Gracias por fumar

"Thank you for smoking", this is a seriously funny film, thoroughly recommend it although i did have to question myself when i immediately lit up on leaving the cinema, thus displaying a worrying level of addiction and a disturbing lack of intelligence - nice hit though!

Have purchased A4 pads and am going to spend the afternoon expanding my vocabulary and learning to decline los verboles en el tiempo passado. Obviously, i shall be writing a longer blog than normal to postpone said torture. Worse still is that this tedious process has to be done indoors, attempts at studying whilst in the sun are seriously hampered by the portenas (ladies of Bs As) walking by. A question - what is the world's easiest job? Answer - talent spotter in Buenos Aires.

Last night was spent at Vero's y Fernando's. My first asado of this visit. Several bottles of vino, and a stomach stretching quantity of cow. 18 hours later and food is still totally off the agenda. Spent most of the night chatting in Spanish, quietly pleased with that but am definitely a bit lacking in vocabulary.

On a totally different note - I installed a simple piece of google software onto my blog. This tells me the number of visitors, the number of pages read and where they were reading the site from. Quite scary if you start wondering what big brother might be able to achieve. However it enables me to say a quick hello and thank you for reading to: Anyas in Poland, Chelsea in Miami, someone in Dallas?, Mark in LA, someone in San Fran, a hodgepodge of England and one in Northern Ireland.

Lastly has anyone seen my mother? She was last seen heading on a plane to Namibia, followed by a period in Cape Town. I fear she may have fallen into a tank of chardonnay in the Stellenbosch region. Total panic hasn't set in yet as i'm fairly sure her friends would happily jump in after her and drink the rest to save her from drowning.

Castellano?

I have discovered the best way of gaining confidence in speaking a language. Go to a country where you can`t speak a word, Brasil for instance, then go somewhere where you can speak un poco. Words flow, ungrammitically and poorly pronounced, but you don`t care, the ability to communicate even on a base level removes all worries.

I plan to start studying next week, have even bought a childrens book and am wading thru that at glacial speed. Seem to cover about a page and a half whislt consuming the first cafe doble of the day. Then speak to whomsoever will listen, quite a long chat with the jefe of a wineshop whilst "tasting" (necking) a bottle. Any wine lovers out there should checkout Dona Paula Cab 2004, very good and about 8 quid.

Buenos Aires hasn`t changed, it`s still great, noticibly less wealthy than Sao Paulo. ( The cars alone prove that). But no worse for it. Steaks are bigger than i remember, likewise the bottles of beer ( a litre for 50p - forgotten that too). All is good, all i`ve got to do is learn the language, with some careful neglect i may have to stay here a very long time.

Chau.

Pinacoteca

Blimey, just spent the last few hours shifting everything from myspace to here. This site actually works and you don´t have to subscribe to anything - the joys. My life and times, along with humiliating photos is available, plus more recent photos and blogs.

Pinacoteca, another gallery. Great building that ran out of funding that has left the brickwork incomplete and better for it. Couple of interesting gallerys, a Rodin exhibition and some contemporary photos. All good.

The rest of the weekend was spent eating and drinking, as it should be. It´s time to say goodbye to Brasil and hola to Bs As. I plan to spend the next few days eating steak and drink wine, if i can make it up the stairs in Sandanzas (best hostel in Bs As) i may again relate the joys of Argentinian meat.

A quick thanks to Lu for putting up with me, and a further thanks to Romina who will be from this weekend.

Sao Paulo - MASP

17/10/06

Think i may have over exaggerated the perils of Rio. If you´re going, stay by one of the tourist beaches, cop an eyeful, checkout Christo, party and then leg it.

I shall be loitering with intent this week. Fruit salads, long walks etc. Today i went to MASP (Museum of Art Sao Paulo) which is supposed to have the best selection of European classics in South America. Couple of Picasso´s were quality and particularly enjoyed a Utrillo of Montmatre. The modern stuff sucked.

Overcame the hurdle of ordering lunch, particularly troubling when half the world seems to be behind you waiting to order. Most cheap places you have to queue to order, pay and then go and get it at another counter. Painful.

Saw Blach Dahlia at the local cinema, been out a while i think and not sure why there still showing it. Ms Johanssen has her normal plus points but the film is mediocre to dire, erring on the dire side.

Now recovering from my hike with a cold lager and a fag, all is well.

P.S John Irving´s - Until i find you - is wonderful

Rio, don´t take your wallet, Janeiro

16/10/06

No photo for reasons that will soon be apparent:

The bank holiday had arrived and we´re off to Rio with Gol airways. If you´re wondering why that name rings a bell it´s because they crashed in the amazon a few weeks back. Mind you it was there first in five years and it´s hard to blame an airline for a couple of american muppets flying into them. 15mins in a cab, 50 mins in the air and another cab ride and we were safely installed in the Rio Hostel in the Santa Theresa district.

Big room, en-suite looking over the terrace and pool area below, nice. Bit overcast and quite muggy so popped open a couple of lagers and relaxed on the terrace. A few more drinks followed, then a gentle climb up the hill to Sobre Natural, the local fish joint, an even slower descent, a few more beers chatting amongst the other guests, about 12 or so of them. Lu was knackered and crashed, i had a few more beers, no change there then.

