I used to be pretty poor, still am really but this was different.  At the time I wanted to be a plasterer, so I decided to go to college and do a course. It was a government run thing so I didn’t have to pay but it was for 2 years but they’d give me £50 at the end of every week.

Pretty good right?

I was staying with my Aunty at the time, but she told me she didn’t think I see it through to the end, we had a fight, and I had to move out.

Now there’s not many places you can live on £50 a week. I managed to find somewhere in Clayton. Which is not the nicest area in the world if I’m honest. But I found this house and two mates of mine Dan and Luke moved in too. Luke was trying to start his own business up and Dan was working part-time at Ticketline. So we were all skint…and living in Clayton.

My rent was £50 a week by the way. So i’m sort of not really eating.

Now the Landlord was someone we all sort of knew from the comicbook shop (Dan and I used to work there together). We’d had a pint with him a couple of times with a mutual friend and he seemed sort of normal. In hindsight, he’s an absolute a***hole.

We got to the house and it was barely standing. Nothing worked, and the gas and electric were on a meter so maybe one day a week we’d have gas to heat the house. It was November, so you can imagine how cold it was.

Now the Landlord, “Richard McClean”, which turned into Dick McClean, and then Clean My Dick, He used to live there himself, and he had a dog called Patch. This dog, the poor little bastard. He was so scraggly, he looked like he’d been on the best stag weekend of all time, and is now trying to sober up. Clean My Dick had a pretty big cocaine habit so maybe that had something to do with it. Anyway, when (I’ll just call him Dick from now on) moved out and we moved in, I don’t think Patch got the message. He used to just turn up at the house.

Now the front door wouldn’t lock, it barely closed. And we’re in this area of Manchester that is just full of criminals. Luke once woke up and someone had bent his car doors out at the top, tried to steal it, and failed. So he had to drive a battered old car that was constantly asking “WHY?” with its hands and shrugging it’s metaphorical shoulders.

Anyway, as Patch thought he still lived there, he used to just headbutt the door and it’d fly open. We’d all be sat there with duvets wrapped around us watching Antiques Roadshow and this dog would just saunter in and sit in “his” chair and stare at us. We’re like “We’ve got no food man! Why do you keep coming over!?”

I used to sleep with a bat next my bed, so I was sort of nervous anyway. But when you’ve got this dog just slamming his head against the front door and just walking in like he owns the place, you never really sleep.

Why Dick wasn’t aware this was going on I don’t know.

We even spent Christmas Day together in that house (the dog too). Luke cooked a really nice budget meal and we all sat there with paper hats on downing cheap white wine from the off-licence, it was the most depressing thing you would ever see.

I don’t miss those days, but I do miss Patch. Poor little b*****d is probably dead now.

Rest in Peace Patch. You under fed, cocaine addicted mongrel.


My Doctor is a Bitch


Hitting 30 is not that big of a deal. I mean it’s going to be a bit shitty but only because it’s going to be the point where I realise I’ve wasted the last ten years getting drunk and doing recreational drugs BUT it’s not terrible. The Boston Bombings, the coffee at work and my phone signal at home, that’s terrible.

Reaching 30 is just kind of…’meh’. And I don’t want this to be a stupid post about obviously grim hitting 30 is, most of my friends are already there and they’re fine….alcoholism and adultery aside.

What really pisses me off, and it’s already started to happen and I’m over a year away from it yet, is having to go to the Doctor and her not caring any more.

I hurt my shoulder playing football a few weeks ago and went to the local clinic thing.. (I actually went because of problem a little south of this but I figured I’d bring this up too). And I said “I think I might have pulled something in my shoulder, there anything you can do?”

She goes  “not really, this kind of thing will just happen from now on”

If I was 19 (or had Bupa) she’d reconstruct it out of steel and put lasers on it and stuff but no. This is just going to “happen” from now on. I’m 29! It might just be her, she asks if I smoke every time I go. And I do, but I lie to her. But only because she asks me in such a condescending way, like a Jewish Grandmother. “are you smoking Andrew?” I’m like “NO!?” (dead surprised she’s even accused me of it). Anyway screw her, all the cool kids have Emphysema.

So my shoulder still hurts….she gave me some cream for the other thing.

I used to Lie…..A LOT


And not just silly white lies, like full blown, if the truth came out I’d be stoned to death lies.

Let me explain, growing up was normal. My house was normal, I never got bullied at school (apart from one kid putting a cigarette out on my ear in Secondary, but that’ll be a separate entry), but it was the same as you and me. And then, something bad happened in my life which has kinda shaped me to be who I am.  won’t discuss it on here but lets just say it wasn’t a something you’d expect to happen when you’re 12.

Anyway, because of this event, a lot of focus got put on myself and my sister. And as bad as this sounds, it was kinda nice. Made you feel a bit special. However, once this attention goes away, you feel like crap. You ask yourself why people aren’t asking how you are all the time and doing stuff for you.

So I started to lie.

This was never a conscious decision, I just started doing it. I craved that attention and affection so badly, I’d just make stuff up. So at 12 (ish), I told my best friend Laura that I had an older brother that lived in Australia. For no reason. But it started a conversation about my life and that felt good again.

She’ll read this and think “you pillock, I played chess with you”

The only way I can describe it is if you’ve ever been filmed for t.v. or something. When that camera gets on you, it’s flattering, so you think “now’s my chance, I can tell the world all my ideas and philosophies on life”, then you open your mouth, and you blow it.

Anyway, so I started lying. about EVERYTHING. I craved that attention of people caring. Now for me to type all of these lies would take an eternity, so I’m not going to do that. What I can do is tell you when it all came to a very abrupt end.

