The Genie In The Gutter

‘Were all in gutter but some of us are looking at the stars’ – Oscar Wilde

It had been coming for almost ten year’s coming, and it’s true to say that at the age heights of almost thirty seven years old I shouldn’t still living with my parents. They’re both in their sixties and deserve some peace and quiet.  The relationship between the three of us at the moment would have similarities of Sadam Husain, George Bush senior and King Fahd all living under the same roof! But the fact that the reason why I was born is because one day my Mum decided to sit on a bar stool in the 21 club in Liverpool, that just happened to be my dad’s stool. I’m a firm believer that everything happens for a reason and my mum sat on my dad’s stool for a reason. The great thing was that they both were engaged to other people at the time, which backs up my theory whatever is meant to be is meant to be. If my mum hadn’t sat on my dad’s seat then the Wigster would have been born!

Since the age of about 13/14 I’ve always been involved with drugs of some sort.

This is pretty much how the drugs cycle starts.

The Cigarettes and super strength lager and cider beginnings

It started with the cigarettes known in street terms as biftas. I remember not even wanting to smoke but being talked into because it was cool and all the popular people in school did. I remember pretty much throwing up the first time I did, but after a while you get used to it after a while until you hooked and start gasping for them. I was around 13/14 when I started. The next thing that came was alcohol, I remember being in school on a Friday afternoon and being so excited that it was Friday night and me and all my mates where going to get pissed! Is this normal for a 14 year old? It could be understandable from a 18/19 year old who worked all week and looked forward to going to the pub to drink away the week. But this was pretty much normal in my circle, It usually comprised of telling my mother lies to get money for booze which originally started off with cheap cider like Merrydown or thunderbirds with was some sort of wine type heavy fuel. We used to get all the decent birds coming down to the Vale to hang around with us because the word was spreading that we were the best laugh to hand out with. At least once in the night someone would vomit and some girl would start crying for one reason or another but usually just because they were fucking hammered out of their skull on cheap cider. Or gangs of pissed girls belting out Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I will survive’ which ironically would probably want to make to jump off a very high bridge onto spiky rocks! As we matured to the age of 15, heading towards 16, the strong wine and cider had turned to super strength lager, usually Tenants or the cheaper alternative Kestrel super strength, Which was basically like drinking fucking Castrol GTX oil!. Two cans and you would be off you’re rocker. And would probably have no hesitation in kissing a proper dog of a girl who in your highly heavily intoxicated state would most likely to appear to look like Pamela Anderson but in the cold sober reality of day she’d actually look like Susan boyle after several chugs on a crack pipe. You kind of leave that phase when you’re old enough to go the pub and drink reasonable strength lager.

The Cannabis zombie era

I was kind of the culture at the time, It was the common thing to get stoned. Me and my friends would of chip in on a Sixteenth (1/16 of a ounce) which was usually around £7.50 or £9 during drought times (usually when the coppers had raided a shit load and burnt the lot). Me and my friends spent most of our mid teens smoking weed and playing heads and volleys (a football ball game). Firstly when we were younger we used to get stoned a lot in the forest known as the fod! (R.I.P. the fod, it’s now luxury flats) other times we’d go the fairy glen in Sefton park and go under the iron bridge were we’d have buckets. Buckets were a bong type thing but they’d blow your bloody head off! What you’d need is a two litre plastic bottle with the bottom cut of a bucket of water (or the lake that we’d used under the bridge) then you’d burn the outside of a cigarette all the way round so the tobacco would be finer, then you’d burn equal amounts of weed in to what was known as a mix. You would have tin foil put over the top of the bottle and thumbed into the whole in the top creating a concave, then you’d put lots of pin holes in it. The bottle was then place in a bucket of water/lake and pushed right down to the top of the bottle was just raised out the water. Then you’d sprinkle the weed tobacco mix into the tin foiled groove then as you lit in you’d lift the bottom out of water until it was filled with two litres of yellow cannabis smog and then you’d push then bottom down and inhale the 2 litres of smoke and then you’d be pretty fucked up for the rest of the night. I’ve seen loads of people take the knock/have a whitey of them. Once I actually tripped of one, I was that gone that it felt like my feet were under the pavement when I walked and I had to be about half ten and well and truly got collared by my parents I was just starting at them in a trance! They knew I was on drugs. As we got older and didn’t really hang about the streets and stuff,  we’d spend night after night crammed into someone’s bedroom smoking weed like it was due to go out of fashion. The funny  thing was come just before 11 everyone would rush to get ready to go home and the reason why is we all wanted to get home for Prisoner cell block H which was on about ten past eleven.

