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1972 \u2013 First morning on Roundshaw<\/b><\/p>\n
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Mum calls me into the kitchen, as the song, Concrete and Clay, is playing on the radio. \u201cCome on, come and eat your breakfast, hurry up, you\u2019re going to be late for school.\u201d<\/p>\n
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* * *<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n
19th October 2006 \u2013 Fulham \u2013 Sands End<\/b><\/p>\n
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Tonight, I\u2019m teaching web design at a local adult education college in Fulham. There\u2019s a football match at the nearby Chelsea Stadium so there\u2019s heavy traffic and finally, when I get to the college, there\u2019s nowhere to park, so I drive around looking for a space when a van comes up behind me. At first, I think it\u2019s being driven by a fellow tutor but it\u2019s not and as I proceed at about 10 mph the driver starts to flash his lights and honk his horn at me. I shout out to him that I\u2019m looking for somewhere to park, to which he shouts back, \u201cFuck off you prick\u201d. So, I slam my brakes on and drive even slower.<\/p>\n
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* * *<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n
2006 – May The Force Be With You<\/b><\/p>\n
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My sons have just started at a new school, and they\u2019ve already had a taste of bullying. When they told me today about it, I wanted to get the kid involved and threaten him into submission but instead, I told them to reason with him. They said they\u2019ve already asked him to try and understand how it feels for them to be subjected to his behaviour, but he just replied, \u201cI\u2019m not you, so I can\u2019t understand.\u201d I then recommended they speak to the teacher again and if that didn\u2019t work, come back to me. Their mother interjects, \u201cThat\u2019s enough for God\u2019s sake, I don\u2019t want them getting into trouble.\u201d The boys look at me and wink, sometimes force may have to be met with force.<\/p>\n
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* * *<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n
19th October 2006 Fulham \u2013 Sands End<\/b><\/p>\n
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I\u2019m driving very slowly in retaliation to the aggressive driver behind me. I try to let go of the anger that\u2019s welling up inside of me so decide to take the first available turn to get out of his way. Instead of driving on though, he follows me. Unperturbed, I continue looking for a parking space while he continues to shout at me. I then see a space which won\u2019t be any good for parking in, but I pull into it all the same. This is more of a gesture of, \u201cOK if you want a fight come on then.\u201d He pulls up beside me and blocks me in.<\/p>\n
I get out of the car and watch him take a long spirit level from his back seat. I feel no fear, I\u2019m calm, almost too calm. I\u2019m thinking that I might be able to take him, and if he swings the spirit level at me, I\u2019ll try to either block, ride or take the blow and then, if I get close enough, I\u2019ll kick him with my artificial leg across his knee or shin. As he approaches me, he sees my arms and stands still, and then in a genuinely apologetic tone says, \u201cSorry mate.\u201d<\/p>\n
I reply, slightly indignantly, \u201cI was just trying to find somewhere to park\u201d.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah sorry, yeah you were trying to park, sorry\u201d He places his hand affectionately on my shoulder, says sorry once again and then walks away.<\/p>\n
Perhaps for him, it was a relief to find a way out and to show a better side of his nature, and for me too, as calm, and as unshakable as I was, I preferred the realisation that we were both real humans after all, not some violence crazed characters from a Tarantino film fantasy.<\/p>\n
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* * *<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n
Roundshaw\u00a01972<\/b><\/p>\n
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Roundshaw, the word means ring of trees, was a housing estate ten miles south of Central London, built on top of part of what had been the original Croydon Airport.<\/p>\n
London is based in the centre of a naturally formed geological basin which the River Thames flows through. For those travelling to London from the south, the sight of the city as they came over the rim of the basin, even hundreds of years ago, was almost the same view I could see as I stood outside our new flat for the first time. In the hazy distance, I could see St Paul\u2019s Cathedral glinting in the sun.<\/p>\n
When I first visited our flat on Roundshaw the sun shone bright on the white concrete walls, and given anything would have looked good in that light, I was taken. Roundshaw was a meeting of the past and future \u2013 the old airport, its runways all around us, and these new modern homes. It offered me an escape from care and a dream come true in which I could finally live with Mum full-time.<\/p>\n
During this visit, my friend Peter and his mother Judith came along too. However, Peter and I wandered off and managed to get lost within a few minutes. There were tower blocks, concrete decks, patches of grass, walkways and stairs, and to the untrained eye, they all looked the same. In desperation, we called for our mothers who heard our cries and called back.<\/p>\n
Roundshaw symbolically welcomed me to a world where I would come to lose myself and no matter how much I cried for help, there\u2019d be no way back.<\/p>\n
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* * *<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n
Dream 20th December 2005<\/b><\/p>\n
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I\u2019m standing in my neighbour\u2019s garden on Roundshaw. In real life, the neighbour who was called Bill, died a long time ago, but his second wife continued living in his flat for many years after so I would visit her once every couple of years, and every time I did, the place always looked exactly as it had done in 1972. Yellow flowery wallpaper, brown smoked glass tableware and a glass-topped table.<\/p>\n
In the dream though things were slightly different. Scattered across the garden, which was now slightly overgrown, were items from Bill\u2019s life, including a box full of board games. I decided that if these things were going to be thrown away, I should take some for myself, but as I did, three men passed by and began to look through the debris too. As I watched them, I found a photograph of Bill when he was young. I told the men how I used to sit on his shoulders and stroke his hair and as I relayed this to them, one of them started to cry and that made me cry too.<\/p>\n
I then walked into his flat where a woman startled me. I tell her she reminds me of Bill\u2019s first wife, and she laughs at my lack of diplomacy because she is young and his wife was old. I look at the debris again and realise that what looked like rubbish was actually valuable after all.<\/p>\n
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* * *<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n
1972 \u2013 June – Visiting Roundshaw Junior School<\/b><\/p>\n
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I am standing in front of a class of children. The headmaster, who\u2019s next to me, says, \u201cThis is Simon and he shall be joining us next term\u201d, I feel like hundreds of faces are staring at me. A couple of the girls let out exasperations of pity.<\/p>\n
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* * *<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n
1972 – Roundshaw – September<\/b><\/p>\n
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My next visit to Roundshaw, the one where Peter and I got lost, took place a couple of months later. Mum was already moving in by then. These first visits occurred on sunny summer days, but by the time I moved in it was September and the days were already getting darker.<\/p>\n
