest had spread to our school. There was a permanent feeling of tension in the air and violence was now back on the agenda.

As I was leaving the classroom one day in June there was widespread panic in the corridors. Schoolkids were running in all directions in a scene of mayhem. Suddenly, a teacher appeared from another class to tell us all to get back in the classroom and lock the door. There was a major incident and the police had been called. Our school had been invaded my baseball bat wielding teenage psychopaths. The incident was eventually dealt with but later that day some teachers were called in from our parent school in Openshaw to monitor the ongoing disaster zone.

The last month of the term ended in complete mayhem. Many inner city areas around the country were going up in flames and, as the 5th years were on the verge of leaving school for the last time, they were doing their best to ensure this school in Ardwick was also going to pay a price. By this stage I was so stressed that just getting home in one piece was enough of an achievement for me. When the term ended in late July, I was mentally and physically wrecked.

I returned to some kind of normality again in the 4th year back at Openshaw but was left with a real feeling of bitterness that after being denied the opportunity to pass the 11+ I had also been subjected to this year of hell. Dark days indeed.

Celebrate The Rights

Two lost souls destined to meet
Conspiracy theories amid webs of deceit
Fractured hearts and friendships lost
Reckless acts whatever the cost

The fickle fingers of life's fate
A love created on an infamous date
A dwindling fire of painful guilt
New found spirit and bridges built

Forgiven, not forgotten, forever a sinner
Healing time, hearts and minds a winner
Demons they come and then they go
Reaching new highs, then a new low

Onwards and upwards the saying goes
Look to the future and bury your woes
Leave heartbreak and angst in lost love songs
Celebrate the rights, don't mourn the wrongs

Mancunian Madman Punches Goose In Beak

In April of this year my wife and I attended a literary festival in Scarborough. We networked with various authors as we were staying in the same hotel as most of them. When I say "networked" I mean I looked on in awe of them in the breakfast room and the bar in the evening. My literary "career" was very much still at it's nascent stage so without having a published book myself to talk about I felt out of my depth.

On the Saturday afternoon the sun came out so we decided to venture out to Peasholm Park which is a delightful green area in a quiet part of the town. This park has extraordinarily friendly squirrels so as we made our way through the woods I was able to hand feed them with some nuts I had procured in advance. This excited me somewhat as I had never done this before (I'm aware some consider then vermin)

In the centre of the park is an island with a waterfall and one linking bridge  from the main part of the park.  This looked very becoming so I was eager to explore further. As we crossed the bridge there were some hastily written warning signs that the island was currently home to nesting Canada geese which could be very aggressive. As I am a real man I disregarded this as poppycock so we continued onto the island and up a steep curved path towards the top of the waterfall.

Around halfway up there were a couple of geese just to the right of the path on a grassed area.  As we drew level with them one approached me and hissed menacingly.  I laughed in it's face and used a vulgar turn of phrase directed at the angry goose (the second word of which is "off")  and continued up to the waterfall.  Little did I realize at the time that this goose had well and truly marked my card and was now biding it's time safe in the knowledge that his moment would come again.

The island was also home to some very pretty gardens so we sat down for a while and relaxed in the tranquil surroundings. Half an hour or so later we decided to make our way back. As there only appeared to be one path in and out of the area we were now in, we re-traced our steps back down the same path we came up.  Half way back down I noticed the same 2 geese again.  One was obviously a female and was nesting. However, the other one that I had the run in with earlier, was now standing tall in the middle of the path. He was wearing an expression of "come and have a go if you think you're hard enough".

As we got closer he took a couple of steps closer to us which stopped us in our tracks. The smile was wiped off my face this time as he reared up, flapping his wings and spitting in the most hideous fashion directly at me. His body language was screaming at me along the lines of  "You're not laughing now are you" " Tell me where to go did yer!" "I'm going nowhere!".  The stand off continued for another minute or so. He wasn't backing down so as I took a step to the right he did the same. I took a step to the left and same again. All the time he was flapping and spitting. His tongue was serpent-like.

At this point Connie (my wife) said "Just leave it, we'll have to find another path back out". I wasn't having this as I wasn't going to be beaten by a stupid devil goose! I made one more attempt to pass him then he lurched at me. Connie screamed as I ducked (pardon the pun) out of the way of his satanic beak. I took a few further steps back and was so wound up I considered striking him in self defence but quickly noticed there were various signs nearby indicating we were on CCTV.  I could vision the headlines the next day in The Scarborough Herald, "Mancunian Madman Punches Goose In Beak".