Woke up to discover one of the Danish lads staying had been mugged but had only lost 20 rials (5 pounds). Leisurely breakfast followed by a bus and a long walk along Copacabana and then Ipanema beaches. Backed by 6 lanes of traffic and skyscrapers there is only one reason to come here. When it´s overcast that reason whatever your proclivity is covered up and scarce. Lu´s feeling a bit under the weather and wants to relax at the hostel which was handy becuase i wanted to recoup my poker losses from last night.

Spent the evening ensconced in cards and beer when the rest of the table decided to go out to Lapa, party central. I decided to give it a miss and just chill. They all got back at 3ish, i had passed out on the terrace deck chair, on the way back they´d all been jumped and searched and were now sans a watch and about 150 rials between them. Never walk at night in Rio even in groups. Went to bed.

Lu woke me up at 9ish having been for a walk to get a paper and take a few pictures. Asked her how she was; she replied "bad", this was mainly due to the fact that 3 guys had knicked her camera. Bugger. Unsurprisingly she fanced a lie in. I read, chatted etc but didn´t really fancy going for a wander. Neither did anyone else seeing as 9 out of 12 staying had been mugged in the last 3 days. It´s fascinating how your perception of safety affects you so much, we still walked about but i had my money in my shoe (apparently they don´t search there) and didn´t carry my camera. But it ain´t much fun. Ended up just relaxing in the hostel.

For my money Rio is the most overrated place i´ve ever been. Full of poseurs and plonkers, you can´t walk about at night, taking anything other than a disposable camera would be moronic, don´t wear a watch, don´t leave anything unattended , don´t pass go, lose 200 rials. I didn´t get mugged - just luck. Alot don´t but alot do, either way you are fully aware of it unlike any other place i´ve ever been. The other thing is that once you´ve seen a favela you can´t actually blame them for doing it, no education, no hope just a bunch of rich tourists wandering about. Lambs to the slaughter and in our hostel it was a blood bath.

J

P.S The artist i was asking after was correctly identified by Vicky as Renee Magritte, cheers auntie.

P.P.S No i haven´t forgotten to mention Pepsi. If yoú´re worried about the spiralling costs of dentistry drink a pepsi. Within a few years your costs will have disappeared along with your teeth.

Pepsi Challenge

11/10/06

Spent the morning setting up my blog and have so far received 6 visits: my brother, his dog, 3 weirdos and the Head of Sponshorship from Pepsi Corp (this was on myspace which proved to be shit). For once the basic infringement of privacy laws has worked in my favour, these guys have spyware that makes the CIA look like a bunch of boy scouts (not difficult admittedly), they noticed my interest in promoting their company and amazingly want to work with me.

The rules are simple. I get a $10,000 a year salary plus a dollar per subscriber. All i have to do is lose all self-esteem, let Pepsi put their brand all over my site and mention their name at least once per blog. No problem i thought. However, hidden in the small print, a clause mentions that when Pepsi is mentioned it has to be positive. Now this is not easy, in fact it´s fair to say that Einstein would struggle with this one. I walked down to the park, sat in the sun and read my book. Inspiraton didn´t strike neither did an apple so i trudged back up the hill and had a late lunch. Read some more, currently reading Julio Cortazar - the winners, and pondered and then lightning struck and i remembered a period in Bolivia. Eureka!

Pepsi has one very useful purpose. When you are struck by the shits a flat can of Pepsi will kill every bug in your stomach. So i urge you all to go buy a Pepsi and put it in the fridfge for that rainy day when you´ve drunk too much and thought a kebab, dodgy curry or anything from Budgens/Mcdonalds/KFC was a good idea.

Tomorrow i´m off to Rio and weather permitting will be drinking cairprihnas on a beach, you will thus be blog free for a few days.

Portugues? Cerveja?

Monday morning and Lu´s gone to work which to put it simply means i have a serious communication problem. My vocabulary is growing slowly and i can now say "meu portugues e um lixo" - my portugues is rubbish. This proves extremely useful because it raises a smile and thus people are willing to listen to the gibberish that follows. Fortunatley "free box" - packet of cigs, espresso purro - neat espresso, and cerveja aren´t proving too difficult. Weight loss is occuring because food ordering is a whole different world of pain.

I opt for a long walk. Mainly because it avoids talking to anyone. Manage to buy a map, unfortunatley said map is of Sau Paulo province not city and is thus 2 quid down the toilet. Decide to head to centre, takes an hour along the equivalent of the north circular (if it were lined with shit shops). The gallery i want to see is shut, in fact it´s a Monday and anything interesting is shut. Buy a guide book, with a map. Drink a beer, read said book. the park is only a few kms away so i walk there. Sit by a tree and watch the wildlife and read.

