Violent Vera

Christmas day this year was an interesting one. Interesting? In what way Richard? I hear you ask. Well for one I managed to get a photograph of every one of the sixteen guests wearing a false moustache - quite an accomplishment I'm sure you'll agree. Secondly I had the great fortune to referee a very drunken conversation between one of my cousins and one of my brothers about the true reason for the invasion of Iraq and the state of the situation in Afghanistan. Neither Rachael nor Matthew had the slightest clue what they were talking about in their drunken state and I, in my drunken state, grasped the opportunity to throw in all manner of pointless - and in some cases untrue - tit bits of information just to encourage more ridiculous claims and counter claims regarding the various situations.

It was also on Christmas day this time around that I learned of my cousins' grandmother's nick name. When Vera arrived my dad asked her in a loud voice, "Have you got your machine gun Vera?" which struck me as quite odd. Vera being nearly ninety and not so nimble on her feet. Within half an hour someone else asked her the same question which again was a little puzzling. Anyway it turns out that Vera (pictured with moustache) is also known as Violent Vera and has a reputation for fighting, using excessive violence and killing people with semi automatic weapons.

Other highlights of Christmas day included a walk on the beach at Rossall near Fleetwood (picture taken about 2.30 in the afternoon on Christmas day) and the hunt for spirit orbs with my Aunt Amanda at my dad's house - made all the more amusing by the fact that my cousin Rachael kept referring to the whole experience as 'hunting for oicks.' Rachael is 33 years old.

You're so vain

I've done some terrible things to myself over the years. Take for example the time that I plastered my hair with blue boot polish so that it matched my electric blue PVC trousers for the last Flesh night at the Hacienda. If anybody had have lit up near me I'd've been a gonna. What's worse is that this isn't the only time that I boot polished my hair. Other crimes to my bonse include dying it black - again this has happened a few times. Why I didn't learn the first time when my boss told me that I looked like Marc Almond I don't know. It has been bleached a couple of times too - once successfully, once not... 

It has been long and short, cut professionally, hacked with a pair of scissors and even plaited over night in tiny little braids so that it was wavy the next day (this was a very very long time ago...)

Besides my hair there have been other faux pas. I have been pierced - once in my nose at the corn exchange in Manchester, once in the nipple at the ink pot tattoo studio in Oldham (who incidentally allowed me to be tattooed when drunk with the world's worst tattoo) once in my upper ear at a back street hairdressers in Blackpool and when that reacted badly and blistered my ear I removed it - with scissors and a pair of pliers - waited for it to heal then did it all over again at a chemist in Lanzarote. I sound a bit rough don't I? I'm not I can assure you... The last time I was pierced was in my ear lobe. God knows what possessed me to do that at the age of 31 but there I was - Chelmsford town centre on a busy Saturday afternoon, sitting on a high stool in the window at Claire's Accessories whilst Chantelle, who was wearing deeley boppers or bunny ears - I forget - put holes in my ears. Come to think of it... it wasn't long after this that I last dyed my hair black - another mistake.

Fashion-wise I have already mentioned the blue PVC trousers (can you imagine? Jesus Christ what was I thinking?) but beyond there I can reveal such beauties as the leopard print jacket, the odd socks - one luminous yellow and one luminous pink - the beautiful black and white trousers which looked like television interference which I wore with plastic, slip on shoes and of course my staple of the 1990's night club - the tartan trousers. Three pairs.
As far as footwear goes there have been some gems. The Frankenstein boots which I bought in Ibiza, the replacements which I bought in Manchester after leaving the originals at a friend's house in Cardiff. There were the burgundy patent leather loafers, the blue spoon shoes, the red nubuck leather rockabilly shoes and the blue suede boots. I am truly a style icon.

Before I finish, I hasten to add that this is not the end... Besides the glow in the dark liquid which I used to paint patterns on my face with and the sweetie necklaces that I would wear whilst clubbing there have been ever more weird and wonderful accessories and I'm sure that there will be more in the years to come.

PS Oh oh oh oh! I just remembered whilst reading this back - the necklace with letters on it which read the legend SLUT. That was dead classy. Enough now...

Hate

I have only ever called the police on the telephone once. I was working in Manchester and was in the staff room overlooking St Ann's Square when I heard a commotion outside. I peered down into the square to see a small group of Christians preaching to passers by. 

Now normally this would have just annoyed me because of the noise but on this occasion I happened to hear them informing everyone - very loudly - that all gay people would go to hell. I don't believe in hell but all the same this perpetuation of hatred angered me enough to call the police. When the lady answered I was asked which service I wanted and then when I stated, Police please, I was asked what they could do for me. I told her that there was a disturbance in St Ann's Square. This seemed to prick her interest and she said that she would put me through to the emergency team. As this clearly wasn't an emergency I panicked and hung up. A couple of police officers did speak to the Christians soon afterwards but I don't know if this was my doing or the hand of God.

I once had the opportunity to give blood but was told that as a gay I wasn't allowed to. Apparently I am 'high risk.' I assume that they consider me high risk in the same way that some mortgage lenders have a box to tick on their application forms if you are Gay, a prostitute or an intravenous drug user. One question - one box.

I don't tend to think of myself as a victim of prejudice but sometimes I suspect that I, as most people are sometimes.

