Blood,sweat and Princes Trust

Good day; Play with fire extinguisher..Bad day; Attempt to insert a supervisors head into a vending machine..NEVER SKIP THE QUEUE!

Leaving school as soon as I could I entered the working world and spent my days in mail distribution depots unloading trucks, flipping burgers in Mc Donald’s for a brief period before a three year stint making roof tiles with my Dad in a small factory near my home where the practical jokers put dead seagulls in my wheelbarrow and my loving Father so kindly fills everyone in one the apparent  fact that when Andrews having a ‘bash’ the whole house shakes. Thanks for that!

After they went bust I became self-employed and started working for an Indian construction company where I’d spend a further three years labouring on The Royal Bank Of Scotland Head Quarters. Eventually I switched companies for better pay and started making under floor fire barriers before returning to general labour with that same Indian company and an extra job as a security guard on the same site.  I spent six of those months sleeping in the basement and they still hand picked me to recieve a safety award, £50 voucher for workers shop and a small pocket knife. Almost makes up for the fact I worked 80 hours for only £300 every week.

Outside of work drink and drug habits were taking their toll.

I did have an on-off addiction and indulged in more than a few forms of whatever I could get but it was usually more of a bad (very bad) habit than actual overblown addiction. It all started with my-self and friends encouraging each-other to try new things and it seemed cool at the time.

 It would soon escalate and become a game you could only win by taking and enduring the most amount of shit like some idiotic last-man-standing test of manhood. The death of a friend should have served as a warning but would only drag me further down and into a dark place there seemed no way out of. 

 Mum knew something was amiss and so suggested I join The Prince’s Trust.

. . .

 Wearing a see through pink tutu complete with woman’s thong leaving nothing to the imagination along with fish-net stockings and an Avril lavigne vest rolled up to look like a bra, he lets out a sigh of disbelief and utters the words ‘That’s ma boy’!

With my long curly hair hanging down from a black French beret hat, long beard and tribal tattoo’s completing the image, I look like a fucking nutter.

I’m now well into The Prince’s Trust organisation taking part in a three month course set up for young adults trying to find direction in their life and today we’re fund-raising in Edinburgh wearing fancy-dress costumes. Our groups made up from three girls and two boys and deciding that we might as well do it in style, we arrive looking like a pair of hookers while the girls dress as a mouse, builder and Gypsy. 

I just look nuts, whereas the other guy has pulled out all the stops and really looks the part, calling it a day after someone grabs his arse and asks him ‘How much’? A tenner’s slipped inside my money tin by someone who probably wants my number and I have much explaining to do a few times when my friends pass me not knowing I’d planned to do this. 

Four hours later I’m sitting at the bar in town after changing my clothes in the toilet. I answer my phone and I’m surprised to hear Sara asking me if herself and Zandra can come to my house for a drink. Hell yea! These girls are beautiful and I make my way home thinking they’ll definitely change their minds. They’ll never come. 

I frantically clean my room, throwing mouldy plates in the bin and opening the window to let the smell out. I receive a text message and head towards the bus stop to meet them.

We’re already quite pissed by the time Dad knocks on the door and sticks his head into the room. ‘Can I have a word’? Following him into his bedroom, I’m given the lecture about condoms. That’s all very well, but I’m fucking twenty four!

Letting the girls sleep in my bed, I make myself comfortable on the floor. I can’t sleep. I’m desperately hoping they’ll take pity on me and let me shag them.

Opening my eyes I see Zandra leaning over me wearing my T-shirt, looking hot as fuck. ‘About time’, I think to myself before noticing her cheeks bulging as she grabs the bin beside my head and spews. Surly I deserve some sex now after mopping up her sick, but no. I stay sleeping next to a stinking bin and a ruined carpet while sleeping beauties lie in my bed forcing me to a much needed cold shower in the morning.

Sara,if it wasn’t for you I’d never need a cold shower..Thanks for being awesome about this!

 

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