Now i have to find the right exit. An hour later and i´m lost. My map proves to be bollocks and i´m at the museum we visited yesterday. Head north from here and hope for the best, cross a 14 lane road, by flyover, and head up the hill. Now i have no clue where i am and have to bite the bullet and talk to someone. "disculpe (spanish/portuguese) soy perdito, donde esamos? (spanish). Excuse me i´m lost where are we? He replies are you English? (good american) I reply thank f....k, and he shows me the way home - good lad. 6 hours from setting off and approx 15 miles i buy 6 lagers at the local supermarket and collapse onto the sofa.

You see, this travelling lark ain´t easy, it can be tough, but at least in life there´s always a constant to return to, lager always hits the spot, doubly so after a hike like that.

Battleships anyone?

Sunday morning, well 11.30ish and it´s time to get up and have a coffee. Stroll up the road for a quick espresso and toast. Once i´m fully relaxed Lu informs me we´re going for a long walk, quickly light another fag to postpone this dire event but finally give in and we set sail.

We head for Ibirapuera park, it´s stunning but chock a block with people, although this has it´s usual compensations. 2 hours into the walk and we hit the Museum of Contemporay Art, loads of rubbish (as you´d expect) but some great stuff - my particular favourite being a sculpture (?) of umbrellas, eight or so towers of them dangling off one another. Reminded me of a painting whose artist i can´t remember (answers on an e-mail please). Half an hour of rest and we´re off again, getting a bit peckish myself . Another hour and we´ve reached our target destination.

Bar do Juarez, it´s packed - always a good sign. It´s famous for this meat thingy. Basically you get a foot of filet thinly cut and cook it yourself on the hot plate provided. Like it. Drinks already to hand i´m on Chopps (glasses of lager) and no sooner had i finished the first than the next one arrived. The waiter then brings over this card and marks 2 x´s on this grid. Clearly he´d missed both times. I was on a roll about 5 x´s into it i realised i was paying for each chopp, rather than the fact he was crap at Battleships. i think if i´d attended this place with certain gentlemen this could have got very dangerous, stealth subs being the only explanation for a grid full of x´s and a serious hangover.

A short walk to a taxi and a night in ensued.

Come fly with me

09/10/06

Another year, another flight to a country where i can´t speak the language. I had managed to master "obregado" but being able to say thank you when unable to ask a question or order a meal has it´s limitations. However, this time i had somewhere to stay and someone waiting so last years panic attack was not forthcoming.

I arrived at Heathrow 3 1/2 hours before the flight assuming this would give me enough time to check-in and swig a bottle of chablis at the oyster bar. Air Canada promptly informed me that my flight had engine trouble but i could leave on the 1pm, this is airline speak for we´ve over-booked your flight and are lying to people to bump them forward. Sailed through the "security" checks feeling much safer because no one had a bottle of water on them. The fact that you could by lighters and 60% alcohol in duty free seemed mildly disconcerting - surely a molotov cocktail is more dangerous than evian?

Anyway, the chablis was forgotten and i was comfortably sitting on the plane within an hour of arriving at Heathrow. The flight was half empty so i had four seats to myself, not bad. I think it was half empty because Air Canada must be the only inter-continental airline left that doesn´t have inflight entertainment on the back of each seat. Oh well, i-pod, plus book, plus the comfort of being able to lie down seemed a reasonable compromise. Arrived on schedule 7 1/2 hours later. Toronto.

You have to go through customs and immigration, but that took less than 20 minutes and then drop your bag off again and wonder what on earth your going to do in an airport for 6 hours. Well booze and fags sprang to mind. Checked-in, passed security and found a bar. No-smoking. Bollocks. Infact there´s no smoking in the entire airport. This meant after every couple of lagers you had to pass back through security, exit said airport, chainsmoke a couple and pass back though security to get to the bar.You would think security would wonder why, maybe even question someone, who kept re-entering but no.

The third trip in i realised the world had gone mad. The first two trips i´d had to hand in my lighter. the third trip, though, i was informed security restrictions had just been relaxed and if you put your lighter in a plastic zip bag it was perfectly safe to take on the plane. The requisite guffawing with laughter occurred and this time i was quetioned, i explained the reason for my hilarity and my lighter was promptly confiscated. The fourth trip, new lighter in bag, i kept quiet. I imagine selling lighters in Toronto is a seriously profitable business.

Arrived in Brazil. Knackered. Taxi to Luciana´s, coffee and all is right with the world. I would discuss the food, weather, etc but it´s a Monday morning and most of you are working, so i´ll leave that for tomorrow.

Life and Times Part xv

I've just realised i've missed out a very important part of my emotional development. This often occurs when an event is so psychologically damaging that it is shelved in the deepest parts of ones memory. I shall now bring forth this horrific period and hope to survive with sanity intact.

By the age of 12 i had managed to develop a set of teeth that Bug's Bunny would've been proud of. This was partly due to the fact i loved sucking my thumb, a worrying trait that i didn't finally rid until 15, and partly due to my genetic make up. You see, again, it was mainly my mother's fault.

Now i was happy to keep my teeth. After all it was me. Why change it? But no mother decided that cosmetic surgery,well orthodontistry, was necessary.

