I went to work anyway, and when i got there was shocked to see that proofing of the 75 business cards had been taken away from me.
I was devastated. All my career I'd been working towards this moment. GCSE's, A'Levels, BA Hons degree, 7 years in Premier League Football, 6 years in Rugby Union, sourcing thousands of pounds in sponsorship deals and events. I was primed to check and cross reference 75 25 year old's personal details onto an excel spreadsheet and check they were correct. I was ready. This was my moment. All my dreams were about to be realised. I was like i was 15 in the bathroom with Sara Biddle and i was about to lose my virginity. "This is it" i thought.
And then they were gone. i got to the office and a colleague had been given the task. Gutted. Of course she moaned at me and said she hated me for being given this amazing job. I cursed my bad luck and congratulated her. It was an important responsibility i sagely noted. Maybe, just maybe if i keep my head down, do an MA and tons of other qualifications i can one day be handed such an incredible task. I will chug away.
I got the text in the afternoon that it would be a good idea to come to Wales. Nan was very weak & ill. I was supposed to be doing a wedding (reception) on the Saturday and going to Wales on the Sunday. I was told that it could be too late. I headed down.
On the way i listened to the Radio 5 Live commentary of England v Sweden, with that c*** Alan green's phone in. It made me feel suicidal. The man is definitely the world's biggest twat. Miserable, moaning, criticising. He sounded like the human equivalent of fingers down a blackboard. He needs ending.
His basic tact is to lam bast everything, whilst wearing a leather jacket and a tie. That just shows how out of touch he is. Those two items of clothing simply don't go.They have no right being paired together. Like cords and denim. Top and Man. A leather jacket and tie simply means 'nonce' to me. Like a Geography teacher too 'friendly' with his teachers or someone on the register. Leather jackets and tie are effectively a badge of dishonour.
And this is in effect Alan Green. A pure c**t for the c**ty purists. Bigger even than a genetically modified Peter Andre. Oh yes he's that big.
The journey was easy, the footie was on so i had road to myself. It was Just me, the radio and Alan fucking Green. No amount of pain going to Prince Phillip hospital visiting Nan compares to that. It's literally like pushing pins in your knackers and listening to Leonard Cohen. Grim. He was so negative i developed Cancer of the ears. Terrible.
I reached Brymoor Road at midnight, on arrival i immediately saw 2 obese tracksuit youths walking down the street with cans of beer. Classic Llanelli.
My Mum was waiting, she looked tired and stressed. There were 3 bits of breaded chicken cooked. You know the type from M&S. It was the same stuff she used to cook for me when i was a kid. i hadn't eaten it since. It totally made me nostalgic and set off a real memory lane over the next couple of hours as we sat and talked about Nan and past memories.
She is very ill and the chat is that they think she is going to slip into a coma. I'm pleased I've come down to act as a support. I will be needed.
Mum went to bed leaving me alone in Brymoor Road. It's odd. So many memories i have. So much history. So much of our lives have centred around this house. It is the central place. The spiritual home. It is Brymoor Road. The home of Nan. And she wasn't here. The chair was empty, the house coat hung up. There was no baking, no sound of her humming. It was quiet. it was nice. I was pleased to be here.
One thing i noted was how different i was from My Nan and Mum in some instances. I haven't taken on their cleaning gene. I am a man after all. But one thing for me summed up Welsh Mammies. And how different i am. It was in the kitchen and it was all in the grapes.
She actually went to the trouble of taking them out of the packet, washing them, tearing off some kitchen roll, getting out a bowl and placing them in it. Incredible. Detail, Welsh, fussy, Mammy. Very Nan. Very Mum. Very old school Llanelli.
Me i go to the trouble of buying them and eating them immediately. And what is Kitchen Roll? There is no place for it in a mans house.
So remember the grapes folks. It's all in the grapes. Not in leather jackets and ties
xx
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