Enter the Fat Lad!

Chapter One
P8411*** Hits the Street
I arrived in Camerons Hospital, Hartlepool on 23rd February 1973 to the rowdy applause of all in the delivery room.  My folks Pamela & Brian must have been well chuffed!
My Mam was a month shy of her 17th birthday & with a brother 22 months older than me, life must have been tricky for her. My father hung around from what i can gather though it may have been kinder if he had f***ed right off there & then as his abusive ways would further cause pain in the time ahead. Me? I can’t remember my father, not even his face which i have been told is blessing though something must have stuck as i can clearly remember thinking i would use a Lowcock’s pop bottle to hit him had he returned, though this may have been from things i heard discussed rather than from memories.
I was Christened Nigel Neil Simon Kidman. There’s a slight recurring theme as my brother is John James but at least he got the better end of the stick as his names included a Saints’ name so i had Simon bolted on. I’ve since told my Mam that i don’t thank her for the name, bless her, but have gotten used to it after 30+ years.
My Dad (officially Step Father but not to me) brought us up from a very young age & was fair. We did get the belt occasionally but for a reason. Whilst i don’t necessarily condone belting it did me no harm. My earliest memories have my Dad in them so cannot say i was ever without both parents really. We lived at 50 Tweddle Crescent in Blackhall & had Mrs Alderson on one side & Mam had some good friends in the close neighbourhood. A small incident occurred while she used one of their phones one time. She’d only been out a few minutes & had left me asleep but i had awoken, decided i fancied a swig of that nice sweet pink juice Mam had been giving me & using various pieces of furniture got up into the kitchen cupboard & drank the whole bottle. Shortly after i was rushed to the General hospital to have my stomach pumped. Nice! There i met a poor kid in the next bed who suffered with fluid build up in his head, it was massive. He later died Mam told me. Poor bugger. I can vividly remember the sore throat after having pipes shoved down it.
Some of my earliest memories are of the Indian doctor who came to the house when me & our John (aka Big Bro) had tonsilitus who left behind the most eggy fart you can imagine which was funnier than anything when you are so young & the annual street race near my Grandma & Grandad’s house where you raced what you brought. You’d see big lads on Choppers, younger kids on their treaders, trikes, scooters, skateboards, the lot. Me? I was on my tractor. A fantastic red & yellow affair that had pedals on the front wheel & was brill for 3cm wheelies. I was only young, about 6 possibly. I’d be flying down the hill towards the roundabout at approximately 2mph ripping up the tarmac in my quest to win which i felt i had a chance but there was one thing thwarting my success. I’d snapped off my steering wheel in an earlier RTA & so had to steer gripping the remaining shaft protruding from where the direction altering device had once sat. This story is one that can brighten my better half’s worst day as she gets hysterical at the thought of me hunkering over a little tractor with a shaft grasped between my knees. Don’t know why.
I was brought up as Catholic attending church every Sunday until i was about 13, even having a long spell as an alter boy which meant attending St Joseph’s another couple of days a week before school. Father Roche was a kind man & never interfered with me once which is saying something for a man of the cloth!!! I simply chiselled wax out of used candles for reuse before helping with Mass. I did Mondays, Wednesdays & Fridays as well as the 9am service on Sunday.  My biggest problem was fainting, probably because of missing breakfast which i think i used as my exit excuse from not only boying the altar but eventually away from the Church altogether. As i have gotten older my faith has sadly dissolved though i want to believe in a good bloke in the clouds that looks over us but that is difficult to believe when he allows so much suffering. I don’t buy the “He is almighty & pain is something we endure to test us” or such bollocks. I am slightly superstitious which means that i happily had my children Christened as if there is such a chap up high then maybe he will watch over the flock i care so much about. But other than that, my affinity with Roman Catholic living has completely absolved.
My first school was St Joseph’s Primary which was fairly uneventful. My best friends included Brian Richardson & Nicholas Hogg though Bri was my closest buddy. We used to tear around the playground with jumpers tied around our waist using the sleeves as our motorbike handlebars playing CHIPS arguing over got to be Punch! (John wasn’t cool in CHIPS). We’d be nee nerring like good uns as we upheld the law & protected the innocent. Another memory was of Nicky (aka Hoggy) falling through the French patio doors in the classroom. The scar he got was very visible but could easily have been fatal. I can also remember feeling super mature when i got to deliver the milk to the classrooms with Chris Batty, the perk being we got spare bottles of milk. After school it was Br i would play with if any from school but had a few mates nearer home such as Gary Ball, Reg Bell & Jamie Armstrong but we’re also my older brother’s mates which became a serious problem as we got older as i was technically un-cool to have around.
One of the highlights of my childhood was Fridays when we would stay at our Grandparents. We’d play out before coming in to watch TV with them & would always have a Horlicks, Ovaltine or Hot Chocolate with a biscuit while watching great shows like Starsky & Hutch, The Gentle Touch, Juliet Bravo or Shine on Harvey Moon. It fills me with warmth recollecting my time with my Grandma & Grandad.  Every Saturday my Grandad would make cooked breakfast & i swear it was the best in the world. Sunday dinner would also be with them where Grandad would again cook mince & dumplings, his special mint sauce along with the usual veg. I was a fussy bugger then (still can be) & wouldn’t eat onion so he would scoop my mince out avoiding it, bless him. Before dinner we would be dispatched to the shop at the top of the hill for Lowcock’s pop & got to keep the 10p refund to spend on sweets. With mojo’s two a penny that was a lot of sweets. Happy days.
Whilst a nipper & shortly after the smelly doctor incident we were both admitted to St Hilda’s Hospital in Hartlepool to have our tonsils whipped out which was not so great waking up feeling like i’d had 6 pints (well i was only 7 or so) with a throat like a nun’s crotch. I wasn’t enamoured by the cornflakes with warm milk either. No ice-cream for us.
Christmas was always tops with my Grifter right up there as one of the best surprises as a kid. I thought my MX12 was the dogs danglies but this had GEARS! My first long voyage was with my brother from our house to Grandma’s, close to a mile and a half through the ice & snow, it was a real adventure for me & later became my stunt bike achieving such feats as jumping 8 tyres at the BMX track which was unheard of & made me feel like the Village Hero. Jumping through fire was another party piece. Every now & again the gears would break but a lovely old bloke called Geordie Richie would always be on hand to fix them with a spoke & a pair of pliers. He lived just a few doors away from where our John lives today. Bloody nice bloke was Geordie.

Chapter to be continued!