I was bundled into a car, i have never gone willingly to the dentist, and dragged off to meet yet another sadist. This one took one look and decided i needed a metal brace cemented to my teeth having had four teeth pulled out. As i said the man was a f##king lunatic. I disagreed. Four teeth pulled out, followed by a period of looking like the arch villain from a Bond film didn't seem the way forward.

Thankfully he couldn't start immediately. First they had to take a mould of my mouth. This involves some other sadist putting a putty like mould in your mouth, a tube in your throat and near death by choking. Half way through this process i told the "kind" lady doing this procedure i was going to be sick. She told me not to be silly. My mum, in fairness, pointed out that if i said i was going to be sick - i was going to be sick. The "kind" lady ignored me. I was sick all over her about 5 seconds later. Once she'd cleaned herself up she got back to her torturing, the mould was finished and i now faced the prospect of a pair of pliers.

I quite clearly was not going to avoid this and decided that emotional and financial blackmail was the only forward. I told my mother i wanted two pounds per tooth. This seemed alot back then, but the speed with which she agreed made me realise i'd started the bidding process way too low. My bartering skills weren't fully honed till my tour of India 13 years later. So for the pitiful amount of £8 i was going to have four teeth out. Shit. You would think this was a sophisticated process done under a general anaesthetic. Rubbish. (if you are eating don't read the next bit) They inject a local into your gum, incredibly painful, then the pliers push, twist and pull till , this ear splitting crack occurs and your tooth appears. This takes two visits, even the sadists realised two at a time was the most anyone could bear.

Then came the metal braces. Not a good look it has to be said. Every day i had to attach these elastic bands that would pull the top row back. Most days i would swallow at least one by mistake, no telling what this did to my digestion. What i can say is that when they came off nine months later i have never been happier (other than when Liverpool won the Champions League in Istanbul). I was pleased with the result, but realistically anything is going to look good after a pair of railroad tracks!

P.S The best photo of my bro and I ever taken. Thanx mum.

Life and Times Part xiv

Having successfully survived another year at school a holiday was quite clearly deserved. Tom agreed. We had by now got used to the highlife after our trip to Florida and were looking forward to a few weeks in a luxury hotel for a bit of rest and relaxation. A tropical beach? A five star condo? A big bed and room service? Wrong, wrong and wrong, our parents in their wisdom thought we should go camping with our cousins in Italy. I immediately contacted Ben, Robert and Fred and they were equally appaulled with the idea of 2 weeks on a camp bed in the middle of nowhere. However, after much debate we could contrive no plan that would dissuade the adults from this lunacy.

Dad liked to drive, he liked to drive fast, somewhat recklessly, definitely aggressively and he abhorred pitstops. His idea of fun was an 8 hour non-stop, hell for leather dash across various countries. He was a sick man. We arrived well ahead of our cousins but were suffering from starvation,dehydration, severe cramp and a sore bum. Not a good start! The tent was actually more like a small house with 2 bedrooms and a living area. The beds were horrendous but if we ran around enough exhaustion would at least provide a few hours sleep. The campsite, located on a terraced hillside with wonderful views, turned out to have all mod cons: tennis courts, swimming pool, restaurants etc - things were looking up.

Terracing does have a serious flaw. If it rains the banks on which the tents are pitched are liable to collapse. It started to rain, it rained harder, then harder, then it turned monsoonish (i have only ever seen rain like this in Thailand). We went to bed. We awoke to find that the terraces had indeed collapsed and a few feet of mud was swirling through our cousins tent, we were lucky and had only a foot or so, others were less fortunate and had lost their tent but as i remember no one was seriously hurt. This provided much hilarity for us and a lot of consternation for the adults. We were loathe to say "i told you so" but did anyway, after all - we had.

This disaster, although i do remember enjoying the fiasco, had one major benefit. We never went on another camping holiday, in fact it was to be another 25 years later before i camped again and that was only because i was trekking round Torres del Paine in Chile with a crazy Irishman and all the refuges were full.

The drive home was equally sadistic. School seemed a welcome prospect. Then again...........

P.S The photo has nothing to do with anything. Pre guinness, pre hair loss!

Life and Times Part xiii

Part xiii, thirteen as always brings bad luck. This was no different for me. I took the entrance exams to the "senior" school (ages 12-18). Surprisingly i faired quite well and was put into the B stream (A-E). Now some would find this a cause for celebration. However, i had already surmised what this meant: i had to study 2 extra subjects, take 2 exams a year early, study Latin and study olde English. When it came to Tom's turn i advised him of the situation and he quite sensibly entered the C stream which meant he faced none of these traumas.

Latin: amo, amas amat, amamus, amatis, amant. This means: i love, you love, he/she love, we love, you (plural) love, they love. I'm sure this would come in extremely useful if i'd bumped into an extemely sexy young Roman, but by my simple calculations they'd all died along time ago, thus rendering this subject utterly pointless unless planning to study law or medicine. Both of which clearly required far too much work and were never on my agenda. My pragmatism immediately reduced my coursework from 11 to 10 subjects and i went on to achieve the lowest Latin result in the schools history, an achievement i'm quite proud of.

