Yes, these were the people in my ‘new’ backyard, living their lives on just one of a hundred little streets running through the main artery and beating heart of Pitsmoor, all with a shop on both corners. Beer-offs, chippies, cobblers and pubs made up the microcosm in which we lived, with Main Street Spital Hill a mile or so up the road, offering up more no-nonsense fair-trade shopping, from elegant attire to pint pots for tea, and a vast array of working men’s clubs in a community that had, quite frankly, seen it all, but funnily enough, never once sat back on its fat backside.
It’s hard being the unwanted item in any bagging area, but for me, that’s how life began, the scar on my stomach a constant reminder of the life- curdling disappointment of some human beings and their grimy need for self-preservation.
He was his Velcro brother from a four-legged mother and they went everywhere together: to the bookies where Granddad had a part-time job, and Kit sat next to him all day long watching diligently as the odds were chalked onto the board; and then, later, to the Corner Pin for a well-deserved dust-settler, before taking the short walk home together for tea.
Rain fell against the windowpane, the kind of rain that only falls in England late into the summer; that sweet-smelling August rain born from cloudy skies, softly washing away the dust of the day.
Stoic by nature, Vernon chose not to seek assistance, medical or otherwise, continuing instead to work through the flashbacks as best he could. But never to be undone was the emotional numbing that saw him unconsciously wringing his hands as he snapped himself back to the present.
Envy is misguided; it dangles in despair, and to compare yourself with others is the fast track to unhappiness. Unhappiness is easy, because it involves giving in. But I was born in a city built on heavy industry and strong women, running with the wrong gang in a street where no one else could see my scars. So, if I’m going for a fight, I’ll continue to dress for a party.
Yes, these were the people in my ‘new’ backyard, living their lives on just one of a hundred little streets running through the main artery and beating heart of Pitsmoor, all with a shop on both corners. Beer-offs, chippies, cobblers and pubs made up the microcosm in which we lived, with Main Street Spital Hill a mile or so up the road, offering up more no-nonsense fair-trade shopping, from elegant attire to pint pots for tea, and a vast array of working men’s clubs in a community that had, quite frankly, seen it all, but funnily enough, never once sat back on its fat backside.
It’s hard being the unwanted item in any bagging area, but for me, that’s how life began, the scar on my stomach a constant reminder of the life- curdling disappointment of some human beings and their grimy need for self-preservation.
He was his Velcro brother from a four-legged mother and they went everywhere together: to the bookies where Granddad had a part-time job, and Kit sat next to him all day long watching diligently as the odds were chalked onto the board; and then, later, to the Corner Pin for a well-deserved dust-settler, before taking the short walk home together for tea.
Rain fell against the windowpane, the kind of rain that only falls in England late into the summer; that sweet-smelling August rain born from cloudy skies, softly washing away the dust of the day.
Stoic by nature, Vernon chose not to seek assistance, medical or otherwise, continuing instead to work through the flashbacks as best he could. But never to be undone was the emotional numbing that saw him unconsciously wringing his hands as he snapped himself back to the present.
Envy is misguided; it dangles in despair, and to compare yourself with others is the fast track to unhappiness. Unhappiness is easy, because it involves giving in. But I was born in a city built on heavy industry and strong women, running with the wrong gang in a street where no one else could see my scars. So, if I’m going for a fight, I’ll continue to dress for a party.
Yes, these were the people in my ‘new’ backyard, living their lives on just one of a hundred little streets running through the main artery and beating heart of Pitsmoor, all with a shop on both corners. Beer-offs, chippies, cobblers and pubs made up the microcosm in which we lived, with Main Street Spital Hill a mile or so up the road, offering up more no-nonsense fair-trade shopping, from elegant attire to pint pots for tea, and a vast array of working men’s clubs in a community that had, quite frankly, seen it all, but funnily enough, never once sat back on its fat backside.
It’s hard being the unwanted item in any bagging area, but for me, that’s how life began, the scar on my stomach a constant reminder of the life- curdling disappointment of some human beings and their grimy need for self-preservation.
He was his Velcro brother from a four-legged mother and they went everywhere together: to the bookies where Granddad had a part-time job, and Kit sat next to him all day long watching diligently as the odds were chalked onto the board; and then, later, to the Corner Pin for a well-deserved dust-settler, before taking the short walk home together for tea.
Rain fell against the windowpane, the kind of rain that only falls in England late into the summer; that sweet-smelling August rain born from cloudy skies, softly washing away the dust of the day.
Stoic by nature, Vernon chose not to seek assistance, medical or otherwise, continuing instead to work through the flashbacks as best he could. But never to be undone was the emotional numbing that saw him unconsciously wringing his hands as he snapped himself back to the present.
Envy is misguided; it dangles in despair, and to compare yourself with others is the fast track to unhappiness. Unhappiness is easy, because it involves giving in. But I was born in a city built on heavy industry and strong women, running with the wrong gang in a street where no one else could see my scars. So, if I’m going for a fight, I’ll continue to dress for a party.