Sugar Puffs

Gilbert - the cat - has black stuff up his nose. I reckon he's been in London for the day, riding the tube and doing a bit of shopping. He's quite accomplished when it comes to using public transport you know. I once bumped into him on the night bus coming back from Manchester to Sale.

Moochie - the other cat - is not quite as talented and regularly has trouble walking in a straight line.

Anyway - that's by the bypass...

Ghosts. Real or not real? Maybe we'll never know. I personally don't believe in them but having said that I am very curious. As a kid I would regularly take part in Ouija board readings. I always cheated and pushed the glass around the board - just to liven things up. One of my friends, Becki, would take it all very seriously and have all sorts of accouterments in order that spirits may be contacted. One of these was a glass of water which represented purity and was part of the safety net against evil spirits crossing over and getting us. I did wonder just how pure a glass of tap water from Clarkesfield actually was. Becki had a spirit guide when she used the ouija board - if I remember correctly he was called Bill. Bill had a sign with which he would indicate to Becki that it was really him and not an intruder. His sign was a figure of eight. I caused chaos on the night when I pushed the glass around in a figure of eight so that we could get on with it quickly and it turned out that Bill had changed his sign just the day before!

Becki had some right run ins with the other side - like the time that she told me about going into her bedroom and some malevolent ghoul had turned each and every one of her Corey Haim posters up side down.

I recently lived in a seventeenth century converted coach house where some friends of mine sensed things. I did not sense anything but they still put the willies up me by telling me about it. Two separate friends on different occasions and without prompting told us about a young girl upstairs on the landing which was odd.

As somebody with a very scientific outlook on life I have trouble believing in ghosts and spirits and the like but sometimes I would like to believe. I don't go to my mum's grave because of this. My cousin believes that her dad is watching over her and her family but when I go to the cemetery where my mum is buried I don't feel that and I just get upset at the thought that my mum's body is in a box under the ground. I get no comfort from going there.

On that miserable note I will leave for the evening but before I go - just one question... Have you ever noticed how Fizz on Coronation Street has an uncanny resemblance to the Sugar Puffs Honey Monster?

Clones

Google Richard Douglas and this is one of the first images that pops up. Funnily enough I did once consider becoming an Aussie Rules footballer - mostly just for the shorts and vest combo - but work commitments got in the way.

Unfortunately there is not an actual photograph of me on Google but if you run through a few pages there are some real gems.

My personal favourite is the Richard Douglas who is the producer of the gay porn classic Fine Daze.

There are a lot of Richard Douglas's out there - I even have a little Facebook group of Richard Douglas' from around the world. There's one from New York, an Australian, a soldier and some bloke from Anglesey.

Richard means - a man rolling in money. I bet the director of that mucky movie has more money than I do.

What do you think this Richard Douglas might do for a living? Neckerchief designer? Women's wear manager at an old fashioned department store?

China In Your Hands

When I was a youngster I would regularly go with my neighbour Damian, his mum and another neighbour Clara, to Ashton Market (see picture of market hall on fire Tues 25th May2004) My enduring memories of Ashton Market are peppery Cornish pasties, a grey tee shirt with netting sewn onto it as an over-layer which was possibly my first venture into fashion, a key ring with a little white, rubber Scottie dog on it and a stall which sold cassettes of famous songs re-recorded by not so famous, anonymous artists.

In comparison Tommyfield Market in Oldham felt somewhat less glamorous. Having said that I loved the sparkly floor of the inside market and also the chip shop which was in one of the permanent huts around the edge of the outside market which sold the best chip muffins in town.

I once spent a very long afternoon helping out my girlfriend Michelle on the pound stall. Three thousand toilet rolls for a pound, Two million AA batteries - a pound love. One hundred biros - that'll be a pound my dear. Eight hundred and fifty thousand blank videos - just one pound my lovely. Ta very much. I once bought a soap on a rope and a T' Pau record for my dad from Tommyfield Market.

I always loved Camden Market on a Sunday morning - especially when it was cold. I re-discovered Aretha Franklin's Until You Come Back To Me whilst milling about Camden Market sipping warm spiced cider - I also discovered the mad lady with pink wire in her hair at Cyber Dog on the same day. Still in London Spitalfields was always worth a visit - if only for the falafel - and down on the south bank the best place to get a free lunch, Borough Market.

It was outside Borough Market one night that I met Big Mo from Eastenders. I'd been on a tour of pubs with my cousin Rachael starting at Embankment and ending up - rather messily - in a pub very close to Bridgette Jones' flat. Well Big Mo was there and we said hello before she drove off in a mini. On the tube afterwards we started a debate (based on a news story about a Thai zoo) and got everyone on the carriage to vote, with a show of hands, as to whether or not they would eat giraffe burgers. I don't remember the final count. Sadly, this is all completely true...

http://www.oldham-chronicle.co.uk/

Zoo

We went to the zoo last weekend. It was very exciting. A wintry Sunday morning has to be the best time to see the animals. We made a bee line for the giraffes - natch. There were three giraffes which had been put out in the yard and locked out. Walking around in large slow circles it was reminiscent of a Sugarbabes video except without the insipid music and with the addition of a substantial amount of grace and style.

The Sea lions were next - they were gorging themselves on fishy tit bits offered by the keepers in return for showing off their jumping skills to the gathering crowd. Theresa was playing up.