As I couldn\u2019t walk far, and Roundshaw was a sprawling mass of concrete decks, Mum bought me a bike to help me get around. The decks were made of large slabs of concrete, most were about ten metres wide and some hundreds of metres long, and nearly all of them were positioned above parking garages or roadways. To the edge of each deck would be doorways to apartments and next to them a cupboard where people could put their rubbish. Opposite the doorways would be a wall and beyond that, a twenty-foot drop. At each end or regular intervals, stairs and ramps would take the inhabitants from terra-firma to terror firmer!<\/p>\n
Powel Close<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n Roundshaw had already gained notoriety among the local surrounding community, where if you were from Roundshaw you were seen as, at best common, but, more likely dangerous too. Given the estate had recently featured on the national news because milkmen refused to service the area for fear of being robbed, their concerns were probably justified.<\/p>\n I was completely unaware of Roundshaw\u2019s dark side at first. Instead, I smelt the newness of the paint, got dazzled by the sunlight on the lino throughout the flat, and bathed in the joy of finally being able to live with Mum at last in our own home.<\/p>\n The smooth surfaced decks particularly lent themselves to being cycled on, so, for my first few ventures alone I rode in front of our doorway and due to our deck being a thoroughfare to the shops, it didn\u2019t take long for the little boy with short arms to become known all over.<\/p>\n As I peddled up and down, mothers pushing their children, stray dogs and other children passed me too. Within the first hours of playing outside a gang of children passed and taunted me for having stabilisers on my bike. So, I got off it and tried to detach the stabilisers, which were bolted on.<\/p>\n A few doors down from our place I saw an old man looking at me.<\/p>\n \u201cExcuse me mister but can you help me take these off please?\u201d<\/p>\n He came over, crouched down and told me that he would if my mother said it was ok. I told him I\u2019d ask her when she got in, so he nodded and went back inside. As far as I was concerned this was an emergency and I wasn\u2019t prepared to wait, so, as soon as he was gone, I went at the bolts with my teeth.<\/p>\n Years later the old man, Bill, the one in the dream about debris in his garden, told me he\u2019d watched me from his window in disbelief. The stabilisers were off within minutes, and I would no longer be persecuted for not being able to ride a bike properly, but instead, it would be because of my arms.<\/p>\n Five Powel Close<\/p>\n \n Powel Close<\/p>\n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n 2001<\/b><\/p>\n \n When I was thirty-two I was cycling along a road in Fulham when I heard some loud laughter. As I looked across, I saw three teenagers pointing and laughing at me. I did a U-turn and pulled up next to them. They looked on, still laughing, so, I said, \u201cI shouldn\u2019t have to put up with this kind of behaviour when I go out, should I?\u201d<\/p>\n I looked at one of them who was tall, stocky, and mixed race and said to him, \u201cHow would you like it if someone called you a nigger?\u201d<\/p>\n He shouted, \u201cAre you calling me a nigger?\u201d<\/p>\n I calmly said, \u201cNo, I\u2019m just pointing out that you wouldn\u2019t like it if someone called you a nigger.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRight,\u201d he said, \u201cI\u2019m going to teach you a lesson.\u201d<\/p>\n He threw off his jacket and shouted, \u201cI\u2019m gonna knock your lights out.\u201d<\/p>\n I felt very relaxed and looked at him.<\/p>\n \u201cThe moment you touch me will be the last time you\u2019ll be free to live in Fulham, I\u2019ll make sure you\u2019re beaten up every day until you can no longer bear to stay here. I know you live in Sherbrooke Road.\u201d This technique of \u201cpsyching someone out\u201d was one of the first things I\u2019d learned on Roundshaw.<\/p>\n He seemed a bit disturbed, especially as I knew where he lived, so he picked up his jacket and walked off cursing me. I cycled home, but when I got in my rage started to pump through me. I told my partner at the time, what had happened, and she said she\u2019d come out with me to find him. So, we got in the car and drove around the streets until we saw him. I pulled up and leant out the window. \u201cSee this car,\u201d I shouted, \u201cthis will be the last thing you see if I feel like getting you, you should be careful who you threaten you fuckin\u2019 cunt.\u201d<\/p>\n A couple of days later I saw him standing in my street looking up at my house. I went to my kitchen put on an arm band, slid a knife up it and walked downstairs. Faced with someone threatening me or my loved ones I wouldn\u2019t hesitate to push a knife through their face or chest and move it around to make sure they could no longer function.<\/p>\n Somewhere in the dark garages and sparkling decks of Roundshaw, I learned that being ruthless was the best way to deal with threats. Sometimes, though, I would find myself hurting someone in a fight, they\u2019d be screaming out in agony, and I\u2019d feel sorry for them and want to stop. I knew I had to teach them a lesson, but a part of me hated this world of violence.<\/p>\n When I opened the door, he was gone. I had my arm pulled towards my back to hide the long blade. If he\u2019d confronted me both our lives may have taken a very different direction and deep down, I knew it wasn\u2019t worth it.<\/p>\n Later that evening, I thought it best to find a different resolution so visited a friend who I thought might know him. He said he did, and he\u2019d have a word. A few weeks later I was driving down Sherbrooke Road when a person on a bike pulled out in front of me. I slammed my brakes on and as I came to an emergency stop, I realised it was the same guy. We looked at each other and I gave him a, \u201cSee I told you,\u201d smile. He almost smiled back.<\/p>\n A few weeks later I heard he\u2019d been put in prison for punching a policewoman in the stomach. Somewhere, he had his own story to tell, but I didn\u2019t like the way he wanted to tell it, so I didn\u2019t want to hear it.<\/p>\n When I was forty-one, nine years after this all happened, one of the girls from the group who\u2019d initially laughed at me, served me in a chemist. I wondered if she remembered the incident. Maybe she was thinking the same thing. A few days after that, I saw her walking an old lady home and as I passed by, I heard her tell the old lady that \u201cit was nothing at all.\u201d<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n Outside of not wanting to be psychologically attached forevermore to this guy, being imprisoned, or possibly losing my soul, the thought of killing him wasn\u2019t too unappealing. Although, I might have felt differently in reality.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n 1972 – Roundshaw<\/b><\/p>\n \n My murderous violent temper was already bad before I got to Roundshaw, but once there it was honed to a far greater degree.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n My First Fight on Roundshaw<\/b><\/p>\n \n I cycled down a ramp from our deck to a grassy area. In front of me was a group of children who started laughing and calling out, \u201cOi! You! Where are your arms? Hey, where\u2019s your arms?\u201d<\/p>\n I had just moved from a provincial village and the worst swear word I knew was, \u201cbastard\u201d. So, with as much vehemence as I could summon, I told them I thought they were, \u201cBloody bastards\u201d. They laughed at me and started to imitate my middle-class accent and shout out, \u201cNo arms\u201d over and over again.