So I think around 11am on September 18th 1973 Neil George Fay came into this world with the number one song of the time being “Angel Fingers” By Wizzard which I can safely say I have never heard in my life until I just banged it on Spotify which confirmed I had never heard it before. Things were looking up by the time I was ten and Culture Club “Karma Chameleon” must have been played at my tenth birthday party assuming I had one because normally if my mum said do you want a party or £20 in cash I would take the cash gamble. Moving onto my 20th birthday and now we really are having it with “Mr Vain” by Culture Beat rocking The Buzz Club in Liverpool at the time. Semi maturity hitting me by my 30th birthday and The Black Eyed Peas with ‘Where Is The Love?” claiming the 30th birthday number one a song of no significance or particular greatness. So to the big day and number one this week for my 40th birthday is “Roar” By Katie Perry. I had a feeling my 40th birthday number one would be shite. All stats courtesy of http://everyhit.com/dates/
So going to bed on the 17th it was a bit weird. God knows why as it is just a number and I will still wake up 40 with a beer gut and balding the same as when I was 39. So I woke up and come downstairs where the kids were excited to give me my prezzies. I always think birthday’s are better quality wise for presents. Must be because it’s an individual day for an adult rather than the chaos of chrimbo were as an adult you normally get palmed off with a Lynx box set some socks and the odd voucher. Main prezzies this year were my Nike Fuel band Blog Here a paper from the day I was born (Just 5p) and a limited vinyl edition of “Raintown” by Deacon Blue, just need to get my record player back now. So with the Nike fuel band inspiring me I managed a 3.25 mile jog as the fat thirties try and be replaced by the fit forties no doubt to be followed by the fucked fifties ! Had a lovely tea with the family at Damon’s and the evening was spent watching a bit of footy and playing Grand Theft Auto V (I’m still down with the kids) I will have to admit the day was overshadowed by what was coming today (19th) but I tried to hide it as best as possible and strangely enough this morning I don’t feel as bad as I thought I would. May I wish everybody who has wished me a happy birthday many thanks and I even went on my old Facebook account for a rare log on to see all the birthday wishes and left this message
“As some of you may or may not have noticed but I do not come on here much now. May I thank each and everyone of you for your birthday well wishes. Already been to Benidorm at the start of the month. Had a lovely meal in Damon’s with the family tonight and going to Edinburgh next Friday for another weekend away with the lads.
Peace, health and love to you all. You don’t need loads of money as if you have them three it should see you right.
Wise words from the 40 year old !!”
So onto September 19th 2013 or should we say September 19th 2012. Not quite in the same league as 15th April once again a twat of a day but it is now one year since my dad died John Fay 12.02.45 to 19.09.12 So where do we start ? Well the first few months were not too bad. Looking back that period was a period of pure denial which started with me seeing the name plate on my dad’s coffin as it pulled up outside my sister’s house. Once I had seen that and the grief was heading right towards me I went into a trance like state in the following car and then in the funeral place itself. Looking down at the floor for the entire service and not wanting to see the coffin head in through the curtains for that last time. This particular stunt worked on the day as once that inconvenience was out of the way it was time to head to the pub and free ale for my mates just as my dad would have wanted it. So the denial got me through until chrimbo. Now I am on the record many times as hating chrimbo and generally become Victor Meldrew but post chrimbo this year was when the loss of my dad hit me the hardest. Several times a day I would think about him and those post chrimbo days were a particular dark period only snapping out of it by around the end of March. Things eased as the spring and summer came but it was often the daftest things that hit you unexpectedly like a hammer and thankfully the letters tidying up my dads estate stopped coming and eternal thanks goes to my sister who took on most of the case load. I have had a year now of not having to go up and pick my dad up from Clitheroe on a Sunday. A chore that despite being about a 3 hour round trip was the focal point of any Sunday. In the year I have had free of these trips I have done jack shit every Sunday. Oh how I would cherish the chance to drive up to Clitheroe to pick the silly old sod up one more time ! It is truly a strange feeling when you lose your second parent. All of a sudden there is nobody to look up to for advice and a huge void above you slowly closes over as time is a healer but it never heals in full. So my birthday will always