"Fat to Fittie"

I recently mentioned my autobiography and how when I eventually get round to writing it, I’d dedicate a whole chapter to a cousin, well, when it comes to the amount of words given to one person, there’s absolutely no contest over who’d get the most. My dad was everything to me, I’m probably the only person who saw every side to him as we spent time together in every aspect, work, play and getting drunk. Memories are many, of days out, weekends away and even a whole week in Ireland, just me and him. One of the earliest things that sticks in my mind was the first football match he took me to, it was York city and I was about seven. This was the time of the terrace, only posh people had seats and all the rest stood, with random rails dotted about just in case you fancied a lean. It was against one of these I remember standing after coming back from the outdoor, very smelly toilet, I’d got a bit scared and in my haste pulled up the zip a bit fast, lets just say, I trapped a bit of skin. Wandering back through the crowds with my jumper pulled low, I got to my dad who tried to use his coat to cover me while attempting to free my poor, by now, very red (you know what I’m talking about), I guess in today’s world, this scene would have prompted strange looks and comments, it’s an odd event for me to recall and is the only thing I can remember about the whole game, says a lot about York City, but it also says a lot about my dad, who didn’t give a shit what anyone thought, his only concern was me.

I mentioned weekends away and a trip to Ireland, one of the most memorable breaks was Blackpool, despite the fact that we both had a stomach problem (don’t make me spell it out, but we blamed a dodgy pint), we recovered in time to have a final night out, where we stumbled on a comedy act and finished with a late night steak at 1am. Ireland was a laugh from start to finish, we stayed mostly with a friends family, but had a couple of days away in Cork, just so we could kiss the Blarney stone. I’d always imagined it to be a large rock in a field that you just step up and give a sloppy wet one too, how wrong I was. It’s actually at the top of a castle about 90 foot up and you have to lay on your back, hold on to two rails and then lean your head back and kiss, the only thing that prevents you falling to your death, is an old guy sat on a rug, who holds onto your back. As my dad went down for his turn, there was a slight moment where he didn’t quite grab the rail and had to adjust his position, I remember thinking, how would I explain this to my mam, as he got up the old guy turned to him and reassuringly said, “It’s okay sir, I had your glasses”.

As you can imagine, there is so much I could write about him, but I’ve chosen these two stories, both happened when I was 18. The first was on Christmas eve, I was going out with friends round town at night, but no-one would join me for a few in the afternoon, “I’ll come with you” my dad said, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, but he did and we had a great time. The pub’s were obviously very busy, but we always managed to get a seat, mostly because he had a walking stick, so clearly this was the ticket to comfort. The stick in question was one that folded up and as we sat down, he promptly pulled it apart and placed it on a ledge next to where he was sitting. Now if you aren’t familiar with this type of walking stick, it has strong elastic running through, that allows it to become rigid quite quickly. I went off to get the drinks and had just sat down when all of a sudden, completely by itself, the stick sprung into action and struck this girl at the side of the head, luckily she was okay and he apologised lots, after which he turned to me, swigged half of his beer and said “Sup up”.

The second story occurred a few months after, I’d managed to get tickets to see a comedian at a local pub when a guy pulled out last minute, I was struggling to find someone else to come and was ringing round on the landline, back then if they weren’t at home, you simply didn’t talk. “If you can’t get anyone, I’ll take it” my dad said, reaching for the slices of buttered bread on the table, this was a thing back then that you had as an accompaniment with your tea, I thought about his offer for a minute, then decided, why not! The pub we were going to was notoriously rough, famous for fights and the stage area was very small, for this particular performance they’d decided not to use it and had placed chairs around the dance floor on three sides, so it was very intimate, even more so for us as we were on the front row. Now what no one knew, before the comedian was coming on, they’d decided to fill some time in with a stripper, something else the pub was famous for. I remember she was blonde and had cross eyes, when she glanced toward us, my dad leaned across and asked “Who’s she looking at”? well he soon found out as she danced toward him, sat on his lap and pointed at the clasp on the front of her bra. Without any haste, he unclipped it and she slipped it off, before spending about a minute writhing on his legs, her boobs three inches from his face. As she got off and danced across the floor, he turned his head, looked at me and said “Don’t tell your mother”,…………..Miss you X