We stayed in Birmingham for about two months, I had my 17^th Birthday here. We did try to get jobs at the local hotels and restaurants, but for two young inexperienced guys it proved far more difficult than we had thought it would be. We went to Birmingham Nightclubs quite a few times, My Birthday being one such time, taking the bus into the city and back home at two or later in the morning. I must say, I was surprised by the forwardness of the Birmingham Girls in these clubs. They didn't hesitate on going up to guys and getting them to dance. The dancing too, wow! Not the stand and swing around stuff we were used to in Guernsey, hell no, these girls would grind up on you like they were having sex and wanted your babies. Quite an eye opener for an innocent young lad from Guernsey, who had always been taught by Gran that women didn't like sex and just did it as a duty.

Perhaps that is where my misplaced over heightened sense of respect for girls came from, and why I was struggling with the “relationship” thing. I was discovering, much to my surprise, that Gran lied to me, maybe she never met an English girl and only Guernsey girls where like that. It was a miracle that my cherry didn't get popped here either. Boy, was I slow on the uptake.

I got to see my first ever professional football game while here in Birmingham. It was a local derby game between Aston Villa, and Birmingham City. I was completely in awe at the noise and passion of the crowds, more than a little intimidated by the way they dressed, Skin Heads, with the “Bovver Boots”, tight jeans and torn t shirts sporting logo's professing to hate everyone who breathed.

Robert knew the safe places around the ground to stand so we kept out of any trouble.

I had always loved Football, played constantly every chance I got growing up and watched every game possible on TV. As I mentioned, I was always a little heavy as a kid, so I chose to play as Goalkeeper, a position that included me in all the action ,but didn't require much running around. Now, with my new weight loss, I discovered I was pretty handy as an outfield striker. I now had the height, speed and stamina needed to compete with the other lads my age and the added advantage of having tended goal all those years meant I was able to second guess goalkeepers and score a lot of goals.

Robert and I used to go to the park and get into games with local boys and I found out I could more than hold my own as a player.

I got to the point that I was uncomfortable “sponging” off of Robert's Mum, and told him so.

He understood and suggested that we go down to London and stay with his Sister. He knew she was running a Youth Hostel with her boyfriend, and we could shack up there. Surely it would be easier for us to get work in London, so I agreed.

We found ourselves a few days later thumbs extended on the side of the Motorway, hoping for a ride to London, and the next stage of our adventure. We did this at night because it was commonly known people would be more apt to stop for you at night.

We waited about two hours in the rain before a young guy in a Volkswagen Bug, stopped and loaded us up. He was headed for Kings Cross, in London, the same place as we were. We happily climbed in and headed south, again excited for the adventures ahead.

It didn't take us very long to find the Pheonix Youth Hostel, in Kings Cross. It was just a few streets away from The London University and less than a mile from the main square where the Tube Train Station was located.

Robert's Sister was a big, very pretty and vivacious girl, full of life and spirit. I immediately liked her. Her Boyfriend, on the other hand was a different thing altogether.

He ran this place as if he was some kind of “Lord of the Manor”, people running around, doing his bidding at his every whim. We had to make an “Appointment” to meet him later that day when he felt he would grace us with his regal presence.

He was a tall, skinny, long haired and bearded a John Lennon, Wannabee. I hated him from the second I set my eyes on him. I had a feeling deep down in the pit of my gut that this guy was bad news all around. My instincts turned out to be accurate.

A few teasers

I am not sure exactly how or when to start this story, the story of my life. I have wondered who on earth would be interested enough to read this, a simple story in many ways, an adventure in others.

I have loved, lost, hated, hurt and experienced tremendous joy, as have most of us. So, what makes my story any more compelling than millions of others? I don't know, but people who know me, and who know at least a part of my journey through life have told me on numerous occasions to write a book.

So, heeding to the superior intellect of my friends and acquaintances, here I go..

CHAPTER ONE

Where it all began

I guess any story that is telling of a persons life, should begin when and where they were born.