English literature. Whilst Thomas was enjoying the delights of "Lord of the Flies" and other celebrated novels i was set to study Chaucer. Now, whilst this was a slight improvement on Latin it was still very closely resembling a dead language, this literary titan had also been dead a fair few centuries and clearly didn't know how to spell. I would quote you a passage but seeing as i barely understood a word i wouldn't fancy your chances. I'm sure this set back my interest in reading at least 3 years. It wasn't until University that i discovered their were books written in English that actually provoked stimuation rather than confusion.

At school i always did the minimum, a source of constant irritation to most teachers one of whom summed it up nicely "James contributed a non-particpatory prescence and a major essay of suprising superficiality" this roughly translates to - he slept at the back and wrote a terrible essay. I wasn't bothered because my football had been progressing nicely. I'd made the squad of the 1st eleven (best team of that year group) and played on the right wing! Unfortunately this rise only lasted for a month then the coach realised i was rather slow ( a problem if trying to run past people and cross) and moved me to right back. This proved ill advised as other wingers found it rather easy to run past me. This was the end of my school football career, i was soon back to playing with those equally ungifted, maybe i would have to find another career - professional footballer was quite clearly out.

Life and Times Part xii

The year of "sprechen sie deutsching" was over. We moved to Highgate, a very quiet road, lots of children our age and many a football match was played in the street. The house had 4 bedrooms, a bathroom, a double length sitting room and an amazing dining room extension that looked over the garden. The garden was totally overgrown. A veritable jungle. This would take months. Those months were a dangerous time, if we even sat down for a second some task would be thrown at us. We kept ourselves occupied, homework was welcomed (not frowned upon), anything but anything to avoid digging, weeding and suchlike.

Finally, the debris was cleared and a lawn emerge with borders filled with a variety of green thingys (plants have never been a strong point). Mum, has always enjoyed gardening, i think maybe it was her escape from our constant harrassing, a period of solitude and contemplation before the tsunami of hooliganism would once again crash upon her. The garden looked great, but father had now decided we would dig a bloody great hole in it and build a pond. Father was always a delegator, we knew this WE meant US. After a couple of weekends of furious digging a bit of lining and a lot of water we had a "water feature". What we now needed were some fish.

Dad sent us to the local fair to win some. The fairgrounds back then comprised of a whole load of games weighted against you where if you got lucky you could win a goldfish. We settled on "darts" (You throw sharp pointy mettle things at a board). We spent about 3 pounds "winning" a fish that cost 50p. This unfortunate creature is handed over in a plastic bag with a bit of water in it. We thought we'd try and win another one. I took the darts and aimed carefully. Tom pointed out that the bag i'd put down had now lost all it's water - a quick rush to a tap and amazingly it had survived. Enough was enough. We'd take it straight back. Walking back through the park i tripped, the bag went flying, flew way up in the air and landed with a resounding smack - but again this tiny thing (it was no more than an inch long) lived. We named this fish - "fortunate fred".

We got back to the house, the water needed testing. I wasn't willing to put an innocent creature in the pond. My brother - perfect. Fred was soon joined by several other species, but he held his own. He was about 7 inches long and 9 years old when we finally left, he was indeed a most "fortunate" fish.

Life and Times Part xi

After our failed attempt at space exploration Tom decided to tell mum the truth. He couldn't stand his school. Tom, as always, got his way and was sent to the same boarding school as me. We flew over to England together, mum and dad stayed at the "Ritz" (a very very grand hotel) and our aunt Hilary came and collected us. Tom started crying, his crying made Hilary cry, their crying made me cry - it was not a happy car ride.

Tom didn't like boarding school. He has known his mind from the age of 4 and has never understood why he should do something he doesn't want to do. He hatched a plan, he was helping in a play and saw a loose bit of scenery. He stood under it. It fell on his leg. He had to go to the Sanitarium ( kiddie hospital) for a month. He played with a "game and watch" (the earliest of handheld computer games) and ate sweets. He was happy. He pretended it was much worse than reality. I'm sure he stayed there for at least 2 weeks longer than necessary. Tom was never stupid.

Whilst this was going on i had set a new school record. I had turned into a very cheeky, sarcastic and impertinent young man. This led to me receiving 28 penal copies in a school term. What is a penal copy? A penal copy is a punishment issued by a teacher or senior pupil for a misdemeanour - anything serious led to detention (you had to stay behind in school - not much of a punishment if you are a boarder!). This punishment, which you had to pay 5p for (outrageous!) was a piece of paper with a bunch of words you had to copy out. Very boring and quite expensive 5p x 28 = 1.40 - alot of money back then. Unfortunately, i never learnt my lesson, i always felt (and still do) that if someone says something stupid a suitably sarcastic response highlighting their idiocy was necessary - hence lots and lots of penal copies.

Life and Times Part x

My parents had abandoned me, i was at a boarding school. Winter was approaching and our school uniform was shorts and a blazer. Now i'm not being funny, but for maybe a month in the summer one would contemplate wearing shorts. No one and i mean NO ONE would think this a good idea in October through to March, excepting of course the sadist that ran our school. Bastard. The first term went quickly, i made friends played alot of football and chess (unlike father most people took losing with magnanimity) and generally settled in.

