Before I was born, and before my parents were born, there were four people. I suppose I should start with the oldest ones, the parents of my father.

My Granny was apparently 18 years old when she gave birth to my father, his dad was married at the time, but I'm not sure if he had any other children or not. I often wonder what it must have been like for my Granny. Being a single parent back in the early 60's, I imagine that she must have been frowned upon wherever she went. Someone obviously didn't mind though. The man I call my Granddad 'rescued' her. My dad once told me that he could vaguely remember their wedding when he was five. When I think about what happened when I was five, I can believe him. I wonder though, if he knew that his 'dad' wasn't actually his dad at all? He never saw his real Dad; I'm supposing the wretched man didn't want anything to do with my Dad. That didn't seem to matter though; My Granddad pretty much adopted him.

By this time, somewhere north of Lincoln where my Dad's story began, a couple had given birth to a little girl. Unfortunately for the girl, her parents hadn't actually planned on looking after her. She was left in the hard hands of her Grandparents. Life was tough for them, living with retired people meant that you had no money, and having no money when you had a family of three young mouths to feed must have been difficult, especially way back when. I'm quite confused about my Mum's childhood. As a very secretive person, or maybe someone who doesn't want to revisit her past, she never told me much. All I know is, when she was Seven, the man who had become her father figure died, leaving her grandmother to raise three children on her own.

As can be expected, the middle bit seems to be forgotten. In fact, Twelve years of middle bit. Returning to Lincoln, and to my Dad with his two younger brothers, born to My Granny and my Dad's 'adoptive' father, he decided that maybe living a normal life wasn't for him. At the age of 17, my Dad left home to join the R.A.F, and for possibly four years he lived quite happily I'm led to believe. It was when he was 21, and my mum was 19 that they met. The story is particularly vague in my mind, I suppose when you're not told directly, you don't remember these things. Apparently, Mum was working the phones in some place, and my dad called her one day. They got chatting. What sounds like the cutest get together strengthened. After just six months together, the couple decided to get married.

Probably the second worst thing that had happened in my mother's life happened then. Just two weeks before they were due to get married, my mother was told by her Grandmother, that she had to chose between her lover, or her family. The story by my mum's mouth goes that the money she earned working hard daily was actually spent on paying bills and looking after her younger brother and sister. Love presided. According to the story. That was the last she ever saw of her family. I'm not quite sure how it must feel to have so much faith in the man you love that you would turn your back on your family and trust that person with the rest of your life. I often wonder how easy or difficult that was for her. I've never known, to ask my mum a question like that is a death wish.

So, leaving her family behind, she got married to my Dad on the 26th May 1984, in a small church in Washingborough. The newly weds were sent to Gibraltar to live on RAF posting not so long afterwards, and it was almost exactly two years after they got married that mum gave birth to her baby. Me. I don't know her exact reasoning, but my mum was adamant that I would be born in England, so ff she trotted back 'home' to Lincoln. For six weeks after I was born, she lived at my Granny's house. From what I can imagine after knowing my mum's relationship with my Granny, and the stale air that seemed to fill the room when they were together, and my own experience, it must have been a very unpleasant six weeks.

At the age of six weeks, I was shipped on a plane headed for Gibraltar, it's kinda cool in that, no one else I’ve asked has been on an aero plane under the age of five or six, but by the time I was 2 years old, and Daddy had been posted to Marham, I'd been on a plane approximately 6 times. Possibly more. Anyway. The story in Marham is a queer one. From what I've been told, I know that during the ages of 2 and 3 years. I managed to accomplish to feats that could possibly have killed me. Firstly, I set fire to out front living room. According to my parents, I had been playing with matches in a chair downstairs, and managed to set that on fire. As you all know, fire spreads, and in the end I had taken out most of the furniture in one corner of the room. Secondly, I decided in my wisdom, that I liked the taste of Calpol (That's a Children's medicine in liquid form for those that don't know) so much so, that I wanted to drink a bottle. So off we trot to the Hospital to force me to be sick. Lovely.

In the course of the following year, I'd moved from Marham to Newton, and then onto an RAF camp called Uxbridge, on the outskirts of London. It's here that I have most of my younger childhood memories. From learning to ride a bike, to holidays in Brighton with the redcoats at Butlins. From going on trips to London, and generally playing with friends of mine. I don't really remember exact days, but when I think of the area I lived, I can remember many different individual things happening. Playing on the cricket guards, cycling down the big hill outside my house. Trying to kick crab apples off the tree that used to be close to the swings. Going to school, and my school friends. Taking a friend of mine who was dyslexic to his special school. It makes me want to revisit that time in life; I didn't have a bad childhood at all. There was enough money in the pipeline, and my dad showered me with attention. I never wanted for anything, and my mum was always the sole disciplinarian.

In August of 1994, my Dad was posted to Germany. Luckily for me, my school was a middle school, and went from year four to year 8. I started at the same time as everyone else. Germany was an experience, there aren't many people I know that can say they lived in Germany for three years and liked it. I remember about as much from Germany as I did in Uxbridge. Mostly doing things with my dad. Bowling, Shopping. That sorta stuff. I particularly remember going with my dad to play golf on the camp's golf course. What sticks in my mind is our parties. Mum used to get terribly drunk, and then first thing the next morning, Dad would go out early to play golf in some tournament. We'd end up walking down to the clubhouse, mum would have a large fry up and then we'd go home after the results were announced.

After three years of hot summers and cold winters, it was back home where I truly belonged I guess. Mum and Dad had bought a house back in Lincoln in 1994 with the plan of returning to Lincoln at some unspecified point in their lives. I remember my last day in Germany, and I was going to give out lollipops to all my friends. My best friend Steph Oke wasn't there though. She had a dentist appointment. That sorta messed me up.

Anyway, Moving on to Lincoln. I have to say, this place has to be the worst I've ever known. I joined Robert pattinson school, a month into year seven, and a loner. The two girls who had been asked to show me around abandoned me at lunchtime, and I ended up having to figure my own way around. That aside, I was pretty much bullied everyday at R.P. If it wasn't for being fat, it was for being 'German' if it wasn't for that, it was for being top of the class, and if it wasn't THAT. It was for being a general loner. Great, Right?

Life was sorta okay for me, for those years. Personally, I think this is where this chapter needs to end. -Winks- I'll call this chapter 'My Childhood' So, Yeah.