….and a very sociable one I’m afraid. Too many glasses of wine and too many cigarettes but I can see the end, to the great relief of my liver……and my throat! We’ve got Alison, a friend of
We’ve had a 40th birthday party, a ladies lunch where I was the token male, a lunch in the village and we went to Italy to stock up on the old vino so it’s been a busy week. Then Harry McIntosh, whom I last saw about 18 years ago sent me a comment on my blog. We e-mailed each other and then Harry called. We had a great chat but I had some friends round so we had to cut it short but I will return his call later in the week and we’ll catch up on old times.
However, there was one episode which caused me a real problem. It shouldn’t have really but it was uncanny and took me aback. You see I started writing a book of my life a few months ago, mainly for family and friends to see what life was like from my perspective. It’s not being written for publication, although I will actually publish it myself, but there was always the thought that maybe, just maybe, somebody somewhere might quite like it and do something with it. Anyway, I was telling my brother
Well I read the book in less than two days and the storyline is virtually identical to mine – an autobiography of a young boy being brought up in a poor bit of Glasgow, an abusive, uncaring father and a mother dying when her son was only 14 years old. I feel like my brain and my thoughts have been totally plagerised but of course anyone writing about