Urgh I'm pissed off as hell I accidentally deleted a post. I wrote about 800 words and I think it was pretty good too. I back it up as I go in my google drive but I hadn't gotten round to it. I've almost lost posts here lots of times and have had to retrieve misplaced drafts but this one appears to be gone for good.
Oh well. That's all I can really say about it. No use complaining, I've just got to put my fingers to the keyboard and keep going.
I went out for a walk earlier. It's bloody freezing here. I was only out for about half an hour and I saw two young lads in shorts. It doesn't matter what time of year it is or what the weather is like, there are a certain type of young men who are determined to wear shorts no matter what. It's foolish and unfathomable.
I'm going to back this up every third word.
I grew up in a sad household. I didn't realise it at the time, but I had an inkling. What you grow up with is your normality, and my normality was a dad who drank and a mum who screamed. It made me scared and uncomfortable a lot, but I didn't know any different. I assumed every kid felt the same. Everyone associated love with fear.
My parents stuck it out for as long as they could and just as I was going into puberty their marriage finally collapsed for good. Dad met another woman and moved in with her. I don't know if he started seeing her before or after he and mum split up and it doesn't matter any more. I don't hold it against her. She didn't know what she was getting to.
She had a toddler of her own. All I knew about her father is he came from the next town over and wanted nothing to do with her. Then I was told she was my new sister. Dad got married within days of his divorce from my mum being finalised and about a year later they had child of their own together. Another sister. Not that I saw them much.
I knew early on in life I didn't want a life like my mother's. I didn't want to do minimum wage jobs and survive on benefits. I wanted job satisfaction and to escape poverty. I realised I would have to work hard in school, that would be my ticket out of the benefits trap. Schoolwork came pretty easily to and I actually enjoyed a lot of it. I was no good in the sciences but I loved the humanities subjects. When I applied myself I excelled academically. I won prizes. Pingley is actually quite a well to do town. There are a lot of wealthy commuters here and it's something of a corridor town for the larger city up the coast. A lot of kids in my schools parents were chemists at the local pharmaceuticals plant, or engineers in the oil industry. There were always new kids, usually from England on the first day of every term.
I felt ashamed next to them. We couldn't afford nice clothes. Or brand name trainers. Or a car. Or our own home. Or holidays. Dad went on holiday with his wife and their two girls, but I was never invited to go along with them. We were whats known as povs. Ashamed is the wrong word. Loads of my friends lived in council houses and didn't own cars. Inferior is what I felt.
So I worked hard in school and planned my escape. My mum never felt she was worthy of anything better. She thought people who strived for more were snobs. I don't even want to try to untangle her twisted mindset. Safe to say, she set her own station in life somewhere in the gutter, yet managed to look down at everyone.
I did my best in school and was rewarded with a place to study law at St Andrews. Not too far from home and a really prestigious university. I was finally on my way.
I called my dad with the good news.
'Hey dad, I did it, I got a place at St Andrews! This is amazing! I'm absolutely ecstatic!'
'Oh well done short arse that's braw.'
'I'm going to study law, I can't believe it!'
'Christ!'
'I know haha! I worked so hard for this. I've finally done something in my life I'm proud of.'
'I went to school in St Andrews.'
'Yeah, the secondary school there.'
'I played on the rugby team. I wasnae the most academic. I only got twa 'A's the whole time I was there. One for history and one for music for playing the cornet.'
'Well, two A's are better than none.'
'Aye, well that's true.'
So listen, I'll need to get you to fill in the parental contribution form. When do you want me to bring it over?'
'What's that?'
'It's for your contribution to my tuition fees. Everybody under twenty five has to have their parents contribute to their tuition. That's the rules.'
'The solicitor's agreement said I had to pay maintenance for you up until you left school or you turned eighteen, then you were on your own. After that you don't get a penny out of me.'
'What?'
'That's what the solicitor's agreement was.'
'But..'
I don't even know why I expected anything different.
Back then that's how it was done, it might be different now. I'm pretty out of touch with these things. I thought about suing my dad. I was pretty sure I'd win. But I didn't want to have to sue my dad to get what he owed me, legally as well as morally. My dad was a prick. If he wanted to be a prick that was fine. Unfortunately it was also very much my problem.
I went round to see him, to try to reason with him. His wife was there, biting her lip, looking like she at least felt for me but not enough to actually do anything about it. I thrust the forms at him to show him I wasn't just trying to do some sort of cash grab. I had been working all summer in the local supermarket taking all the hours I could get. He had seen me there. I was having to pay mum rent as well so it was hard to save a lot.
Dad was implacable. He folded his arms and told me he had no money for me and he had other kids to provide for. I wanted to spit at him that one of them wasn't even his. Maybe if her dad paid child support you'd be able to help me go to university. Though even if he did I had no doubt my dad would still shut the door in my face.
I was royally fucked but I vowed to press ahead.
I was eighteen and reasonable attractive. I was quite athletic and did yoga and ran to stay in shape. I had long dark hair. Gentleman's clubs as they are known were just becoming a thing in the UK. I looked in the Yellow Pages. My nearest one was thirty two miles away. I gave them a call. They gave me an interview. I say an interview, a surprisingly professional sounding woman told me to come through and audition for her the next day. My stomach dropped right out of my trousers but I didn't have any other options. I needed a legal way to make money fast and I could do this. I had to do it. I had no choice.
Next day I got the train down the coast to Xtown and made the short walk to the gentleman club. It was situated next to a multistorey car park that seemed to drip constantly even when it wasn’t raining. I had barely slept the night before. Partly from rage but mostly from sheer terror. What the fuck was I getting myself into. I wasn’t much of a dancer. I didn’t own any lingerie and only one pair of heels. I wasn’t very good with make up either.
I buzzed on the door of the club and the woman I spoke to on the phone led me through to her office. She introduced herself as Ellen and she was the manager. I was in polite, professional mode like it was a proper job interview. She seemed to like this though. Her office was like any other manager’s office I had seen or imagined. Beige, generic, squeaky chair, marker pens. I detected a northern accent. She said she was from Sheffield and had managed several bars down there before moving up to Scotland.
She settled herself behind her desk and brushed her chestnut red hair out of her eyes. ‘Ok lovey, tell me about yourself.’
‘Well, um,’ I started.
‘No need to be shy,’ Ellen coaxed.
‘Ok,’ I said. ‘I’ve just turned eighteen. I’ve got a place at a good uni to study law but no money. No money, no uni. Can you see my dilemma?’
Ellen smiled. ‘Only too well love. So which university are you planning on studying at?
‘St Andrews.’
‘Ah so just down the road,’ she mused, a pen pressed under her chin. ‘You could live there and come to work here.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘That sounds ideal.’ It was close enough to be a bus ride away but far enough to have some distance from the university.
‘Do you have a background in dance?’ she asked.
‘No,’ I said, ‘but I am in good shape. I do yoga and am pretty flexible.’
‘Well that’s good. You’re going to need a bit of flexibility.’