Friday, 1 January 2016

2016 - My Year - My Arse

The first Memoirs Of A Fire Hazard of 2016 should probably be one of reflection, and of looking forward. I certainly hope to see some improvement in this tat and, who knows?, I may even get around to putting some of this stuff to good use by adapting it for that work of fiction everyone is always telling me to write. Well.....three people.

Through the wretched post-booze blurgh-iness of this New Year's Day I have already taken some steps towards the further promotion of my work. Ok one step. And not a particularly big step. I don't expect to be on Chatty Man promoting my book in 2016. However, I do expect to feature regularly in something called Disability Blogger Link-Up. This is part of the website at which allows writers who either have disabilities or write on disability issues (often both) to post their work and thus get further exposure and spread the word on everything from inspiration porn to that awkward moment when you get asked 'what's wrong with you?' by a completely rude, nosey bastard stranger. So far I have only posted the old stuff from Memoirs Of A Fire Hazard that I think is most relevant, but I hope to be a lot less lazy about this in 2016. Take a look anyway, and if you're feeling bold you might even want to contribute which I believe you can until Sunday. If 48 hours isn't long enough for your muse (and let's face it he's probably wired from last night) then there'll be another opportunity on January 15. Last time over 80 pieces were posted, only one of which was mine.

I feel compelled to share with you an anecdote from the New Year's Eve celebrations. With Emma's mum and dad staying with us the plan was to get into Liverpool mid-afternoon and then meet Emma after work for a few drinks before getting the train back to Thatto Heath and visiting one of its delightful watering holes. Work, I know...I moan about my job and will no doubt continue to do so until it is inevitably ripped from my grasp in the name of 'progress' but at least being based at a university (you know the one, does a lot of good work for charity?) means that I don't have to work at all over the Christmas and New Year period. I just hope that Jeremy Hunt never gets the education gig otherwise I'll probably end up eating my Christmas dinner at my desk.

I'd left the house a few minutes after Roland and Susan owing to the need for an inconvenient pit-stop. I was sure I'd catch them up. I toyed with the idea of taking a shortcut and meeting them at the station since it was absolutely lashing down with rain. If I'd done that I might not have found them for a good few hours, because as I passed by the entry near to the chippy I heard Susan shouting me to stop. I found this very strange. It wasn't the weather for stopping, and certainly not in an entry by the chippy. On closer inspection they had stopped to help a man who had fallen down and bashed his head. He was lying on the ground, his head covered in blood and his pants covered in piss. Which was all rather sad really. The first reaction of most people, including me if I'm honest, is that he'd just started his celebrations at an hour that is traditional for alcoholics and fell down drunk. Which he may have. A man falling down drunk in an entry in Thatto Heath is about as unusual as being loved by anyone or having fun with anyone (ask your granddad) so some cynicism here is understandable. But he later told Susan that he had dementia.

A passing council worker had called for an ambulance and when the paramedic arrived the man told her that he had blacked out. He did not mention the dementia as far as I know, although we left him in her capable hands once she had assessed him and told him that the blackout meant that he would have to go to the hospital. He was not keen on this idea as we moved on, leaving him to his protests. Whatever the circumstances I just hope he was ok in the end. He may have had to spend New Year's Eve in the hospital which if nothing else puts sitting in a freezing cold Wetherspoons in Liverpool before engaging in bang average karaoke in the Springfield into some sort of perspective.

And so the first entry in Memoirs Of A Fire Hazard for 2016 is a fairly alarming, melancholy affair, which to be fair is totally in keeping with the normal demeanour of its author. I don't suppose anybody comes here looking for messages of hope and tales of triumph. Perhaps that's why nobody comes here.

2016 resolutions;
Turn Memoirs Of A Fire Hazard into something useful
Keep job
Finish seasons 3-4 of Scandal and 3-7 of The West Wing
Buy coat
Provoke wrath of fellow Saints fans with Redvee columns and forum posts
Make no 2016 resolutions

Happy New Year!!

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