Half term was approaching, we had a week off and my parents had decided to take us to Florida with our friends the Aubers. Mum sent me a specific list of things to pack :toothbrush, socks, pants and a couple of other things. I packed them and met them at the airport. Mum seemed surprised with my small bag, i told her i'd packed what she said. Apparently, i was supposed to be psychic and realise this was a small reminder list and not an exhaustive list. I blamed mum, she blamed me. Either way i got to go shopping in Florida for a new set of clothes.

Tom on the plane was telling me the aforementioned trials of life at an American school. The length of flight leant itself to thorough planning. It was clearly time to leave this planet for pastures new. There was only one option: the Space Shuttle. Yep, The moon here we come. We enrolled, Tom was too short and left on the runway, i couldn't leave without him, so we had to abandon lift off and settle for Space Mountain ( a truly terrifying roller-coaster at Disney World). Unfortunately, our parents seemed aware of where the ride ended - there was to be no escape.

Life and Times Part ix

Events took a dramatic turn on our return to London. My father was asked to run a bank in Dusseldorf, Germany. The money was so good that for my parents it was an "offer they could not refuse". They quickly bought a house in Highgate - 8 Cholmeley Crescent - and just as quickly rented it to someone and jumped on a plane. They decided to take Thomas with them - he was only 10, but felt i should stay on at my school. This meant "boarding". Basically you stay in their accomodation, sleeping in dormitories of 10, and spend the entire year trying to ensure you are not abused. The abuse could ranged from ice cold baths to serioulsy disturbing attacks of a worryingly deviant nature. Thankfully during my period in this institution i escaped free from harm.

My exam results were magnificent. The only period in my school history. This was cleary due to the fact it was the only time i was forced to sit down and do homework for an hour and a half each day. At home i would sit in my room and play cards, i later learnt Tom did exactly the same. Funny. Both of us sitting in our rooms appeasing mum and sitting their twiddling our fingers till dinner time. The first school break is in December, mum and dad fetched me and we flew to Dusseldorf - they had a HUGE house. I had missed my brother and was delighted to see him but soon realised things were very wrong.

He had been sent to an American school. He had to study amongst other things - wrestling. He was not happy. He decided to go on hunger strike and for nearly 2 years he refused to eat anything other than peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I talked to him. Escape routes were discussed, bicycles wouldn't work here, we had to develop new skills. We went into training (see photograph). But before our plans were hatched i was sent back to school. This involved them taking me to the airport and handing me over to a stewardess. She was beautiful. I thought i might join the "mile high club". No. She put this big orange sign around my neck that explained to everyone on the flight that i was on my own, under age and incapable of looking after myself. Thankfully there were no perverts on the plane or if there were they were illiterate, either way i managed to survive the journey unscathed. I was met by Marilyn Smith ( a family friend, wife to my godfather) she took pity on me and cooked me the best cheese on toast i've ever had. She then drove me to the school and left me - shit!

My parents got wind of our escape plans. They took the sensible option. They bribed us. We were going to Disney World and that is tomorrows tale.

Life and Times Part viii

School. Never liked it. Then i was introduced, on a cold, wet and windy day, to Mrs Castle.She took a fancy to me, not in the perverted way your thinking, but in educating me (again not in the way your thinking). I started doing well, the parents were informed that i wasn't as backward as had been suggested. Dad breathed a sigh of relief but still refused to play chess. My favourite part of the school week occurred on a friday. Mrs's Castle gave us a list of things - colour, bird, country, film etc and then picked a letter - eg "r' - we then had to spend the weekend finding one of each that started with this letter. Eg - red, robin, russia, red sonja. However if anyone else had the same as you, you didn't score a point. The list totalled about twenty items and the person with the most points won 5p, hence my sudden interest. True to say the only time i ever got interested in studying was when money was involved.

Tom got a girlfriend - Sara, i didn't, on that score i was always backward.

The other highlight of this period was being able to sit in the directors box at Rotherham Football Club, it seemed they owed dad lots of money. Well, they owed the bank and he ran it. So off we'd go on a Saturday and watch them lose, i doubted he'd ever get the money bank. The losses started piling up, both on the football pitch and in the bank. Father decided to do a runner before it all went pear-shaped so we had to move back to London (it was only later that i discovered he'd been promoted again, clever man). This move was most alarming. Tom and i had developed very strong northern accents - would we be welcomed back in London? Would anyone understand us? Would we get our heads kicked in? Would we, would we ever get to see our teenage years...........

Life and Times Part vii

Yorkshire. Wet, windy and cold. Lots of stone walls. Famous for it's moors, these are stunning but are wet, windy and cold. We moved to a small village south of Rotherham, Laughton en le Morthern (there or thereabouts). Father was obviously moving up in the world because we had the biggest house in the village - Pear Tree Farm. I'm trying to think of bad things to say about this period but amazingly my parents had made a good decision and i have only fond memories of the 3 or so years there.

