Oops! Already taken! Never mind, I’ll just think of something new, that’s all right; I’m not a writer and would never claim to be. I am, though, a vicious reader. I’ve just re-read that and realized that I’ve used the word vicious instead of the slightly longer one voracious! What a fool. Imagine that, a vicious reader! Ridiculous …
Actually, there was a boy at my school, Martin Thorpe, who once pierced the skin on the chest of Mr Deere the English teacher. It happened on a particularly hot day one summer term. Old “no eye” had insisted on keeping the windows shut as he suffered from an abnormally low body temperature. As did Mr Pye, the physics teacher; he eventually retired to Chile. I know! Anyway “no eye” went up to Martin to check on his progress as we read King Lear by William Shakespeare. He tapped Martin on his shoulder, whereupon the boy lashed out like a frightened animal, shrieking loudly as he did. Mr Deere recoiled in horror and fell to the ground with Martin’s pen sticking out of his chest. I went and helped Mr Deere to his feet and gave Martin back his pen but the damage was done. Martin was suspended for two weeks and Mr Deere retired with nerves.
A Voracious Reader
I’ve always had a keen interest in reading and as a child was a fully paid up member of the Ladybird Club and would tingle with excitement at the thought of another of their little books plopping through the letter box. I would race out of my room and along the hall, headlong towards the pile of fresh post nestled at the foot of the front door, only to be knocked aside by my father as he headed for the same destination. Even though this was long before the days of anthrax in the post, Dad always had a keen sense of protecting his family and was merely checking that the coast was clear before allowing his pride and joy to get too close. He was also keen to check whether that month’s Amateur Rifleman had come. We would both scurry off with our quarry; Dad to pore over pictures of telescopic lenses and me in my pyjamas to read about Little Red Hen and Chicken Lickin’. Ironically two of the creatures most at risk from Dad’s recreational activities.
Great days!
So, anyway, that’s enough about me, let’s get back to the book and your feelings of despondency. It’s meant to be what they call a self-help book; that is, a book that helps you to help yourself. I rather think of it though as me helping you, by sharing my experiences with you. Experiences garnered from a rich, varied and very happy life that has led me down the road to where I am today Where am I today? Well, as The Fatboy Slim would say I’m “Right Here, Right Now”! So are you,so what better opportunity for the two of us to get down to work and help each other? Having said that, it will primarily be me helping you, as the help is help that comes from me, from my experiences. If you tried to help me with the same advice I would have to say that I already know that advice, so “thanks but no thanks”, and that probably wouldn’t go down well. Let’s face it, if you’re reading a self-help book you’re not in the best state of mind for handling rejection. Maybe it’s a rejection that unpicked the stitching in the fabric of your life and put you in a tailspin in the first place, and my new rejection would just reopen old wounds and encourage you to ponder on the mess you’ve made of things. So let’s not do that, let’s reject it! Let’s
REJECT THE REJECTION!
Harsh? Yes, but fair also. I’ve given it a lot of thought and if I were to accept my own advice from a reader like you, we would just go round in circles, it would be like teaching an old dog new tricks. Actually it would be more accurate to say “teaching a dog in his late 30s (human years, so whatever the equivalent is in dog… times it by seven… 210. Let’s face it, at that age you’d be lucky to get a coherent bark from him, let alone master a new skill…) tricks of a variety of ages that he already knows”, and what would be the point of that? Well all right, yes, I suppose it would enable the old dog to hone the trick, to become even better at it, but …
OK, we could go round the houses forever on this one. For the sake of progress, and so we can be sure that we’re shooting from the same hymn sheet, let’s say that I’ll help you, end of the story. You’ll be the student and I’ll be the master, like in Star Wars, a Jedi and his young Padawan; who knows, maybe one day the tables will turn and the student will become the master, like Darth Vader and Alec Guinness. If so then let’s hope that we can remain cordial and content ourselves with a frank exchange of views, with no urge on your part to sever my torso in an act of bitter vengeance …
It’s a bit of fun!
Off We Jolly Well
So come on, it’s time to start our journey. Seatbelts on, check the mirror, put her in gear, or rather, leave that to me! You just get yourself comfortable. Have a look in the glove box, I’ve left some sweets in there, they’re the classic travel sweets in a round tin, lying like broken pieces of Stonehenge in a snowy sherbet field. I like these sweets and always choose them over a more sticky chocolate type affair, in particular because I love the sherbet. I always put a bit of sherbet on my finger and dab it around my nose so that when I glance in the mirror I look like Al Pacino as the cocaine-addled crime lord Michael Corleone in Scarface, “Hoo Ha!” A bit of fun, it makes you feel part of the in crowd. I’m not advocating drug use, of course I’m not, I must stress that it’s not real cocaine, it’s the sherbet at the bottom of a tin of travel sweets, it’s not addictive. If anything I would urge drug addicts to consider it as an alternative to riding the dragon; as for those who are toying with the idea of drugs, what I call teetering, I put forward the sweets as a halfway house, a compromise; particularly for teenagers. If you are a teenager I urge you to choose the sweets while at the same time asking what could possibly have gone wrong with your life at such a young age to make you resort to a book like this?
Whatever… This book is open to all comers – academics and idiots, old codgers and young bucks, sober judges and teenage binge drinkers. All are welcome! Let’s take the first steps together on our wonderful journey, our fantastic voyage, our magical mystery tour to a place where we will all be …
MAKING DIVORCE WORK!
Step 1 Something’s Not Right But it’s OK
“I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh lord”
PHIL COLLINS – IN THE AIR TONIGHT
“It’s not right, but it’s OK…”
WHITNEY HOUSTON – IT’S NOT RIGHT, BUT IT’S OK
“I think I’m done with the kitchen table, baby”
GEORGE MICHAEL – OUTSIDE
Picture the scene in your head. Your relationship is ticking over nicely, you are the happiest man in the world, you work hard every day and come home every night to a loving cosy home. You think to yourself,
“Keith, it doesn’t get better than this.”
But in the back of your mind does everything seem too perfect? Do you sense something almost imperceptible changing in your loved one, something so other-worldly that it’s almost ethereal but none the less it’s there? Something so subtle that only you would notice it?
No?
Neither did I.