We found the spider monkeys fighting over an old piece of bark and noted the freedom with which the males of the species showed off their pink monkey willies (in stark contrast to their black fur.)

My least favourite attraction was the children's zoo. The wallaby, the miniature donkey and the stinky goat were all miserable. They all stood in their individual pens glaring at us whilst doing nothing more than standing in the sun. Granted it was very cold and there was melting ice raining from the trees but even the tiger had a bit of a walk. I don't ask for much entertainment from the animals but a smile wouldn't hurt would it?

The red panda in contrast was active, cheerful and even spared a few seconds to swap phone numbers with us. We have become great friends in the short time since we saw him and we are expecting him and his fiance to visit this weekend. I will be serving ants and bamboo for dinner - as a vegetarian I will bypass the ants but I am greatly looking forward to the bamboo.

http://www.blackpoolzoo.org.uk/pages/home/

Atame!

Buckley went to bed early last night because he's covering the breakfast show this week so I decided to settle in for a film. I bypassed Sleepless, Jarhead and Matador and plumped for that old favourite - When Harry Met Sally.

Sadly I fell asleep during a crucial part - from the argument at the wedding through to the reunion at the new year's eve party - I may never know what happened...

Before I nodded off I noticed something that I had never seen before. When they are playing Pictionary and Sally tries to draw Baby Talk the drawing changes half way through and suddenly has no eyes! Then merely seconds later the baby's eyes are back! After watching this film a thousand times I was shocked and a little disturbed. Much like the time I noticed the microphone poking into shot in the classic film Clue (starring Eileen Brennan and Tim Curry.)

I think tonight I'll treat myself to some Almodovar.

Boredom

Yesterday I started a text message conversation with Alison about the noises that distressed, British, wild animals make. This is how bored I am of sitting at home day after day. I applied for a receptionists job yesterday - I think I'd look good in one of those little headsets but I'm not sure how often I could bring myself to read Heat magazine.

Having written that the whole Britney meltdown was fascinating, celebrity fodder. I could watch her shaving her head as often as I could watch the car crash that is Amy Winehouse's life.
Fat, thin, eating disorder, surgery, Jordan, Beckham, Lohan, Hilton blah blah blah but give me Britney losing her children and wearing an ill fitting wig and no knickers and I'm hooked.
So anyway I'm quite bored and do not make a good unemployed person.

Blackpool - again

We're going to Blackpool tonight. We're going to get on a bus, get drunk, eat chips and drive the length of the illuminations. Thankfully it's not a public bus.

This is what happened last time I got drunk on a bus in Blackpool...

Job

It's almost two months since I left my job in Manchester and moved to Preston.
It's beginning to get miserable now without a job. I reckon on average I apply for five jobs and speak to two agencies every day and still nothing.

I have applied for jobs in retail, at the hospital, as an air traffic controller, as a mystery shopper, at the university, at Blackpool Zoo, in call centres, for the police, as a fucking Betterware catalogue distributor, at sports centres and at a garden centre. I'm not fussy you know - as long as it pays and I can get there in under two hours on public transport then I'll go for it. I've looked at temporary & permanent and both full & part time - nothing.

I was watching a spot of television this morning whilst checking my emails for job opportunities and there was a phone in section that I tried to get though to. They were suggesting that people are being snobbish about what kind of job they take and that people thought certain types of work beneath them - this frustrated me somewhat. I am finding that employers are unwilling to look outside their own industry for employees and I am being ignored or refused even an interview because I haven't done exactly that job before. Does this mean that because I took a shop job five years ago as a temporary measure and ended up sticking to retail that I must now work in retail for the next thirty five years of my life? I hope not.

Granted - I don't have a degree but really at the age of thirty three with all the work experience that I have can it really be true that I am that unemployable? I am intelligent, hard working & honest and am willing to start at the bottom - again - in order to work my way through a new career.
Anyhoo - I suppose I'll just have to hope that retail doesn't dry up completely and that I'll find something there eventually....

Tree

I forgot... Yesterday after the car boot hideousness Buckley and I began to massacre the garden with our new saw. And no - that is not a euphemism. We decided that we should do a spot of tree surgery.

I climbed on top of the shed at the end of the garden, pulled up the step ladders and set them up nicely under the offending branches. I got to the second step when the rotting roof of the shed began to give way. The back two feet of the ladder went straight through the roof tipping the whole thing backwards with me on top of it. It was only my skilful and balletic movements that saved me from toppling off the shed and into the river at the back. There are now two holes in the roof of the shed which water will surely leak through.

Anyhoo - here I am to tell another tale and the branches have now been removed. I took the first one off quite easily but half way through the second branch my arm began to tire so Buckley gave it a go. After a couple of saws the branch started creaking and he started to panic - within seconds he was trying to flee the shed roof with a bloody big branch creaking towards his head. He too survived. I got up there and finished the job with the third branch - narrowly missing a potentially disfiguring accident as the business end of the branch swung towards my face.

Well - tree now surgeryed (?) - Buckley got the bug. He took down the caterpillar covered mini tree in the main bed then went for the blackened leafed tree next to the green house whilst I stood underneath it to make sure that the branches hit me and not the glass of the green house. Finally he had his eye on the neighbours tree of which three branches cover most of our lawn. The neighbours weren't in to ask and I persuaded him not to begin hacking away in order that we preserve relations - besides he needed to borrow their ladders to get to this one. Thus the massacre ended for the day...

