My Story...

I was born in London in 1969. My Father was in the R.A.F. so we spent the first three years of my life living in various parts of the world. My father left the Air Force and we settled down in Luton and lived in a three-storey town house in St Josephs Close Luton. It was actually a great place to grow up as a young child, there were lots of other children around my age living in the close so I tended to spend most of the time outside with the other kids. It certainly wasn't like today, we didn't have computers or game consoles, and children's television was nothing like it is today.

At the age of five my parents decided that I should go to a private school. It was called Broadmead which in hindsight it sounds rather like a borstal. I can't say I have any fond memories of this school and I certainly did not like it there.

I think I was five when I left Broadmead. I get the impression that paying money for a private school was a waste of money. I then started at the local primary school called Norton Road which was about a mile up the road.

Mr Woods was the headmaster. To a youngster I suppose he seemed ancient, however looking back, I Imagine he was probably in his 50s. He always used to take assembly and boy did he have a great stammer, Ronnie Barker would have been impressed. I always remember sitting on the floor in assembly looking up at this man talking. My God did he did have a lot of fillings. He always used to wear those elasticated things that hold your shirt sleeves up. Funny what sort of things you remember.

Holidays were normally spent in Devon. My Grandparents had lived in Paignton for many years . They owned a hotel, then a guesthouse and then retired to various properties around the town. My dad's sister lived here in Brixham which is only 5 miles from Paignton. She also had two children, Matt and Nick. Nick is the same age as me, and Matt a couple of years younger. This photograph taken in 72/73 is of me (in white) and my cousin Nick. Here we are on Goodrington Beach having a really good laugh by the look of it. Can't remember what I found so amusing. By the look of those holes, maybe I had just force-fed my cousin a big lugworm

I remember when skateboards first became popular over here. Ian Straughan was the first person in the vicinity to have a skateboard. Actually it was the wheels off a pair of old rollerskates bolted onto a piece of wood. It didn't matter, this young lad was good, I can always remember him doing a handstand going down the path. I eventually got my skateboard on Christmas day. It was called The Land Surfer of California and it was red. Couldn't use it for the first few days because there was ice everywhere. I wasn't really much good on it after then anyway. In fact, I fell off it one day and broke my thumb. Bloody thing hurt for years after then.

I joined the Luton and Vauxhall swimming club in 1980 and would get up three days a week at half past five in the morning and cycle on my own about 3 miles to the swimming pool. Can't quite see parents letting their children do that these days.

1980 was a big year, primary school came to an end and secondary school had finally arrived. It was an absolutely terrifying experience attending Denbigh High for the first time. Thankfully a couple of friends who I went to primary school with also started attending the same school so at least there were some familiar faces. However I can't exactly say I have any fond memories of the school. It was absolutely huge and extremely intimidating, to be quite honest, I absolutely hated it.

In 1981 we uprooted and moved down to Paignton in Devon. My parents bought a small grocery shop in the St Michaels area of Paignton. I don't know why St Michaels had such a bad reputation for being a rough area, it was great, I loved living there. Fair enough, it ain't no Marina Drive but it was a good place to grow up in.

I started school at Paignton Community College in the summer of 81. In comparison it was minute compared to my previous school but all in all a much more relaxing atmosphere and not so intimidating because of the size. All of the classrooms where prewar I would have thought and only a few hundred pupils attended compared to well over 1000 at Denbigh. The teachers were pretty cool, my first form teacher was lovely but unfortunately had absolutely no control over any of the children, she would often end up in tears after being tormented by a few individuals.

It's sad to say that not all teachers were particularly nice. One individual who took sports was nothing more than a bully and a thug as far as I'm concerned. He wouldn't think twice about picking a 12 year old boy up by the scruff of the neck and throwing him across the room which could have caused serious injury. on one occasion he ordered a young boy to strip naked and stand in front of the whole class in the sports hall for quite a long time. One day I did nothing more than spin around in a circle while sitting on the floor in the gymnasium in my shorts whilst waiting for the teacher to arrive. This resulted in me being forced to undress, and then get dressed again constantly for an hour. With the benefit of hindsight I now realise that this sports teacher behaved in the despicable manner towards young children and would not get away with it nowadays. In fact his actions would more than likely not only get him the sack, but also land him in serious trouble with the police.

