Electoral Records

When I was 12 I discovered you could find almost anyone by finding out roughly what town they live in, and their last name. From such limited information you could quickly deduce the exact house, if not at-least down to three houses where they live and then rudimentary conversation could reveal details about their home which identify from the three. My favorite tools for this task was the phone book and the electoral records, the main difference being is the phone book revealed the phone number for the address, as the electoral records revealed the names of other members living at the house.

I remember a few occasions from Ashgrove School where I tracked down members of staff and visited their home addresses in Barry, much to their surprise I often left strange gifts if they failed to answer the door, anything I had on me at the time really, there was a class room support assistant called Sharn, she was a moderately pretty welsh girl by English standards, and her sister was maybe a little better looking, around the same age, but I left a chocolate cupcake, well two or three, by her door … much to her horror as I was to discover. I guess I never really considered how creepy it could come across, I just enjoyed the challenge, people didn’t think I would find them – and that’s exactly what I did. I was always quite out-going, friendly and I guess sharing of the items I was going to discard.

I guess I lost a lot of interest in breaking privacy boundaries of people when I was younger, as I quickly learned that people have less interesting lives than I imagined, and the time invested to peer into one’s private life certainly is not worth the effort unless there is a monetary gain to be had (in this capitalist world).

St Cyres Secondary School, Penarth


When I was at Ashgrove school for kids with severe autism I had the opportunity to be “integrated” back into mainstream school for my GCSE’s. This was mainly because Ashgrove didn’t have the facility to teach the full range of GCSE’s to the correct standard, most of the students weren’t capable of it unfortunately.

What happened at St Cyres was to change my life forever, this is where I developed what has now (recently) been diagnosed as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) before the diagnosis I always assumed PTSD was something only people who had fought in wars suffered from.

There where a number of incidents that occurred while I was at St Cyres. It all started with Angharad, a lovely alternative girl, quite tall and mature behaving for her age died in-front of a train saving her boyfriend from a head on collision with the train.. At the age of 15.

Here is the news coverage on the incident:

This was around the time I wrote my first Remote Access Tool (RAT) a Sub7 type piece of software for taking control of other computers, in laymen terms this was a “Hacking Tool”, it is documented on MegaSecurity.org

I had an interest in hacking back the which lead to my suspension of two weeks for having “hack tools” in my documents folder, if I remember correctly this was a .doc file containing vbscript.

Anyway the death of Angharad sent shock-waves around the school, people where traumatized, this was a girl who many if not most looked up to, people would crowd around her at every break and she commanded her peers with elegance and true authority.

What was to follow was unimaginable to most, a second highly liked pupil from St Cyres was to die in front of the same train just a week or two later. Ben.

Ben was walking down the same train track home, he assumed because he had missed the last scheduled train that it would be okay to walk down the track, the train that hit him was a cargo train. It was a direct hit, and a very messy incident. Angharad was hit only slightly on the back of the head by the fast moving train and everyone was shocked when she died because it seemed that no real damage had been done to her. However Ben was a horrifyingly different story, the details of Ben’s death was leaked among the students and need I say the details where horrendous.

Ben was very liked by many girls at St Cyres, he was a polite well kept young man who had a cheeky rebellious side but also ac-celled in his subjects at school.

This is all I could find on Ben Greening’s death:

You must be thinking, it can’t get much worse? Right? Wrong.

Another series of death as a result of Ben’s death where to follow, and another death to yet again the same cargo train.

I’m not sure how to put this, so i’m just going to quote BBC News:

A father killed himself by walking into the path of a train, at the same spot where his 15-year-old son died in an accident a week earlier.

An inquest in Cardiff on Friday was told that Richard Greening, 52, had earlier attacked his estranged wife with a hammer, before killing himself on the tracks at Dinas Powys where his son, Ben, had died.

Ben’s Farther took a hammer to his wife, put her in intensive care and permanently brain damaged her for the rest of her life, and then threw himself in-front of the train that killed his son.

I don’t know what to say, from what I know Ben had two sisters, and to my knowledge many of the female student at St Cyres knew Ben’s mother.

Here are the news articles:

This was a truly tragic set of incidents that occurred almost instantly as I joined St Cyres. I had no idea how to deal with this, I had not had any interaction with “normal” peers for three years. I was certainly different if not perceived a little weird by some, initially I had a very warming response by the students but it all changed when one girl decided to Demonize me.

I really wanted to make friends, I didn’t really know how to go about it and I had no idea how to deal with the upset that the deaths caused, it was the main topic for many weeks. A girl named Rhiannon talked to me on MSN Messenger and around that time I was looking at gruesome pictures of deaths on Rotton.com.

Rhiannon was one of the few people who I felt like I could share my strange interests with, and weeks prior to the incidents we shared some images of dead people in shock and awe. I felt like this solidified a friendship between the two of us, and as a socially awkward Aspergers kid it seemed like a miracle.

After the incident she asked to see pictures of people who died in-front of trains, so I went on rotton.com and sent her the three pictures I could find on there.

The next day when I went into school, I was called in to the head of years office and three teachers physically threatened me, showing me print outs of the pictures I had sent Rhiannon, one of the teachers said he wanted to grab me by the neck and throw me across the room. They got right in my face and intimidated me, I told them that if they touched me I would tell the police, and that my father worked in the police force. I think it is only that reason that they decided not to physically harm me. A week or so later the head of year resigned from his position due to the incident that took place.