The happy tripping days!

As I was maturing the drugs seem to be maturing to another level and my brain cells where disappearing into space. I roughly think I was about 15 when I had LSD for the first time. They were what we called trips and they were tiny little pieces of blotting paper. The main two you could get was a M.B.S which had the Buddha sign on, the one which is like a number 3 with a tail and above it is like a elephants tusk with a triangle above that. And the other one was a strawberry which just had a picture of a strawberry on. The M.B.S. ones were more spacey from what I can remember and the strawberry were the ones that make you buzz your tits off (laugh a lot). You also would want to smoke a ciggie every 5 minutes when u was tripping as they tasted so much better than normal. One time we got these trips called L.A circles, they guy we got them of told us they were from Los Angles; we were like ‘yeah whatever mate’ thinking it was your usual drugs sales pitch. The fact being we would have bought them if they were from fucking anywhere in the world never mind California. Anyway we were warned just take half a one. So we took the recommendation and did just that. It’s a good job really that we only took half because they were absolute rocket fuel! We were that twisted that we was saluting the union jack outside the local army surplice shop and marching as if we where soldiers which was rather ironic because several countries armys tested the effects of LSD on soldiers. In fact the CIA where experimenting to see whether LSD could make Russian spy’s defect and whether the Russians could do the same to CIA spy’s, which is pretty heavy shit. At the end of the day LSD is heavy shit!

Speed demon days

Speed was the next promotion in the drug ranks. We used to go to a place called Formby a costal little area not far from Liverpool it had  the beach and we’d drive up in someone’s  stay overnight and basically dance on the sand to dance tunes we had on our little ghetto blaster. Speed sort of numbed your whole body. I reckon you could have gone a few rounds with Muhammad Ali and not felt much pain if you where speeded up to your eyeballs. One time when I was speeding I managed to put a massive whole in my shin, still not sure to this day how it happened as I never felt it, only noticed the next day when I’d come back down from the planet Jupiter. Speed was the worse comedown ever It kind of felt that your inside were being caved out with a machete.

The Dancing Days

The first time I had a Ecstasy tablet was actually in Sefton park and It was like nothing I’d experience before. Suddenly half a hour after taking it I was in love with everything surrounding me, trees, leaves, the cloud, my friends! Fucking everything! But there was nothing compared to how I was going to feel the first time I went to a nightclub and takes a E. I was seventeen and It was the greatest feeling ever! We used to go to the 051 club in Liverpool city centre and in those days £20 would do ya for the night (now you wouldn’t go out with less than £100 in your arse pocket). £4 club entry £5 for half an E, the rest was spent on a few bottles of beer and taxi home. There was no feeling in the world like it, the euphoria of it all! The sudden heartbeats and rushed to the head and the dance floor  would suddenly seem like it was a magnet, dragging you up to dance your arse off for night! Everyone loved everyone else and we all just partied the night away like one big happy family of drug fuelled sweaty dance monsters under the mind control of this wonderful drug!. By Monday morning I’d be in the hollow depths of depression but the only thing I’d be thinking about was the following Friday so I could go back out and sweat my tits off.

