Flying The Nest?

2 down, 1 to go!

Well it’s finally happened, My kids are all growing up and leaving me to start life’s of their own.

Laura 28 left first, just over a year ago, buying a house with her partner. She called me last night to tell me they are getting married next year. I’m delighted for them both.

Steven 30 leaves this weekend, moving into rented accommodation with his partner. They’ll be buying soon but giving it a try first

Both of these were expected.

What wasn’t expected is that my munchkin Claire 21 would be moving out so soon.

She recently graduated from Strathclyde with a first class honours degree. I’m very proud of her. Even more so that she has her first job working for a major bank on an amazing starting salary.

A salary that many of my own extended family couldn’t hope to earn despite working for many years.

There’s the proof that education and guidance makes the difference to people’s starts in life.

What wasn’t expected is that she’d be leaving home so soon and moving south to their headquarters.

Coincidentally her boyfriend lives in the same city.

What’s the chances eh??!!

I’m pleased for her but can’t help feeling a bit sad.

This place we live isn’t just a house, it’s home.

Soon I’ll be rattling around in it on my own.

The thought of downsizing crossed my mind, maybe renting it out and using the money to see the world.

But truth be told I’ve seen as much as I want to see with the exception of New York, Vegas, Washington DC and the California coast

I’ve no desire to backpack across Vietnam or experience food poisoning or malaria in less civilised parts of the world.

So what next?

I’ve no idea really, keep working, no mortgage to pay so just enjoy life.

Truth be told, I think it’s time I found a new partner and settled down.

Life’s too short and too precious to live it on your own.

2am on Monday morning. This new job comes with bank holidays.

But if truth be told I’m not convinced if being staff rather than self employed is for me.

Especially with a daughter getting married next year!

It’s going to be costly. 🙂

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A Gun At My Head?

It’s been a big year, many changes occurring but nothing too bad or irrecoverable.

2 days at court with the legalities of finally reaching a settlement with my former partner.

She took the stand and laid it on thick. But she lied and I could prove she lied.

At lunch on the second day after I’d shown the evidence they wanted to talk and we settled out of court.

Yep I took a hit, not as bad as it could’ve been after already giving her a 6 figure settlement but she was holding a gun to my head and it was worth taking the hit to keep the house.

Who gifts 6 figures? Seriously?

Not even the judge believed that.

It was my own fault, blindly trusting someone with my hard earned cash, giving them a loan to help them move on, only for it be used against me as a bargaining chip.

I should have got the legal steps in place at the time. My bad.

I made the mistake of treating people the way I expect to be treated. My word is my bond. If I make a promise then that promise will be kept.

It’s a done deal and life goes on.

The gun is no longer at my head. The mortgage has been paid off. There’s still money in the bank.

Life is good.

Now that the stress has been removed it’s time to have some fun!!

Please Just Fuck Off!

It’s the half night

The half light

I’m wide awake

When I should be sound

 

She’s been texting

Her anxiety increasing

With my lack of response

But I was asleep to be fair

 

She wants me

She misses me

She wants me to fuck her

To do anything I want

 

She asks

Do I miss her?

Do I not love her?

Why don’t I love her?

 

All that angst and anxiety

While I was in the land of nod

Dreaming about nothing at all

And certainly not her

 

Continue reading “Please Just Fuck Off!”

So what’s wrong with me?

3am and the world is dark

Everywhere except the blue-white light from my phone.

Fell asleep on the sofa .. again.

There was a message from her waiting when I woke up.

Asking if I was awake and wanted to talk.

I wasn’t and I didn’t.

She says that she misses me.

I miss her too, but not enough.

Not enough to make the effort, invite her over, spend the night wrapped in her arms.

Or legs. Continue reading “So what’s wrong with me?”

The First To Say Good-Bye?

 

The First To Say Good-Bye?

Well she actually said,  “Fuck Off”   .. delightful I’m sure!   🙂

It’s not that I haven’t said the same thing to her before,  because I have,  even although I didn’t mean it.

It was more a “Seriously?”  than a “Get out of here”.

Where as hers was more a ” Get out of here asap and never come back”  🙂

But the big difference is,  somewhere inside,  this time I knew she meant it.

This time I thought,  you really are pissed off with me.

What is it that I do to make piss her off so much?

How can I simply be out with friends and family enjoying the day,  then get a rattling angry text from her.

Truth is,  I was enjoying spending time with my closest brother before he goes through a major operation,  enjoying the football,   the sunshine and his last few days of freedom before going under the knife with life changing results and I don’t even want to think about the worst case scenario.

So we got caught up,  I hadn’t contacted her until 8:30,  but it was only 8:30 for fucks sake,  hardly the end of the night.

Yeah,  maybe I should have contacted her earlier to finalise arrangements,  let her plan ahead,   I get that,  but it takes 2 to tango,  does it not?

So what next?

Let it go?

Apologise?

Look for some middle-ground between eating humble pie and maintaining a huff.

You know I miss her,  she knows I miss her,   I know that she’s hurting,   probably waiting on a call  ..  or maybe not.

Here’s the truth,   good-bye isn’t always a one-sided decision and fuck off isn’t always the end.

We’ve came this far and its a lot to throw away for trivial reasons.


 

Anyway,   my closest brother is genuinely under the knife today,    they found a 4cm long tumour in one of his kidneys and are removing the kidney completely.

Only this time last week, we met for a curry and some beers before going to see Bryan Ferry at The Royal concert Hall in Glasgow.     He’d only just heard the bad news.

He’s a different kind of character to me,  he’s  more “get it done” where I’d be worried sick.

But you’ve really got to love the NHS for taking care of business so quickly.