My family hails from a small Island in the English Channel called Guernsey. The Channel islands consists of Jersey, the largest, then Guernsey, Alderny, Sark, Brecqhou, Lihou, Herm and Jethou. The islands are some 25 miles off the coast of France and 78 miles south east of Weymouth on England's south coast.

These islands are now British, having been swapped from French to British and back numerous times during their history and many bloody battles fought for the right to them.

Although they each have their own independent governments, the locals are considered to be British Citizens. They are still somewhat considered a tourist attraction for people who want the “feel” of France with a British attitude and language. They were the only British territory ever occupied by the Germans in WWII.

Very picturesque, beautiful, and peaceful places. Guernseymen will of course argue that Guernsey, is better than all the other islands, as will all the inhabitants of all the other islands similarly argue that theirs is the best. An argument that will forever continue and never be resolved. All the islands are beautiful in their own right and each has a uniqueness to be proud of.

The islands are prominently French in there ancestry. Each is broken up into Parishes, which are areas separated into local governments much as a small town would be or on a larger scale, the States in the USA or maybe English Counties. Guernsey has ten of these Parishes. Forest, St Andrew, St Martin, St Peter Port, St Sampsons, Vale, Castel, St Saviour, Torteval and St Pierre Du Bois. The States of Guernsey, has chosen representatives from all these Parishes, and governs the Island.

Guernsey, has a local population of around 60,000 people, is approximately 9 miles long, 5 miles wide and 25 miles around the coast. We enjoyed a temperate climate due to the southern proximity, Spring, Summer and Fall all reasonably warm. The winters wet, cold, very windy and sometimes spectacular with the ocean waves crashing ashore, sometimes up to 100 feet high. It is very rare for snow to affect Guernsey. I can only remember it snowing twice in all my years there.

Guernsey, is a fantastic place to grow up, crime is, or was in my day, almost non existent. In the summers of my youth in the 60's and early 70's, it was not unusual for me and my friends to take off on a gorgeous summer morning as early as 6.00 am, Beg Mum, for a bob or two to buy food and pop then just take off to “play” all day. Often, we wouldn't return until the sun went down. Sometimes we would ride our bikes all around the island. We would head to one of the many beaches, depending on what the tide schedule was that day.

Bordaux, which is a picturesque small harbor on the north east coast, surrounded by rocky crags and smaller islands, with a perfect view of the islands of Herm, and Jethou, just about two and a half miles away to the East.

A Perfect place to play Pirates, in a “borrowed” dingy, (We always moored them back where we got them from),usually someones Dad's, or someone we knew. or just explore and have fun. This has always been, and always will be my favorite place on earth. My Mum used to take us here as kids to play and make sand castles, learn to swim, gather Limpets and cockles from the rock pools, along with small crabs and the occasional small fish.

We loved the small “Treat Stand” where one could buy, Ice cream, Popsicle s, bottles and cans of Pop and Soda, Sandwiches, Chocolates and potato crisps. Mum, would give us a list, give us money and off we would go to get the goodies. One of these places could be found at most of Guernseys beaches, some sold “Tea Baskets” and fresh baked goods along with all the other stuff.

Then of course the ever reliable Ice Cream Van, who came around selling soft served Guernsey churned Ice Cream. We would try to impress our Mum's, and of course any girls nearby, with daredevil leaps off the huge Tommy Rock, in the middle of the harbor. This immense rock formation is about 100 feet tall on low tide, but when the tide is high, it will get to within 10 feet of the top. From half tide onwards, we would brave the short, but current filled and sometimes cold swim across, climb to the top, or the less adventurous “Chicken ledge,” at about 10 feet below the top, and dive or jump into the sea over and over again. Some kids have been hurt over the years by doing this before there was enough water (no saving stupid I suppose), in the harbor. For anyone trying this practice for the first time, a good rule of thumb is, if the water has gone over the pier with the flagpole on it, it is “Safe to dive the Tommy”, not before. As kids, we would be playing around the pier waiting for it to get covered, Mum's, watching dutifully so you didn't go early.