I accepted defeat so we headed back up the path the way we came. As I looked behind me,  my nemesis followed us a few steps and was straining his neck forward in some kind of parting shot. As we got further away he stopped, then returned to his nesting goose wife. After a lot of messing around we eventually found another path avoiding the Canadian goose thug and were able to escape unscathed. 

Back at the hotel that evening I did consider sharing this tale with the writers in the bar but thought better of it, so instead I ate a packet of dry roasted peanuts and went upstairs to watch Match of the Day.

Find Your Place

Square pegs and round holes
Bars set too high with unachievable goals
Carrying out tasks that don't come easy
Listening to dull chatter, some of it sleazy

Wasting time listening to "the man"
He knows nothing, he's an also ran
Making sows ears out of silk purses
Looking for doctors then finding nurses

Offices and factories paying the bills
Headaches and stress soothed by pills
A means to an end just to get by
Never truly happy, living a lie

Life is enjoyable without the rat race
Every day's a good day once you've found your place

Wounded Heart

If you have a wounded heart
Amid troubled times of woe
Search your mind for positive thoughts
With time the pain will go

With darkness in your soul
And spirit crushed to dust
Better days will lie ahead
In this you must trust

This hostile world we live in
Can be a cold and lonely place
Build on your talents and strengths
Let this be your saving grace

Grief, sorrow and sadness
Emotions we all can feel
Be kind to yourself and see the light
Your scars are soon to heal

Pathetic Pen Friend Attempt

I was 16 years old and did something totally out of character. I bought a copy of Smash Hits magazine. I usually read either Sounds or the NME (New Musical Express). These 2 papers catered for my musical tastes of the day. Smash Hits most certainly did not  It's readership largely catered for pubescent girls. I think maybe Kim Wilde was on the front cover or something which persuaded me to part with my 30p. Anyway, I flicked through all the crap then saw something which caught my eye. It was a page of ads for pen friends. This was something I wouldn't normally have given a second glance but I was feeling a little vulnerable at the time and lacked self confidence.

As my eye scanned the page, one particular ad caught my attention. It was for 2 girls aged 16 looking for pen friends with a similar aged boy with similar interests. Well, I was the same age and among their "liked" bands were Big Country. They were one of my favourite bands at the time and had some credibility. This was unusual for Smash Hits as their featured artists most weeks were from a fluffy pop nonsense background. 

The address was a PO box number so I reached for my "MCFC Are Magic" pen and proceeded to write to them. At this stage, of course, I had no idea where they lived or what they looked like etc so I asked a few questions of this nature in my letter. The most unusual part of their ad was that there were 2 of them. 2 girls wanting friendship with 1 boy?  I did think it a bit strange but it didn't stop me wanting to get involved(!)

I sent off my letter with my address enclosed and really didn't think that more of it. Around 2 weeks later I received a letter back from them in the post. They were calling themselves "Gladys" and "Mabel". There was also a photo enclosed of them both. However, they were both wearing hats and large sunglasses which largely concealed their identity and gave me not much idea of what they actually looked like. The letter did reveal that they lived in Yorkshire and they wanted to know more about Manchester and what other interests I had etc. They were also asking for a recent photo of me. 

As already stated, I was lacking in self-esteem and, aged 16, I wasn't confident in showing them my spots and growing mullet so I rummaged through some photos I had and found one which was perfect. Someone had taken a photo of me from a few months earlier which had cut my head off so it was just me from the neck down sporting one of my Fred Perry t-shirts and a pair of skinny jeans (This was 1983). I thought "This will do nicely".

I set about writing another reply letter and enclosed the photo. They had revealed their full postal address so I sent it off to Yorkshire. Approximately 2 weeks later I received another reply.  This time I wasn't in when the post arrived so when I got home there was a letter for all the family to see on the dining table addressed to "Clandestine Chris". This brought much amusement to my immediate family as they were previously unaware that I was writing to anyone. I fielded my family's questions the best I could but felt rather humiliated. In this second letter Gladys and Mabel were pleased I had sent a photo and complimented me on my legs(!) They had also sent a second photo of themselves fully revealing their identity (don't worry they were fully clothed!). The fact that they weren't Kim Wilde/Debbie Harry lookalikes coupled with the "Clandestine" comment drawing attention to me and themselves meant that I didn't write to them again or send another photo of me (how shallow is that ?!) so this pen friend relationship lasted 2 letters each which, in anyone's book,  is rather pathetic don't you think?