Chip butties and fleeces

We did a car boot sale just outside Blackpool today. Class coming out of my ass or what? There was a wide array of fleeces, many people on crutches or in wheelchairs and a smattering of in breeding.

At about eight thirty I went to get us both a drink - one strong tea and a coffee with one sugar. The girl that served me was a whizz on the hot plate. She could manage about ten frozen jumbo sausages in one go and her fried black pudding and cheese burgers were a marvel to behold. My arteries hardened just by ordering drinks.

Someone stole a fifty pence wind up muscle man from our stall. Who steals at a car boot sale?

Image from one of my favourite online stores http://www.animalkingdomfleece.com/

Orange and Black

Today I went for a job interview in Preston. I knew from two phone calls last week with Louise that there was something odd about it before I even left the house today but I was further convinced when I walked up to the building and the company sign was a print out sellotaped to the window.

I went in and asked for the person that I was supposed to be meeting only to be told that they had the day off. They didn't know who I was supposed to see and neither did I. A rough looking old bird handed me a clip board and said "'ere you are love, fill this out." I sat down in the waiting room on a cheap sofa (not that I'm a snob when it comes to furniture...) and filled out the form. There were three other people in the room with me, the guy next to me (black suit / white socks) had his head in his hands and rocked backwards and forwards.
The waiting room had woodchip wallpaper painted bright orange and all the woodwork was painted black. Radio one blared from the desk in the corner and I was treated to a live rendition of blinded by the lights (without the swearing) which cheered me up no end.

The other three people were invited to go upstairs and I was - er - ignored completely. Ten minutes later I was still alone in the waiting room. Twenty minutes later - still there. Eventually someone came into the room and when I asked how much longer it would be - five minutes maximum. Ten minutes later I was finally invited to go upstairs. I clambered over the office chairs and sat down in front of what appeared to be a teenager.

She asked me a handful of pointless questions before she finally asked - "So what can you bring to this company?" I began replying by talking about maturity and experience and then came to a sudden standstill. It was at this point that I said that I couldn't actually answer her question because I still had no idea what their company did - and to be honest I still don't know! I started getting a bit pissy to be honest but despite this ten minutes or so later she decided that I should come back for the second of four interviews. I don't think I'll go...

Dreams

As Gabrielle once sang: Dreams can come true, look at me babe I've got flu (or something like that anyway - I think the piratey eye patch was interfering with her ability to sing coherently.)

Well I can tell you now that if Gabrielle were me she certainly wouldn't want her dreams to come true. Only yesterday a lady in my dream was using a pikelet as a contraceptive cap. This is one of my more unusual dreams however there have been others.

One of my favourite dreams was the one where I was using a tortoise to make footprints in wet cement. Nothing more - nothing less. All I did was push one of these poor creatures feet into wet cement and then lift it out again. I dread to think what this means about me.

One of my regular childhood dreams involved spinning around inside a curtain singing Paw Paw Paw Pee repeatedly - I not only tried this but roped my brother in on it and discovered just how tightly curtains wrap themselves around your head and just how displeased one's grandparents can be when you almost pull down their full length velvet curtains.

I sometimes dream abut my mum but invariably they're not nice dreams and they involve death and suffering which is never a pleasant experience.

Again as a child a recurring dream would be the one with the bubble blowing dragon. The dragon sat in the middle of one of the bedrooms at my grandparent's house blowing big bubbles which would ensnare those who went into the room. Once trapped in the bubble the victim would float toward the ceiling where they would turn into a dragon themselves. In one of these dragon dreams I escaped out of the window onto a balcony only to find a lion out there. Bad luck hey? I then had to go back into the dragon room and downstairs (I floated down the stairs - natch) I entered the drawing room to find all my family staring at me and baring vampire teeth. I think I woke up at that point - probably in terror.

I think there's something the matter with me.

Crash

When I was nine years old I was in a car crash. My mum was driving and I was in the back with my brothers and the cat. An HGV lorry driver decided to overtake a car on a hill just outside Preston and in doing so hit us head on spinning the car off the bridge and into a field. We were cut out of the car by firemen and then two ambulances, one from Blackpool and one from Preston took my mum in one direction and my brothers and I in the other to different hospitals.

I was unconscious and had a cut face and badly bruised legs, Robert had a fractured skull but remained conscious throughout and Matthew, who was two years old, was catapulted from the middle of the back seat and trapped between the two front seats which saved him from being flung through the windscreen. My mum was very badly injured. As the car was crushed, the engine came forward and broke my mum's right leg in three places including smashing her knee cap. As she shielded her eyes the windscreen glass gouged out most of the flesh from the inside of her right arm down to the bone in places. Her face was also badly cut and glass had sliced a flap of skin off her forehead.

I was out of hospital in a couple of weeks as was Robert and Matthew didn't have to stay at all. My mum however was in hospital for weeks with her leg in traction and when she was finally released she was in a wheelchair for months. All of this meant that as a family we had to leave our home in Oldham and live with grandparents - firstly my dad's parents in Preston then, when my mum was out of hospital, to her parents in Poulton - and I left my primary school for most of the year and went to a countryside school just outside Preston.