As soon as the Flagpole was wet, there was a mad dash swim over the 200-300 feet or so of water to be the first one off the top. Quite an honor back then.

On warm summer nights, there is nothing better on this earth than heading for the West Wall, and diving into the clear, warm ocean water inside the harbor at high tide, and allowing it to engulf you in its embrace, basking, or swimming around the myriad of small boats moored here. Doing this with a girlfriend adds romance, especially during a full moon, and comes highly recommended by me.

This my friends, when I die, is where I wish my ashes to be thrown so that I can enjoy this special place and all it's fond memories forever.

L'ancresse, Bay and Pembroke Bay, on the northern coastline boast large, sandy sweeping beaches with good surf and a safe place to swim, explore, play “Germans and British”, or “Cowboys and Indians” at the many bunkers and forts scattered throughout the common land up here, left over from the German occupation and many wars previous with the Normans and the French. Sometimes we would venture out to the West Coast side of the Island to Cobo Bay or Vazon. Both gorgeous large sandy beaches filled with tourists. The South Coast with its old small sheltered Bays set into the high cliffs, such as Saints Bay, Fermain, and others were great places to “Girl watch”, and swim in the clear ocean.. These were used by pirates smuggling goods back years ago, and still have the “smugglers Cove” feel about them.

Other times we would head to the Bathing Pools in town. These are salt water tide pools built to take advantage of the ebbing and flowing tides. They have a wonderful view of Castle Cornet, a huge Medieval Castle at the St Peter Port harbor mouth. The pools were always a good place for fun jumping off the high board in the Ladies Pool. Again, a good place to watch and interact with girls.

We always had a football to kick around or make an impromptu game with shirts and back packs as goal posts. We would go “scrumping” for fruit at any one of the many apple or pear orchards we would see on our ventures.

One time I remember a particular tree with Asian Pears growing on it. Asian Pears, for those unfamiliar, are delicious, juicy, huge white pears like you have never tasted before. My friend and I knew where such a tree was and although there were risks involved, such as a huge German Shepherd dog with a bad attitude and big teeth and a grumpy farmer, we were determined to get some.

Our mission impossible, dare devil adventure turned out badly, we were caught “red handed” hand on pear with no good excuse or reason to be there. Hearts pounding with fear, we listened to the farmer tell us how bad we were and that hell itself waited for thieves, a place we were surely headed to burn in for penitence for the joy of the pear. He completed his rant with the obvious belief that he had scared us into submission as he said, and I quote, “Wait there while I go call the police and get you two arrested for this”. He turned towards the house, growling dog following obediently behind him, to go call the police. After the door closed and we were sure he and the dreaded dog were securely inside, my friend and I looked at each other in disbelief. “Does he think we are staying here”? My friend asked. I replied, “ I don't care what he thinks, lets get the hell out of here”. We ran like the wind, not before stocking up on the pears we went for of course. We didn't stop running until we were at least a mile away and safe. We climbed a tree and enjoyed the fruits of our adventure all the time considering the stupidity of our fellow man, the farmer in particular. Winded from the “Escape”, We ate pears,and laughed about our close brush with authority. For a couple of days following that, we were fearful that the cops were looking for us. We stayed away from each other to make it more difficult for them to spot us. Eventually of course, we realized we were not on Guernsey's most wanted list and life returned to normal and many more apples and pears were had that summer, and many following. Not the Asians though, hmm, maybe the farmer did know what he was doing after all.

Cell phones, do we really need them?