Mother had a vegetable patch, we had a football pitch (the garden was huge) and dad converted an outbuilding and put a table tennis table in it, i think this was his way of keeping us out of the house. We were welcomed at the local school, played football endlessly and learnt to ride bicycles without stabilisers. Tom had a budgie and i had a chopper, they'd given us our escape route, only now we didn't feel the need to flee. The house had one further plus, i am certain it was the reason dad bought it, it was next door to the local pub. My gambling career started here on Saturday afternoons explaining the intricacies of fruit machines to father. He seemed unaware that the idea was to take out more money than you put in. He never got the hang of it , i did. He further encouraged our gambling by allowing us to double our pocket money by correctly predicting the toss of a coin. Tom correctly did this eight times on the trot one weekend raising his pocket money from 2p to 5.12p - a veritable fortune. Tom decided to keep this windfall to himself, cheers Tom.

One familty tradition started here. Pork pies. We had pork pies for lunch every Saturday for the next 10 years, excepting our period in Germany but that tale is for another time. The pork pie is a large wedge of sausage meat and jelly encased in pastry, sounds disgusting, tastes delicious. We never found ones again that were as tasty as from the local butcher in Laughton. Amazingly aunts and uncles, cousin Ben when he stayed with us in London, frequently came on a Saturday to share in the delights. Dad never bored of it, everyone else did. Maybe these pork pies enhanced brain activity because from this moment my school career took off, but that is tomorrow's story.

Life and Times Par vi

So my period of tranquility was at an end. A period of 18 years studying beckoned, a truly frightening prospect. At least the beginning was gentle, slap a bit of paint about, stare blankly at the odd book and sing out of tune to "puff the magic dragon". Yes, amazingly enough our teachers had us sing a song that blatantly referred to smoking a joint. It seemed we weren't the only ones that needed educating. Apparently the main objective of this studying business was to get the 3 r's - reading, (w)riting and (a)rithmetic. Why we were taught to say rithmetic rather than arithmetic i never discovered, maybe it was the first steps in understanding the fact that in Britain no one really knew how to spell or pronounce anything.

My first scribblings showed a staggering lack of imagination. My reading was slow, mainly due to the fact that i preferred kicking a football to looking at a book. My rithmetic (maths) was good, i always found it necesasry to be able to calculate the exact chance of getting caught. At 6 i was sent to Gospel Oak primary, after a couple of school terms the headteacher summoned my parents and informed them that i wasn't very clever. Father found this odd, since by then i'd asked him to teach me chess and very shortly afterwards he was unable to beat me. This led him to conclude that he was stupid as well or the teachers didn't know what they were talking about, either way he refused to play chess with me again.

After a couple of years there i had begun to settle in. Probably my only talent as a student was knowing precisely the minimum amount of effort required to get the necessary results. My parents decided to intervene -for some reason they thought it would be good for us to move 100s of miles north where it was dark, cold and people spoke with a weird accent. Yorkshire. My dad had got promoted, he was now the manager for Midland Bank in Rotherham. I was not best pleased. Goodbye friends, goodbye cousins, goodbye everything. I had to step up my escape strategies - a bit of rope wasn't going to work here.

HELP!

Life and Times Part v

The relief of Tom's survival was short lived. Mother, it seemed, had also taken these attempted murders badly. The stresses and strains of bringing up two kids, even ones as angelic as us, proved too much. She was rushed off to hospital. Father did what any sensible man would do - send the kids to the grandparents and go to the pub. Thankfully the clot (i think that's what it was) was curable and mum returned a few weeks later. Thomas and i vowed that we would never do anything to alarm her again. This lasted for approximately ten minutes then i teased Tom and he nearly blinded me with a book, he was from the beginning a very good shot. This was a recurring theme throughout our childhood.

The next couple of years passed by in a blur but it soon became obvious, to me anyway, that sharing a room with Tom was not an option. Thankfully by now i was able to voice my concerns in a way intelligble to my parents. They told me to shut up - another recurring theme. I explained the situation to Tom, we considered our options and went for guerilla warfare. We decided if we could make our room smell bad enough father would desire a residence with a great distance between the bedrooms. Thomas and i were both blessed with a gift for producing unpleasant aromas. We moved a few weeks later to St Albans Road, just around the corner.

Father's career was on the rise, always good news - more money for us. Mum was happy and we now had loads of friends and cousins to play with. Life was great. Then disaster struck, we had to go to a place called "school". I could walk, i could talk, i could play games but apparently i needed to learn to write (mine's still unreadable), to draw (i can't), to sing (painful) and to play a musical instrument (i just wanted to hit things with hammers). I'm sure that the main aim of school is to prepare people for the fact that, unless extremely lucky, they are going to spend the next 40 years doing something that they'd rather not.

Life and Times Part iv

Thomas's arrival stripped me of my star billing. I was happy with a period out of the limelight and could settle down to some serious sleeping. This period of rest gave me a chance for reflection on my journey so far. One incident kept cropping up: a weird man in a dodgy hat and dress trying to drown me. I'd blocked this episode out but now decided it required further investigation. Worryingly we would soon be returning to the large edifice where it occurred, a very cold, miserable place with truly terrible music.