My classmates from school in Oldham spent an afternoon writing letters to me which I received in hospital. I've copied some of them below - including grammar and spelling mistakes - which I find quite touching and funny.

14 Manor Park Rise
Greenacres
Oldham
8/1/85

Dear Richard,

I hope you are feeling better. We are missing you because we have nobody to be on at tig-on-line.

Now it is snowing. We are having snowball fights. In our bay we have three broken windows. Lindsey is still the same old funny character, Lisa Doolan is still very stubborn, Natalie is still the same old girl.

From
Mark Travis

Greenacres Primary School
Dunkerly St.
Greenacres,
Oldham
15th January 1985

Dear Richard

I hope that you get well soon and come back to school soon and get well. You are not the only one who is hurt because I am. I have a broken arm. I broke it because David Whiteley fell on it.

From
Paul Mannion

Get Well soon Get Well Soon


Greenacres Primary School
Dunkerley St.,
Greenacres
Oldham

Tues Jan. 15th 1985

Dear Richard

We have been doing about round signs. I hope that you come Back soon. We have been playing in the snow snowball fighting.

By Christian


17 Taurus St,
Greenacres
Oldham
8.1.85

Dear Richard,

I hope you are feeling better. Did you have a nice Christmas.
I have got some nice things for Christmas.
I got a radio with ear phones. I got two my “little” pony’s. I hope you get better soon Richard and Robert and your mum.

From Gillian


29 Watergate Milne Court
Waterhead
Oldham
8.1.85

Dear Richard

I hope that you get well soon.
I thought that you might like to read my poem.
I hope that you get back to school quick.
We have changed over with Mrs Shaw.
We go in the morning and the others go in the afternoon now. Would you like to read my poem now
1) Oh Welephant oh Welephant what have I done,
I’ve started a fire oh I am so dumb
2) all my presents are under the tree, oh Welephant of Welephant whon’t you help me.
3) Never fool with fire and that is your moto easy to learn it’s better than saying fire burn burn burn

From

Anuaska Mercer


Greenacres Primary School
Dunkerley St
Greenacres
Oldham
Wednesday 16th January 1985

Dear Richard

I am sorry to hear about the accident.
Wish you were here to see all the snow we have had. I hope you had a nice Christmas. And I hope yo like the new boy in Mrs Anistworth’s class. It was snowing here on Monday.
Get well soon
From
Susan


Greenacres Primary School
Dunkerley St
Greenacres
Oldham
16th January 1985
Dear Richard

I am sorry about your accident.
Down in Greenacres it is snowing.
We wish you were hear. At school we have started Maths work cards. They are easy. At home my dog Kelly has had Seven pups. Get well soon
From
Racheal


Greenacres Primary School
Dunkerley St
Greenacres
Oldham
15 January 1985

Dear Richard

We have been out Side and been catching number plates and it Was fun. I hope you get better soon. We have been playing with the snow.

From
Lee


Greenacres Primary School
Dunkerley St
Greenacres
Oldham

Wednesday 16th January 1985

Dear Richard

I hope you are soon back at school again because we will all be glad to see you here.
Also when you come back to this school I hope you like the project that we are talking about. I hope you will like the letters that we are writing to you. Are you enjoying the school that you are at now?

From
Joanne


Greenacres Primary School
Dunkerley St
Greenacres
Oldham
Wednesday 16th January 1985

Dear Richard

Paul Mannion has had a fight with Scott. We are doing topic on road safety.
I hope you get better.
The weather is trecherous.
Me and Andrew have been talking about 101 sillys. We have been getting into mischef

From you friend
Craig Pemberton


51 Sharples Hall St
Watersheding
Oldham
8.1.85.

Dear Richard,

I hope that you are feeling better. I am looking forward to seeing you back at school and I hope you have had a merry Christmas. I have had a nice Christmas. But I have stayed in most of the time and played with my cousins calculator and watched television most of the time.

From
Lindsey


Greenacres Primary School
Dunkerley St
Greenacres
Oldham
Tues. 15th Jan 1985

Dear Richard

You can’t play your violin or your recorder because you had a car crash. I Wish you was at school because you are missing all the fun at school but when you get better you will be able to join in our games

Christopher McDonald


12 Locking Gate Rise
Waterhead
Oldham
8.1.85

Dear Richard,

I hope that you are feeling better. Rebecca told me about the accident. I felt sorry for you. It has been snowing and we have been playing in it. I have been falling in the snow. My brother Adam laughed at me. Then we had a snowball fight this morning.
Tonight I am going on my sledge with Adam. I hope you had lots of nice Christmas presents.

Your friend
Natalie
Walton


Greenacres Primary School
Dunkerley St
Greenacres
Oldham
16th January 1985

Dear Richard

I hope you get well soon.
We are doing about road safety at school and we are coming back to verbs. It is snowing very hard today and it is an inside play time today.
There is a new boy in J1 called Wayne.

From
Nigel Sinkis


Greenacres Primary School
Dunkerley St
Greenacres
Oldham
Wed 16th January 1985

Dear Richard,

It’s a pity you can’t have the kile. And you have mist the races at p.e. And are read road safety work. While your reading and sitting down we are busy at work. When you come back I will tell you the answers if your brains gone.

