He found 281 hard work, all the arguing, the shouting, the grabbing pushing & shoving, the lack of respect, being controlled by fear…
43330 saved him, an adolescent second childhood maybe, he was hard work during then, he could have been better, he is very glad it happened.
He even had a third childhood, this time with his sons, most certainly not perfect, he failed, & tried, he could have done much better.
He is a nice person, human.
He loves life, but not his own, though things can change…
As he gets older, more is remembered. ‘By thas putting on timber lass’ and others in the room laughed. This was not the wedge, but a sure sign of how that family were and things to come. They drove her nuts, but he thought it was simply normal. Maybe he should have been brave and cut that family loose as she wanted to, and finally did, but you see, he thought that behavior was normal…
In erm, 1978 or 79? I remember walking home with Nigel T. We had been to the then Windhill Cricket clubs resident erm bar-staff? It was the Edmundson’s, their home which was supplied by the club. We’d had a great laugh. Long story cut to the main bit. As me and Nigel (Nigel and I in ‘proper’ terms!}. as me and Nigel got to 281, my mother was standing at the top of the steps.
OK she was probably worried as it was about 11:30pm. She almost pushed me down the steps, that I didn’t like, got to the kitchen, started taking my shoes off, then I hear this mad shouting – dad I thought, ffs. It goes somewhat blank, but I remember at the door, the wall, and seeing my sister with her then boyfriend – now husband, they had gone to the steps to see what was going on – I remember looking at them.
Sat on my bed looking into the mirror, I was trying to work out what had happened the night before. My ‘dad’ came in to try say something.
Too late fucker, you fucked with my mind and body that previous night.
‘Stop it Keith you’ll kill him’ it knocks around my head more than ever what his wife said.
So, about 20 years later, my ex wife witnessed something similar, I should have stopped it. At that point she decided that seeing my parents/family was a low priority, but I couldn’t understand why – as what she witnessed was normal, wasn’t it…
I feel quite uneasy writing this.
Few week ago I posted a quote, which was something like ‘I’m not afraid of death, but I’m scared of living’ hmmm, illness and death are not a competition. I have some ‘things’ bothering me, yes as I get older I remember more – stuff. In the mid 70’s my right hand got pulled into rollers at Dockmill Wool Scouring. Thankfully ‘dad’ was there to hit the stop button, if not, I would have gone into the machine. Why the fuck he took me there ffs.
The next one is being knocked off my bicycle in 1999 at the main Guiseley roundabout. I was on my way to work at AETC LTD in Yeadon, I had a job application in my bag, so – as a cyclist’ do. I shouted – screamed, the driver (woman from Otley) pulled over and we exchanged details. Folks at the bus stop witnessed it, but I didn’t take their details.
So, I rode on the backroads, handed in my job application, went to do my usual job and then the shock? caught up. It was a late shift 14:00 – 22:00.
I phoned my ex wife to please come and pick me up (it was a year before I passed my driving test), she couldn’t or couldn’t be arsed, but our sons were only of five and three, so that I have never held against her. Being of a cyclist’ I did ride home, battered bike, fucked body but I rode home, nice sympathy – not, anyways.
It went to court and I won – got a family holiday to Formentera. These days it would be a massive payout. Right, when knocked off my bicycle I remembered a vehicle going straight for my head, it stopped, that was harder than being knocked off.
For various reasons I know why these are bothering me, I have many other troubling events.
Illness and death is not a competition – it happens.
Oh, I got that job I applied for at AETC. Production Supervisor, but my position seemed mainly to do with improvements, which led on to a job I loved in Burnley. Then again, life fucks up.
Mind, some great folks were there.
Still is.
Hope that clears up something?
1983.
Jeez…
Now please leave me alone.
So, after spending a couple of relaxing days I return home to be accused of various writing on notices!
‘In the beginning’ a washer broke down with a full load inside. When the new washer arrived a payment of £5 each was gifted to the two delivery men to take the washer out into the bike shed, empty it, and then the clothes could be saved. At a cost of £5 the washer had been arranged for collection by the council, but they could only collect it on the 15th March 2016, so, the washer was left in the bike shed so the regular scrap metal drivers could pick it up.
Within a couple of days someone had moved the washer inside the waste shed, this is out of view for collection, so, after that a letter was sent to all 36 ‘flats’ someone kindly put the washer outside, it was finally removed a week before the council could collect it. That should have been the last of it, hmmm… Read on.
Prison ‘officers’ eh!
Well, as I get older, I seem to be remembering accidents and near misses I have encountered through life. In no order at all I will be adding to the following list as and when I remember to?
Once, on the way to Saltaire medical centre I was at the pedestrian zebra crossing, a car stopped but I decided to wait, as I decided to wait an articulated lorry rammed the car, which in turn went at great speed over the crossing, just where I would have been. The driver had not used the handbrake as you are supposed to at these crossings.
My first ever bicycle race was with the East Bradford Cycling Club. In 1978 this was an evening ’10’ starting near Pool, and heading towards Harrogate – a very busy road. it was the days when time trails could turn in the road. When I reach the marshal – Jim, I turned thinking he meant that the road was clear with his arm out. Vehicles just missed me, Jim – rightfully, later on gave me a massive bollocking, but I didn’t know it was my responsibility to check the road was clear.
1984, and coming home on leave, my RAF colleague David? was driving his three wheeler Reliant Robin on the motorway, I nodded off, when my head jolted up, Dave’s head had just slumped to the driving wheel! I mad sure he woke and I most certainly didn’t fall asleep when ever he again gave me a lift from RAF Lyneham.