I am usually a champion cheerleader for technology. I realise that the world is being bettered on a daily basis with new breakthrough's in many fields. Medicine, industry, transportation just to name a few. I happily sit here at my laptop every day and check up on the lives of all my family and friends around the world. When I am done with that, I will enjoy my big screen tv, my X Box 360, Netflix, etc.....without as much as a second thought to how they get to me or how they work.
The only modern technology that I seem to have a problem with, the God forsaken Cell Phone. Yes, I said it, Godforsaken.
I started driving a semi for a living fifteen years ago, before these damned things became so widely popular. I drove thousands of miles around the country, far away from home and loved ones. Once a day, I would find a payphone and call home. If my wife needed me in an emergency, she would call my company and within ten minutes I would get the message and find a phone to call her.
In those days, NO ONE had ever lost their lives because some moron was texting going down the interstate at eighty, or looking at a phone to see who was calling instead of watching the road, or looking at a phone to dial a number.
Since those days, that we all somehow miraculously survived, countless thousands have been killed as a direct result of using a cell phone whilst driving.
In our every day lives they intrude on everything. Good manners have been thrown out of existence due to these devises. How many times have you been in line at a store or bank when the person being served is more interested in the damned Oh so important conversation on the phone, than taking care of the business at hand.
You can be in the middle of a one on one conversation with someone and they will bump you if their damned phone rings. How rude and ignorant is that?
I have no doubt that every single person reading this has been ignored at one time or another in deference to a phone call.
I will walk away from people when this happens and not bother my time with them again. If your stupid phone call is more important than our conversation then screw you.
I see commercials on the tv for the new ATT 4 G smart phone which drive me insane. Is it really that important that you get your message 17 seconds before anyone else? really people, is it? Yet people will put their family budget at jeopardy and pay the hundreds of dollars a month for this service.
It is sickening to think that a recent article I read is oh too true. A young single mother let her child go hungry because she spent her welfare money on re-connecting her damned phone service so she could talk and text her friends and tell them how tough her life was. OMFG are you KIDDING ME!!!!!?
Do they build something into these devices that fry the common sense part of the brain? I believe they do.
The average family spends close to $150.00 or more each month so they can each have a cell phone. This used to cost less than $30.00 a month for a house phone and about fifty cents to make a call from a payphone. Cheaper if you had a calling card. No wonder the worlds economy is taking a shit, our priorities are all messed up.
On New Years Eve, I was at a friends house to celebrate. Of six people there, I was the only one without a cell phone sitting on the table being checked for text's every few minutes. This is a sad state of affairs people.
I know each of you reading this probably has one of these things permanently attached to you at all times so I guess its too late to change things. But, mark my words, they will be the cause of the downfall of society eventually.
Until the next time,
a fond farewell.

Calling a Spade a Spade

My Father, as I have mentioned on this forum previously, was known for "telling it like it is". He rarely pulled his punches when asked about, or, found himself involved in a situation. I was raised by this man, so it seems inevitable that I should inherit at least some of this trait.
During his life he had been called insensitive, harsh, opinionated and rude. My Dad's argument was, "if you don't want to hear the truth, don't ask". As I have been called similar things during my life, I have to agree with him.
The old adage of looking in the mirror and suddenly seeing your parents looking back at you, is certainly no truer for me than now.
"The truth hurts", and "The truth can be a bitter pill, hard to swallow" are commonly used phrases that were first coined by far superior brains than myself, and have been used for ages past.
I strongly believe, and always will, that if someone close to you or close to someone you love and wish to protect, is screwing up their lives and dragging others around them down with them, it is my place to object. I will never be silenced when I see in plain view a loved one being taken advantage of. What kind of a man would I be to silently sit and watch when someone is being manipulated like a puppet for someone else's unhealthy habits to go unchallenged.
Often, it is a no win situation because even though my intentions are honest and I speak up to point out the obvious for all with blinders on to see. I am labeled the bad guy. "To harsh", "to negative", are some of the responses I get. Hmm Dad, sound familiar?
I also believe that old saying "It takes a village". If I have knowledge that certain people might be able to help a bad situation get better, either directly or by stopping someone else from enabling bad behaviour even if they don't know they are doing it, I feel compelled to speak and inform those people of how they can help.
This is usually looked upon as "telling a confidence" for some big secret that should never be kept.
Especially as some people are unable to keep their big mouths shut when told something in confidence.
Where is all this heading? you may well ask. It is impossible for people to change who they are at the chore. No matter how much one complains or tries to interact with common sense. As an outspoken, well meaning adult, I am fast realising that even the best intentioned will be ridiculed in their efforts to help those unable to be helped until they help themselves.
Will I stop speaking out and calling that proverbial Spade a Spade?
Hell no!!!! It's wired in my DNA to keep my dear Dad's legacy going.
So, if like me, you are a person that often finds themselves in the minororty because of you heart felt opinion and the need to voice them, fight on my friend, I am on your side.
Till the next time,
A fond farewell.