By Adrian


5 Esther st.
Greenacres
Oldham
8/1/85

Dear Richard,

I hope you come back to school soon, and this is a poem which I have written for you to read.

You play with your friends,
And hope you were back,
You sing them a song
All about Nat

I hope that you will get well soon

From
Lisa Doolan

Letter

The following is a transcription of a letter to my grandmother from the mother of of her first husband
.

3 Pilmor Links

St Andrews

Fife

20th Sept 1945

My dear Margaret

I am sending you a copy of the letter I received from the brigadier commanding the forces defending the Retimo area during the battle of Crete. I also send some information from Major Mitford who managed to escape.

Jack Tarry says the word "impaled" should read "bellied" and for a tank to get "bellied" is a nightmare to tank crews. Tanks are so low set on the ground it is easy to happen, the wheels go round and the tank won't move.

Poor dear Vin must have been terribly worried at it happening at such a serious time and it was very brave of him to get out to see to it. I think he must have tried to get a hatchet or something to remove the obstacle when he was shot from Hill A.

I will let you know if I hear any more and if you hear anything will you let me know?

When Peter becomes a man he will want to know how his father "covered himself with glory at Retimo" to use the brigadier's words.

With much love dear Margaret

Kate C Simson

.

.

.

The following is a transcription of the copy of the letter referred to above from the Brigadier to my grandmother's mother in law. Included is a sketched map of the area.

.

.

.

.

Eastbourne

2 Aug 45

Dear Mrs Simson

First of all I want to apologise for not answering your letter sooner but I was operated on for my appendix on 20th July and so everything got held up.

I am most indebted to Major Mitford for giving me this opportunity of telling you something personal about your son.

He brought along a tank to Retimo on about 14th May. Yes he was still limping a little from his Nibeiwa wound which worried me but he was full of courage and said he was alright.

In these 5 - 6 days together we got to know each other well and worked out our plans for the employment of his tank when the Germans came.

When they did land just after 4pm 20th May George was with his 2 tanks under some olive trees at A - see my little sketch.

When I saw what the paratroops were up to I ordered George to take his tanks across the aerodrome to the east of Hill A

A little later I saw his tanks emerge from the olive trees and cross the air strip on the far side of which his own tank became impaled and stuck fast on the far side of a drain. It was in the open in full view at 6 - 800 yards range from the Germans who had landed and concealed themselves in the vineyards on Hill A

That was about 5pm. The other tank went on alone round east of Hill A where it fell into a deep waddy and was out of action.

I had witnessed the mishap to George's tank from my position on the spurs south of the airstrip but then, seeing the tank was unable to clear the drain and that he was protected by our fire during daylight, I carried on with the fighting and did not notice if George got out of his tank before dusk or not.

Shortly after dusk the Germans freed their way, with an anti-tank gun, round the north of Hill A which they also mainly occupied, then and on to the air strip.

They opened fire at short range against George's tank with their anti-tank gun after first unsuccessfully inviting the tanks crew to surrender. The crew, less your son who was killed before they surrendered, were taken east of Hill A where they joined the crew of the other tank which had also no alternative to surrendering.

The fighting swayed backwards and forwards most fiercely in this area and it was not until about 4pm on 21 May that the result finally swung our way and it was not until then that I was informed that George's body had been discovered beside a small cottage just north across the road from his ditched tank.

I think he was shot from the slopes of Hill A when he got out of his tank before dusk to reconnoitre but I may be wrong. Of course his crew must know but they, after being released on 26 May by us, were probably recaptured again when I surrendered on 30 May after we rescued them they were so emaciated I sent them to our hospital.

I have gone into this in some detail for you as I feel you may visit Retimo and with this you will be able to follow what happened. We buried George with the others who fell around the air strip including the many Germans at (B) and I believe the Germans later on built a fine cemetery there.

Some day I hope to go and see the graves of my brave men who covered themselves with glory at Retimo.

Until I produced my full report on the defence of Retimo air strip a few weeks ago there has been no definite knowledge of what happened there as after we had been abandoned, apparently through some blunder, my forces were converged upon (unknown to us) by the Germans from Suda Bay and Heraklion with tanks, with the result that the remnant of my force and I spent 4 years in Germany.

However it should be some consolation to you to know that your son took part in the complete defeat (almost annihilation) of the German para regiment of 2,000 which landed at Retimo as we killed 1,000 of them and captured 500 including their commander Oberst Colonel Sturm.

Please excuse my writing I am still in bed - I hope to fly back to Australia in three weeks time.

In conclusion please permit me to offer you my very deepest sympathy for your only boy was a very fine and brave one.

Your very sincerely

Signed Ian R Campbell

(Australia)

Brigadier Ian R Campbell

Pubs

I have spent many an hour of my life in a pub, a bar or a club. Indeed Buckley and I met in a club - the Hacienda if you will. I would like to write about some of memories of pubs - or more importantly things that happened in pubs. Lets begin at the beginning:

• The Shack in Oldham - I met Alison in The Shack. A pivotal point. A few weeks later I found a hole in the crotch of her tights in front of the fire in The Shack. Elvis ripped up my job application for a job at the Queen Elizabeth Hall close to that same fire.

