Who am I?

I've got no idea really. I know I live in Plymouth, England. I am very forgetful with things like keys, milk bottles, bags, hats...gee I've lost a lot of hats in my time. I'm originally from Newcastle in the north-east of England and come from a working class family. I still feel working class although I'm not in tough economic circumstances. Some things you just feel in your guts.

I was born in the early 1960's and baptised a Catholic, sent to a Catholic school, taught by a mixture of teachers including some nuns. School days were strict and life at home could be both fraught and happy. Kind of an up and down, in and out sort of childhood. I guess life was hard for my parents too and they would often get into severe domestic rows. Some time ago I wrote a song with these lyrics about that time. In one line marked by * I have watered down the abusive language for a family (what's that mean?) audience. The song is called...

Playing Out At Teatime

I let the door go bang behind me,
weaved swiftly up the street,
took a 40 yard dash from me beans and mash
with the ball still at my feet

It's cold, it's wet, but I'm playing out
in the lane, back of Jackie's shop.
With a black and white ball and a 20 foot wall
I've got the team to beat the drop.

"There's too much tomato on me burger,
you stupid bint, you lousy slut!"*
It stuck, it's true, to the wall, like glue,
then did a back-flip to the mat.

It's like being at the pictures
for they never hear me scream,
and I'm not tall enough when I stand up
to leave a shadow on the screen.

I'm sure it's quiet in the house now
but I think I'll wait and see,
I've got Johnstone, Cruyff and Charlie George,
the ball, the wall and me.

Now you know where the title to my site comes from. To any young people looking in, the names in the penultimate line refer to footballers of the late-sixties, early 1970's. This is a teeny glimpse at life in Byker, Newcastle at that time...and a little boy's means of coping. Anyhow my next blog will be about...today, whenever that arrives.