So it might not be perfect,  budgets are limited,  but when you need it,  it’s there.

Last night,  I went over to see him ..  strange thing ..  I don’t see him every week,    we aren’t in constant contact,    but he’s my oldest friend,  a close confidante,  I just can’t imagine him not being around.

Right now,   waiting on the news from the hospital,  it’s a strange situation,  a pregnant pause,  when life is out of your hands,  big things are happening and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about them.

I’m not really religious,  but I will admit to having said a silent prayer.

I never ever want to say goodbye.

Torn – Is Glasgow a Binary City?

 

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He’s not a happy man, John that I work with.

I wonder why?

On Friday he seemed to be buoyant, looking forward to the weekend. A quiet night on Friday as he had a flying lesson on Saturday and was saving himself for a big day out at the football and celebrating on Sunday.

John’s a Rangers fan, or a Sevco fan if you like to wind him up about the fact that his original team have went into liquidation and the team in blue that play out of Ibrox are not the same team that he has supported man and boy.

On Friday, he had a spring in his step, lunch time was full of phrases like “We’re back” and “This is the most I’ve looked forward to an Old Firm game in years”.

John’s attitude, probably like most who see the world through blue-tinted glasses is that Celtic haven’t been performing at their best ( true) and that Rangers have had better recent performances ( possibly) and that over the 8 games since Christmas Rangers were the form team and had beaten St Johnstone 3-0 where Celtic could only draw 0-0 against them.

He was in full-on mode .. upbeat, confident and on a roll.

Truth be told, I was more nervous about this game than I have been for any game against Rangers since they were reformed from the assets that Charles Green bought from the insolvency administrators.

Would they be able to beat us at their ground with 45,000 home supporters baying for “Fenian blood”?

My heart said no, but my head wasn’t as confident with a 60/40 likelihood that Celtic would win. Much less than previous games were I had no doubt that we would win, or at least not get beat.

Is that the same thing?

I can handle a draw. But getting beat by your biggest rivals stings.

Glasgow isn’t exactly a binary city,  it’s more 1’s, 0s and Nulls.

For many people,   you’re a Tim or a Hun or nothing and if you’re nothing then you’re viewed suspiciously by either side and assumptions are made from your upbringing and attitude to put you in one box or the other.

So you might as well be something.

But in reality its not as simple as that.  there are many people who really could not give a toss about football or religion and wish that the lot of them would pack up and go elsewhere.

Add to that,  the growing number of immigrants to the city who do not have the historic loyalties which cause this unholy rivalry to be the car-crash spectacle that it has become.

Some people are too involved,  too close to it,  that they lose all sense of perspective.  That they think that its all about “us” and “them”.   Completely unaware that there is so much more to life out there and lots of people who don’t give a fuck.

Did you see the game? Continue reading “Torn – Is Glasgow a Binary City?”

Wolf – Stench

The stench was appalling.

You could smell it from 100 yards outside the three story apartment block.

No wonder the neighbours were complaining.

It was two weeks after Christmas and they had thought it was due to the increased volume of refuse and lack of collection over the festive period.

But now the rubbish had been collected and the smell lingered, so they called it in.

Even my probationer Stevie knew what it was the moment we parked up outside the dilapidated council block.

Stevie pressed the button on the secure entry. The caller a Mrs Armstrong lived in Flat 2/2, directly below the flat we were about to visit.

It’s not hard to guess why the smell would be worst in her place.


I’d already noticed the curtains twitching when we parked the car and she answered the buzzer within moments, opening the door to the building without the need for introductions.

I could hear her unlocking her door as we walked up the stairs. Two mortice locks and a Yale.

Stevie had checked the history of the block and there had been a number of break-ins over the years. Mrs Armstrong had been broken into twice.

Kevin McLeod, the occupant of the flat we were about to visit was suspected. He had a habit that he funded by a petty crime and a list as long as you’re arm.

But suspicion isn’t proof and who knows if it was Kevin shitting on his own doorstep or some other junkie acquaintance.

The door was open by the time we reached the last turn on the stairs. Mrs Armstrong, 60 and looks it, cigarette in hand, standing arms crossed, ready to greet us.

“About fucking time” she spat the words at us.

Maybe the community policing officer should have made more of an effort charming this old boiler.

I’ll try and remember to bring that up at the next community policing team meeting.

Stevie did the formalities, not that Mrs Armstrong was interested in our names, ranks or badge numbers.

“I don’t give a fuck son, but you too aren’t going to clean up this mess with stupid wee car of yours.”

I left Stevie to explain that we were just the initial response team and if there was a need to call for backup then we would have more resources on the scene as necessary.

I allowed myself a brief smile at Mrs Armstrong’s retort to Stevie’s by the book explanation of police procedure.

“What-fucking-ever son, just get that wee bastard out of here.”

No love lost there then.

I gave the door the cursory police style knock, three rapid thumps, a three second pause and then and another three thumps, already knowing that it was a pointless exercise and there might be a body here but nobody was home.

Stevie arrived with a quizzed look on his face. This was his first attendance at a death scene and he was keen to know the procedure on the drive over.

I stepped back from the door.

“Have a look through the letter box”. I told him.

He bent his knees slowly, placed one hand on the letterbox and used the other to push the metal flap of the letterbox inwards.

I took a step back, I knew what was coming next.

The sickeningly sweet pungent aroma of death was carried on the air by a micro swarm of flys and bluebottles.

Stevie jumped to his feet and was three steps down from the landing in an instant, bent double, one hand on the wall holding himself up, the other over his mouth as he retched through his fingers.

I gave him a minute to compose himself then shoulder charged the door.