• Via Fossa in Manchester - I worked at Via Fossa on Canal Street for about a year and a half. I stole tips from drunken drinkers, I got drunk whilst working, a man pretended to be having an epileptic seizure on my first day then laughed at me when I got him a cloth to clear the drool off his chin and I first told Chris that I loved him in Via Fossa.

• The Kings Arms at Grains Bar on the edge of Saddleworth - this was the first pub that I ever worked at. There were frogs in the cellar. I saw the assistant manager - Phillip Schofield - drop a tub of mayonnaise on the floor of the kitchen and then scoop it back into the tub and serve it. I worked with the cousin of Orieta Lorenzini but I can't remember her name...

• 10 Commonhall in Chester - when we moved from London to Chester I didn't have a job. I went for a hair cut at Toni & Guy and asked the hairdresser where the coolest bar was. She told me about Commonhall. I went down there and asked about a job and Michael took me on straight away. I learnt how to mix cocktails and also who to buy drugs from. It all got very messy for a couple of months. I'm still in tough with Michael and his fiance Jo.

• 19-20 in Clerkenwell, London - this was around the corner from work when I was with MTS. I got drunk here so many times - after and during work. I spent a lot of time here with Rosemary and Chris both of which have left us now. This is also where I made friends with Jane.

• City Bar in Chester - Janet and I had our thrones in front of the fish tank. We held the short lived cinema night in the basement here and put on our VERY successful Stick It On nights here. I think we did three of them... Lots of moustaches, some spiders and some terrible music - I really miss City Bar.

• The Friendly Society. Soho London - giant goldfish wall paper in the loos, barbie dolls EVERYWHERE, a cave surrounded by fur and a brilliant DJ on a Tuesday night - she played Michael Jackson for me. One of my favourite bars in London for years.

• Cyberia in Manchester - not there anymore but this was the first bar that I ever had absinthe - with Steve as an accomplice.

• Politic in Chester - private members club with beautiful furniture and the best Old Fashioneds in the world.

• Velvet, Manchester - Velvet is a bit of an old timer in Manchester now. The bar upstairs is relatively new compared to the original downstairs venue. Many many many many evenings eating and drinking with the gays here...

• The Beer Emporium in Oldham - it's been knocked down now but this is the place that I saw graffiti that read - Kurt is dead - never mind

• The Hare & Hounds - I worked here for a about a year. This is where I met Norman. This is also where I discovered a turd in a pint glass on the back the cistern in the gents.

I can't possibly mention all of them as it's getting late. Maybe I'll continue at a later date...

Towns

We're about to move house again. This time from Chapel en le Frith to Preston. In the past eight years we have lived in Sale in south Manchester, Tottenham in north London, Enfield in Middlesex, two different places in Chester, Colchester, Chelmsford and Chapel en le Frith. It's got to the point now where I don't even think about it. We move in three weeks and I've not started packing yet.

I feel like I have learnt about very different things in each place. I learnt about Music in Manchester, art in Chester, politics in London, friends in Derbyshire, careers in Essex and I suspect that Preston will be about family.

Buckley & I don't share the same tastes in many things - and that includes where we live. I could happily settle in London and he loves Derbyshire. I find Derbyshire dull and nosey and he thinks London is dirty, impersonal and cold.

We've not found a happy medium yet so instead we go to work in different directions and do our own thing.

I would like to live by the sea. Fleetwood would be a lovely place to have a weekend flat. I would also love to live in another country for a couple of years - perhaps Spain or Holland - maybe France or New York. It's highly unlikely though.

All the moving around has left us with a scattering of friends across the country and it's very easy to distinguish the ones you care about and the ones that care about you just by who you keep in touch with. Strangely one of my oldest friends lives in Preston and I'm looking forward to getting to know her again.

Despite being used to moving I still find it quite unsettling. Every time you have to start again - finding a job, making friends, making a home and feeling comfortable again. The only constant is Chris. Everything else changes.

Shopping

When did shopping become such a chore? Surely going out to choose a new sofa or buy a lamp should be fun? Why did that woman call me a jumped up shop boy before hanging up on me and how much do I enjoy throwing middle aged women out of my shop for being rude?

Shopping has become a battle.

I blame the Americans. They have perpetuated the myth that good customer service is giving the customer whatever they demand - without limitation - and because of this a happy compromise is very difficult to agree on. Granted, if the planters you buy for your garden go rusty and mark your patio it's not great but to demand - and expect - a full refund, payment for the cleaning products, payment for a gardener to replant new pots and compensation for distress is, in my opinion, a little over the top.

A friend of mine was once required to turn the hands of a clock to various positions so that the customer could decide whether he liked the aesthetics of said clock at different times of the day.

I myself had to deal with a tantrum from a woman when I couldn't tell her whether the dinner candles she had asked me about dripped or flowed as the wax was melting.

These days I won't tolerate that kind of behaviour. The rude and demanding get nowhere and as the boss I can get away with it. They still annoy me but I won't pander to it now.
Thus far I have thrown two people out of the shop, been smug to numerous and instructed three not to be so rude to me. Rudeness should not be accepted.

The Cats

I have been trying for some time now to teach Gilbert & Moochie both Spanish and French. The lessons began when Whiskers started printing the flavours of their cat food pouches in numerous languages on the back of the packet. A bit of poulet here, a sachet of lapin there and the odd morsel of canard or ton every now and again. Quite straight forward stuff really.