have this giant shadow over it now. Last year with it being my birthday I decided to have a day off from the daily travel to Blackburn hospital to see my dad. Little did I know I would never see him again a decision I some what regret but in truth I needed that day for me whatever was to happen. So after what had quite frankly been a year on the piss it really is time to reflect but not forget and look forward to what life has to offer me. They say life begins at 40. Not so much of a beginning but possibly a re-evaluating for the better. I am writing this the Sunday before posting this as I gotta feeling the anniversary will be bad enough without having to delve deep into my conscience to put some words together. The old lip has wobbled a few times just putting this rambling together but with another bottle of beer and The Clash on Spotify things are looking up. I love you dad and I miss you every day x x x
Fay x x x x x
May I just add thanks to all my family and friends for putting up with me and being there not just for the last difficult year but for 40 years and if you dont know me thanks for reading this shite and I will be in Edinburgh 27th to 29th September if you wanna by me a decent scotch ;0) I leave you with a track that I was listening to a year ago. A beautiful song that I will now always remember my dad when I hear it (No relation by the way)
So with my 40th birthday less than a week away I have decided that the time has come to make sure my waist size does not increase and match my years on this planet. With Mrs Fay stuck what to buy me (what do you buy the gadget man who has nearly everything) I decided that I would go for a Nike Fuel band to inspire me to get back into exercise. Mrs Fay was even kind enough to let me have it before my birthday buying the excuse that after last weekend in Benidorm I needed a two week health kick before another weekend in Edinburgh. So at £129 the Nike fuel band doesn’t come cheap. Just think I can now work out how much Nike fuel I have used by walking down to Steve’s chippy and coming back via Bargain Booze, genius ! If this latest attempt at shifting my middle aged spread fails Mrs Fay would have been better off giving me £129 worth of Sayers vouchers and a pair of expandable waist jogging pants but hey ho we will give it a go. Well it worked yesterday as it inspired me to go out for a 5 mile walk which earned me 1200 Nike fuel points. I have yet to suss how many packs of McCoys that is. So I have set myself a target of 3000 points a day. Only managed to get to 1,913 yesterday but considering the band only went on at 3pm it’s a start. Indeed when I got up this morning it was already up to a massive 34 points ! After pottering around this morning with the ballet run and a short walk to Sayers for a cumberland barm I am on 914 points. Wow might not need to go for my planned jog this avvie at this rate and stay in and watch the footy scores and having a chocolate cornflake cake. OK I know for the attack on my middle-aged spread I also need to cutdown on my food and booze whilst increasing my exercise (fucking hell I sound like a doctor) but as with all regimes I think its article 13 : 1.15 in the bill of human rights that states “All fitness regimes must start on a Monday. Should that Monday be a bank holiday then the regime should start on the following Monday” So possibly not the best time to start a regime with my birthday on Weds and also a boozy weekend to Edinburgh on the 27th but its a start and then once October starts the bleached blonde hair will be ditched and I can kick on or my £129 Nike fuel band just becomes an expensive watch. So part one of the blog done. I will report back with the findings from my jog.
So after what was a quite tough 3.25 mile run (first run for a month) the old Nike Fuel points had gone up to around 2200. With a walk up to the in-laws i passed the 3000 points for the day mark and was rewarded with a nice illuminated “GOAL” sign on my band. So I rewarded myself with two Desperado’s and a burger. The run done me in so much that I volunteered to come home and put the baby in bed at 9pm as I think I was more knackered than her. May I take this opportunity to wish Dave and Alison a happy 40th wedding anniversary and who would have predicted at their wedding that in 40 years time their daft son-in-law would turn up with a futuristic band on his wrist which measured such strange things as Nike fuel points, calories burned, steps taken oh and the time as well. The weather is looking shit for the next two days so making my 3000 fuel points might involve a lot of running up and down the stairs. My wicked mind wonders how many points can be earned doing “male wrist exercises” and on that bombshell I think I better wrap things up here. Next blog with be post birthday and a new found maturity in my writing will be able to be seen in my forties. No more rubbish about masturbating with a fuel band on eh !! In truth its a very very bittersweet week next week but we shall cross that bridge on Weds/Thurs.