The town drinking culture

After a while I sort of out grew the clubbing off my tits on ecstasy, well there’s only so much my brain and heart good take before they packed in. Then came the going out to town on a Friday and Saturday night, usually with the intention of getting absolutely smashed out of my mind and with a bit of luck pulling a nice bit of lady. Sometimes you were in luck and you’d pull a rather tidy bird, but sometimes you’d end up with what they call ‘A ten to two bird’ In those days every bar closed at 2am and a ten to two bird would usually resemble Moby dick in a dress or some girl who looked a bit like Chewbacca from Star wars, Although the alcohol would make them look like the best page 3 model your could imagine and then in the cold reality you’d wake up next to something that had been harpooned. When I was 18 I got into a scrape with the law. When I say law they were police alright but in those days, the mid nineties they were corrupt to fuck. One time my mate had got into a scuffle in a bar, to be honest he was kind of looking for trouble sometimes and as we all know the alcohol can boost our ego at time and we can think we are Bruce lee. Anyway we fled the scene and as we were heading home we got pulled by the plod (the police) and me being pissed up and 18 years old decided to tell them in exact words ‘Go and catch some proper criminals’ They didn’t take to kindly to that, just like me and my mates who go out to town for the thrill of getting drunk and frequenting with birds, The Police from the notorious Bridewell nick were in town to nick people hurt them and genuinely ruin their night. Which I found out when a few of them jumped on me and attacked me in which from the spot they jumped me and to the ride to the station they subsequently managed to break my wrist! Very nice chaps they were. They also nicked my mate degsey just for saying I’ll take him home. That’s Corruption at its finest. They did take me the hospital and I was still half cut and telling everyone they’d broken my wrist but no one was interested because being flanked by two feds everyone thought I was scum of the earth. Little did they know that I’d been battered for pretty much fuck all! The next day they said sign this and you’ll get away with a caution, little did i know they’d tricked me into singing something that said they were right to use force because my solicitor said we never had a case!  There was a lot of police corruption in Liverpool in those days the Operation support division you to know ten tons of shit out of people before they arrested them. Another time we went to town to for a night out in town and it turned out to be a pretty crap night. We ended up leaving early around half past twelve and one in the morning and we had the brainwave in the taxi on the way home to go and find the outdoor pool that was in a local private school. Not the cleverest idea at 1 O’clock in the morning September? Anyway we decided to do it anyway. There we arrived at all a bit drunk we first had to get over a 6ft fence with sharp metal points just sitting on top waiting to penetrate any trespassers skin. As usual I was last over the fence and just as my luck went I got the back on my dress pants caught on the fence so I’m standing on top stuck while my friends are laughing and I’m a whisker away from losing my family allowance (a saying scousers say referring to any injuries to ones manhood) luckily one of my mates untangled me. After some searching round and some shouting abuse at some student who were in the top window we couldn’t find this allusive swimming pool , so next thing you know we was over sefton park standing by the lake in our boxer shorts only ready to take a dip in the dirt ridden water. Fortunately we never did. My two mates had bought a catamaran boat off a friend’s brother so someone came up with the idea of going to get that out! It must have been gone  two in the morning by then and there we was dragging this boat from mates house about five hundred yards across the park to the lake so finally we was aboard on the lake with some booze and smoking a nice weed joint. As we were floating along we heard bongo drums being played. If it wasn’t mad enough us being in a boat at 2am in the middle of a lake? Who the fuck was playing bongo’s at that time? Anyway we sailed over to investigate, the sound was coming from the group of caves at side of lake, when we got their loads of people appeared from the caves. Mostly hippy girls, there was a few lads to, anyway the girls wanted to get onboard so who was we deny them a early morning sail! So I think there were about 6 of them so there ended being ten of us floating in the early hours! I remember of one the girls pulled out a flute and starting playing it! It was rather bloody surreal! A true story though!

Anyway for the last ten years I’ve mostly just drank alcohol, more socially acceptable in society but at the end of the day it’s a drug that can cause you just as many problem as any other drug.

Top five things I’ve done that tells me I need to stop drinking

Got arrested at Alicante Airport in Spain for being paralytic somehow losing my case containing my passport then trying to board through passport control without one, and then calling the lady at the desk the C word. She pressed the emergency button and I was soon carted off. That resulted me being let out at 2am in the morning, initially thinking I was in Liverpool John Lennon Airport but them quickly realising I was still in Spain with no phone no money! (Thanks to my mum and Paul Mark draper for getting me home). Waking up in a cold room fully clothed minus my shoes and socks and then coming to the reality that I was in a police cell. I’d been found lying in a gutter in the road. I was detained for the charge of ‘drunken incapable’ Waking up in the Royal Liverpool hospital after being run over by a van, had no recollection. Burning a hole in the armchair with a ciggie then cutting a piece of material out of the back of the chair and cutting round the ciggie burn then putting the patch inside, It look fucking in the morning when I was sober (was on a E that night as well) Walking to a hotel room in Blackpool where my mates where with these girls my mate said ‘show these the size of your cock’ I didn’t hesitate.