Later that day I discovered that Rhiannon had printed out several copies of the photos and posted them up all around the school in the morning, with some kind of message about me.

Instantly the entire school wanted to kill me, all of the anger and upset from the deaths was directed at me. I was scared, I had no friends, no one smiled at me, and I had to endure this for the year and a half I had left there. I was constantly in fear of being beaten up and I was attacked with a pair of battery operated hair clippers which also took off a chunk of my scalp, there was some blood and I had to spend the rest of the day in school with people asking me why my hair looked funny. I wanted to cry, I did cry no matter how hard I tried to hide it, I never hated myself more. There I was, sitting at a separate desk with my support worker like a retard, 85% of people hated me and I had a chunk missing from my hair and the 15% that didn’t hate me asked the teacher why the hair was missing, not me. The others just snickered and laughed.

I was made to feel like I was a horrible person, worthless, and I believed that I was. Even today, i’m not sure if i’m completely confident in myself that i’m a good person.

I don’t really want to talk about this any more, I will continue it in a second post.

Edit: Sorry my memory of this event is a little skewed, Angharad actually died three weeks after Ben, it was the other way around to what I initially said. It was a pretty traumatic time for me to say the least and 10/11 years ago now.

Caravan Life

This was the caravan I lived in for a year, I bought it for £400 off some smug rich guy near Bristol, found out it had a serious damp problem, so all the back end wooden struts and things where pretty much soil. This caravan was worth more £40 but I was desperate. I needed somewhere to live cheaply.

I tore out all the kitchen and bathroom to make for more space inside, I had put a 40w solar panel on the roof and paid a local smithy called “Smithy” to make a wood burner to go inside, all of the original gas heating I removed.

It was great little caravan, it’s a bit of a pain to toe them around and living in them is not as practical as you might think. Producing electricity through Solar Panels is… Painful, and the solar panel needs to be wiped clean weekly for maximum efficiency. Dirt, bird poo (if your unlucky) and the likes builds up over time. Also internet is a bit of a problem, you have to park caravans well away from civilization and that means no WiFi, even with hi-power antenna’s and the likes. 3G is an option, but not a good one. Living in a caravan is not fun.

These days I would prefer to live in a car, not only does it have an internal combustion engine to producing electricity via the alternator, yum yum! Not green, but since you have to drive the thing about anyway, kind of is.

Also car’s can be parked and lived in close to civilization since they are covert living spaces, which means a lot of your internet can come from free WiFi, I generally like to use BT’s FON network as it has great coverage and some houses allow you crazy upload and download rates around the 10 mb/s range… ! Crazy.. Most paid home lines wont give you that, I can just drive around until I get insane internet for free O_O I won’t give up the secret too easily, but it’s not hard to get a free BT FON account. Legally. Do some reading. ;)

Burners, more a pain in the ass than anything, too easy to over heat your caravan and then reducing the temperature from sauna level can be a real task. Once you get the knack of them, it’s just setting a body notification for when the temperature begins to drop and the burner needs feeding again. You need to get to know your wood, because all types burn differently and have specific uses and benefits. Also the thickness makes a lot of difference, thin burns fast and ignites quick as where thick burns longer and ignites slower.

I will make another post soon about live in car’s, it’s my new hobby ! ;)


Visiting Teesside University

I had a hard time in secondary school, and when it came to college I didn’t have a lot of inspiring options, the kids that did well had a pretty bleak outlook most of the students in the area all filtered into Barry College, and well, we all knew that lead to a council house and child benefits.

My parents worked hard for me and I ended up getting funding from the local council to go to Farley Further Education College (FFEC) for young adults with Aspergers Syndrome and higher functioning Autism.

This was a god send, it didn’t seem like it at first because I was fed up of being put through so many ‘special’ programs. FFEC helped me a lot, they got me a position at Trowbridge College on a GNVQ course doing IT. It was a year long course and it was exactly the same mind-numbing crap I was doing for GCSE IT… But it was a stepping stone… I made friends with everyone on the course slowly, I still had to have an in-class assistant or ‘helper’ so I felt different and shy still but all in all, it was a good experience, no one bullied me and although no one else needed a helper, as it where, we where all a little odd anyway..

I feel for my helper because the work I was doing was boring, I didn’t need her help and she really just had to endure the boring mind numb with me the only difference being she was getting paid and I was supposedly getting somewhere new in my life with bits of paper to prove i’m not a complete waste of oxygen and that I could sit at a desk producing documents for some one else who barely passes at mild intelligence via qualifications denoted by letters, numbers and pieces of paper.

I really did find it very depressing at times, thinking, this is all life really had to offer. I was still going no where, my mind is to be wasted.

Towards the end of the GNVQ ICT Course I made friends with some girls, we did some kissing and petting and stuff after hours, did some visits out of hours and stuff like that, lot of phone calls etc, was fun. Even though I still was not allowed a lot of freedom I managed to work things to the best of my ability. My confidence had risen a little since secondary school.

Anyway towards the end of the GNVQ like a gift from god the college started a brand new course called “Games Development” it was a National Diploma and that was enough to get me into University!! It’s exactly what I needed !! and it gave the the kick up the ass to show off my skills on a computer !