Fay x x x x x
So Thursday afternoon 4pm and we are at Speke Airport armed with a fast track security pass somebody managed to get hold of we were soon in the bar. We had one drop out on the day due to illness and one had already bitten the dust so just the 10 men remained standing for the Easy Jet flight to Benidorm for the start of my 40th birthday celebrations which for the record is on September 18th. One of the lads is also 40 a week after me so it was a joint trip. Don’t think the WAG’s would let us go away for two weekends on the spin !! First hitch of the tour and one of the lads got stung for £40 because his bag was too big (there were others bigger getting on the plane) but I guess it’s luck of the draw and he can add his £40 to the £50 he got stung for dropping a cigarette butt a few months back. As you might guess we found this bag tax very amusing. So as ever the flight on the way out is always OK and by the time we had landed in Alicante we were already for drink number eight. Straight into taxi’s and onto the promised land of Benidorm which as it happens is a fair old drive from the airport. Know I knew Benidorm had a few high rises and was expecting a strip of them on the front but as the cab drove down the toll road I could see the promised land. Well more of a promised Kirkby. Not only Kirkby but a super metropolis of Kirkby what cities would have been like if post war town planners had got there way. So on arriving at The Vistimar Apartments we all had to cough up €50 deposit. Obviously too many tales of Brits abroad in their rooms. Here is the Alan Whicker bit now (RIP, GBNF etc etc) basic apartments but were clean. Decent size pool and a 24 hour bar which sold Desperado’s at just €2.50. Just the 14 floors to negotiate by lift and the bags were lashed in and all plans of a quiet Thursday night had gone as we headed out to the bright lights at 12am. Having found the main area for bars we managed to negotiate double shots of what must be Calpol ! We never did manage to blag treble shots to go into a bar but a few Sambuca’s later and we were getting into the Benidorm Spirit. One final memory of Thursday was sitting outside a snack bar being brought sausage roll and chips. A fitting way to round off the first evening and I was asleep for about 4.30am.
So day two and up at just after 9 with no kids to wake me up and a pitiful just under 5 hours sleep I headed down to the pool and had a quick freshen up before we headed out down the front and found a place to have breakfast. Sausage on toast was the order of the day only it turned out to be hot dog on toast ! Watching the world go by the second image I had of Benidorm after high rises was the mobility scooters. Oh how that proved to be even more true than the high rise theory. The front promenade was like a formula one track of mobility scooters. Not only that but there were double scooters as well. Some of the people on the scooters looked more than able as well lazy bastards.
So after breakfast with the sun cracking the flags and my moobs on show it was time to hit the ale and the one pub we settled in was “Rocky’s” As we settled down to drink our bevy we were engulfed by this mist coming from the ceiling. This mist came on every 5 mins and once you got used to it was quite refreshing though the worry of getting some kind of legionnaires disease was high. This boozer also had little request slips were you could ask for a choon to be played and we pulled out some classics though we never did get to hear Stan Ridgeway’s “Camouflage” By now we had acquired a tour mascot which was in the form of a Spiderman doll type thing. Rocky’s seen the demise of Scott’s sunglasses which were crushed into a small package and then I was used to crush a small bucket holder for nuts which was the first injury of the trip and I have been on to Hampson Hughes who are in the process of giving me £1500 up front once the claim has been accepted which should be by this Friday.
Next was a quick change in our apartment into my disco gear and we headed out for some tea which was the wrong move in my case as you will see. As we settled down to watch the England match a mere 9pm I had decided I could not drink anymore (around 12 bevies) experience has told me that once I hit the wall I am old enough to just say that’s it I am off and that is what exactly I did. The last of the lads was delivered to my door at 4am as we had all come home at different times. One of the lads did not even know the name of the apartment we lived in. He managed to phone his missus to get the name and then via his phone tracked his way back. Other lads were not so lucky getting home and poor old Spiderman had had his head bitten off in some bar and was left stuffed in a speaker. A sad end to Friday night and even sadder from the “shandy” me. I also missed out on sticky Vicky but reports back were not good !!