Chapter one: Buzzing Cousin!

The first person I thought of when I came to the horrifying conclusion I was homeless was my blag Cousin Kevin. After several years of being told I’m going to get kicked out I think this time at the tender age of thirty seven I’d better walk before pushed so I left them in peace. Kevin my blag cousin, Blag in Liverpool terms mean ‘fake’. The relative connection between us was that my older and older brothers girlfriend and mother of my niece, her dad was Kev’s great uncle. So it wasn’t like he was my brother’s cousin’s best mates’ goldfish’s brother’s boyfriend’s best mate like. The day started with me going to try and secure some training facilities for the mighty Fulwood fc, the local pub football team I’m the manager of. That’s typical me I’m in the middle of a homeless crisis and I’m yet thinking of others! Trademark Wigster!

Football training sorted I’d already arranged a man date/bit of bromance with my good friend ‘Crazy beard’. Finding out my current situation when I told him, he quickly switched to ‘support worker mode and took me to the one stop shop, basically they help you if you’re homeless. I spoke to the guy who told me they’d only put me in a hostel! Yeah fucking sound mate! I’d really love to live amongst loads of smack heads and criminals yeah cheers for that!

So It was off into town and to my usual car park on duke street, It’s just like a big open hanger but their rates are  cheap as I drive in there’s a delay the car in front just happens to reverse into the car in front of me I get out to investigate and the guy two cars up Is a middle class up his own backside   bastard and he’s blaming the girl in front of me, I took the girls side and said it was his fault and I thought it was, plus the girl was proper fit. So anyway he headed for some lunch, ‘cheap and cheerful was Andy’s motto, so we headed for Maggie Mays on Bold St it was been there for 30 years and was always busy. I had chicken tika massala and Andy opted for the Chinese old favourite sweet and sour chicken (horrid).

The next thing I was back home to collect my stuff, and got a handful of t shirts jeans and other stuff, but somehow forgot the bare necessities like a toothbrush and deodorant, how could I forget them! (I did get them an hour later and borrowed a pan). So then I headed to my new home for the next five days. That night I played indoor footy with the lads then went back to the local pub, were by buzzing cousin was absolute shit faced and now drinking brandy of some sort, I took him back to his flat (my temporary home) made sure he got in okay and went back to the pub

Chapter two: Tail between my long legs

So After serious consideration I decided the best place for me was home with the two people who care for me the most Jackie and Jonny Wignell my beloved parent’s who been treated like utter crap by their Drink controlled son who does actually loves them the world over when he’s in a solid state of soberness.

So after a night spent in the Buzzing Cousins I packed up my stuff with no guarantee that they’d have me back but the one thing I had on my side was they are my parents! And after all my grief I’ve caused they still love me, even if it was like 5%. So I went home and I knocked (as my key had be confiscated) My mum answered I sat down with them and I promised I’d change for the 1,367th time in the last ten years but this time I meant it! Well i hoped I did! They accepted but I’m going to have to change. So I took the next step the help step!

 Five great things my parents have done for me!

Taught me to respect others and treat people exactly how you wanted to be treated! Constantly nagged me to the point where I finally tackled my cannabis addiction and gave it up (I was a bad pot mongo)   Always provided me with the best cloths and computers and things me and my brother always wanted (Always remember getting a pair of Hi-Tec trainees, they were the first well known make we ever got, It was a good promotion from adidas two stripe)  Paying of the finance payment on my car and not wanting a penny back. Always being there for me no matter how much a complete pain in the J-lo arse I was!

So you can understand why they don’t deserve all the drunken grief I’ve been giving them, well they don’t deserve it just for being my parents

 Chapter three: Genie in the Gutter!