<\/p>\n I cycled over to them, got off my bike and started to chase them. They got out of the way, then formed a circle around me and started to taunt me further. As I\u2019d run at any one of them, they\u2019d move out of my way, swarm-like, so in frustration, I started to cry.<\/p>\n One of the boys yelled, \u201cOh poor little crybaby\u201d. I looked at him and spat in his face. Fortunately, for me, my saliva landed in his eyes. He put his hands up, slightly blinded and leant forwards. I ran at him and kicked him in the head as hard as I could with my built-up medical boot. There was a clonking sound, he fell backwards, rolled in a ball and clutched his head. A few seconds later he got up, tears streaming, screaming in pain, and shouted, \u201cI\u2019ll get my mum onto you.\u201d<\/p>\n The other kids stopped taunting me and stood in silence as he ran into one of the doorways. A few seconds later a well-built blonde woman came out dragging him by the arm. When she saw what had happened, she smacked him around the head and told the other kids they should be ashamed of themselves. She knelt down, wiped the tears from my face and invited me into her house to get cleaned up. I went in and was introduced to her Turkish husband and three other children. After a short while I was playing with them all and through them was introduced to the other children from the block.<\/p>\n What I learned that day was having an aptitude for violence not only stopped the taunting but also earned respect and friendship from the kids on Roundshaw.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n 1972 – Roundshaw<\/b><\/p>\n \n When I went into my victim\u2019s house, I entered not only a foreigner\u2019s home but also an environment which was foreign to me. It was a family home. A mother and father who seemed to love each other, 4 children, two girls and two boys, and a myriad of pets, all living together within this small council house. To add to the strangeness of the scene, the whole place had been decorated in a Turkish style.<\/p>\n The youngest daughter, Sema, wanted to show me her cat\u2019s new litter of kittens and asked if I wanted one. When I got in that evening, I asked Mum if we could have one, but she said no. The next day Sema turned up at our front door with one of the kittens in her pocket. She went up to my mother and said she had something to show her. Her hand came out of her pocket with a tiny black kitten curled up in her palm. My mum let out a sigh of resigned debilitation and from their family home, I was given an opportunity to experience the joy of a pet. That night, I named the little black kitten Ginny after a cat mentioned in a book that had been read to me in care.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n 1972 – First Day at Roundshaw Juniors<\/b><\/p>\n \n My first day at school was marred by two main events that related directly to my disability. Both involved my clothing. The first one was caused by the occupational therapists at Roehampton Hospital cutting a hole in the groin of my trousers so I could get my penis to poke out through it when I needed to go for a pee. The problem was, as with most penises, mine seemed to have a mind of its own and decided to pop out during my first hour of class. Not able to get it back in myself I walked up to the teacher and asked her to do it for me. She got quite flustered and told me to go away and not to be so silly. I don\u2019t remember how the issue was solved but I did feel humiliated in front of my whole class, especially as some of them were making gestures of exasperation or disgust.<\/p>\n The other incident involved playing football. We were told to put on our football gear, so, I went into the changing room full of pride that I had a Chelsea kit and couldn\u2019t wait to get out there with the rest of them. The problem was, I took so long trying to get my boots tied up that the class was over before I was even changed. Possibly this event turned me against football for the rest of my life and consequently, by not being interested in the world of football, I also segregated myself from an important part of male culture. From then on, I\u2019d sit out of break time footie matches and chat to the girls sitting on the sidelines. While the boys in my class developed skills in kicking a ball around, I learned how to talk with girls and most of the time, it didn\u2019t involve football.<\/p>\n One of the girls I\u2019d talk with was called Jackie, she took a shine to me which somehow ended up with her being my girlfriend for a few days. She even came to my home one day where Mum and Michael created an elaborate tea ceremony. Possibly my proposal of marriage and a further offer of fathering copious amounts of children gave her the wrong impression, so, when we arrived at school a few days later she told me I wasn\u2019t her boyfriend anymore. My reaction was to kick her hand, maybe it was symbolic, as in wanting to damage something that she had that I didn\u2019t. Her hand or her heart possibly, but when I was later informed I\u2019d broken her finger, I felt the condemning gaze of my peers fall upon me. Even now, the shame of physically hurting a girl fifty years ago, still gnaws at the heart of me.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n 2006 – Perfect Stranger<\/b><\/p>\n \n There\u2019s a new guy who just started at my work. One of my friends who\u2019d come into my office today told me she thought he was the most beautiful man she\u2019d ever seen. Even in his wheelchair, he sits almost as high as I do standing. I told Kate about this good-looking man, and she laughed, \u201cSo, what\u2019s wrong with him then? There\u2019s got to be something.\u201d As they say, nobody\u2019s perfect, not even a perfect stranger.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n 2006 – Dream – Starbucks the Eighth Wonder of the World<\/b><\/p>\n \n I\u2019ve just had a dream about Boris in which he has had to move out of where he lives. We\u2019re talking on the phone. I try to guide him to where I\u2019m waiting with a few other people.<\/p>\n \u201cWhere are you?\u201d he asks.<\/p>\n I explain that he\u2019ll \u201cHave to walk to the end of the high street, then go up a hill, and there\u2019s that building with the dome, do you remember it?\u201d<\/p>\n In real life, this building would be the eighth wonder of the world but in my dream, it\u2019s the roof of a Starbucks coffee house.<\/p>\n As soon as I wake up, I wonder if Boris has just died. I\u2019m feeling guilty because I haven\u2019t seen him for a few days. I shall ring him shortly just to check he\u2019s still with us. I do so, and he is.<\/p>\n During the call, I tell him I\u2019ve just been accepted as a member of The Chelsea Arts Club, a prestigious London club that\u2019s renowned for being hard to become a member of. He\u2019s not impressed at all. There\u2019s no pleasing some parents.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n 1972 – Roundshaw – Michael<\/b><\/p>\n \n A few weeks after moving in with Mum and Michael, I tried to open their bedroom door, but it was locked. When I knocked and called out, I was told to go away. A day or so later, I came home and found Michael was in too. He was pointing an air pistol at a photograph of a woman, his ex-wife, Sue. He pulled the trigger and where her face had been a hole appeared. He reloaded and took another shot.<\/p>\n Michael had been a soldier and was now a photographer. He\u2019d been brought up in Yorkshire within a strict family, joined the army as part of the medical corps and after leaving he became a nurse. He then suffered a brain haemorrhage which resulted in him having surgery. As a result, the scar tissue on his brain caused him to have blackout-type fits and unbeknown to us at the time, extremely violent, psychotic episodes. Perhaps the fact that he had been stopped from seeing his daughter by his wife should have been a big red flag.<\/p>\n For someone from a strict family, the behaviour of a precocious child, erm that\u2019s me I\u2019m talking about, (I know, it\u2019s hard to believe), was particularly riling for Michael.