Saturday morning and after a lovely 10 hours sleep I was feeling as fresh as and some of the other lads a bit delicate. Some not only feeling delicate but also with no cash left as one has been hugged by two Albanian prostitutes on the way home on his own and had been lifted for his money. Another lad had also encountered the same two girls but instead felt hands go into his pocket and pulled them up which resulted in the girls getting straight onto their phones and him running in a Benny Hill like comedy fashion up the hill to the hotel. When we got to his room we could see his muddy footprints from the lift to him room directly in front of the lift on floor 13. As if by magic the lift stopped at floor 11 on the way down and the same footprints went to the same room directly in front of the lift. Had this lad gone to every floor searching for his room ? After having some group OCD we went to the same food place for the third time making that breakfast, tea then breakfast again. The weather gods had turned against us and it was dull and pissing down and even an umbrella was bought. We found a bar with a nice interior a western theme bar and just as we heard the introduction to “Your the voice” by John Farnham (we were all primed to sing along) the music cut off and cue a large chorus of 10 people booing. Little did we know at the front of the bar a male country and western singer was about to start to tune up. What was he thinking ? “fucking hell I am only tuning up and I am getting major stick” in our defence we did not know he was there and he had us all singing to the country and western classics though we never did get to hear John Farnham. As darkness fell we headed to the lively bars again but suffered some quizzical looks as we refused free shots on entry as we had to be up at 7.30am for the plane. As we were in one disco/bar one of the lads said to me your not gonna believe it look who is up there. Well blow me down it was only fucking headless Spiderman still in the speaker. I rescued him and promised to look after him for the rest of the trip. We made a group decision for our safety and wallet’s safety we all headed back to the hotel together around 11:30. Moses claimed the international jingles championship and come later on there were just three of us left. We ended up talking to all kind sof people in the apartment bar and from memory a mystic Meg woman and a fella from Hartlepool who’s voice was feeling the pace of Benidorm. With that Hartlepool accent and in true Chris Rea style I was asking him to say “This aint no technological breakdown” Later on in the night I was doing the riff for “On the beach” and Rea was taking it away vocally. By now it was 4am and but for meeting some boring old bastard from Rotherham I think we might of stayed up until the taxi come for the plane.
Ughhh shaken up from my bed still pissed it was time to head to the airport. Tired, hungry and feeling a bit delicate the plane home was a living, partially sleeping hell. I have only just got to about 90% normality. In the airport one of the lads enquired about the resurrected spiderman’s well being. Ha ha I had only gone and left him downstairs in the bar on Saturday night. Cant really be arsed phoning them up asking if they had found a beheaded spiderman plush toy. RIP spidey, GBNF, only the best die young etc etc. So many thanks to all that came, those that did not even more thanks you had paid me back in full for the trip. As one of the lads said in a post trip email “Just wanted to say thanks for coming. Apart from the accommodation, resort and weather I had a great time, thats good company for you” In Benidorm’s defence it does what is says on the tin and for a boozy weekend away it delivered.
Fay x x x x x
Please remember crimes of this nature are very rare please dont have nightmares (or let Albanian prozzies hug you)
So with September being a month of me with blonde hair the old sides were getting a bit bushy but the familiar tale of slightly less dense growth on top and that’s were it is still continuing to grow !! Normally it’s a number one all over or at times I even shave it to a Kojak. The perverse rule of going bald is to keep it short and stop it look like you are fighting the baldness by growing it means you actually have to spend more time keeping it very short than if you actually had a full head of hair. So in this final hurrah and my last ever hairstyle reverting to my early 90’s bleach blonde look I had to have a haircut today. Not a quick number one all over but one I would actually have to get in some kind of style and even worse pay for it. So I walked down to Aigburth Vale and there was a bit of a queue in the barbers. Having waited about 10 years since my last paid haircut I could not be arsed waiting so I walked a bit more to a male hairdressers which was ready to have me straight away. Now the term male hairdressers had me on the back foot anyway and sure enough when I asked “How much for a light trim” and got the reply “£13” ha ha I only had a tenner on me anyway and there was no way I was paying £13 when it was only £7 at the barbers. My first instinct was to have a barter along the lines of “Come on mate there isn’t much hair there anyway call it a tenner and my first paid haircut for the best part of 10 years is yours” but I walked out and will never again enter a male hairdressers. What next adverts for skin cream to keep males looking young. What there is actually stuff men put on their faces to keep young. Oh how the multi millionaires who have been having women off for years now sell the exact same shite to men. So It was back to the barbers and only a 10 min wait and I was in the hot-seat trying to explain my daft blonde hair away as a mid-life crisis reaching 40 in a couple of weeks. So with the trim all done and my roots now fully exposed I only needed a wedge haircut and a big hoop earring and I could be straight outta Warrington. Luckily enough a new bottle of born blonde awaits for tomorrow and the bleach blonde
kid overweight 39-year-old will be back and all set for the small matter of a trip to Benidorm on Thursday evening. Being flash and that I even tipped the barber a whole “Alan Whicker” and said I might be in for one more trim this month and then you will never see me again. Well not unless the joking midlife crisis lasts into October and I buy myself a nice brand new sports car and get myself a young blonde bimbo on my arm !! Come to think of it I only use a quarter of a bottle of born blonde so she could have the rest. A cunning plan in these times of austerity, though the impending divorce would cost me a lot more.
Fay x x x x x