I was made aware of a place called Genie in the gutter by my alcohol counsellor I’d had two sessions with so after weeks of building up the encouragement to phone up I finally did. I think the grief I was causing my lovely mum and dad was the main reason but also admitting to myself I have problems here!

So Dutch encouraged I called them up, the voice of a lady answered and she seemed nice and told me I had to come in for a assessment the following morning. I was greeted by an absolute angel looking girl, maybe around mid twenties but very pretty, just what u need to cheer ya up when you’re feeling like boiled bollocks! Little known to me that was the girl that was going to do my assessment. We’ll called her The Toffee Girl (I found out the next day she was a Evertonian) so she asked me questions about my drinking and my problems and got all upset and started crying, how embarrassing in front of this hot chick! I mean pull you together man! After signing some forms I was told to read this form and agree to the things on the list, reading it was fine until number I got to number 12! No personal relationships between fellow clients or work personnel, gutted because all I was thinking was I want to take this girl to Paris/Rome (or actually just to my bed would be fine)

So the next day I turned up at Genie and I didn’t really know what to expect but I was greeted with open arms which is what I really needed at that moment in time. I met a few people including the tutor of the drama class we had a chat about football and stuff before we went into the class. The first people who I met were ex patient and now a mentor at the centre, we’ll call her the scouse Tammy Wynette. Now talking to her about her story was rather inspiring to me, Tammy was an ex heroin addict who had been clean off heroin for 4 years and off Methadone for 3. I found it staggering when she told me I was harder for her to pack in the methadone than the heroin! Now there’s something for the medical world to think about there. I mean surely can someone find the next formula to bring you down from methadone to soberness? To be completely honest as well Tammy made me feel like a hypocrite because my perception of what people commonly call ‘a smack head’ as being complete scum of the earth made me sit up and think well actually at the end of the day their probably all decent human beings inside but are simply overthrew by this demon of a addiction. I do not condone the acts of heroin addicts who have robbed innocent people in the street and burgled people’s houses of course not! But if a gambling addict steals of someone they probably would be a much as a scumbag as someone who is a heroin addict, that’s just the stereotypical world works I suppose. Another person that was a guy that was pretty much still in a bad way I’ll call him George Dawes. He was prescribed methadone and had told me he hadn’t had any heroin for a week, which is a start I suppose Isn’t it. He needed a lot of support but at least he was at the centre and not smashing some innocent victim’s car window to steal their satellite navigation system!

The next guy I met was someone who I think I’m going to stay friend with I’ll call him the lost poet, he was in the same boat as me, the sinking booze boat! He told me at his worst he was drinking two full bottles of brandy a day. A lot worse than my possible seventy plus pints a week I suppose, he was probably rotting his liver away. The lost poet seemed very similar to me you could tell he was a very good person just heavily drowning is a ocean of alcohol just like me! I have a feeling we’re going to become very good friends to be honest, because we’re very artistic souls.

My virgin class at the genie place was Drama, I loved Drama at school but our teacher was a bit of a twat, well he was okay like but I wished I would have had this guy I had today he was well cool. We talked about the role we act in life, for instance I’m a football manager so I’m the aggressor then when I come in drunk I upset my parent’s I’m then suddenly playing the victim ‘Sorry mum It won’t happen again I’m going to stop drinking I promise’ A age old statement! But I suppose it’s so true that life is one big soap opera and we all play parts in it, if not several parts. Later on we acted out a scene between three of us I was the garage boss and the other two were the garage manager and the mechanic who hadn’t been paid for weeks it was interesting the way if worked out but interesting.

After session we had a movie quiz which I narrowly won by one point and won a packet of jammy dodgers which a shared out of course as I’m trying to make my Jennifer Lopez arse a little bit smaller. After lunch was drama again but a different type we were learning a play for which I cannot remember the title but I’m sure I’ll remember at some point. The others in the group read really well, I’m not the best public reader but I read some out. It wasn’t as good as morning drama but I can say I really enjoyed my first day at the centre and left feeling positive.