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n 1972 – Michael\u2019s Temper<\/b><\/p>\n \n Michael has me pinned to the floor; his hands are around my throat.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd if you ever tell your mother I\u2019ll kill her in front of you and then I\u2019ll kill you. Do you understand?\u201d Michael then turned me over and smacked his hand across my backside.<\/p>\n This all started when he confronted me about going out to play with my friends. A bit earlier I\u2019d crept down the stairs, I knew Michael was to be avoided, so, I opened the front door and almost walked off, but still in my pyjamas, I knew I couldn\u2019t. I decided to close the door quietly, walked back up the stairs and went back into my room.<\/p>\n Mum had gone to work, and Michael was sleeping on the couch in the front room because after months of bullying us, Mum had finally managed to get him out of the bedroom, but not the flat.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n The first time I\u2019d witnessed Michael\u2019s temper occurred one Saturday morning as I sat on my bed playing. I heard raised voices and then a yelp from my mother. I picked up my milkshake and walked to the doorway. Michael was shouting at Mum about using his towels which, he claimed she had made damp when she knew she wasn\u2019t allowed to touch them. I heard a thud and Mum crying then the bathroom door opened.<\/p>\n Michael faced me and said, \u201cWhat are you looking at?\u201d I was frozen to the spot, but I still wanted to see if Mum was okay. He stepped towards me, picked me up and threw me across the room. I landed against the bed which partly cushioned the fall but still winded me, while the milkshake went everywhere. Once I could breathe, I wanted to cry but Mum walked in, and in silence, with tears streaming down her face, hugged me and cleaned up the mess. A few days later I came home from school and found Michael decorating the lounge. This would become a familiar pattern over the next year.<\/p>\n The second incident involved Michael grabbing me by my arm and throwing me under the table. This happened in front of Peter, the friend I\u2019d got lost with months earlier. Michael had been watching an orchestra performing on the TV while Peter and I imitated the conductor which made us laugh hysterically. Michael told me to stop being stupid, I continued, and within seconds was flung to the floor. I continued to laugh but I wanted to scream out for help.<\/p>\n When Michael went for Mum the next time, I shouted out that I would tell sister Mears from Roehampton Hospital about him if he continued hurting us.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n 1972 – Michael – A Step Too Far<\/b><\/p>\n \n So, after getting past Michael and then returning to my bedroom in my pyjamas, I heard Michael call me. I walked to the landing. \u201cDid you go outside earlier?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d I replied.<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t lie, I know you did because you left the door open\u201d.<\/p>\n I clearly remembered shutting the door but perhaps in my efforts to be as silent as possible, I hadn\u2019t let the catch of the lock click into place correctly.<\/p>\n \u201cRight, I\u2019m going to teach you a lesson,\u201d he said as he grabbed me, his hand around my throat. \u201cSo, you\u2019re going to tell Sister whatever her name is about me, are you?\u201d He spun me over and his hand came down hard on my bottom. \u201cWell let me tell you that if you ever do, I\u2019ll make you wish you\u2019d never been born.\u201d Another smack hit me. He spun me around again, placed his hands around maybe throat and squeezed. \u201cAnd if you ever tell your mother I will kill her in front of you and then I\u2019ll kill you. Do you understand?\u201d<\/p>\n I was crying in shock but managed to summon a yes.<\/p>\n \u201cNow get out of my sight, go on, go out and play with your friends if you want, I don\u2019t want to see you.\u201d As I walked away, he kicked me up the backside, so I slid and fell over at the top of the stairs. Still, in my pyjamas, I got out of the house as quickly as I could, and as I shut the door behind me, I saw a group of friends talking nearby. I walked up to them, wanting to tell them what had just happened but instead, all I could do was burst out crying. They looked at me, completely confounded. It was then I realised there could be even greater levels of loneliness than those I\u2019d experienced in care.<\/p>\n A bit later Michael called me in and fed me.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n One night soon after the first attack I was allowed to stay up to watch a film called Mutiny on The Bounty. The story follows a mutiny against an overly harsh ship\u2019s captain and his subsequent return and persecution of his mainly innocent crew.<\/p>\n That night I experienced what is known as a night terror. This is like a nightmare but includes sleepwalking as well as a certain amount of consciousness. Even now, 32 years later, I clearly recall having to find my mother to tell her the ship we were on was going to sink and she must get off as soon as possible. She told me I was dreaming so I pleaded with her to wake me up. She continued to speak to me and then got me into bed where I soon went back to sleep.<\/p>\n A few nights later I had a similar nightmare, but this time it was about a train that was just about to crash. \u201cPlease mummy you\u2019ve got to get off,\u201d I begged.<\/p>\n If Michael had banned me from telling Mum directly then my subconscious tried a different tack, only it was far too subtle for anyone to understand. Mum didn\u2019t kick Michael out, maybe she would have had she been aware of his violent abuse of me but it\u2019s also possible she\u2019d have been too scared to do anything anyway.<\/p>\n Almost a year passed when, to our delight, we came home, and he had gone. The relief stayed with us for months, but about six months later there was a loud knock on the door and when I looked down the stairs through the glass door, I recognised Michael\u2019s form and told Mum it was him. She uttered, \u201cNo\u201d in disbelief, but still answered the door. I went to bed and the next day he was there, back on the couch sleeping.<\/p>\n That evening I went to the Roundshaw community centre and watched people doing karate in the main hall. I stood in front of them and copied what they did. I had seen the TV series Kung Fu and dreamt of being able to defend Mum and me from Michael\u2019s attacks. Well, actually, I dreamt of killing him.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n 1972 – War and Love<\/b><\/p>\n \n There must have been a volcano that had erupted somewhere in the world around this time because beautiful sunsets seemed to be all the rage. From the exact spot where I cried in front of my friends, you could see St Paul\u2019s glimmer in the distance, and as summer frayed into autumn and the nights drew in cold around us, our adventures on the old runways of Croydon Airport became, as Peter Gabriel put it, games without frontiers.<\/p>\n The domain of kids, especially those brought up on a council estate, lacks limitations when it comes to inhibitions. That can be a good thing, especially when it comes to making new acquaintances. For instance, asking a stranger of a similar age, if they want to play with you is perfectly acceptable when you\u2019re a child, but when it came to playing war games, it was a whole different story.<\/p>\n The war games we played were far more war than play. Firstly, there were real trenches with sheets of metal laid over the top to form tunnels. Secondly, real artillery was fired across the battleground in the shape of stones, firework rockets, bangers and\/or any other fireworks that could be stolen from the local shops, and thirdly hand-to-hand combat included quite extreme violence, again including various weapons. The pleas of one kid who I\u2019d crept up on, and held a brick over, went unheard by me. This was war, so, I let the brick go and watched as he curled up in a ball crying.