I enrolled and spent another two years with the FFEC which was great because they only allowed any student a maximum on 3 years on their program.

Life really started to pickup around this point and I made some tighter friends, the class was larger and had a much more free-range style aspect to it. My tutor Stan Zych was literally defining a curriculum for us on the fly and did a superb job bringing the right tutors in and teaching us the essentials of what we needed to know, he taught us how to make 3D graphics on Autodesk 3D Studio Max 8, he taught us how to use UCAS and apply for universities when the time came. Really need I say more? Stan Zych was your white van man of Tutoring, the perfect launch person for any up-coming creative course. He knew a lot, and was great at executing it all, he was great at picking out what make a person successful and running with it.

It was on this course I built up the confidence to write my first ever 3D game using Ogre 3D in C++, it was a simple tech demo where you played as the legendary 3D Teapot in a randomly generated forest using tree’s from Tree Majik tree generator, you could steal a car and drive it around with realistic steering and fire rockets out of your spout at a simple AI teapot who hid behind the tree’s darting from one to another whenever you got within a certain range of it’s position.

My ultimate creation while at Trowbridge College was Trax, a 2D puzzel game which combined slide puzzle mechanics with pipe puzzle game play. http://trax.coy.cat/

Anyway, ramble, ramble, there came a point on the course where a few of us banded together to visit Teesside University, it boasted to be the best University for games software programming in the UK as it had some of the best staff from the industry (they really did) and all the best equipment and funding (they had that too).

Let’s just say… Everything wen’t a little wrong on the offset, the privately owned B&B we registered closed it’s doors at nine oclock and we finally got there around ten, the old woman who was probably more scared by a bunch of young men late at night more than anything refused to let us in. It was a COLD night, sometime around September.

In total there was five of us:
James, the Gothic looking one of us – right down to the nails. Ended up joining the Army funnily enough and never dressed that way again. Lovely kind hearted person.
PIG, Single parent child, him and his brother where brought up by their mum, had a lot of freedom growing up. (named himself :p)
Max, From viking blood, hippy-esk parents and a dysfunctional family in the sense of organisation. Max was the friendliest most awesome viking around.
Darren, Strict middle class parents, fancied himself as a barman producing cocktails and the likes, played the part well.
and last but not least! Myself. Fletch.

PIG Suggested that we spend the night in a nightclub seeming as it was so cold, and under the assumption they stayed open all night, after having been a student at Teesside i’m glad we didn’t try that option in the end, it wouldn’t have worked out at all.

We had a search around for suitable places to sleep and discovered some people seeming doing the same thing, camping out for the night for whatever reason, when we questioned them they denied it but they where out all night oddly… They had picked a great place in the long grass by a roundabout on the outskirts, in the end I suggested behind a church near the cinema and we settled on that. It was a cold stone floor and we could have died, but we all managed to fall asleep.

Some time around 4-6 am we all woke up shivering cold and PIG suggested we burn some of he pizza boxes discarded outside the Pizza Hut near the cinema. Luckily there where a LOT of pizza boxes and just enough to heat us through the morning.

Needless to say the next day at the Teesside University open day Darren and the rest of us found it hard to stay awake during the lectures, Darren actually physically falling asleep against the wall and snoring.

We all went back on the train later that day and had a good sleep. Rofl.

End story.

Arthur and Martha


The story of Arthur and Martha is a long, wild and slightly mad one, involving many subsequent misadventures.

It all started as a student, it was my first year at Teesside University and I fancied getting a pet mouse, I thought they where cute and hamsters didn’t really do it for me. So I got Arthur, the brown mouse on the right.

Shortly after my dear friend Annika Weatherly (now no longer with us, still alive, but she transformed from a caterpillar to a butterfly, so to speak) decided to follow suit with a little encouragement from myself and bought Martha the white mouse on the left.

I should mention at this point, the character in-between the two mice with half his head cut off is a legend called Andy and he does actually have another half to his head and it’s very pretty.

So Annika kinda got bored of her mouse after the first week or so, and gave it to me, that’s when it all began…

206364_1041578609868_9172_nAnnika preferred spiders… this was her’s…
I can’t say I shared her interest in these alien creatures.

All what you may ask? Well when one male and one female are locked in a cage together for some period of time they will make babies, a mixture of sexual frustration and lack of contraception … or true love … one of the two, but the end goal is babies; and when you talking mice, lots of them !

I was to find out that mice on average output 8 to 12 mice per litter, the highest count I recorded in one litter was 14 and the lowest being 2. In-fact, I learnt so much about the breeding cycle of mice that I created a computer program to calculate how many mice you would have after a specific time of breading starting with just one male and female mouse, the program could calculate average output, maximum output and random. A quick fun fact for you … after two years of breading mice from one male and one female you would end up with around 44.5 million mice. I had this dream of running a mouse utopia in a big warehouse with automated feeding systems. It’s fair to say, i’m diabolically mental.

Moving on… Mouse babies are incredibly cute, for the first two weeks they don’t open their eyes and they have no fur, they’re like naked little piggies and all they can do is squirm around on-top of each other in a pile and suck their mums nipples, occasionally if one of them tries to make a blind escape for it, probably dreaming of something fantastical behind those closed eyelids like walking down a Vegas strip the mother will promptly scruff it and take it back to the “nest” as it where.