The next day I was back at the Genie centre craving more good experiences. I went in the afternoon for Yoga, when I arrived I sat there for a while, then the toffee girl popped her head around the corner ‘Hi Ian how are you?’ she looked pleased to see me, in reality she was just pleased to see I’d come back and wasn’t in the pub drowning my soul in gallons of lager! It’s typical of me that a pretty lady only has to smile at me (even if they just actually have wind) and that’s me pretty much smitten out of my brains. I seem to fancy a different girl every week! But this week the toffee girl was in my affections but to be honest she was way out of my league, me taking her out on a date would be like Accrington Stanley playing the 1989/90 Liverpool team in the FA cup final (me being Accrington Stanley) or Ronnie Corbett fighting Iron Mike Tyson for the W.B.A. world heavy weight title (me being the world tallest Ronnie Corbett). Basically I’m punching way above my eighteen seven pound weight!

So the next class I took part in was meditation I’ve always thought in taking part in meditation for years but somehow never bothered (probably because it didn’t involve drinking in the pub) so I was interested in the affects it would have on my uptight stressed brain. We went in and were given a towel and a pillow, the instructor Mr ex cage fighter put some very tranquil pan pipe type chilled music on and we lie there with our eyes closed listening to his voice over the music with was quite soothing to honest. He was telling us to release tension from firstly our legs then our arms and also introducing breathing in and out techniques. After a good hour we finished and I can truly say it really worked for me I felt like I’d just smoked a thirty two skinner Bob Marley cone joint! I was truly mellowed out and felt that a giant magnet has pulled all my stresses out of my giant like body.

Chapter four: Staying on the straight and narrow

So the weekend arrived, it was the first one I was facing in my new sober capacity. Friday night was alright, I just chilled my rather large arse on the sofa watching television and films. Saturday morning saw me at the local fitness centre for circuit training, probably my idea of fitness hell. It started off alright with light jogging and stretches but that didn’t last long, next thing i was involved in an intense multi exercise jihad! I must admit at the end of it I felt good although I also felt like collapsing. After that I was pretty much fucked up for the rest of the day and spent it on the couch.

Sunday arrived and It was my 4th game in charge of my local football team The Fulwood Arms. There’s probably a fist full of irony in managing a pub football and trying to conquer my binge drinking problems, but there’s no point in running away from your problems is there. I have to be stronger than the Incredible Hulk and have the mind strength of Professor Charles Xavier! Sunday arrived and my head was a fresh as a freshly baked French crunch baguette. My football team where in The Quarter finals of The McDonnell Cup, the cup was named after local Aigburth man Peter McDonnell who unfortunately died at the Hillsborough disaster (along with 95 other innocent victims! Justice for the 96!) It’s quite a fitting tribute from the formers league, it’s like they’re saying ‘we’ll never forget!’ and that’s the way it should be. Hillsborough is very close to my heart as I knew a lad Phillip Hammond who lost his life on that fateful day. He was a really decent lad as well and very talented footballer, he played for my dad’s team APH back in the day like. R.I.P. Phillip!

Back to the match, we were playing top of the league, in the cup. Warner Youth are a awesome team, one of the best teams I’ve played against in my time. We’d already played them earlier on in the season and we got our arses spanked more than you would at the national bondage convention. Yes we got beat 10-0 but this time we had a much better team and we were improving a lot as a unit as well so I was expecting a much better performance from The Fulwood Arms. I set out an attacking formation of

4-3-1-2 hoping to pin them back into their own half. The game kicked off and within 2 minutes we were one nil down the our centre back and right back came out for a ball by half way line missed it and they broke and scored, it was a bad mistake, our heads never dropped and we continued to weather the storm for the rest of the first half until last minute and we gave away a foolish pen, Boom! We were Two nil down at half time. With us getting penetrated like a Netherfield rd crack ho, down the wings I decided to changed formation to a slightly more defensive 4-4-2 formation and it seemed to work. We were protecting the back 4 slightly better. With fifteen minutes to still only two nil down, I then had to substitute myself as my legs where deader than Karen Carpenter’s Steak starved skinny skeleton. Suddenly we managed to concede four more goals in the last twelve minutes, six nil defeat was rather disappointing as I really don’t think we deserved it. The bonus point was that when we play at our home ground we go back to the pub we play for and we get free food. On today’s menu was a mini roast dinner, consisting of chicken drumsticks, roast spuds, broccoli, cauliflower and every northern boys favourite fluid, gravy.