We rapidly progressed to more tricky conversational French but the Spanish was somewhat restricted. I decided that they (especially Moochie) needed some more vocabulary work and thought that the best way to work through this and to improve their all round skills was to invest in small desks so that they had a dedicated work space.

It was only when I tried to get them to write a short composition that I realised there was a problem. The cat's are really bad at writing - due to the whole thumb thing. I had to call the whole thing off and ebay the desks.

We're now back to chatting over dinner and I think everyone feels much better about it generally. Less pressure all round.

This morning Gilbert said "Le petit déjeuner était merci délicieux vous. Pouvons-nous avoir la souris la prochaine fois ?"

I replied "Vous êtes un chat ingrat. J'enlèverai vos cheveux."

Police

Our security guard was assaulted today. Two thieves were in the building and he chased one of them after he walked out with two products under his coat.
When the guard couldn't lock him in the car park he decided to grab him instead and in return received a smack in the face.
The thieves left with nothing.
The police were called at 1.30 and still hadn't arrived at 5 when we left.

The crack house across the road seems to be going strong these days despite the recent raid. The guests of the establishment have recently become more inventive. Instead of pretending to be shopping they now ask for application forms and question if we're recruiting. We also have one delightful woman who sits in a wheel chair and is pushed about by another crackee whilst she tries to swipe the expensive stuff.

I don't think I want to be there any more. You shouldn't be frightened for your safety when you go to work.

The cross eyed and the toothless

The elderly woman sitting across from me on the 371 was drinking vodka from a soda water bottle. I didn't realise it was me she was addressing because her eyes looked in different directions but once she had my attention it was interupted by a boy falling off his seat and on to the floor whilst his toothless mother cackled with glee.
Back on his seat the alcoholic shared sweets amongst the passengers. The mong just grinned at them all.

The Living Dead

The living dead are three individuals comprising an elderly couple and a giant man in a pink, teenage girl's belt.
The living dead ride the number eleven bus.
The living dead smell.

Usually they travel together but last Thursday only the old man boarded the bus. Mouth open, unshaven, slowly sliding towards the front seats. I was initially concerned that he had eaten the other two (I've seen them since though - thank God)

I learned a long time ago to sit towards the rear of the bus on Thursday and Friday morning and now enjoy watching those people that sit at the front when the living dead arrive. It begins with an index finger under the nose then quickly progresses to the turning of the head and within a minute or two you can see a physical repulsion to their foetid reek. Some people actually move seats.

It's a nasty business indeed...

Blackpool

Blackpool never fails to make me cringe.

Buckley said "You're never going to change it so just get drunk and go with it."
Needless to say I did get drunk but not in order to "go with it" but rather to block it out. I would have got more drunk but for the fact that all the gay bars in Blackpool charge you to get in.

We went into Blackpool during the day and during the half hour that I waded through the swirling rubbish on and around Victoria Street I was witness to a bloke in a mankini - knob & balls on show - a middle aged woman with a SEX bracelet being tongued by her terrier on a bench and about fifteen blokes in grass skirts and ladies' bras. It was a beautiful experience. I had to seek refuge in Waterstones.

I was actually looking for the 3 Mobile store to do a bit of research for a job interview but couldn't find it. I looked everywhere for it. I called directory enquiries and they gave me the address and phone number - it wasn't at the supplied address and the phone number was dead. I asked people in the street - nobody knew. By the time I gave up I had already decided that I didn't want to work in Blackpool anyway.

We escaped back to Poulton for drinks and dinner with my brothers before daring our return to Blackpool to see the other side of the town.

We drank at Taboo first for which we paid one pound each for the priveledge. The DJ was a camp tranny who hasn't changed her act since the eighties. The venue was run down and dirty. The 'terrace' where we sat whilst I smoked, was full of loud hen parties, there was no character, no music, no lighting in fact nothing to make you want to sit out there. We left after one drink.

Across the road at Pepes it was the same entrance fee situation so we declined. The doorman told us that it was to keep straight people out. At Trades bar we were told that you must become a member which again you must pay for. When we commented that it was really difficult to go for a drink in Blackpool the doorman there claimed it was because the council didn't want gay bars in Blackpool and that the licensing laws required entry fees. I suspect it's just a money making trick.

We eventually decided that if we were going to go somewhere for an hour before the club it might as well be the busiest and closest of all the bars so we ventured into The Flying Handbag... This place had a two pound door charge for some reason and whilst it was an improvement on Taboo it was still trashy. A bad drag queen played camp music and the place felt unfinished.

I'd have hoped that after all these years Blackpool would have moved on a little or if not, at least in such a captive market where one person owns most of the bars, I'd have expected some money being put back into it. There must be a market for something a little more sophisticated in Blackpool.

We finished at Flamingo's night club which was a bit rough - there were lots of dealers in there very early in the evening and they seemed to take over the toilets and be quite intimidating. The music was quite full on from the beginning and didn't seem to do very much. Having said that we did dance for about an hour before calling it a day and heading back to Poulton.

I'm sure that in a couple of years we'll have forgotten how bad Blackpool really is and do it again but until then I'll steer clear - it makes me feel dirty.