Mice really are wonderful, it’s only 6 weeks until a baby mouse can become pregnant and produce even more mice. generally around 8-9 weeks from birth you have a whole new set of mice. It’s crazy, you can imagine how it get’s out of control so fast; and well… that’s kind of what happened.

I ended up having so many mice I had to build something I called as “Mouse Hotels” they where to my own design, I bought big plastic boxes formally known as “rubber maid boxes” you know, just plastic storage boxes you get from your local stationary shop, but the biggest they supply.

Then I bought lots of small trays, like the ones used for planting small herbs and things, and stacked these up inside to create multiple rooms.

I then also had a few normal separate cages, quite a few dwarf mice where born these where great because they would only grow to half the size of a normal mouse and would live twice as long. The average life span of a normal mouse is 3 years (apparently) and that of a dwarf mouse would be 6.

I also had black mice with white stripes on their back, which was interesting, just one white stripe and they all had it in exactly the same place.

I had around 250 – 300 mice at my peak (six months down the line) and to be honest with you it just got a bit out of hand, I had to let them all free, there was simply not enough custom in the local area for live mice, the pet-shops where already full to the brim with my mice and wouldn’t accept any more so I was forced to let them all free.

I let 250-300 mice free in a very quiet park footpath on the outskirts of Middlesbrough, it was probably not one of the craziest things I have ever had to do, but it did pain me a lot knowing that I simply couldn’t sustain my mouse empire any longer. Arthur had mysteriously passed away prior and my favorite dwarf mouse was cannibalized by the other mice.. thing’s where clearly out of my hands and now birds where perching on the tree tops waiting for me to leave the greatest fest ever brought to them by man in the history of bird kind.

It was a tragic check-mate. I left knowing none of the mice had a hope in hell of surviving out there, they where all stupid in-breads. As I left my stomach churned at the reality of what I created; a dozen retarded mice about to meet their beakey peril.

So that’s my story, if you ever get mice, be careful.

Driving from the UK to Berlin…

This is a story about my troubles while driving from the UK, to Berlin in Germany in a BMW 318 from 1997. Licence plate “S97 JRK” it’s now been crushed by the DVLA but that’s a completely different story. Here’s a picture of it before it got crushed, I had not graffiti’d on it until after the Germany fiasco.


I was basically driving it around un-taxed no licence plate on the font and the DVLA kind of clamped and crushed it one day, and I got lots of fines, which i’m still paying off now, so all in all I would recommend paying your tax.

This car was called Bella, named by a very pretty girl called “Kirsty Kwirks Eggington”, who I met at a free party. My car was hopelessly stuck in the mud and she and her friend Theo helped push me out, in return I smuggled them out of the party past the police borders… I loved Bella, she was a great car, by the end of her life a lot had gone wrong, all of the electric windows where broke, A girl had driven it through a barked wire fence at some ones birthday party, ignition barrel was broke so I had hot wired it, which always aroused suspicion when police pulled me… I had to replace the front shock absorbers and break calipers, that was fun… I had to bump start here all the time because the fly wheel had broke or something, so I parked on hills as often as possible… She was… well… clearly well used. I remember near the end I couldn’t drive her faster than 40 mph without the front left wheel shaking so violently it felt like it was going to pop off. Makes a difference from the speeds I had her going down on the Autobahn on the way to Germany when she was in her prime !

Here is what it looked like before me and my buddies took the spray can to it:


And this was my car before that, a 316… This I had driven down the autobahn to Germany as well, but that’s for another story…


Don’t ask what happened. I know it looks mashed, they all do when i’m through with them.

And this is my current car a 525 from 1995:


So… Moving on, I set off from Glastonbury UK, it was a 3-4 hour drive to Dover and then over on the boat for something like £20 – £40.

I got to port Calais in France, and set off for Berlin, I stopped at I think Eindhoven along the way for a cheeky coffee. Sshh.

I then continued my way to Berlin, all I can say about the autobahn is that there’s a lot of brand new BMW and Mercadies 4×4’s doing 140 – 155 down it, it is pretty much just 2 lanes all the way down and the only food at service stations is Curry Wurst, which is Curried Sausage in German, it would seem that Germans live on Sausage, or Wurst, as they like to call it. A little odd, but whatever, I mean in wales we don’t have Sheep at every lamp post and lots of little huts selling Welsh Cakes and Welsh Rabit everywhere.. each to their own. I couldn’t help think there was something slightly homo-erotic about the whole Sausage fascination… But meh I have an unhealthy fascination for women wearing sheepy looking fur jackets and i’d hate for people to think i’m into bestiality or anything like that. Sheep are as far as it goes for me. I swear. ;)

The best part about a two lane motorway where everyone is flooring their vehicle at top speed is that Lorries take up more than their fair share of the right hand side lane (in this case, the slow lane, yes, i’m a bad driver like that, I call it the SLOW LANE, I bet the ex-officers at the driving awareness courses are turning in their grave right now, lavished by all our money, coffins nailed shut with nails of gold embedded with diamonds in the tops). When I first discovered this lorry problem, I could swear most lorries seemed to travel at around 70mph… I generally just hung back, until one rather brave German in a brand new 4×4 sped through them with around just 3 inches of space from the wing mirror between him and the lorries. O_O

Now i’m generally the sort that is up for a challenge, so I figured, if he can do it in a 4×4 I bloody well can do it too, and so I followed I couldn’t let a German embarrass me, it was invigorating !! I never felt quite a rush, and it was like team work ! We passed probably 20 lorries together and some of them where bonnet to ass, so we have to squeeze though double length lorries if you catch my drift.. averaging 90 – 100 mph on the overtakes this German must have thought it was a race.