<\/p>\n There were also large old air-raid shelters which we\u2019d dare each other to enter. They were pitch black inside and smelt of piss and dampness. I once fell over in one, landing knee-first on some barbed wire. Given how unsanitary they were I\u2019m surprised I didn\u2019t get gangrene.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n After one evening\u2019s exciting game of war, I returned home at around nine pm to find my mother hysterical with anger. She\u2019d called the police, allegedly, and was not going to let me play out anymore. So, from then on, well at least for a while, I went directly from school to a babysitter called Lynnette.<\/p>\n Lynnette\u2019s flat was dark, smoke-stained throughout and filled with the smell you get when you leave a gas cooker on too long. The flame was partly continuously lit to not only cook us the nightly beans on toast but to also keep the cigarettes she continuously had hanging from the corner of her mouth alight.<\/p>\n Lynnette\u2019s husband Dan often sat in a chair in the kitchen dressed in his full Teddy Boy regalia, which even in 1972 was rather pass\u00e9. Whenever they spoke to each other it\u2019d be in the poetic form of resentful argumentative rhythms. I didn\u2019t realise at the time, but this possibly had a lot to do with Lynnette recently revealing she was pregnant which, had Dan not had a vasectomy shortly after the birth of their previous child, may have been something to celebrate.<\/p>\n Mum might have got me out of the killing fields of Roundshaw, but now I was immersed in the deadly feuds of a struggling marriage. I didn\u2019t like being there and I didn\u2019t like Lynnette, who seemed to have me there merely to make money and I could tell her heart was not in the job, the home, or the marriage.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n 1972 – A Day in the Trenches<\/b><\/p>\n \n I wonder if the type of breakfast one chooses is partly influenced by genetics. My Gran nearly always cooked breakfast when I visited. Her day started in the kitchen because that\u2019s where she\u2019d get dressed in the warmth of the cooking range. Perhaps having a cooked breakfast was as much a choice related to stoking the oven in the morning as it was a need to eat.<\/p>\n For me, though, I don\u2019t wake up feeling hungry but by lunchtime, I\u2019ll often have an English breakfast. For my mother, however, breakfast was important when it came to starting the day. Cereal was the mainstay, while cooked breakfasts were for days when we weren\u2019t in a rush. Throughout the winter though, it was a plate of porridge covered in sugar surrounded by a moat of cold milk that\u2019d greet me.<\/p>\n The problem with porridge was, five minutes after leaving the house I\u2019d find my bowels stirring with an unstoppable force that\u2019d often result in returning home for an emergency poo, much to mum\u2019s anger. The memory of the incident in the garden while wearing my new trousers probably meant she wasn\u2019t prepared to take such risks anymore.<\/p>\n \u201cOh Simon, I\u2019ve got to get to work. Why do you always want to go to the loo just when we have to leave.\u201d<\/p>\n If I\u2019d made the connection between porridge and an overwhelming need to have a bowel movement, I could have pointed the finger back at her, but I didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n There\u2019s a snugness about walking to school in the darkness of a winter morning, seeing a friend from school and trotting up to join them. This morning it was a boy with wavy auburn hair called Michael, there were a lot of Michaels around back in those days. I could have changed his name to make it easier for you, but I know how much you like a bit of gritty reality.<\/p>\n As we approached Roundshaw\u2019s shopping centre I asked him, \u201cShall we go to the supermarket and see what toys they\u2019ve got?\u201d Within minutes we were in the shop, bleak and bright with its yellow strip lights, while the darkness of the winter morning sky still pushed against the window. The place was full of freezer cabinets but in the middle was a stand that displayed toys, records and other things.<\/p>\n What interested me this morning was a magnet set. We both sat on the floor and started playing with whatever we could get out of the boxes, meanwhile one of the cashiers kept a close eye on us. About a minute later, a man in a white uniform approached us and asked if we intended to buy something. Given we had no money it wasn\u2019t likely. \u201cWe\u2019re just looking,\u201d I said, and as the man turned his back and huffed, Michael slipped a magnet set into one of my pockets.<\/p>\n We walked out slowly looking pissed off about our playtime being abruptly ended, while the man and woman nodded to each other while saying something disparaging about us. As we got close to the school, Sevin, the boy I\u2019d kicked in the head, joined us and told us about a dead dog he\u2019d just seen. It was still early, so, we went to have a look. The dog was a sandy-coloured mongrel who we\u2019d often seen roaming the estate. By this point, we weren\u2019t the only children gathered around and as we stared at the pool of blood that had dribbled from its mouth, and its long grey-purple tongue draped on the paving slab, someone in the crowd remarked how much it looked as if it was sleeping. The sun was rising and, in its light, we pretended our breath was smoke, and watched it rise like a ceremony for the dog\u2019s soul. There was a strange silence which was broken a few seconds later by the sound of someone running towards us.<\/p>\n As the steps got closer, we turned and the boy, almost unable to speak for being out of breath, told us he\u2019d just seen a woman commit suicide by jumping off Instone, the tallest building on the estate. Once he was able to speak more coherently, he informed us a man who\u2019d seen what had happened told the congregation around the body that he\u2019d come out to get his milk and said hello to his neighbour, but within a few seconds she\u2019d climbed onto the balcony wall, looked across at him, and before he could say anything, let herself fall. After she hit the ground, she was still alive for a few minutes. Her body was motionless, but her eyes kept looking around and her mouth quivered a bit, and, \u201cThen,\u201d he said, \u201cshe became still.<\/p>\n As this story was relayed to us an RSPCA van pulled up to take the body \u2013 of the dog \u2013 away. If there\u2019d been a policeman at the scene, he\u2019d have said something like, \u201cCome on, move on, there\u2019s nothing to see here,\u201d but there wasn\u2019t. Still, once the body was taken, we continued our reluctant pilgrimage to school. When we got there, children were still playing outside in the low-cast sun and long-shadowed playground.<\/p>\n A few of the kids were taking running jumps onto iced-up logs so they could skate the length of them. I decided I wanted to have a go too, but as I tried, a boy from the year ahead, Mark, pushed me off. I decided to run at him, a bit startled, he tried to put his arm around my neck. Unfortunately for him, he didn\u2019t quite get the position he hoped for, and I bit his arm as hard as I could. The more he tried to shake me off the deeper my teeth went in. I was screaming in temper, well as much as you can with an arm in your mouth, while he was screaming in agony. Mrs Gee, one of the teachers screamed from a window for us to stop fighting, but by the time she got to us, blood was trickling down Mark\u2019s forearm and we were both crying. His tears were as much a result of the shock of me managing to bite through his Parker coat sleeve as they were the pain he was feeling. Whereas mine had somewhat abated when I saw the damage I\u2019d done and couldn\u2019t help but take a little comfort from it.