In 1984 I decided an image change was necessary and for some very strange reason I became a skinhead. Remember the skinhead from the Flying Pickets?, I thought he looked pretty cool in his Dr. Marten boots and black crombie so I wanted to emulate him. Even though I didn't go to the extent of completely shaving my head bald, my mother still hit the roof when I arrived home one evening from the barber with almost no hair on my head. I bumped into another Dr. Marten wearing baldy one evening, his name was Gary and he was a kid from my school. I suppose we clicked and became really good friends although we had never really had anything to do with each other before. Along with Ryan and Darren, we were often out and about in Paignton and Torquay traipsing around frightening all the old ladies no doubt. I think we thought we were really tough, when in fact I think it was quite the opposite.

Gary had never been fishing before so considering how much I spent fishing myself, I thought it was something I would introduce to him to. The first time we ever went fishing he unfortunately lost a float, well, you would have thought it was the crown jewels, he was so upset and apologetic, the float only cost £.50  one of our favorite nightly fishing marks was the breakwater at Brixham, we would spend many a night fishing and having a laugh in the dead of the night. One funny incident will always live with me, Gary was scared of crabs for some reason. Anyway, Ryan and myself thought it would be very funny to put one on his chest while he was asleep in a deck. He screamed like a little girl when he woke up, it was so funny. I'm afraid Ryan didn't get away with it either. He ended up headfirst down a hole at the side of the breakwater after we strung a rope across the breakwater. I suppose we shouldn't laugh, but seeing his little legs wiggling around whilst poking out of the hole was quite funny. And then there is the story of the rag worm that were supposedly placed inside my trousers when I was asleep. I never believed the story myself, I'm sure that I would have noticed a 12 inch rag worm in my underpants in the morning

In 1985 I finally left Paignton Community College. Four years at one school seems so long when you are young. I had decided that I wanted to get into the fishing industry so had enrolled at Falmouth fisheries College.

The few months I spent in Falmouth will remain with me for the rest of my life. I was only 16 at the time and had always lived at home with my parents, I hadn't really spent any time away from home apart from a couple of holidays. Moving down to Falmouth to live so far away from my parents was both exhilarating, and rather scary at the same time. I remember going down on a very hot day in June 1985. It was absolutely boiling, up in the 30s. We spent a really nice day having a look around Falmouth until it was time for me to be dropped off at my digs. I would be staying with a middle-aged couple who took in students every year. I was sharing a room with a lad called Mark who was the same age as me, he was also going to be studying at the same college. After my parents left I was free! No more nagging, no more arguing, it was brilliant. Mark and I were off into Falmouth to do a bit of exploring. I think the first port of call was the pub to buy a packet of fags. Yes I know smoking is a stupid game. We all started off doing it because we thought it looked cool and them before we knew where we were, we were hooked and couldn't give up.


Falmouth is located on the south coast of Cornwall, approximately 100 miles from Brixham. It is a delightful little town with lots of really good pubs. Should I really be saying this since I was only 16? Of course, I only used to drink orange juice, YEAH RIGHT! the college we would be attending was one of those very old Victorian schools that was made of really thick granite. Lessons consisted of seamanship, learning how to mend and make nets, splicing rope and wire and loads more I'm sure. It wasn't quite like being at school, it was much more relaxed, I absolutely loved it, I was never really that keen on school, all those teachers shouting at you, who do they think they are? Our main teacher was an old sea dog called Mr Pender. A real true Cornishman with a very strong Cornish accent. I suppose he was in his late 50s, he seemed so much older at the time but then again we were only 16, anybody above 25 was old. He was once a skipper on a Cornish trawler so was an extremely good teacher.