In the mid 1970’s my Hornby trainset was on a board. Now, I’m trying to remember, I once plugged the transformer in, and the train shot off the tracks, I checked the old transformer and it was turned off, so again I put the train on the tracks, and it blasted off the board, so, I unplugged the transformer. As I’ve got much older I’ve realised the full 240 volts had made it onto the track, the old transformer was faulty. The house fuse box didn’t ‘blow’ as I think thick fuse wire was used on all in the box, so no fuses would blow. Massively dangerous, if I touched the track would it have blown me across the room? I’m not sure what I did after that.
My worse experience has started bothering me quite alot. When aged about 10 years old my dad took me into his place of work Dockmill Scouring, it was a Sunday. I found one of those curved double spiked gadgets that are used to manually pull bales of wool with. So, I thought it was wrongly bent and decided to try and straighten it in the wool drainage? rollers. Sure enough they pulled the gadget through, and then my fingers started to get dragged in. Fortunately my dad was nearby and pressed the stop button, otherwise that would have been my life ending, urrggghhhh, this is a really difficult memory. My fingers still show some damage, especially when the sarcoidosis kicks in. Jeez.
I just don’t post enough, though I do tweet and hope folks get to see some? At the beginning of November 2015, I started a typical cycle of being shattered, fatigued, tiredness, exhausted etc. Went to the docs, mainly because I had hit quite a low mood (more on that later). He has been pretty good with me, anyway he suggested some extra bloods testing. Amazingly within a few hours the results were back, I have zero vitamin D in my body.
So, I’m prescribed Invita D3. Two be taken once per week…
I did my usual and researched this drug, guess what, it carries a warning that patients with Sarcoidosis must be treated with caution, the warning is pretty much that this medication can be dangerous for us sarcoids. So, zero vitamin D in sarcoids is dangerous, as are the meds to treat zero vitamin D in sarcoids, jeez.
After phoning Addingham surgery, the doctor returned my call, he went through his BMA manual and found the advice in some small print, he thanked me and we are going to try with half the dosage.
More growths are happening inside my feet, especially the ball of the right foot. It can feel like I’m constantly walking on pebbles, so I’m awaiting various scans for this.
I have never felt so tired, and fed up. The mental health team have got me in really quick; it took only two week. I know it can take some folks months. I’m going to be treated with Cognitive behavioral therapy (be careful how you key the CBT into the search engine – ouch!) which we hope will work along side a current medication of Fluoxetine. When I did see the doctors screen it appeared to have a red background, that is a first time.
Sometimes this would be the best way…
It’s shit, I swear.
Its like, how much am I supposed to suffer before many, a very many folks believe me? I’m going to keep this simple with very minimal writing, photos should tell a little. Sarcoidosis mimics, masks, & mutates any other condition, known, and unknown. The following three photos are of my left foot. Oh, its only physical pain, that I can take, as for the mental trauma, that I struggle with.
This shit is real. I never ever expected to get stupidly ill at 45 years of age. Tried work through the brilliant Remploy, my body packed in. The UK’s welfare finally accepted what ‘all’ the medics were stating, and even backdated this.
Sarcoidosis is a cousin of cancer, but the names are very different and can grow anywhere upon within me without any form of warning. For the non believers, I’ve had enough of you, so fuck right off…
This post is a slightly different yet very difficult one to explain, and even write. For one, I am not going to spend too much energy on it.
10th Oct 2010 I was diagnosed as having sarcoidosis. I had all symptoms (the medics loved me!), including shadows in my body, and weird shit on my skin and in my eyes. What followed this diagnosis of a hideous illness was loss of job, loss of home, and eventual bankruptcy (charities Ssafa and The RBL had got involved by then). Anyone wants to know why the government pretty much abandoned me then please ask! I went down on record as single white male – hence I’m at the bottom of all list’s for help.
Sarcoidosis came to my rescue, because I was ill, a home through Bradford’s open moves (lovely lady helped me big time), became available two weeks before I was due to be evicted (I was at a top friends home when the call came through). Daft thing is, I’m sort of ‘cool’ with this as it’s all a blur…
What followed was ridiculous assessments by Atos; I was fit for work yet my body was falling to bits! The disability section of the employment office were quite sickened, as were my medics, even my GP banged his desk when we were going through ‘stuff’ ffs. I did still try carrying on with life as erm, most would class as ‘normal’ yet the weight loss was bonkers.
I volunteered to get work through Leeds Remploy. They couldn’t understand why I decided upon this, I did because I wanted to work. In the meantime my case had reached the parliamentary ombudsman (MP involved). Even though I failed at each stage of getting there, I got there! This in itself wasn’t good for my health, so I finally, and annoyingly withdrew. At the same time other drugs were being swallowed, esp the 40mg/day of prednisolone.
Harping on far more than I intended.
I got quite ill when working through Remploy and then that job finished.
Early 2015, and after Atos visited me I was awarded (means tested) ESA and placed into the Support group, I was awarded (means tested PIP (replacement to DLA)), and to my surprise some was back dated. I’m covered until 2017/18 and do try return to friends some of that passionate help they gave me. I still intend on working, but my body fails under any form of stress and anxiety, do the doubters want me to die – answers please…
The idea of my benefits is to try and allow me to live rather than survive. So, to those who have called me a lefty cunt and scrounger, to those who do wonder how and why, and to those who don’t understand what and how the ‘system’ works.
It’s fucking difficult…
So, this evening it is time to have the appointment with a top dermatologist. Reason being, this time, it’s my feet. As can be seen in the following photo’s, they are being attacked. Walking can be a right problem, jeez!
, read the Blues in Britain magazine review or listen to my BCB Radio interview.