<\/p>\n Mrs Gee managed to separate us but decided this was a matter for the headmaster to adjudicate. At first, recriminations between Mark and myself were met with calm commands to be silent but once we\u2019d hushed ourselves, we awaited our fate.<\/p>\n \u201cWait outside.\u201d<\/p>\n Mrs Digsall, Mrs Phillips, and Mrs Spall were the secretaries, playground attendants, and nurses amongst many other things, so after a few minutes Mrs Digsall came to clean us up, dress Mark\u2019s wounds and reprimand us too.<\/p>\n The secretaries weren\u2019t quite as frightening as the headmaster, but they came a very close second. When we finally re-entered the Head\u2019s office, he asked us what had happened, lit his pipe, shook his head in disbelief then warned, he\u2019d be watching us, and with that, we were sent back to our classes.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n 16th June 2006 \u2013 Chelsea Arts Club<\/b><\/p>\n \n This evening I took Kate to the Chelsea Arts Club for a meal. The set menu offered a starter of either tomato soup or crayfish. Thinking the latter would be something like a small dish of prawns in a mayonnaise sauce I went for it. Instead, the waiter bought us two plates with six little monsters on them that I wouldn\u2019t want to see in a nature film let alone eat. I looked around me to see people on other tables happily dissecting and tucking into their large insect-like prey and came to realise that being brought up on an estate in South London didn\u2019t necessarily mean you\u2019d end up having a harder constitution than a middle-class person brought up in the quiet suburbs. I realised then it\u2019s no wonder it\u2019s the middle-class celebrities who tend to do so well when it comes to endurance-type programs such as, I\u2019m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here. One glamour model who ate jungle food such as worms, and kangaroo testicles in order to win her fellow contestants a good meal didn\u2019t seem to hesitate as she bit into the innocent crustaceans. Had I known she was just licking the tip of the iceberg when it comes to disgusting delicacies in middle-class circles, I might have held back on giving her so much credit.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n 1973 – Don\u2019t Cry Over Spilt<\/b><\/p>\n \n One evening Mum took me along with her to get a Chinese takeaway about a mile from home. As we waited for our food, I decided to do my then-normal routine of showing the owner some of the kicks I\u2019d learned from watching the karate class. As I did, they\u2019d get their relatives from out of the kitchen and ask me to show them my, \u201cfeet of fury\u201d in action.<\/p>\n Feeling buoyed by the adulation at the takeaway we marched from the garage below our flat where Mum had parked, when the bag holding the food gave way. Mum and I stood almost crying over the spilt meal. But you know what Confucius says about spilt Chop Suey.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n 1973<\/b><\/p>\n \n Sean was one of the hard kids from the year above me. I was beginning to recognise there were those at school who wanted to fight and those who preferred to remain quiet, and by doing so managed to avoid getting into ruts with others. Sean thought he was a fighter and he wanted everyone to know it.<\/p>\n One day, on the way to Lynnette\u2019s after school, I decided to pop into the community centre where there was a lounge and snack shop. Lots of the other kids from school hung out there, so I thought I\u2019d join them. Within minutes of arriving, Sean said something derogatory to me which I retaliated to, and within seconds he was sitting on my chest, trying to punch me in the face, but every time his fist came down, I put my arms in the way. By this point, I was in full-blown temper mode, with tears of anger streaming down my face, but still, I didn\u2019t take my eyes off him. As he raised his arm high above his head and looked for an opening to strike me, I brought my foot almost up to my head and then crashed my heel into his eye. He clasped his face, screamed and within a second was no longer on top of me but writhing around in agony.<\/p>\n The crowd around me looked on in disbelief. Not only was the victor younger and smaller than Sean but he had short arms. That was the moment when a consensus amongst my peers started to develop. It wasn\u2019t so much I was tough, but more a case of being more dangerous than I looked.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n 2006 – Strange Fruit<\/b><\/p>\n \n Tonight, Steve, the friend I mentioned in the very first paragraph of this book, and I pulled up in my car outside his home. Just as we came to a halt, I heard a cracking sound and then felt a splat of something hit me. At first, I thought it was a gunshot, then I realised it was a bird in the tree above us that had been startled and in retaliation, shit upon us. As I drove off, I started to feel as if I was dreaming. The music didn\u2019t seem to sound right, my mobile phone kept lighting up and I felt very uneasy. Just as in one of those films where the twist at the end reveals the main character is dying, and suddenly realises the reality they\u2019ve experienced throughout the film had been made up by their dying brain. I too wondered if the crack I\u2019d heard was a gunshot and everything I perceived after that was my brain offering me a softer touchdown to the afterlife. Fortunately, it was just one of those strange thoughts, and I didn\u2019t die then. Unless of course, the near-death experience was real and is lasting a few years.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n 1973<\/b><\/p>\n \n As I stood looking at the dead dog, I didn\u2019t realise Roundshaw was encircling me, creating a new reality inside me. One that created new values, while the old, \u201cme,\u201d was laid out to die. My fall onto the concrete decks of Roundshaw had paralysed me too. Life on the estate came at a cost that meant you weren\u2019t allowed to live fully. Just like in the film The Matrix, people are farmed in order to power the system which in turn offers a pretence of living as a kind of payment, even though it\u2019s never openly revealed. Likewise, council estates are a way of keeping a resource (human beings) available for whenever the system should need it. Such as a war, or a potential workforce.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n 1973\/4 – Andrew<\/b><\/p>\n \n Children with heart defects were kept in during lunch breaks or games at our school. Most kids with anything \u201cwrong\u201d with them tended to be wrapped in cotton wool whether they needed to be or not. The a + b = d lack of thought process that leads to disabled kids being seen as delicate is the start of the perception that disabled people must be judged with a different yardstick. The consequence of that though leads to more serious issues later on, most of which result in a lack of equal opportunities for disabled people. But I\u2019ll come back to that another time.<\/p>\n Andrew Wilson was a thin, almost white-haired, and slightly blue-lipped boy who played in the library during games and lunch breaks because he had a hole in his heart. Perhaps because my classmates were playing a lot of football at the time, I decided to play with my Action Men in the library with Andrew too. Throughout the winter and even in the summer months Andrew and I would often sit at a table in the library and play together. The library also acted as a corridor from the secretary and headmaster\u2019s offices to the gym\/assembly\/dining hall, so we started to become friendly with the staff too.<\/p>\n The headmaster, Mr Garriock, was tall, wore glasses, had white hair and smoked a pipe. He exuded quiet authority, rarely shouted, read stories to us all every morning during assembly and inspired a desire in the kids, well me at least, to impress him.