Eventually we passed all the lorries and he sped off into the distance, afraid my car would explode if I took it any faster I let him go. Bye bye crazy German, and to be honest with you, they where all just as mad bombing it down there as if it’s just another every day school route…

Everything was going fine, I was something like 12 hours into my journey after having left Glastonbury, no sleep, just had a smoothie and some chocolate no real food, I noticed I was getting a little low on petrol, but I kind of knew I had no money left, which was kind of bad, I obviously miss calculated how much money I would need to drive to Berlin. My second problem is that my phone wouldn’t make any calls since it didn’t support calling from European countries… So I pull into this gas station and park up… I weigh up my options, I get my laptop out and check for WIFI to see if I can contact my trusty parents and see if they will lend me money until I got to Berlin where I would have access to more money to pay them back. No WIFI. So i’m thinking, what do I do, I NEED the petrol, I start weighing up my options do I take the petrol and drive off? I didn’t like the idea of getting caught for petrol theft … let alone in a foreign country … I drive over to a pump, my heart is beating out of my chest, I start to fill up the car, I take it to 60 EURO because I feel a little harsh knowing I can’t pay for it, I put the pump back and walk in, I take my card out and start to tap in the pincode … 1 … 3 … 3 … 7 … just kidding, that’s not my pin code, anyway, fully aware the transaction will be declined, but I PRAY it wont be, it’s declined, I try and resolve the issue with the lady and after some time we come to the agreement if I give some cash as a down payment I can pay the rest back at a later date. I manage to get 10 euros out of my account from a cash point (THANK GOD) and everyone is happy, I drive away with a somewhat manic sense of happiness.

That was a close call, but the trouble was far from over, I set my satnav for the closest MC Donald’s and walked in with my laptop, I had some Skype calling credit left so I used it to call my trusty old parents and ask them to send me over £250 on loan, they agree and I take 2 hours rest at this MC Donald’s to contemplate what a moron I am.

So I get back on the road and continue heading for my buddies address in Berlin, all seems good only when I get there I realise I tapped the “City Center” button rather than “Street Mid Point” so i’m totally off course by something like 37 miles…. I use a payphone this time to phone my buddy but he doesn’t answer for 40 minutes because he doesn’t recognize the number… I’m crapping myself, thinking where the hell am I. I basically drove to his office, even if I put in street mid point no one will be there… Just as i’m about to give up having resorted to begging for change next to this phone box to make more calls to him; the phone box starts to ring ! it’s him !! he gives me the street name and the number for his apartment and I jump back in the car !!

GREAT everything should be fine now right? WRONG. He lives in a flat, I have the street name and the apartment number, no problem right? Well when I get there, i’m surrounded by HUGE apartment blocks EVERYWHERE. I try buzzing a few of them, most people don’t know a speck of English and I don’t blame them the only German I know is Curry Wurst and having grown up in wales the only Welsh I knew was that Moron in welsh means Carrot in English… I go back to my satnav and discover that just up the road is a strip of pubs and bars so I walk into the emptiest looking one and explain my situation and ask if I can use their phone… I phone him and he tells me that I am just 10 minutes up the road and he will come and meet me… THANK GOD. 20 minutes later and he arrives, we hug, it’s been 16 – 18 hours since I left Glastonbury… We immediately go and get some food.

I had a good time with my buddy, the next morning we went out and he bought some cherry tomatoes, some small french stick types rolls from the bakery and some eggs… He blended the cherry tomatoes and eggs together and fried them up with some onions, pouring the egg mixture into the bread rolls it was great.

A few days later, I realise my car has disappeared, I had parked on a fire hydrant access area apparently, so the police had towed my car to a remote street and required us to pay a randsome of 400 EURO to find out where the car was…

We paid. At that point I wish I had fitted the car with a GPS Locator…

I suppose it’s not as bad as that time when I parked/dumped (same thing) a Vauxhall Corsa on the outskirts of Amsterdam, got lost from my buddy in the red-light district, found him 6 hours later by sheer CHANCE, returned to where we parked the car at 1am to find it had be toe’d away (after freaking out thinking some one had nicked it) and we had to pay a £250 release fee. Passports saved ! I was thinking i’d end up working in the red light district or something, can you imagine that ! I could go back to the UK and travel in a circus, I could be the magician who pulls rabbits out of his asshole.

Or that time I parked Bella… You know what, I’ve had my car’s towed away so many times it’s not even worth mentioning. How the hell do I get myself into all this trouble. O_O

Lumps and Bumps part.1

Each of us all have a history of lumps and bumps, and if not, your somewhat lucky, my elder (well im the youngest of everyone) brother when he was younger was accidentally pushed through a glass window by my other brother, the eviller one I suppose :p hehe, and my elder sister on a tricycle. The short story is basically he nearly lost his nose ! poor Allan !