And it wasn’t even THAT long ago.

So, I’m 20 or so, and I’ve just been dumped by my girlfriend. The first and only time I’ve been in love, and I mean proper bite the back of your hand every time you see her in love right?. So we split up, probably because I was too much of a wimp with her. I think I was just amazed that this ridiculously pretty girl was letting me lie on top of her and wriggle around for 2 years.

We sort of kept in touch as it wasn’t a clean break-up and I still felt how I did. And she starts hanging around with this guy. Who, drove his mothers pick-up truck thing (which was awesome by the way) and had bigger muscles and better teeth and all that stuff.

That night, about 20 of us had all been out to a club. I was probably crying in the corner throwing straws and ice cubes near her feet to get her attention. Then the night ends and she goes home with this bloke, I cannot tell you how heartbroken (and drunk) I was.

I lived in town at the time so it wasn’t far from the club and at this point in time I knew they couldn’t be that far away. So I get to my house, distraught remember, and think how can I get her back. I need her to sympathise.

Ok here it is…..

So I beat MYSELF up.

Like Jim Carrey in Liar Liar and Ed Norton in Fight Club. And you have no idea how hard it is to punch yourself in the face. Your hand stops about a quarter of an inch away EVERY TIME. I was rubbing my face on the bricks outside, stamping on my own feet, it was mental.

I just wanted this girl back, ok?

Then I rang her and told her I’d been mugged on the way home. So her and a 24 year old Brad Pitt come over to see if I’m ok. I’m like ” yeah there was 3, I mean 8 of em but they didn’t get anything and I fought back pretty well”

She cleaned me up and he just watched, probably thinking “she used to sleep with him?! he’s got a Kermit the Frog t-shirt on”

The she just left! With him. I was devastated. I don’t know what made me think this would work.

So in the morning after I’d sobered up, I looked in the mirror. As much of a terrible job I did (at punching myself in the face), the shame was a million times worse.

I’ve only now come to the conclusion, that shit like this needs to happen. My dad used to say “you’re not a real man until you’ve been in a fight”…….Pretty sure this doesn’t count though.

After all this time she doesn’t know about this (believe it or not). It’s a good job I’ve got over it.

Not that I care….

The bitch.

My Current Bedroom Fashion


I’ve started going through this phase of not wearing any underwear to bed and just wearing a t-shirt. I’m a grown man, it looks weird.

As weird as this is, it’s worse that your genitals and bottom are constantly touching your sheet and duvet. It’s like wearing a giant pair of underpants and that’s defeating the entire point.

The issue is I change my sheets a lot less than my underwear.



It’s the Manchester Comic Convention on the 20th July. Now, i’ll be 29 years old that weekend and this will be my first one. I’ve been to crappy Comicbook fairs at Sasha’s Hotel, the 1* hell hole in the city centre, but they’ve been dusty old things with fat old blokes that smell like urine, selling Doctor Who memorabilia.

ComicCon (or ComiCon if you prefer) is the American created behemoth that us British have adopted… Netflix and Diabetes. But it’s relatively new over here and if anything I can see modern society (and by that I mean drunk blokes stood outside the pub) not really seeing the attraction to walking around during the day dressed as Chewbacca, looking at Comicbooks and stuff.

It’s massive, and from the videos i’ve seen on Youtube, it looks incredible. However, a big part of it is to go in ‘Cosplay’, or ‘fancy dress’ if you’re not a Japanese school girl.

Now, I do actually own a proper Batman cowl/mask, and I have worn it to parties on Halloween and stuff but this is the middle of July. I’d get knee-capped in the middle of Market Street. In America I think there’s big prizes for the best costume but unless it’s a role in the New Star Wars films, i’m not risking it.

If it’s anything like the old fairs I went to (and worked at), i’m going to feel like Brad Pitt in that room anyway. I just need to think of an excuse to walk around with any of the following:

A Lightsaber, a Cape, a Machine Gun or some sort or Wolverine Claws.

Any other ridiculous suggestions would be appreciated

Ok, my first therapy session.

When I was about 12, I went through this stage of stealing stuff from the local shop. When I say stuff, I mean like a bag of crisps or a can of pepsi. I’ve now realised, anyone that steals anything less that £5…..makes you kind of a pleb. Unless you’re stealing a loaf of bread to feed your starving family, nothing worth that little amount of money is worth stealing.

Banks, Nuclear Missiles and Jewellery I can understand. Not 10p Freddo Chocolate Bars.

Anyway, after my mother passed away, there were certain times when my older sister would be away at university so it was just me and my dad. It was like being 12 and having a 45 year old room mate. But because my dad wouldn’t get home from work till about 6:30pm, I got into this weird routine where i’d just wander around the local town centre on my own after school and steal tampons from Sainsbury’s. And I NEVER got caught. I bet the people working there were just like “i’m not grassing on that kid, he’s obviously got mental issues”

I took all these tampons to the local park and just threw them in a bush. I’m talking like 50 tampons.

I also went through this stage of wearing womens sunglasses….TO SCHOOL. Not only they were they sunglasses made for a woman, they were my sisters sunglasses that I stole, poked out the lenses and just wore these white sunglasses frames around the corridors at school.

I was going through a KoRn phase and I’d just recently seen an interview with the singer wearing something very similar. This is a rockstar, with loads of money, who had already gone through puberty and probably had all the friends and sex he needed.

I was a stuttering, blonde kid who got a boner at least 26 times a day.

I got rid of the stutter.