<\/p>\n At the school disco, we played a game where he would stop the record playing, by the way, he was the DJ, and over the microphone gave us an instruction to do something like lie on the floor or raise an arm in the air. The last person to do the action had to sit out. Eventually, only a few of us remained on the dance floor. When he asked us to stand on our left foot, I put my right foot on my left whilst my competitors balanced on one leg. I could see him look at me and wonder what I was up to, and once he saw my response told the rest to sit down. For once in my life, I won something. I don\u2019t remember the prize but his desire to train me to pass the eleven-plus grammar school entrance exam may have been borne of this incident.<\/p>\n If Mr Garriock was a kindly man, he was protected by his hench-women, Mrs Digsall, Mrs Phillips, and the smoulderingly good-looking Mrs Spall. These three sat at the main entrance to the administrative area like the three-headed dog of Hades. Everyone, even the caretaker feared them. Andrew and I had a lot of contact with them and possibly because we looked a little vulnerable and sweet, we were taken under their wing. Even the Mafia couldn\u2019t have provided better protection.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n 2005 – The First Question<\/b><\/p>\n \n The issue of how I manage to go to the loo is often brought up by strangers on our first acquaintance. Nowadays I tend to quip back that if they hang around, they\u2019ll get to see for themselves. The question of how I masturbate often also comes hand in hand with the loo question too. That query will normally get the \u201cwhere there\u2019s a willy, there\u2019s a way\u201d joke, or \u201cI use my mouth\u201d, or I admit I do have a problem reaching, then reach up above my head.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n 1973 – Pee Time<\/b><\/p>\n \n Walking back from school one sunny early summer afternoon I found I was desperate to have a pee. I found a quiet spot in the garages but couldn\u2019t undo my trousers. I decided to go to one of my fellow schoolmate\u2019s places as he lived very close by. Richie was one of the few black kids who lived on the estate, so, I knocked on his door and his father answered. I explained to him I needed help going to the loo and I was desperate. He looked at me and started to shout at me, telling me to go away. I walked off, at first slightly distracted by the shock of what had just happened, but realised this reprieve gave me enough time to make my way to Lynnette\u2019s. The problem was, as I got closer the feeling of desperation increased exponentially, so by the time I got there I\u2019d reached \u201clegs crossed\u201d mode.<\/p>\n I knocked on the door but there was no answer. I knocked again and then a few more times. She still didn\u2019t answer. I started to cry then a minute or so later her door opened. We looked at each other. I told her I was desperate for the loo but as I uncrossed my legs, the warm pee poured out and down them, possibly spurred on by my anger at her not answering the door quickly enough. Although to be fair, gravity was more likely the greater force.<\/p>\n At first, the feeling of relief outweighed the fear of the repercussions, and possibly the look of fear on my face touched Lynnette\u2019s conscience. Instead of telling me off, she told me not to worry and beckoned me toward her. The Vikings had a saying about such moments. It goes something like, \u201cHe who pisses in his shoes will not have warm feet for long.\u201d<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n As I got older my arms grew longer in proportion to my upper body so by about nine years old, I could reach my penis and trousers. Until that time, I was reliant on help. At eight years old, it wasn\u2019t an issue that worried me too much. So, in answer to any queries regarding pissing and wanking, I can reach, but thanks for your concern regarding such matters.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n 1973 – Roundshaw – Thursday Special<\/b><\/p>\n \n One of my teachers once told me the US had been built on a society that was polarised between criminals and religious fundamentalists from the outset.<\/p>\n As we, the criminal kids from Roundshaw fought our way through life, religious people from the outside world wanted to save us. As we\u2019d play in the park a group of young adults sat in the sun playing guitars and singing. In time we\u2019d ride up to see what was going on. They\u2019d invite us to join them and at first, we\u2019d ride off thinking they were a bit weird but after a few weeks, we became so acclimatised to them that we joined in singing with them. We\u2019d meet them every Thursday and listen to their stories, sing along, pray and never question if God was real or not. This club was called Thursday Special and was run by the local Pentecostal Church.<\/p>\n How they managed to get us into their Church I don\u2019t know, they probably used the cold and ever-darkening evenings as an excuse, but for at least a year and a half, many of us regularly went to Church even if the next day we\u2019d be involved in stealing, fighting or swearing. When Elvis sang about lying, cheating, and stepping on people\u2019s feet, but how he was now saved, he also sang to us the story of our theological path to God.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n 2006<\/b><\/p>\n \n Last night I watched a film in which the central character, Borat, finds himself in a Pentecostal church. From the outside, the speaking in tongues, the laying on of hands, the writhing on the ground and running around uncontrollably, looks extremely disturbing and comical. But when we were kids, we didn\u2019t see that sort of behaviour, instead, there was a slower propaganda machine working upon us. It wasn\u2019t particularly malicious. The criticism I\u2019d level at it was the same as I would of nearly all political or religious groups -that the only truth important to them is that which supports their point of view -. Even so, for them, we were to be saved. Not by the truth, but by hook or by crook.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n 1973 – Religious Camp<\/b><\/p>\n \n And so it was with our Thursday Special sessions. We would sit in the park, and sing songs, such as \u201cGive Me Oil In My Lamp\u201d and \u201cWhen The Saints Go Marching In\u201d and they would tell us stories from the Bible. They would test our faith by asking us to fall backwards so that they could catch us although most of us would take a quick peep over our shoulder to check they were there. They would tell us about having dark hearts, and temptations but, if we loved God and Jesus and were good to others, as we would have them be good to us, then we would be welcomed into the Kingdom of Heaven when we died. And a giant Jesus in the clouds would have a place at his right hand, even if there was a lack of love in our lives. That God and Jesus would always be there, in reserve, for us.<\/p>\n During the summer months, the church would take us to a camp in Bonsall, a small village near Matlock in Derbyshire. This is where we\u2019d be further inducted into the way of Christ. Just before we got on the coach that would deliver us from evil, my mum told me to make sure I looked after the new clothes she\u2019d just bought me. I kissed her goodbye and with God\u2019s speed, we were on our way on the 150-mile-long journey. When we finally arrived in a field with some wigwam-type tents with no covers on the ground and a few log cabin huts on the edge of the field, we were slightly disturbed and possibly subconsciously transposed this to what might be in store for us when we arrived at Heaven\u2019s or Hell\u2019s gates. When it came to working out which we were now in though, we weren\u2019t sure.<\/p>\n After a quick introduction to those in charge, we were shown to our tents which were green with green canvas camp beds, and told to get our stuff ready, have a wash and then go to the tabernacle, which was a large marquee in which we were to meet everyone else. Soon after entering, we were asked to pray and then the main pastor introduced himself, his wife and daughter, Caroline. Immediately, one of the older boys from our group, I\u2019m pretty sure it was a kid called Terry, shouted out \u201cYeah Caz the spaz\u201d. There was a moment\u2019s pause and the pastor continued. No doubt everyone had been informed that we were a rough lot and our conversion into good folk was a priority.