Glay

Glay

My fifteen year old brother has always been different.  I knew he was gay when he was five. Honestly. It was confirmed to me when he was six. I had a topless photo of Tupac on my bedroom wall. I asked him, "Do you fancy Tupac there?", He said yes. The results of my experiment had not surprised me. I just didn't know what to do with the information. I sat on it. 

Fastforward a few years, All of his best friends in school are girls and he spent more time brushing his hair than he spent breathing. We all, (Me, my parents, my other brother), knew he was gay at this point. We were dead excited about it. My dad's reaction was one of envy. 

"I wish I was gay", Is what he said, Exactly.

Still, we waited. 

My parents had started watching Glee with my brother every Monday night. There is one particular episode where some boy comes out to his dad. My mum paused the programme.

"Jay, I have a question I want to ask you"

"No you don't mum"

"Do you not want me to ask you yet?"

"Uh.."

"Ok, I'll leave it"

My mum kept the tele on pause and sat in silence.

"Alright, Bloody hell. Ask me"

"Are you sure?"

"YES!"

"Are you.. err.. Oh god.. I don't quite know what to-"

"I'm gay, Mum, Yes. Put Glee back on."

My mum rang me and told me. I was seething. I always expecting my brother to come out to me. ME! 

Then it hit me. Why did he even have to Come Out? If we all knew he was gay, and he knew he was gay, And he was happy with his lot, confident with his friends, Why should he feel the need to tell us his sexual preference?

I know I never had to.

I Heart The Royals

I like having a Monarchy. I enjoy it. I don't buy the comemorative plates and mugs, But I like hearing that Starky bloke telling me stories about our Monarchy, Past and present. It interests the shit out of me.

Here's some Royals that have the Shelley Approval Certificate.*

- I have always had a strange fascination with Henry VIII, For the obvious reasons. I eat up all that shit they say about him. I even watched a programme telling me all the other stuff you don't hear at school. He was the boy king wernt he? Or something. 

- That Edward fella that stopped being a King to marry a Divorcee, He was properly handsome! It's not often you can say that about a Windsor. 

- Princess Margaret will always have a place in my heart. Triffling whores stick together, Dont you know! I kid, She was only a Whore by Royalty standards. I watched a few programmes involving her and several blokes. Each one more impressive than the last. Gwarn gal!

- Queen Victoria! Of course! (For those that don't know, I love the Victorian Times. Fascinating!). My reason for loving Queen Victoria is simple. She knew how to love someone fully. To feel so much for one person that you simply cannot see past them. She had two great loves in her life, Both she treated with respect and pure admiration. She also managed to bring down the government at the age of Nineteen, And banned any Tory from her wedding. Nice. 

I'll finish this Post with a quote of by Queen Victoria;

"How am I alive after witnessing what I have? He was my father, My protector, My guide and advisor in all and everything, My mother; I might almost say as well as my husband. Truely, The Prince was my very life and soul." - Queen Victoria on Prince Albert.

*No such Ceritficate actually exists.

If I Ruled A School

I learnt fuck all of importance in any classroom I've ever been in, (Except maybe the time my friend Emma taught me how to 'Doctor' a broken ciggarette). Sure, I know Hitler was Evil, And if I ever do see that motherfucker, I will tell a policeman, (No snitch). I'm sure of at least five things in the Periodic Table. I know Water is H2O, For example. HOWEVER, I didn't know, Up until about 2 years ago, (I'm 24), What Psuedo, Paradox or Oxymoron actually meant. The first time I went to write a cheque I was like a gay man navigating a throbbing, wet gash. I just stared at it, Shaking, Thinking 'Who can I get to sort this fucking thing out for me?'.

If someone, (I wish a motherfucker WOULD), Let me rule a school for a year, There are a fair few classes I would implement;

- Red Flags Class. 

Quite a simple lesson really. How to pick up the red flags people throw at you and use them red flags to determine that certain people are no-good little peices of shit. Yes, You do pick up these things eventually, (In your mid-30s after 3 kids and a slight alcohol problem), I just think it may be more beneficial to learn it sooner rather than later. More beneficial than painting peppers in Art class.

- How To Handle A Job Interview.

Now, Some of you, Who went to schools where the teachers/govoners cared, Might have actually been taught a mini-class of this. I beleive, However, That we need to have this shit EMBEDDED in us like our times tables. I would have loved to have known how to answer that godforsaken question, "What do you feel you could offer this company?", Way before I left school. I believe the first time I got asked this question I replied, " A bit of a revelutionary vibe, really.". I got the job, So maybe in hindsight I said the right thing? It was Sainsburys, Though.

- Dictionary Class.

How come most of us go to school and come out still not knowing every word in the English language?! Madness. Why even attempt to teach us French or Spanish or German? At sixteen I used 2 describing words; Mint and Mingin'. My English teacher knew this and accepted it. 

- DARWINISM!!!!!!!

Like, Are you fucking kidding me? These teachers want to spend 11 years teaching us about all kinds of religions and they spend one lesson teaching us the "Theory" of Darwinism. The evidental, (Is evidental even a word? It should be. It sounds right).  key to all our questions as to 'Why are we here?' Gets just one lesson. I would have liked to have known about the nerve in the Girafe that if designed by God would be 2cm long, But because of the slow evolution process it is metres long, For example, Before I wasted my time praying to god to save my arse when my dad caught me hiding whiskey I had stolen from him in my drawers inside a leg of some tracksuit bottoms. 

- Realistic 'Drugs Are Bad, Mmkay?' Speeches.