The common cold, really?

After joining many of my friends, all over the world this week, in enduring the utter misery of the so-called "Common Cold". I say enough is enough.
It is an amazing thing isn't it? we as humans, have apparently mastered the science of space travel, put a man or two on the moon, sent probes into the outer reaches of the universe. We as a species have figured out how to climb the highest mountains and endure the extreme weather conditions of the poles, and the worlds deserts. We have airplanes that can fly faster than sound, ships that can explore the depths of the worlds oceans, luxury sea cruisers bigger than some towns.
We can prevent the flu with a vaccine, we have cured Typhoid, Black Plague, Yellow Fever, and numerous other diseases that used to wipe us out in our thousands. We can lessen the effects of Aids, cure some cancers, perform open heart surgery and transplant organs from one human being to another. Nano technology is on the verge of miracles in medicine. But alas dear reader, the common cold, seems to have eluded our finest scientific minds for ages past.
I am calling Bullshit!! Like the engine that can run on water, the cure for this does exist. They are simply keeping it from us for economic reasons.
If you take into account all the billions of dollars that are spent every year on symptom reducers for this seemingly innocent ailment. There are hundreds of them, look at the aisle in the supermarket for cold relief. It as astounding. Nyquil, which used to work somewhat for me, but didn't seem to help much this last time, can be found in its original form, and several generic ripoffs depending on where you shop. This one medicine can be priced from about $5.00 and up. Then there is Dayquil, Alka Seltzer, Sudafed, Theraflu, etc..etc.. the list is endless.The brand name ripoffs are endless, the aisles go on and on with these promises of relief from your cough, runny nose, sneezing, headaches, fevers, cold chills and whatever else you suffer from this time.
Bottom line is dear fellow consumer, they will NEVER give us the cure for the common cold, because the pharmaceutical industry is one of the worlds biggest economy runners and we spend BILLIONS every year on all this stuff which keeps them getting richer and richer on the back of our suffering.
They will never allow the water powered engine either, for the same reasons.
We are doomed to a future of gasoline powered engines and wrapping blankets around ourselves while we get loved ones to fix us our favorite cold medicine and our Chicken Noodle or Tomato soups.
With a pathetic "dank dyou" sniff sniff cough cough, I am retiring back to my sick bed.
Until next time,
A fond farewell.