Another weekend of soberness to face and it started with a trip back to the Genie centre, you could call it my temple of soberness. By this time my head was starting to breathe and function as well as a million gigabyte N.A.S.A. computer. I’ve arrived at my sober temple with just enough time to have a coffee before the creative writing class started. Obviously creative writing is something that’s right up my street, hence me writing this book. So we all sat round the table and it was a bit like going back to schools days, well apart from the fact I was actually there ready to learn rather than be in Calderstones park smoking cigarettes and when we were flush, sometimes cannabis. So back to the class and the tutor Jamie pulled ten items out of a bag, pretty random this like a phone charger, a leather wrist bracelet (similar to the type you’d buy in Mallorca for about 2 quid)  a small rubber London bus, a half corroded pumice stone and several other things. We all had to pick a object and then write as much as we could about that item. I was quick to pick the rubber London bus; well at the time it looked rather appealing to be honest. I started writing and I ended up almost writing a war and peace effort. I managed a detailed description of every last nut and cranny of this rubber bus, I also mentioned that it reminded me of the time when was in school, I jumped of the 61 bus at Aigburth Vale and somehow managed to stand on a bic biro pen it when right through my Reebok boots and into my foot. (the only explanation was the pen had fell out my pocket and hit the floor vertically exactly the same time as my foot hit the ground) the chances of it happening but be like 10 million to one. I remember my mate from school gave me a piggy back to my house. My mum was screaming but my dad is what ya cool old school, he kept calm sat me down on couch told me to relax, and then suddenly slapped me in the fucking face? Little did I know as he done it he’d pulled the pen out of my foot! Dr Jonny Wignell is a genius. I think I went to hospital to get an anti infection jab. Back to the bus I also mention that the only good use for it was as a stress relief object, as it was rubber u could happily squeeze it constantly to relieve tension whether it be lack of sex, a stressful job or just generally being pissed off with the world.

Tuesday arrived and I was back at the genie gaff early doors for their music class. The guy running it was really cool; he started jamming and had everyone on percussion instruments. It wasn’t long before I found myself on the bongo drum, I was doing pretty good as well kept in rhythm and was added cheeky little drum fills especially when we was jamming to Honky-tonk Woman by The Rolling Stones. The toffee girl was there again and looking as pretty as ever, every time I see her she seems to look sexier but maybe it’s my mind playing tricks on me! Plus I seen her name on a poster so I couldn’t help to give her a Facebook search (you could call it casual stalking but I’d say It’s research) and yes! There was a lovely picture of her and her handsome boyfriend looking cosier as Natuzzi Italian leather recliner armchair. The afternoon saw me attend a MAP session; it’s like a class to discuss your addiction and how to make steps to recovery. I mean I didn’t wake up in the morning and have Cornflakes with Budweiser, but Bingeing on the booze was causing me problems and I’d probably had enough of the grief it was causing me. The guy picked me out and asked me to pick a word; I picked the word strength as in having the strength to refuse the urge to have a drink. We went through the things I’d want in a perfect world and before I actually got to that point I’d have to get through my problems, well yeah in a nutshell.