Anyway, here’s brief coverage of my misfortunes… rolls the drums, pull back the curtains, get ready to stuff your face with popcorn… urgh …

It all started in physiotherapy when I was three years old, I used to love physio because they would have a big bouncy gym ball, the kind you see in those epic fail and prank compilations you find on YouTube these days where really decent folk throw a gym ball full pelt into the face of their dear “friend” causing the impact force to throw them backwards at great speed into whatever is behind them. Often knocking them out. There really are some great friends out there ! Remember that if your ever feeling disheartened with your relationships.

Anyway, I never had any real issues with the gym ball, other than falling off it backwards a few times etc. Luckily my physiotherapist never felt like throwing it in my face, considering I was three years old and she must have been late twenties. haha. The real issue was the trampoline, where I bounced with my tong out and near bit the thing off ! A lesson kids, keep your tong in your mouth when bouncing, or moving at any general speed ! PLEASE ! It was NOT as much fun after I bit my tong.

Remember when you learnt to ride a bike? Wasn’t it magical, I remember doing it, it was crazy and since that day I got HOOKED. I would ride everywhere ! It got to the point where like most of us boys, I was riding around everywhere no handed, up curbs, around corners, the lot ! The only problem I encountered was having poor tire grip and not really understanding the importance of having tire grip, also we lived on an estate which was in the process of being built for quite some time which was great, apart from the fact a lot of gravel would just randomly appear on street corners here and then just waiting for me to tare-ass down the street and get flung off my bike like superman for approximately 0.75 seconds until I hit the ground, generally, I would take impacts with my chin which is visible today in my scar wounds. Eww. All good fun I suppose.

Anyway moving on, bear with me, this is hard for me to write about without feeling like i’m going to pass out, oh god… oh god… some one hold my hand i’m already feeling queasy…

OK ok… Give me some time, ill come back to you.

Can’t understand me, or can’t hear me?

After Llancarfan primary school the teachers and parents of other pupils made sure that I would not get into any of the mainstream secondary schools where their kids would be going. So I ended up having to go to a special school for people with severe learning difficulties.

It wasn’t all bad for the first year because the school was split 50/50, that’s half the school severe autism and the other half hearing impaired, basically, deaf.

While the autistic half where mostly so badly effected that many could not speak, and ritualistically spat on things, rubbing their own spit into everything around them like fine art. I’m serious, was very odd, the concentration put into those spit rubs was intense and if you interrupted, expect to get a face full of spit as they contested… The deaf part was awesome. They where like normal people, but better ! I loved these guys so much, I had a few week long relationships, kissed some girls, learnt to respect the other males by banging our fists together and grabbing our genitals. It was bliss ! I even learnt the Alphabet to talk to them, and some basic signs.

After that year though, I was pretty much on my own the deaf half left as a new school had been built for them far away and Ashgrove was to become an autistic only specialist school. I could feel my sanity slipping during this time and I felt as if I was becoming more autistic, I wouldn’t see anyone when I got home and during the day I would have to be around kids who I simply couldn’t communicate with and to make it worse we where all learning a curriculum written for 4 year olds. I was going no where. I was forced to waste my time on really simple work, I hated it, I was scared. Scared for own sanity.

There where kids there who where just going mental all the time, violent, kicking off randomly like a time bomb, rooms had to be evacuated until they stopped exploding. Multiple times a day entire blocks would need to be cleared like a fire drill involving a terrorist attack. In between that people would drop on the floor in epileptic fits, I don’t know if you’ve ever seen one of these but its indescribable and very scary to say the least. On many times I was on the receiving end of the violence, students would just randomly stand up and with incredible strength as the adrenaline kicks in start flipping tables across the room like the incredible hulk; tables would be thrown at me, chairs slammed around the back of my head. I was scared, so scared, I had to pretend to like the people who did this to me as well otherwise they might get offended and attack me again. Every time I would accept their apology brushing it off in fear for my life and staff would look at me if I was doing a good thing. Why they didn’t separate us is because of limited funding, staffing and such. I can only assume, like I said the whole place was like a war-zone most of the time. The staff where helpless and probably glad it was me to get hit this time and not them. I feel for all the staff, none of them had been trained for this or knew how to deal with it. It was early days, and still mental health is poorly funded in wales.

I was forced to be in this place that I should not have been in, I was getting nothing beneficial from it and at best I would get beaten and attacked by other students. Or spat on. The deputy head Mr Glyn Roberts was not understanding of my situation at all. Once he caught me kicking open the bathroom door because I didn’t want to touch it with my hands, the kids would spit everywhere I didn’t like to touch anything really. He grabbed me by my collar and literally dragged me to his office, it hurt my neck, he called in my parents and exclaimed I was a vandal to which my parents gave him a bollocking explaining my predicament and self hygiene. He was an old fashioned man, beaten by his teachers with a Kane when he was at school. This was the problem, anyone who went to school in the 1970’s or before in wales was subject to horrendous abuse. Unspeakable, and as a result they often had a hard time treating others any different.

Brian Brayford the head, was a good guy. But i’ll end on this note for now. I hear things are a lot better there now, and Glyn Roberts is long retired. I should at least hope.