Sure, Heroin will kill you. Lets try telling these little cunts about the 20 to 40 years of addiction before it kills them. The times the drug will make them rob their own mothers time and time again. The times the drug will make them sleep with 5 men in 2 hours just to supply them in drugs, (Even if, In some cases, You're a straight male). 

Extasy does not kill you. Fact. The reactions to Extasy will kill you. Extasy, If taken correctly, Is quite an awakening. It taught me, Personally, That hate is just a feeling, it isn't actually a real barrier. I can work alongside, live alongside, People without letting a little hate ruin everything. I may hate one thing about them, or twenty, But there's always going to be something about them I can agree with. You just need to stop concentrating on the hate. I digress. 

So yeah, I was going to continue but I've lost the momentum now.

Fuck off.

Deading Myth With Birthing Story

So, A kick in the balls as equal in pain to child birth? I'm about to dead that myth.

It was December 27th 2006, The day after Boxing Day. I was playing Mario Kart when Contractions kicked in. I ignored them, As I had them on Christmas Day also. I spent the whole of Christmas Day in hospital with a machine strapped round my belly. It was most disconcerting. I wasn't going to be so cocksure this time.  I played a game of cards (Nomination) with my parents and then the contractions were about 7 minutes apart. My mum said I had to go to hospital. 

The midwife checked how far I was dilated. 2cm. I was gutted, I knew it had to be 10cm before this hell would be close to over. She said I had to stay in overnight and they would 'Start me off' in the morning. I didn't like the sound of that, at all. 

Morning came. At 8am the Midwife broke my waters. This involved her sticking a HUGE knitting needle with a small hook at the end right inside me. Then the bed went warm. (Uh, that made me nearly faint just typing that out).

The contractions kicked up a gear, They put that strange machine round my belly again, (It measures the kid's heartrate, or something). Then it got a little fun for a while. I had some Gas and Air. It didn't kill the pain. It just distracted me from it. 

A couple hours later the pain was getting really bad. It's like really really bad constipation. You know when you get the build-up of pain in your belly and the climax just makes you want to kill yourself? (I get that daily nowadays thanks to my Irritable Bowels. Yes. Irritable bowels. Lucky, me.). Well, Contractions are like Constipation pain, but 100 times more intense. 

Midwife suggested an injection in my thigh, (Petha.. dine?). I didn't fancy the epidural. I hate needles. 

Then they said they had to give me a drip, So I may aswell have the Epidural. The epidural requires a drip but it also requires a BIG needle in your spine and a tube comin up to the top of your shoulders and then they put the Epidural onto that and you feel weird in your spine for like 3 minutes. Like someone tipped Ice down your spine. I'm getting ahead of myself. 

When they tried to put the drip in, They burst a vein. Three times that happened. The fourth time was successful. That was HORRIFIC for a needlephobe. Trust me. It was not the worst thing to happen to me during this experience.

It was 5pm now and the Epidurals had not worked, (The doctor had filled the tube three times now).  Midwife said that's the best they could do, and that because of something, (I can't be sure, It was either because I was stressed, Or Kid was stressed, Or both.. ), They said after another woman had finished, I would go for a C-section. I was thrilled and said, In haste, "Take me now, I'm pretty sure I'm suffering more than that bitch is.".

They laughed, shyly. 

7pm and they said there was no need for the C-Section. Kid was on his way. 

"PUSH!", x100.

I WAS fucking pushing! My face was litterally purple! I couldn't breethe for pushing!

Because of the Gas and Air, My voice turned into an old man's voice.

I grumbled, "I am pushing you fucking cunts!". 

There were around 7 people down at the business end of me, Staring at my gaping vagina. There was your normal selection of Midwifes, Doctors and Trainee Midwifes. One of the trainees had actually been my main Midwife throughout the Birthing Session, And she was about 3 years younger than me. Timid, like. She was OK.

Anyways, I pushed the little buggar out of me at 8.09pm, (You never forget the exact time, You've been waiting for that exact time for nine months in a fretful panic), They injected me in my thigh again, Kid pissed in my face. 

I spent ages just staring at him, This little ET looking fella. They told me to have a bath and put him in this plastic tub thing. I asked if someone would watch him whilst I bathed. They said he'd be fine. I wasn't convinced, So I dived in and out the bath in like 5 seconds. 

Now, heres why Giving Birth is a million times more painful than a kick in the balls..

They don't tell you this, but, You know how sometimes a cunt can split a little during the process? Mine had, but so little that stitches wern't needed. HOW-FUCKING-EVER, For 11 days, precisely, Every time I pissed, I had to bite a towel to stop me from screaming and I had to pour a mixture of salt and tepid water over my cunt as I pissed. I had to squat in a really weird position and pissed on the floor alot more than once. THAT WAS THE WORSE THING EVER EVER EVER! I can't describe the pain. And it was EVERY TIME i pissed. FOR 11 FUCKING DAYS! It got to the point where I was consciously not drinking to stop myself pissing as much. So I had migranes during this period too, As well as the obvious sleepless nights and days. I was in a bad place. I survived on a dangerous mix of Galaxy chocolate bars and Pro Plus. 

They reckon my Birth Story is quite average, It can get alot worse. One word, Triceps. (If that is what they are called). 

There's nothing more to tell now, (Except, Kid pissed in my face a fair few times since that day), So I'll leave you with that. Men, consider yourselves lucky. Women, Don't be put off, Be DRUNK whilst giving birth! I would, In hindsight.

Long Live Mel Gibson.