Since I was pretty keen on fishing, I took my fishing tackle down with me. I decided that I was going to try and catch one of these huge legendary conger eels that were supposed to frequent Falmouth docks. The fact that nobody was allowed inside the docks didn't cross my mind. So I decided on a suitable evening and went out and bought half a dozen herring that I was going to use for bait. I brought them back and left them In the outside toilet in a bag. When I went back to get them I suspected that something was not quite as it should be and I certainly wasn't wrong. Somebody, or something had been showing an interest in my herring. In fact, my half a dozen herring had suddenly become two herring. Let's just say that the house cat had a great big grin on his face and extremely fishy breath. Anyway, with my two herring I set off on a very dark evening and arrived at the wall overlooking the docks. Over I hopped and proceeded to walk down this great big hill. The fact that I didn't know where I was was rather ironic. In the end, I found myself at the docks, God knows how I got there in the dark. I set up for my fishing tackle and crept onto the dockside and cast a line. Well, I sat there, and I sat there for a little longer and absolutely nothing happened. Maybe these huge conger decided that herring wasn't on the menu that evening. After a while, nerves got the better of me, I saw a little bit of movement across the way and didn't really want to spend the night in a cell so I decided it was probably a good idea to cut my losses and make a hasty exit. For some reason, I found myself walking back a different route that took me through an area that was obviously a bit of a dumping ground. It was very dark, and extremely spooky and I was completely on my own. I then encountered all these little huts that were obviously used for storage. Most of them didn't have a door on the front but you couldn't really see into them because it was so dark. I then shone a torch into one of the huts and my God I nearly had a heart attack. In the middle of the hut was an old rocking chair, and to my horror, sitting in the rocking chair....................was a huge sack. Well that did it for me, I was out of there pretty smartish, I honestly thought I'd seen the ghost of an old man. I ran and I ran and I ran. I have never been so scared in my life, my heart was almost jumping out of my chest. It goes without saying I never went back again.

I spent three extremely enjoyable months at college at Falmouth until the course came to an end and it was time to head home. My parents had sold the shop in Paignton and moved to Brixham in the meantime. I was quite happy, Brixham was always the place I wanted to live ever since we moved down to Devon. My parents bought a very old three-storey house uptown in the old farming district of Brixham. The house itself was around 400 years old and had dry stone walls around 3 foot thick. I have no idea how long the previous owner had lived there but I found newspapers dating back to the late 60s underneath the carpet in my bedroom.

I started working on a 35 foot crab fishing boat called "Sally Lou". It was owned and skippered by Dave Langdon and along with Jim Piper, we would set off at 5:30 in the morning to pull several hundred pots. It was a monotonous job that was the same every single day. Even though we were back in by midday I really didn't take to it at all. During the colder months when you couldn't feel your fingers having to lift heavy pots and re-bait them was absolutely agonising. I had set my heart on working on a trawler and so decided to leave the crabber and find a trawler to work on. It just so happened that I got a job on a 79 foot scallop trawler called the "Onze Linquenda", I believe this is actually Dutch for Our Linda. The boat was skippered by Clive Wills who was born and bred in Brixham. Even though we would spend sometimes more than seven days at sea, it is something I really enjoyed. Aong with five other crew we would do shifts of six on a six off. My watch was from two o'clock in the afternoon until 8 o'clock at night, then two o'clock in the morning untill eight o'clock in the morning. Nigel who was the boat's mate (second in command) was also the boat's cook. We would always have a very hearty breakfast and then it was six hours of blissful sleep. Up at two o'clock to start work again and then eight o'clock was time for a huge evening meal. It's amazing how much more you eat when you are at sea working hard.

I am sure that you have heard new workers being sent for a tin of tartan paint, a long wait, or even a glass mallet. Well, I didn't get away without having this joke played on me. One day when we were carrying out some work on the boat. Clive sent me to get a skyhook, an hour later somebody put me out of my misery and told me I had been completely stitched up, lots of smiling and laughing fishermen when I returned to the boat. Suffice to say it never happened again.

In the May of 1986 the boat went for a major refit in Holland which basically put us out of work. Everyone had bills to pay so needed to go and get jobs until the boat came back. I was going to go down on Monday and see what I could find.

On Sunday I decided to take the dogs for a walk. It was a very pleasant day, the warm weather had arrived and the sun was shining. At approximately 6 o'clock in the evening as I was walking back I bumped into a few friends and they accompanied me on my way back. We just so happened to take a little detour past Shoalwater outdoor swimming pool which is located not far from Brixham breakwater. Being such a nice day a couple of us decided to take a dip since there was some water in the swimming pool. John Boyce went in before me and I dived over his head. The next thing I remember is lying face down in the water not being able to move anything apart from my head. I really didn't know what the hell has happened, all I knew was my arms were out in front of me and I couldn't move them. I held my breath as long as I could but then finally had to take a breath and that was it. I remember distinctly thinking to myself "how have I got myself in this position?" Then my last thought was Penn, prepare yourself for death and then nothing. I found out after that a couple of trained Lifesavers just happened to be walking past the swimming pool when this happened. I owe my life to Barry and Pearl, without them I would be no more.

My next recollection was lying in hospital flat on my back. It was all a little bit confusing as I really hadn't got a clue what was going on. I do recall my cousin Nick coming to see me and I asked him if I was wearing any clothes. Cap one thing I do remember very clearly was being turned upside down in the striker bed, I remember absolutely panicking when they did this, a really horrible feeling.

