Notes from a new Writer

I managed to fuck-up a good relationship yesterday with pure laziness.
I had been seeing Lorna for only about four weeks but it really did seem to be going great…
She lived in a nice three bed house with her young son Matty, a four year old, precocious ball of energy that she completely doted on, and I admit, I was beginning to like too.

Yesterday tea time, I had arranged to meet at Lorna’s house straight from work. I arrived in my work clothes, dusty and tired to be greeted with a smile, a kiss and hot bath to soak my aching bones in.

Lorna was busying herself downstairs, ironing a new shirt that she had bought me, and putting on dabs of makeup ready for the evening ahead, whilst I was soaking away in the wonderful hot water with not a care in the world.

It was then that I felt the urge, the bladder twinge that won’t let you relax until you have had a good long pee. I didn’t wish to sully my bath water with urine, so I glanced around for an alternative.
I could get out of the bath and drip next door to the toilet…Nope, couldn’t be bothered.
I could get out of the bath and have a wee in the sink…No, she might hear me spraying near her toothbrush…. And I couldn’t be bothered to get out of the bath anyway. I was far too relaxed.
Then I saw my salvation, on the side of the tub stood a plastic jug that was obviously used for washing hair.
‘Yes’ I thought. I lowered the receptacle over my bits, making sure that no bathwater filled it up and happily relieved myself.
I put the jug of yellow liquid onto the windowsill next to the bath and relaxed back into a good soak.
Then, I heard footsteps on the stairs, Lorna was heading my way.
“I’ve got you a fresh towel” she said, as she made her way towards the bathroom and the large jug of piss that was waiting for her.
“Shit” I said out loud, what was I going to do?
In full panic mode, I looked around franticly for a hiding place for the jug, finding none, I slipped the catch on the window and poured the liquid quickly out.

The cry that emitted from the four year old Matty was heartbreaking. I mean I too would yell, if somebody tipped a warm jug of piss all over me!

Well Lorna couldn’t forgive me and that was that.

Just thought I’d share that with you.

I use the toilet before I have a bath now. But I think it is a little too late.

Whilst working for a, lets call it a ‘big city firm’ a few years ago, I was approached by the boss to carry out a simple debt recovery on behalf of his son Liam.
It turned out that Liam, who ‘wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box,’ was in fact a top notch craftsman on the carpentry front.
The Chippendale of his generation, the lad had set up a little ‘specialist furniture’ business, ‘hand making’ chairs, tables even whole kitchens to such a standard that in a hundred years or so, antique shops the length of Britain would be clambering over each other to get their hands on them.

Liam, a very private man who did not ever want to be connected to his fathers business, had spent the best part of six months making and delivering over £40,000 ($70,000) of kitchen and bedroom furniture to a rich farmer in Kent.
The farmer, who had only paid an initial ten percent deposit for the work, refused to pay the balance and when our boy went round to reclaim his goods, he was told quite bluntly to ‘Get off his land or he would be sorry.’
Liam, upset with the man’s attitude and naive to the ways of the world, approached his farther for advice…And this is why I found myself sat at the end of a muddy track with a psychotic sidekick and a baseball bat.

After negotiating potholes and cow dung, we went a knocking on the farmer’s front door. No answer.
We checked in all the down stairs windows and came to the conclusion that there was no one at home. My partner in this caper, ‘Jimmy the Hand’s,’ wasn’t known for his patience, so one swift kick later, we were in.
I decided to wait in the Kitchen, just in case the farmer returned, whilst Jimmy searched around for valuables or a safe of some kind upstairs.
I could hear Jimmy clanking around above, when I noticed the rumble of a tractor, entering the muddy farmyard next to the house.
“Jimmy!” I shouted to no avail.
The engine rumbled to a halt and I heard the clump of muddy boots approaching.
The farmer stopped at the door, obviously wondering why it was slightly ajar, he pushed gently and walked in, only to see me standing there bat in hand.
The farmer was obviously shit scared but he still demanded to know who I was.
I made him sit down and began to spell out to him about the debt owed and, that the man that it was owed to, was the son of my boss.
When I mentioned the boss’s name, the farmer turned white and within minutes was writing me a cheque for the full amount plus ten percent. The power of reputation strikes again.

I had completely forgotten about Jimmy until he burst into the room, his face contorted with anger, walked up to the farmer and hit him with the most powerful punch I had ever seen. The farmer hit the ground unconscious, his jaw busted in several places. I looked at the rage filled Jimmy and noticed the crumpled photographs that he had thrown down on the table…all naked children. I cannot tell you what happened next but it did eventually involve the police, after we got rid of the claw hammer and the blow torch.

I got up this morning and blew the cobwebs of my best suit. Court Day!
I was finally being made a Bankrupt. I had been fighting this for over two years, from court room to lawyer’s office, I had tried hard to clear my good name, but, all to no avail.
I had lost.
I owed nearly £90,000 and the vultures were circling. I have been rich twice, and I have lost it twice. What can you do...
Still, not a person to dwell on my trouble's, I tied my tie and went to say goodbye to my two year old son.
"Daddy" he said, as he is just beginning to string short sentences together and they are usually a load of garble.
"Crocodiles and Alligators," He smiled at me innocently.
"You’re absolutely right, boy." I said sighing.
Then I went to face my destiny.

Mike Baldwin has staggered from his Hospital bed and is busy coughing his way back to Granada studios and Coronation Street...Ready to pop his clogs later on.
tissues at the ready folks..

Mike Baldwin leaves tonight. I’m just about to watch the demise of the cockney factory owner in Coronation Street, I’m not too good with sad stories and this Alzheimer thing is very sad indeed.
Good acting by the 30 year street veteran, I will miss his ruthless quips and sideways grin. Up to the last episode I really didn’t realise how small he was!
Well it’s on now and I’m getting tearful.
Will let you know more at the end….

Forced on me by illness, I’m taking a year off.
I won’t go into details of my particular ailment but, needless to say it is bloody painful at times.
‘Everyone has a cross to bear!’ I hear you yell…
Too true, which is why this year is going to be my ‘ambition’ year. Twelve months of finally putting ‘fingertip to keyboard’ and writing that novel. You know…The novel that’s in everyone!
I’ve had this story in my head for about 5 years now and I’ve dallied with writing it for about the same.
Well now, I’ve finally knuckled down and began to take it seriously. I am writing a good 1000 words per day and I am bloody enjoying it! I am already about 20,000 words in, that’s a third of a book apparently.
If you want to know more about the book, let me know and I may post a chapter or two.
I think its bloody good, but I’m writing it and I am definitely a bit bias.

Cheers for now

Chris.

The old guy next door has about a dozen chickens but they seem to prefer my garden to his.
I live in a council house on a genuinely nice estate in Chesterfield. I have lived here for about 2 years with my fiancé and our two young sons.
The gardens are long and in a state of disrepair. They were so overgrown when we moved in that, it was about six weeks before I realised that my garden was shorter by half than anyone else’s. When I investigated this I realised that the old guy next door had commandeered half of my garden and annexed it to his! When I approached him about it he explained in broad Yorkshire:
“ Na then, sithee…A took it int war tha noes, te turn it over wi potatoes see.”
“Oh that explains everything! So sorry to have bothered you.” Retorted I.
“Er… can I have it back then?” I asked gingerly.
“Oh arr.” Said the old guy.

And so it went… I ended up wading through brambles and stinging nettles to stake out the boundary of my land which only had the effect of clearing a lovely space for his chickens. But that’s for tomorrow, got to get the boys in bed.