Tim was my first ever room mate, we shared a room with not a lot of space between us and it was an interesting experience. It was my first year at farleigh further education college in frome and I didn’t have much choice over the matter if I wanted to get into college with no GCSE’s apart from an A in IT.

It was a little odd at first, Tim at first seemed like a lovely guy (which turned out to be and was) even if a bit timid and shy, completely pussy whipped by his parents who had obviously been no help in that respect. He was pulled out of farleigh after his first year by them and I tried to phone him since to see how he was doing but his parents would snatch the phone out of his hand without even asking who it was I would hear things in the background like “who is it, better not be anyone prank calling you again” then they would rant at me and hangup before I had a chance to say anything. I wondered some times why that boy even had a phone, but then it would dawn on me … how else would they control their son when he went to get milk for them? :(

Besides his shyness, he was practically normal. I did wonder what had happened though his childhood though, because some strange behavior began to emerge. I would be working on my computer in the room and assume that Tim was out with other students or staff, there certainly didn’t seem to be anyone in the room, I didn’t hear any sounds and no one entered or left the room. In-fact I would lock the door so no one could disturb me, we lived in a big house with many other students so it was common place for people to pop in and say hi; being the nerd I was I found this more of an annoyance at the time.

So I would be in there working and after 4 – 6 hours I would usually take a much needed break, on this one occasion I decided to go into the cupboard and low behold Tim was in it, awake curled up into fetal position. He seemed a little shocked and embarrassed, and I too. The peculiar things are, up to this point I had noticed his strange absence a lot but thought nothing of it and this turned out to be a very frequent occurrence as he spent much time in fetal position in the cupboard left to his own mind; if he was not doing that he would be reading books like they’re going out of fashion as if the gestapo where coming to burn them all or take them to a big book concentration camp never to be seen again. O_O. After a while, it goes without saying I knew where Tim could be found if I felt it one hundred percent necessary he was needed to be disturbed. He was my buddy, we looked out for one another.

Tim was very mischievous, he loved to get up to mischief with me. I thought I was bad, and Tim really impressed me he came up with genius ideas which had us crackling with laughter for hours. Absolutely hours. One time I noticed some one had left a ladder out in the garden, it had been there for some time and no one really seemed to notice so one faithful night I suggested to Tim that we climb on to the roof of the garage and setup a banquet. Tim was down, and we set to work. We raided the pantry, tinned pare slices, beans, anything we could get our hands on and we didn’t forget the table cloth, fancy plates and cutlery either. We took the big plastic garden table too and all the chairs from the living room. Now, it wasn’t easy getting these items on the roof but with teamwork we got there. Chairs, table, food, the lot. We also got one of those plastic green wheelie bins up there which was quite a feat for two skinny weak nerds who had a hard time carrying a shopping bag back from Tesco. It took some planning and a few attempts, but we did it, and it paid off because the people who had to take it all down had a hard time and the next day we over head things like “I’ve no idea how they got the wheelie bin up there”. Hah… the next day. Everyone arrived to work to see the spectacular remains of our banquet on the roof, it was gossip that lasted quite some time and i’m not sure who ratted us out in the end, I think they took Tim off into a private room and tickled the truth out of him; since we where probably the prime suspects. Tim had a reputation that preceded him.

We did some crazy things, we would sneak out into the neighborhood at night and terrorize the locals, we did this one job which took about 6 days in total to execute.

We started off by moving a wheelie bin from a neighbors drive down the street to this other neighbors big patio drive up the street on the corner, right outside the door. The funny thing is he didn’t know where it came from or what to do with it so he had to keep it on his drive until he worked out where it came from. Since the neighbor it came from was right down the street, they certainly didn’t know each other.

After two nights we went back and moved another two wheelie bins onto his drive, this time a big silver metal one, double size, and another standard plastic green one. The wheelie bins began to mount up, and the poor family had no idea where they where coming from or what to do with them. You could see they where doing their best to organise around them and their two vehicles but it was futile because on the following night we moved another three onto their drive. A brown one, and two more green ones. I think they had to home the stray wheelie bins for about 3 weeks before concerned neighbors realised where their bins where going. I can imagine the standoff when the neighbors had realised where their bins had gone, and knocked the door to inquire as to why this family needed so many bins and why they had taken it upon themselves to take other peoples bins. This prank really had us in stitches. Even while we moved the bins around we found it hard to contain our laughter, we must have looked really insane if anyone had caught us doing it.

We even executed a 100% successful theft of our own report books from the highly guarded main office in the middle of the night, I was disappointed to find not much in mine but Tim seemed quite taken by his and a little hurt. I think he tore some pages out and his behavior got a little erratic in a frustrated sorry for himself kind of way. We did return them too, 100% undetected. It involved ensuring windows where unlatched prior etc.

Anyway, just a small penny drop of the mischief we got upto. In the following 2 years at farleigh I would get up to even more mischief with Josh and Sion.

Back then I was 17, now i’m 26 and the sophistication of organised tricks is well, diabolically out of hand now so watch out.