<\/p>\n To help in this matter we were split into several groups, and we were informed the group with the most points would earn a prize, most probably a Bible, at the end of the week. Points could be earned by doing chores and deducted for misbehaviour and swearing. If you\u2019ve ever watched South Park, the cartoon series, and seen how often they swear, then you\u2019ll have an idea of the colour and quantity of our, the Roundshaw kids, language.<\/p>\n Terry had come to the camp with his two younger brothers Andrew and Michael. Michael was in my class at school and was known on the estate as being from a hard family. Within the first two days, I\u2019d had fights with all three of them. Unfortunately, when I went for the older of the three, I ran along the top of a couple of bunk beds in one of the dormitories fully intent on kicking him in the head. As I got closer, he gave me a bit of a concerned look and just as I went to deliver my attack, I ran straight into a beam and almost knocked myself out. I was dazed and laid out spread-eagled upon the bed, and as I started to cry, I heard them laughing. I was still in temper mode and started to shout out obscenities and threats at them when one of the staff came in and restrained me. He took me to a group of women sitting on the other side of the field and asked them to look after me for a while.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n Each day we\u2019d be taken on an outing, such as visiting caves or going for walks in beauty spots. For children such as us, there was a problem when it came to identifying what beauty was. Maybe it was our age but also our whole value system revolved around excitement and distraction. Beauty didn\u2019t play much of a part in our lives. The caves were not particularly of any interest except that there was an inherent danger about caves and to be under such a threat gave us a sense of bravery.<\/p>\n A few days into the week we visited Matlock, the nearest big town. One of our activities involved going swimming. Just before swimming, we\u2019d looked around the shops and I was mesmerised by a toyshop which had a model railway displayed in its window. I went in and immediately an underwater mask with a built-in snorkel caught my eye. I bought it and decided to try it out in the local swimming pool.<\/p>\n At first, I played around in the shallow area but soon decided to try it out in the deep end. I jumped in along with another boy I\u2019d just met, but as soon as I hit the water I felt the mask, which was over my nose and mouth fill up with water. I quickly made my way to the side of the pool, but there was no bar along the edge to grab hold of, nor was there a drainage channel, so I tried to reach for the side of the pool and hoist myself up, but there was such a large gap between the water level and the edge I couldn\u2019t pull myself out. My new \u201cfriend\u201d looked on laughing, no doubt thinking I was clowning around, so realising I was on my own I tried to pull the mask off. By this time, I was beginning to breathe in the water and started to cough and splutter. It was then I felt myself relax, and looking down at the bottom of the pool, said to God \u201cI didn\u2019t think I was going to die this soon, but if that\u2019s your will I\u2019m ready.\u201d I started to blank out, everything went fuzzy, my vision went speckly and just as I thought that was it, the lifeguard pulled me out and asked if I was alright.<\/p>\n The mask was off me, I coughed uncontrollably and cried a bit. I told her I was okay, and thanked her, then looked at my new \u201cfriend\u201d in disgust even though he was now looking a bit more concerned. The lifeguard told me to go to the children\u2019s pool, so I did. When I got there I dived in head first and bumped my head on the bottom of the pool. I let myself float to the surface, got out and rubbed my head better. After swimming, we were allowed to visit the fun fare, which was quite a small affair, but feeling ravenously hungry I decided to have some almost luminous green candy floss.<\/p>\n All went well until the next day when I thought I better show one of the people in charge my luminous green poo. All Hell broke loose. Firstly, I was moved to a dormitory and put in the care of the five girls sleeping in it. In turn, they thought I should be tucked up in bed which was where I spent the day under observation. Food was brought to me and concerned visitors came in now and again to see if I was okay. I failed to make the connection or tell anyone about the previous day\u2019s green candy floss and that morning\u2019s poo, so I was pretty concerned for myself too.<\/p>\n That evening the logistics of where I should sleep became an issue. I was given the choice to either sleep in a bed by myself or share a bed with one of the teenage girls. Just as I was unable to see nature\u2019s beauty, I was also unable to feel sexual attraction and the thought of sleeping next to someone filled me with horror, especially at the thought of what would happen if I were to wet the bed. That hadn\u2019t happened since the psychopath Michael lived with us, but still, it was a bit of a concern.<\/p>\n Before going to bed one of the older girls helped me get ready, but just at the point when I was completely naked, I jumped in the air, spun around, gyrated my hips, wiggled my penis up and down and shouted, \u201cTom Jones, Tom Jones\u201d. The girls looked, gasped for a second or two, then shrieked and covered their eyes. The one helping me pulled me back towards her and admonished me and I laughed as she told me not to do it again.<\/p>\n The next morning over a breakfast of porridge, one of the three brothers taunted me about sleeping with the girls and to protect their honour, I thought it best to attempt to leap across the table to land a kick, punch or bite. One of the staff grabbed me and took me outside. He tried to tell me about another way, about turning the other cheek but it fell upon deaf ears. While speaking to me he helped me climb over a stone wall and walked me across a field. I felt my feet get wet and he showed me the dew on the grass and the fields around us and the world God had made for us. But when you live in a concrete jungle where those around you seem to come from Hell and make you feel like you\u2019ve got to be on guard all the time, you can\u2019t help but wonder if God might have forgotten all about you.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \n On the last day, we were called together to find out which team had done the best, not surprisingly we didn\u2019t win, but when my name was called out to receive the prize for best boy camper of the week, I was more shocked than anyone. This was my first taste of being judged by a different yardstick because of my arms. My position now is I\u2019d rather fail on an equal footing than succeed because I have a disability. This isn\u2019t to appear more heroic, it\u2019s simply because there is little pleasure in being praised for just being diligent. That\u2019s like saying ten out of ten for trying but only one for succeeding. The noble failure is still a failure at the end of the day.<\/p>\n When I got home, I showed Mum the Bible, and she was very impressed but less impressed by the loss of most of my new clothes. They\u2019d been left in the tent when I was transferred to the girls\u2019 dormitory. In just one day I felt what it was like to reach the heady heights of success and the pain of falling from it.<\/p>\n \n * * *<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n End of Chapter 11<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/simonsdiary.co.uk\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/10\/Roundshaw-4-300x199.png\")
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