Profanity as a tool in the English Language

Trying to go through life without upsetting and offending people can be a trying thing to do sometimes, don't you agree?
My dear old Dad, bless his soul, would never let political correctness come in his way if he had a point to make. I take pride in being just like him. Sometimes, I will be accepted openly as being a refreshing change from the mumbling morons who at every turn try to make excuses for people and their inherent bad behaviour. Other times, I admit, I will cause shock and consternation with my seemingly untethered tongue when I rant and rage about some wrong done. Usually I might add, in language choices usually reserved for below decks on a Navy Ship.
For this, I make no apology, for often, in this day and age, the only language listened to in voice or in the written word is profanity. It does, one must admit, grab the attention and usually forces a reaction from people.
Often, as found by comedians for years now, profanity can be funny. It makes a mundane sentence far more interesting especially in a punchline to a joke. "It blew his fucking head off his shoulders" is far funnier than, "It blew his head off" don't you agree? Descriptive, attention grabbing, and all that good stuff.
Hence brings me to the reason for writing this blog today:
My Garage.......
As some of you will know, my wife Charlotte, and I, are purchasing a home together in Dayton, Ohio.
The reasons for this are many, not least of which, it is next door to a house her parents own, and intend to retire in. Being close as they get old, etc.. etc.. you know what I mean.
This house was built by Army Engineers following WW11, for the returning soldiers and their family's. They are well built and sturdy, but are aging now and need some work.
The garage door on ours, has been rotting on the bottom. It needs to be replaced as finances allow, but for now it has to suffice. I did reinforce the bottom of these said doors with some wooden panels, a temporary fix to see us through the winter months.
We went out of town for a night on New Years to visit some friends, when we returned, we noticed the sand bags we had placed along the bottom of the door to prevent flooding and further damage, had been moved. We also noticed one of the panels I had put up was loose. It looked for all intent that someone had tried to pry the panel loose in an unsuccessful attempt to break into the house during our absence. We of course, have no idea who could have done this.
About a week later, we noticed again that the panel had been again pulled loose. I again fixed it.
Two days ago, we noticed for a third time that the same panel was again loose, as if it had been messed with again.
This time, armed with screws, drill, hammer and nails, I "FIXED" it again and reinforced the whole thing.
I added to the repair with a hand written note on the panel that can only be read up close..I quote, "Whoever is messing with this door. I will catch you, and when I do, I will FUCK you up. I promise. Go ahead, make my year mother fucker"
Below this, in large white painted letters I also wrote for the world to see.."KEEP THE FUCK OUT".
Now, some will say, I have gone over the top. My Dad, is smiling wherever he is, and I? well frankly my dear, if this offends anyone, I DON'T CARE!! It offends me that some prick is messing with my property.
Sometimes, I feel, profanity fits perfectly into a situation and this is one of those times my friends.
Until the next time,
a Fond Farewell.

Joran Van Der Sloot Pleads Guilty To Murder Of Stephany Flores

 

Well, well, surprise surprise.
This moron of course was caught literally red handed this time, so had little option but to plead guilty.
His other option was to try and play the Peruvian Justice system the same way he played his own in Aruba. Unfortunately for him, he didn't have daddy and all the people daddy could influence on his side in Peru.If he had plead not guilty, his punishment would probably be greater. So, again, he took the easy option.
During his confession, he was quoted as saying that he "lost his temper" when Stephany Flores , was using his laptop to look up his involvement in the Natalie Holloway case. He "flew into a rage, and broke her neck". Prosecutors will say it was far more bloody than that and he beat her to a pulp before stealing her cash and credit cards.
This man is quite obviously a seriously flawed, some would say Evil, person. I hate to think what he actually did to poor Natalie Holloway on that night in Aruba. Is their any doubt that he was responsible for her death?
I hope the people in Aruba, who were responsible for keeping this demon seed out of prison and walking amongst innocent girls, have troubled nightmares when they try to sleep at night.
This includes his equally twisted and perverse father, who by all accounts helped him get rid of Natalie, his weak and manipulated Mother, who lied on several occasions to Police and Natalie's Mother about where he was that night, and all the so-called Judges, Police chiefs and investigators that turned blind eyes for cash and let this devil go.
Aruba is as responsible for young Stephany Flores, death as Joran, is himself.
By now, he should be rotting in a gaol on a life sentence or be pushing up Daisey's in an unmarked grave somewhere.
By all accounts, in Peru, he is likely to get a less than severe sentence for this crime. As little as 8 years is possible. I can only hope the Judges on this bench see the light and send this excuse for a human being away for a long, long time. Or maybe, if we get lucky, he will piss off another inmate while in there and someone will shank the bastard and rid us of him once and for all.
Until the next time,
'A fond farewell.