Tuesday, 20 March 2012

Just funny

Danny P showing how it's done.

Wednesday, 14 March 2012

Folk are sometimes amazing.

It was an eventful weekend for me, a trip up to Gloucester to see my Dad filled the day. The old boy has been really ill of late and in truth I'm not sure how many times I'll see him again. It's easy for me to forget this man brought me up single handedly between the ages of eight and fourteen.  I have absolutely no doubt he did the very best he could and that is most surly all any of us can ask.

This time I simply sat next to him in the hospital with nothing really to say, it was uncomfortable, sad and kind of OK. The last time I went to see him he was still in the old folks home. I loaded him up in his wheel chair and trundled the old boy down the pub so I could fill him full of sloe gin. On the way back he asked, "boy, you still off the drink?" "yes Dad, yes I am. Been nine years now" I said. He looked round at me, smiled and said "your a fucking disgrace to our family boy". That's the way I'll try and remember my Dad.

After I left him I decided to stop by and see my Mum. She was, needless to say, considerably less chatty then my Dad. Nevertheless I sat myself down by the spot she was laid to rest and had a good old chin wag. One of the clear benefits found in talking to the dead, is they seldom interrupt and you get the chance to go on and on and on. It was nice, talking to my Mum is always nice.  

Then while taking a spin round town and a trip down memory lane I bumped into an old friend who would have every right to never speak to me again. Yet she did, as did her son and her sons partner. She even kept a tight hold on her clearly mad as a bastard dog. And this is the thing, folk are sometimes amazing. They do it with out even knowing what they are doing. My Dad bringing up a son on his own. My Mum still a part of my life even though she has been dead for over twenty years and my old friend who takes time to stop and talk. I hope I never lose the ability to be amazed.

Tuesday, 6 March 2012

For the love of God give me some sympathy

I've had a couple of days being a bit sick and just about now I'm wallowing in a big old pit of self pity. One thing I've never been able to get much of a grip on is the old grim and bear it when your ill thing, that's just not me. I'm much more of a, for the love of God give me some sympathy, kind of guy.

Problem is, sympathy is almost always in short supply in the Dobbo house hold. The best I can hope for is a sarcastic, ah, you ok love. In truth that's the way I am with the Mrs as well. The only thing close to the agitation of being ill myself, is putting up with someone else being ill next to me. They never seem to shut up.  And on that, I think I can here my most wonderful wife running me a bath, Ahhhhhhhhhhh.

Saturday, 3 March 2012

I know what i owe.

And I know who I owe it to.

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Nine years ago today on the 3/3/03 I took what has up till now been my last mind altering substance of any kind. Nine years free from drugs and alcohol. It's been an amazing time and generally speaking, my life if fairly great.

Today I find myself thinking of that last time I used. I was in prison (yet again) and my cell mate had just smoked one of the smallest bags of heroin know to man. Although I watched longingly, he didn't seem to want to share. He did however (in a fit of wild generosity) give me the tube he used to smoke it when he had finished.

I carefully unrolled this tiny gift and put a flame under it ready to inhale. Then in a flash of burnt nasal hair and prison butter, it was over. Like most of my using, it was piss poor at best.

The man who gave me that tube walked this road of recovery for a little while, but sadly so far he has never stayed. I see him now and again and when I do I think of that cell in Camp Hill, and I think of the importance of sticking around should he ever decide to join us for good.

Today I'm nine years clean and sober. I know what I owe, and I know who I owe it to.

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