The Long and Winding Road
Mother
Holyhead is a tiny village perched on the north east Welsh coast. The wind howled
as I disembarked the ferry. All I had with me apart from my clothes was an
automatic Nikon camera. I used some of my precious money to telephone my mother,
to tell her I was safe and on my way to her. It was the only place I could think where I could be safe, quiet
and have time to collect my shattered thoughts. My only problem was getting there. At first I thought I would hitch a ride
and set out on the road out of town. After about an hour walking with my thumb out, I gave up.
There'd only been about ten cars passing in that time. Knowing I couldn't sleep rough again that night, I made my way back to the port
and railway station. I would have to try and negotiate my way home by rail. At first, I saw the station master and tried to
"buy" a ticket by offering my camera as security. That was refused. My only hope was to convince a guard that I should be allowed to travel.
The last train of the day arrived at six thirty. I approached the guard to tell him of my plight. He listened before saying, "Yeah I've heard all that crap before,
you malingerers are all the same." I resisted the temptation to get angry and he grudgingly allowed me onto the train.
Sixteen hours later, after three train changes and a sleepless night on a platform at Birmingham New Street station, I arrived in Evesham,
where my mother lived. It had been a harrowing journey.
Imposition
I stayed with my mother for a few months. Later I discovered how much of an imposition I'd been to her.
Looking back, I was morose, silent and unhappy. I complained bitterly to her of the treatment I'd received in Ireland and became angry when
she excused Steve's actions. Little did I know that he'd already phoned her to tell her I'd gone crazy and left his house,
with nothing more than the clothes I stood up in. After a couple of weeks I half-heartedly began to try and find work.
Nothing happened to convince me my future lay in England however.
My weekends were spent in the company
of Linda, the woman who'd kept calling me in Ireland.
She had some bizarre practices, which I found distasteful and weird. However, I continued to see her,
until one day I displeased her, by saying I was going to leave and not come back.
I turned, just in time to see her fists clamped together,
descending fast towards my head. She missed, just, but caught my neck, stunning me.
I'd never been hit by a woman before. I bent from the force of the blow and came upright with my own fist balled,
ready to strike back if she attacked again. Astonished by my reaction, I made arrangements to return the following weekend. Once out of the house, I abandoned
everything I had there, and never returned.
All I had in the world was my house in Twickenham. Now it was time to sell it and start afresh somewhere else.
I put it on the market and sold it quickly, realising about 50,000 Dollars, after the loans were paid off. Knowing I'd overstayed my welcome at my mother's house,
I stayed once more with Chris and Sigrun, whilst the house sale went through. I knew that I shouldn't stay there too long either, because they must surely have had enough of
me. They said nothing of course, but I knew.
I heard then, of some friends who had split up. There was a farm they owned, which needed some hard work to keep it going.
It was an organic farm, which interested me. So, I imposed myself on Sarah, who couldn't manage the upkeep alone.
I moved there in March of 1994, complete with computer,
which I'd bought from the proceeds of the house.
I wanted to begin writing again.
A purely platonic arrangement followed, where I worked on the land for my keep.
I bought a Triumph Spitfire to get around in and happily got on with restoring her property to some semblance of order.
Like a Lead Balloon
April was searing for a change. Temperatures hardly dropped below eighty degrees. I tilled the soil and planted
seeds, whilst all the time wondering what I would do next. My birthday in May came and went with a lovely dinner party.
Sarah went off to Cuba and allowed me to have my daughter come and stay for a few days whilst she was away. It was a wonderful three days.
My daughter, now fourteen, had blossomed into a pretty young lady with intelligence and a knowledge of how to control the young boys who flocked to her,
like bees round a honey pot. My heart was heavy when she returned home once more to her mother. Heavy, yet happy, she was going to be a fine young lady soon.
In the third week of May, a letter arrived, postmarked Dublin. It was a letter from Internet Eireann's landlord's solicitors. It informed me that there was
approximately fifty thousand dollars owing in rent by the company and that as guarantor, I had to pay it, or Internet Eireann would be wound up.
My heart sank. It was all I had left in the world.
My choices were clear. Either run with my money and hide, or pay up.
Thinking about it, here was my opportunity to get back,
what I considered to be rightfully mine. All I had to do was negotiate the removal
of Mary and Karen from the company. I set about my new challenge with grim determination,
after all, I held the whip hand now didn't I?.