I gathered my friends: Heather, Dan, Tom, Louise and my cousin Ben. We were all born within 6 months except Ben who is 11 months younger. Heather, Louise, Ben and Tom had also experienced this attempted murder. Dan on the otherhand had been attacked by a large, knife wielding, bearded man in a weird black get up and had his foreskin removed. Dan said this was normal if you were Jewish. We said he was stark raving bonkers to let any one near him and he should tell his brother Toby (just born) to run for it. The truth was out. This near drowning episode is in fact called a "christening".

I spent the next couple of week instructing Thomas on relaxation techniques, yoga and deep breathing exercises. Thankfully the effort paid off and the skirted sadist didn't manage to keep him underwater long enough. I believe Ben instructed Robert and Fred (his younger brothers - my cousins) similarly. A close escape for all. Thomas till this day is blissfully unaware how many times i saved his life in the early years but i like to think it helps him retain his innocence.

Life and Times Part iii

After a few days of rest and relaxation i quickly surmised the appauling truth. My parents had procreated purely to develop a secondary source of income. Every few days a new stranger would be invited around to stare at me, gifts would be bestowed on my parents and everyone would be all smiles. I, however, took exception to being the star of some twisted novelty act. Not only was i passed around these lunatics (a photo attached shows my true terror - only later did i learn she was my grandmother) i was not receiving my share of the gate receipts. The takings looked good, i phoned my agent - he didn't understand me. I mean how hard is it to comprehend that i wanted a one thousand pound retainer and ten pounds per person.

I had no option. I went on strike. I refused to crawl and later i refused to walk. I continued this practice for 18 months. Unfortunately, my protests fell on death ears. After 18 months i started hearing bits of conversation "why isn't he moving", "is he backward", "what's wrong with him", "my son walked at 9 months". I've never been so outraged. I got up and walked for the front door i wasn't about to be treated or defamed in this manner. I reached the door but i couldn't reach the handle, life can be so unjust. I quickly backed away, wouldn't want them to see my plan and it would be only another year, i calculated, before i could try again. 9 months passed, i waited. July arrived. Mother disappeared for a while. Father then left but returned later with mother and this thing. They told me his name was Thomas, he was born on the 23rd of July 1971. The lunatics reappeared and the gifts. I decided to stay, i told Tom this exploitation wouldn't last long and i would protect him. He thanked me, finally someone who understood me! I have loved him ever since.

Life and Times Part ii

Thankfully my first two weeks on this planet were spent in a hotel. The staff, however, were useless. None of them listened to my instructions: smoked salmon and champane didn't not arrive, steak and potato dauphinoise was likewise ignored. The cable television hadn't been installed and there wasn't even a bar. The only woman who seemed to have an inkling of what i was after was this beautiful looking and very tall lady who kept putting her breast in my mouth. I sucked - yummy.

After a week of ordering room service and not one dish having arrived i started to reassess my surroundings. You can imagine my distress when i came to the only logical conclusion - this wasn't a hotel but a hospital. Why anyone would consider this a suitable starting point for my life i could not, and still haven't, discerned. Two weeks finally passed and i was allowed to leave. I was very pleased to see that the tall lady with the nice boobs was coming with me. This seemed a most fortuitous event until it dawned on me that she was my mother, Jayne.

The horror that greeted me as i left the hospital was unimaginable. People everywhere, cars, noise, buildings - where's that breast gone, i needed some soothing. At this point a dapper young man approached and helped my mother to the car - a mini. Now really! Rolls Royce, Mercedes, Bentley, BMW no problem but this, this was a toy town car. My worries over the standing of my parents, for this was the only conclusion i could come to on their identity, was compounded when we proceeded to drive past a series of most desirous areas and park outside 54 Oak Village, London. Quiet, yes; friendly, yes; treelined, almost; famous neighbours 1. It could be worse i mused, but it could without question be bigger. The door was opened by that man, my father Edward - well that's what he said. I had my own room! Whoopee. Maybe these people did understand my needs. Maybe their was hope, maybe just maybe i would be able to survive and move on from these humble beginnings.

Life and Times Part i

Once upon a time in a land far far away a young man, Edward Arnott, sighted a young lady, Jayne Gorell Barnes, across a crowded party. The young man pursued this innocent creature relentlessly. The grand parents, of said damsel, were so fearful they sent her away to Paris. The young man followed. Paris is a romantic city, perhaps if they'd picked a lesser and more remote place one thing wouldn't have led to another. One thing led to another. Wedding bells rang, alarm bells rang and my future, although someway off, was wrote.

They lived happily for several years, they loved, they laughed they cried and then they thought fuck it let's have a baby. Brilliant. They didn't ponder the hardships i'd have thrust upon me they just started shagging - ALOT! Then one fateful day i proved to be the strongest swimmer and reached my prize - that egg. Oops. The first and only time i've ever one a race of that nature. I had a wonderful first 9 months in a very cosy accomodation with all mod cons. I ate, i drank, i slept (alot) and then completely against my will i was propelled into this world. I arrived at 8.00 am on 15th of February 1969. I pissed on the doctor and ordered breakfast. Unfortunately, no one understood my request for scrambled eggs, bacon and coffee so i started to cry. Thus ends part one of the life and times of an extremely deprived James Arnott.