I arrived at the Duke of Cornwall Spinal Treatment Centre on May 21, 1986. I remember being wheeled in on the stretcher and looking up at a grey sky with a few raindrops hitting my face. A lovely little lass called Wendy was assigned as my primary nurse . However, I didn't see her for  2 weeks because she had just got married and went on honeymoon. When she came back she took charge and was absolutely wonderful. The first few days were a complete blur, I was drugged up to the eyeballs and didn't know what was going on, WW3 could have broken out around me and I probably wouldn't have noticed. I used to have the most vivid hallucinations where I was convinced my hands were working normally, I would even shout outs for the nurses to tell them only to be completely brought back down to earth when I realised it was only in my head. I remember the first time I had several nurses standing around my bed when I obviously had no clothes on, I still had my modesty intact then and it was absolutely awful. I was on Avon ward and a nurse called

Because I had suffered a compression fracture to my neck which basically meant I had squashed all the vertebrae together, they had to attach some heavyweights to my head. This was done by screwing a clamp into my skull , the weights hung off this. I spent six weeks lying on my back, I had a mirror above my head so I could watch the television behind me. It just so happened that when you were turned you could look straight down the top of the nurse who was holding your shoulders. I swear to God that some of them didn't wear bras, I suppose you've got to have some enjoyment, after all, lying flat on your back for weeks on end isn't much fun.

After six weeks the nurses started getting me up. The first time I got up was an absolutely horrible experience. The blood drained from my head and I felt as sick as a dog. I could hardly move so even a slight jolt felt like I was falling out of the chair. After a few weeks I was able to sit up all day although I had to wear a neck brace all day. This was the middle of the summer so you can imagine how much I sweated, it was awful, I had the most horrendous yellow spots on my chin, probably heaven for people who like squeezing zits.

I wasn't able to move my fingers at all day so every day it was down to physio and occupational therapy. Even simple tasks like eating and drinking were something I was going to have to learn all over again if I wanted to do it independently.

Being in hospital for that long means that you develop very close friendships with the people there. I was extremely friendly with a lot of the nurses but one particular nurse called Jane was my absolute favourite. The spinal unit in those days isn't like what it is today. Unfortunately bureaucracy has gone completely mad and you're not allowed to fraternise with any of the staff if you are a patient. Back in the mid-80s the staff would come in to the unit on their days off to take patients out, get takeaway meals and basically socialise. Even though you were disabled, in those days the staff made every effort to make your life as comfortable and as pleasant as possible. Boy, times have really changed.

I left hospital in February 1987 and returned home to Brixham. It was a horrible feeling leaving the hospital, the place was my sanctuary, I felt safe, what was I going to do without it?

It just so happened that Brixham was one of numerous cities and towns around the world that had a Leonard Cheshire Home. The Cheshire home was set up at the end of the war by Group Capt Leonard Cheshire. It was intended to give a home to young disabled people. At the beginning of February 1987 I moved into Douglas House which is the Cheshire home based in Brixham. The Cheshire home had around 40 residents who have disabilities such as cerebral palsy, very slight brain injury, spinal injury and MS. When I first moved into the Cheshire home everybody was able to communicate fully, sometimes it was difficult to understand what they were saying, but everyone was fully able to communicate.

It didn't take me very long to settle in and I made it my home, I soon forgot all about being tied to the hospital. Jane came down to see me a few times which was really nice, she even came down for my 18th birthday. The Cheshire Home was fantastic in those days, the staff again interacted with the residents and it wasn't like being in an institution at all. There wasn't a set time before going to bed, if I wanted to go to bed at one o'clock in the morning, that was my prerogative. The Cheshire Home Foundation had a policy of bringing over volunteers from overseas. When I was a resident at Douglas house they were mainly young Danish and German people working there for a few months at a time. I was only young at the time say we were all around the same age. Some of the Danish girls were so incredibly beautiful, makes my mouth water even now when I think about them :-). I'm sure that you want to know my secret about what went on but I'm afraid I'm going to stay tightlipped about my escapades with the young Danish girls. I'll leave it up to your imagination.

I spent a fairly short time at the Cheshire Home, approximately 10 months. A small flat had been constructed on the back of my parents house and on Christmas Eve 1987 I left the Cheshire home for good and moved home once again.