Wednesday started early as I had two days training for my new job. It turned out to be good old Aigburth Vale me and 9 others who were a mix of Polish and Slovakian’s. 7 guys and two girls, the day went pretty quick and the following day was upon me. We all were divided into two group I ended up with two polish dudes and the cute Slovakian girl, I’d say she was only in her early to mid twenties but she had that dirty look about her, as If she’d be a devil between the sheets and she had a sexy sort of accent as if you could imagine her saying filthy things in that accent, or maybe it was just because I’d hadn’t had sex for that long that probably even the ugliest of females voices would get me aroused. So job training was over at the end of Thursday and The Company had offered me the job. Nothing amazing, just order picking in a warehouse, but at the end of the day, any job in this day and age in a bonus. There not easy come by, and it’s not that have PhD’s or diplomas coming out of my backside it is? I often think If I would have been more successful If I hadn’t of partied all the time when I was young, but I’ll never know I suppose. Friday arrived and I suppose usually I’d usually be looking forward to the Friday get smashed routine but no! That’s not me anymore I’ve had enough of that! But I know it’s not going to be easy to stay of the sauce, I’d even find it hard to give up actual sauce like Hp Brown sauce (just like tomato sauce has to be Heinz, Brown sauce has to be Hp) could you imagine never having a lashings of Hp on ya bacon butty? Or on a sausage roll or scotch egg. Anyway the point being it’s hard coming to term with the fact I’m not going to drink again, well not going to try and not drink anymore.

Chapter five: New Beginnings

The girl from the office department of my new job phoned me to tell me I was starting On Tuesday and I was on the early morning shift 6am-2pm Which meant one thing, I had to get up at 5 o’clock in the morning. There’s two 5 o’clock times in one day? I’m only used to the one when you have you have your tea (dinner/evening meal). Me getting up at 5am was a daunting task! Surely there was more chance of a Palestinian getting invited as a guest of honour at a Jewish bar mitzvah! But you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do to survive. I had one more day of freedom before I started working. So I popped down the Genie place for the creative writing lesson, I enjoyed it last week so thought why not give it another go. We wrote about comparisons and differences and also about oxymoron’s (no a oxymoron is not a spotty idiot). For anyone one who doesn’t know what a oxymoron is Its like two total different words that come together but really contradict each other  for instant ‘Be cruel to be kind’ amongst others. I won’t go on about this as you kind of had to be there. So Tuesday arrived and it was my first day on the new job. It’s always daunting starting somewhere new as it’s like when you start a new school or your first day in senior school. You don’t know anyone and you kind of think everyone’s starting at you. Well maybe because I’m 6ft 8” everyone probably was starring, thinking ‘who’s that big fucker?’ But anyway I just went in and got on with it.

The first day of any job is always daunting. You don’t know anyone and you feel like a little lost sleep looking to finds a new flock. It wasn’t far into the day until I bumped in to the little Slovakian girl I’d done my training with, she was pleased to see me. It’s always nice when a pretty bird is genuinely pleased to see you. My first day wasn’t all that bad to be honest. Towards the end of the week I was thinking I not sure whether like  it but on my second day I seemed to have made another friend we’ll call him peter parker, not because he’s Spiderman but he’s into photography, we met whilst picking of the same pallet, straight away He seemed on my wave length. I was shocked when he told me he was from Croxteth in north Liverpool as he wasn’t at all a scaly. I suppose that’s just stereotypical you can’t tarnish everyone with the same brush can ya? It would be like saying everyone in Yorkshire is a serial killer because Peter Sutcliffe was I suppose. I have no idea where this job is going to take me but at the end of the day I needed a job and I need money to survive. My first week went pretty well and before you knew it, my second week was over. I was well into over 3 weeks without a drink! How did I feel? Pretty dam good but I was having some angry moments at times, why was I angry? I was angry at myself maybe for getting to the point where I had to give up drinking because the simple facts was I was destroying myself and everything around me. So the new job was going alright I met another guy Dangerous Dave I’ll call him I’d seen him round the picking aisles and he said alright then I was having my break in the canteen and he came and joined me. I found out he lived not far from mine so I said I’ve drop him off when I was going home. I’ve since got to know a couple more lads who were on the same training course as Dangerous Dave. They were all pretty youngish but have all got children, unlike me the thirty six years old who’s a whisker away thirty seven! And you know what they say about whiskers? Eight out of ten cats prefer them. But late thirties or not I like wasn’t a bad look chap and I was getting a few smiles and a few and a few looks or was I just imagining it? So after 3 weeks my top five hot birds in work are

Mystery blonde with peachy arse I seen in canteen Blonde in the pick office with sexy legs The Blonde polish girl who ferries pallets about. My Slovakian lady friend The agency polish bird