Llancarfan Primary School

Llancarfan Primary School

My parents moved me to a smaller school out in the country when I was 8, I think this was because I started to cause a disturbance in Gladstone the school I was in prior. I had a lot of good friends in Gladstone and I was upset to have to leave but they felt it would be better for me. I don’t know the exact details. All I can tell you is that I liked it a lot less in this new country school, I found it hard to fit in and many of the kids where from posh well to do backgrounds. Many of them now I have on Facebook have all visited the Grand Canyon, and re-visited Disney land many times. They never speak with me, I tried sending a few messages, but alas, there’s no point they’re clearly too good for me.

The only positive thing I can remember about Llancarfan was meeting Charlotte, she was beautiful, and she was the first girl to ever show me her private parts. We where good friends, we would fart in each others faces and congratulate each other on our foul smells. We have the brazen courage to push the social boundaries as far possible together. We pushed them to places you could never dream of, and I would never speak of. But we lost contact around the age of 9/10 when she moved school and we never made contact again since. I still think of her, and I miss her to some extent. I know it was a long time ago and things have moved on since but she was my best friend. My first best friend. When she left, is when my life changed for the worse.

I got bullied a lot in this school after she was gone, on some occasions people would randomly take out their anger on me and involve other people. The others would take part as if it was justified, holding me in place so another person could get a clean punch on me. They punched me in the solar plexus, kicked me in the balls, quite often I could not breath properly for 30 minutes after. If I am going to be honest, it left me with horrible feeling of violence towards them, even to this day and god forbid if I ever met any of them ever again.

These comfortable posh kids, made my existence a living hell and the teachers made it no easier. Miss Whitehouse in-particular, I remember once I tried very hard to learn things from the mathematics book that everyone else was working on. She wouldn’t teach me anything, so I tried very hard in my own time with my family and on my own memorizing parts of the book. I really wanted to impress her, show her that I could be smart like the other kids where. I really wanted her to teach me too. When I approached her telling her I had learnt some stuff she told me to go away, and this upset me a lot, it still does now more than anything I can think of. More than my granddads death and that’s hard for me to come to terms with. I loved my grandfather, yet she, Miss Whitehouse, mistreated me so much. I really felt I put everything into trying, and she turned me away without a second glance, almost as if she’d been waiting to put me down in some kind of sick self enjoyment.

By telling me to go away, what she meant was to go back into the boys toilet and stare at the wall on my own. This is where she told me to go, and where I spent most of my time in year 5 and 6 at Llancarfan primary school. I spent all of the hours in the day in that toilet, some times I would leave at play time but even then, I preferred to be on my own and the best place to do that was in the toilet.

She had given up on me because I was too stupid to learn anything, well if she saw me now I think she’d eat those words. I think she should be imprisoned for the neglect and the emotional unrest I still feel to this day. She is probably an old woman now, and if she where still alive and I could say something to her i’m not sure what i’d say. I think I would just stare at her, maybe I would poo on her floor I don’t know.

I was stupid. I didn’t learn like other kids. I was written off and told to stare at a spot on the wall in the toilet. But I actually preferred it in there, that’s the craziest part looking back, even though it smelt of piss and the floor was made of cold stone and there was no where to sit, there wasn’t even a seat on the toilet so I learnt to squat .. no one bullied me here. I was thankful at the time to have that escape. So if you see me squat, and ask if I am comfortable, I am and now you know why and to be honest, I prefer you didn’t ask.

I hate the human race, I think my hatred started in this school. Some times, when people fail to understand why people are pushed to extreme limits to the point where people get killed or are seriously injured I can sympathize with how the attacker may have been made to feel. Why a student might be pushed to turn a gun on their fellow pupils for example. I hate you too, even though I’ve never met you, deep down I hate you. I don’t know why, and I wish I didn’t. But it will never change now, it’s too late and this is partly why I write this blog. Everything I have done since is to prove your all horrible creatures, that you are the worthless ones and not me. It’s sad, and I know you love me, but I can’t love you back.

I’m going to end this on a slightly lighter note. In gym, I was confused how to get changed into my gym clothes. I didn’t know if I was meant to take my pants off or not exposing my genitals. Other kids seemed to just get on with it and not look at each other. I was so confused by this that I wondered why we couldn’t all just be naked and why I had to feel embarrassed about being naked, so on many occasions I would just run around naked and ask the teacher why it was wrong. Eventually the kids ganged up on me to try and get me kicked out of the school because they didn’t like me. They told their parents exaggerated lies like I had asked them to touch my penis and I was told I could be arrested and put in prison if I continued. After that I stopped. Looking back now, I think that is rich. I hope all the parents of these foul rich children read this, and about the horrible time their little kids gave me. Still I don’t think they would care.

I feel so angry, I honestly feel there’s very few people in this world that deserve to be alive, and I seek for people to prove to me they are worthy. Some times I feel like I could act like a Tyrant of a third world country because of the treatment I got when I was young. This scares me.

The next few posts after this will be funnier, but I warn you, it doesn’t get much better yet. If this upsets you, well, prepare yourself as this is nothing and I remember everything that happened very strongly. I have no fear to name and shame the people and institutions that mistreated and abused me.

Please do no pretend you care, I don’t want your sympathy, I want you to leave me alone to be happy on my own. Lonely. It’s humans like you that caused me grief, the least you could do now is give me some peace. I know you think your different, but I know your not. Your just another human, and your all a despicable lot. I will prove it. Just look at this world, so how dare anyone ever judge me. How dare.