It was a little strange moving back home again but I had a fairly large lounge/bedroom/bathroom which gave me my own space. I would continue visiting the Cheshire Home on the weekdays as it was nice to mix with people, rather than just sit at home watching television.

In 1990 I decided to get myself a CB radio once again. In those days the bands were quite busy and it wasn't very long before I was starting to make friends on the airwaves. When you use a CB radio you normally have what is referred to as a "CB handle", rather than using your real name, most people have a CB handle to identify themselves on the airwaves, I decided to call myself "Steelwheels". A friend of mine Adrian who was the handyman at the Cheshire Home also got a CB at the same time and he called himself " Cat Catcher". He chose this name because a few months earlier he had been assigned to catch some wild cats that have been making themselves at home around the Cheshire Home. The CB was an excellent way of making friends because only other person could hear was your voice, I didn't have to mention the disability at all, and in many cases most people and he found out I was disabled after either listening into our conversations, or after we have been chatting for a while. By the time we met up we were already friends and the disability really wasn't an issue at all. We often congregated on Channel 39 UK, we would put out a whistle to see if anyone was at home.

The sunspot cycle was at its peak in 90/91 which meant there was a lot of Sporadic E knocking around.  Now this is probably double Dutch to most people so I'll put it in layman's terms. I could be chatting away to mate a couple of miles away one minute, and then all of a sudden a voice with a Scottish accent would suddenly appear. Basically the signals were being bounced off an ionized layer around the earth and whereas normally you could communicate up to around 10 miles using a CB radio, it was possible to talk to people many hundreds, or even thousands of miles away when this unusual form of radio publication occurs. At first I wasn't aware of these conditions and I thought it was somebody local playing a joke by putting on a strange accent. Anyway, when I realized it was possible to talk to people in another country that opens up a whole new world for me and I would spend hours chasing different countries. I made a few friends overseas who I still talk to now, mainly over the Internet, not on CB radio anymore. A good friend of mine is called Remek and he is from Poland. I first spoke to him in 1990 and then over the next couple of years we would often hear each other until conditions dropped off to the extent where there were no foreign signals to be heard. However, due to the good old World Wide Web we are now back in contact and have a little chat every now and then.

After living in a flat on the back of my parents house since 1987 I moved into a bungalow in 1995 and started living totally independently which was fantastic. As long as you've got a good team of carers than any disabled person can live independently, I would highly recommend it. There's something about making your own cup of tea that is quite satisfying when someone's been doing for you before.

In 1999 I entered into a relationship with one of my carers and we started living together a year later in my bungalow. There really isn't much to say from here, so roll the clock forward to the end 2004....

For most of 2004 I felt pretty ill. I really wasn't sure what was wrong. On numerous occasions I would spend two or three days in bed unable to get up. The Thursday after Christmas 2004, a few days after the tsunami my carer discovered a rather large hole in my backside. I had absolutely no idea this had been going on. There was a really bad infection inside me which accounted for all the illness throughout the year. After some strong antibiotics I managed to get rid of the infection and started to feel normal again. Unfortunately I was now bedridden unable to get up at all. The days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and I was stuck in bed. Summertime came along as did the good weather which made staying in bed so much harder. I finally started getting up in a 2006 and thankfully didn't have a repeat of the same problem

Sadly in 2005 Gary, my dear friend of over 20 years passed away after a short illness, he was only 36 years old. Some of my fondest memories as a teenager were spent in the company of Gary.  He will be missed but never forgotten.

2006 saw the relationship between Chrissy and myself come to an end because of my own stupidity. However, I would say that we are as close  now as we always were so it's not all bad.

Once again there isn't really much to talk about between 2006 and 2008 so again will roll forward to October 2008. I had not been feeling particularly well for a few days and on the Saturday in October, that's when it all started. For most of the day I was terribly thirsty and was feeling worst as the minutes ticked away. Chrissy just so happened to be coming round in the evening because we were going out. I can't remember my exact words but I was literally dying when she came through the door and I just told her to get me to the hospital somehow, some way, but bloody quickly. I don't think I have been in casualty for more than one hour before I was literally dead, and I mean that litterly. I spent the next three weeks in intensive care fighting a very serious blood infection called sepsis. The doctors didn't really hold much hope for me but for the grace of God I pulled through. It's been a long hard battle getting over that but I'm certainly feeling much better. In June 2009 I have to have my right kidney removed which was a bit of a blow. However, I seem to have got over that fairly well and here we are now, 2010.

When I've got something else to say, you'll be the first to hear about it