The story so far (Part 2)

Adolescence and the Air Force

Several years of education seemed to pass me by in an alco-pop blur.

I had lots of fights.

I experimented with the opposite sex...I still only achieved a grade C in Science.

I rode my bike and generally lived a care-free life, things were simple, Oasis and Blur, the battle for Brit-Pop supremacy. No bills, no job, no decreasing metabolism.

My lacklustre grades and inability to focus on college studies (the girls were infinitely hotter) meant that I was destined to a life of retail jobs and skank.

But all was not lost, I remember with clear definition, the meal at which my mother suggested that I join the military...not just any branch, the Royal Air Force!

I had a good relationship with my family, things became frayed on occasion, mostly my doing, but I would typically not listen to my mother. She had a habit of saying things that would totally contradict my present attitude. Yet this suggestion was not shut down with teenage grunts, no Kevin and Perry anecdotes followed. I was in agreement with mother, I would apply to join the Air Force. I would become a hero!

I nailed the testing, the physical and the interviews. I was offered a range of employment, or trades. My decision was based on the write-up of each trade, it's requirements, it's typical daily pattern, and it's prospects. I selected Trade Group 3, Eng Tech (EL), Engineering Technician (Electrical). My hands would be the tools of my trade, my sharp mind and logical though process would guide those hands into circuitry belonging to 1960s technologies.
I enjoyed this job, I made good money for a young man, but there wasn't enough permanency, there wasn't enough promotion and there seemed to be an increasing focus on the glamor-free aspect of Information Technology rather than the sexed-up world of transformers and wave-guide theory, 80A and valves as big as your head!
I did enjoy a few years of the trades' glory days. I was sent to Cyprus during the flare of troubles in Afghanistan. The base was busy but the sun was shining and I met some friends who remain in contact after all these years. 2002 was a very good year.

Prior to my Cypriot detachment I met a woman. A woman who ruled my every moment, in day-light thought or sleepy contemplation...she was there. She was the first girl I loved, and I wonder if I'll ever love the same way again.

Well the years rolled by, and there are many stories to be told throughout my RAF career, yet I am losing patience and haven't found humour once in this post. I'll cut my losses and return to this literation of life when the mood takes me.

The story so far (Part 1)

The Shell-Suit Years

What defines me?

What made me who I am?

Which influences shaped this boy into a man?

These are just some of the questions which you, dear reader, must have been asking yourselves. We've come a long way together, yet you know very little of the man behind the mask. The man that was born into a middle-class family, unaware of his impending greatness.

It all started on a spring evening in the year denoted MCMLXXXII...

You may be surprised to know that I was born to two parents of the human gender male (who I shall refer to as 'father') and female (or 'mother'). These people were decent god-fearing folk. They paid taxes and ate the full range of food-types found on this planet. I was born to this world in the guise of their first child. They named me and taught me the English language primarily in the form of speech emanating from the 'vocal-cords' for which my alien tongue took several earth years to hone.
I was not considered different, nor did I believe myself to be different from the other earth children of a similar age, until I was inspected by an optician who administered the use of an eye-patch. A crude cotton device that was taped to my face and was positioned to cover the stronger of my orbs which I'd been happily using to see with until this point. I was ridiculed and beaten repeatedly by my peers but surprisingly, this was not the defining factor in my personality progression.

The years passed and my earthly form increased in stature...the worst was yet to come!

Man against Machine

I think I'd rather live in the stone age...

I mean, I enjoy my job, working with AV equipment, and I suppose the fact that I choose to blog proves that I'm not anti-technology, but life would be simpler if we still smeared our faeces on walls to express ourselves.

I think the Flintstones had it right. They have the comfort and warmth of a family orientated society with the added bonus of the English language. They have convenience and luxuries such as the drive-in movie and restaurant where you can order that huge stack of ribs...I don't even like ribs, I feel they are pointless and miserly, but in Bedrock, the ribs are as big as a house!
You can wear your loincloth or animal-skin everyday and if you are going to work, simply accessorise with a necktie. You can carry a club with you, you can kick cats, and you get exercise while driving.
There would be no credit cards or paper money, and therefore no fraud.
There would be no war on terror or asylum seekers because international travel would not be possible.
I think they had a fridge though, not sure how because there was no electricity or freon, but still, a fridge is the one modern invention I would choose over TV, Internet and the like.

Last night I was waiting at Clapham Junction after a terrible day (see next post for details). I needed a drink so I used a vending machine. £1.20 for a bottle of water! The source of life, you can't put a price on aqua, man's most vital need, something that is naturally occurring and can sustain all manner of life forms. £1.20 is not a reasonable price for water, 50p is close to the mark but anyway, I digress.
The Machine accepted my money, accepted my selection, told me it was vending, and then thanked me...it fucking thanked me. Sure enough it felt the wrath of The Hammer, 5 perfectly formed knuckles at hard as granite, motored by a right-arm so savage it needed to be branded, flowing from the torso of a god...the one with man-boobs and an elephant trunk...is it Buddha?

Then today, I went to Waterloo station to purchase a season ticket for the train. I needed a passport photo and was pointed in the direction of three Machines. The first one took £4 and didn't even attempt to acknowledge me...it met The Hammer. The second one had witnessed my barbaric attack and played-dead. The third had a sign saying that it was broken, please use the other machines! I later found a 4th Machine and it looked willing and able, but it just wouldn't accept my money.

That's not all, there's more, but I should be working and I'm out of anecdotes.

General mood: Unsure!

And so it begins...

A new month,
A new living situation,
A new pair of glasses,
A renewed sense of pride.

My name is Matt, and this is my blog.

I entered October in relative style. Awake at 2am in a lovely hotel in Newquay.
I'd just visited some long lost friends in their beautiful little seaside town.
We had a few drinks, shared some laughs and generally reaffirmed that friendship that had been neglected for so long.
My travelling partner for this weekend was Charlotte. A beautiful and intelligent blonde who has the ability to take me on a rollercoaster ride through every emotion known to mortal man. It was she who lay awake with me at 2am. She who controlled the conversation regarding her current novel, a subject of which I was genuinely interested.
Now I'm aware that Charlotte will be reading this blog...she'll probably be my most frequent critic, yet I feel it necessary to explain to those who've not met her, and I feel it necessary to vocalise as such, my feelings for this woman. Charlotte is so clever and quick that it makes me feel alive talking and simply listening to her. She has the ability to entice you into her mind with strange-but-true stories, she can stimulate your thought process, she will leave you feeling invigorated, never exhausted even though your brain is working at it's highest potential.
Charlotte's novel really created a spark within me. When it comes to literature, I'm easily pleased with a book that contains violence, sex, power, and wealth. Charlotte's work focuses on none of these money spinners, she relies on the reader wanting to be emotionally involved with the character throughout the course of his/her life. She forces you to care for their actions and attitudes. She makes you hate them, she makes you love them, but one thing remains constant, and that's the fact that you'll always care for the character. This isn't a new concept to me, sure enough I don't read many books and those that I do read often don't tackle social, religious and moral issues, yet I am aware that a good psychological incite can be entertaining. This certainly lives up to that premise, and it is with great surprise that I can have such respect for this work without having read a single chapter...I just know that it will work on page as it does from her lips.

Well that was a tangent. This is the start of my blog and I'm already focusing on somebody else rather than myself! She has that power!

I guess the reason for the detour is due to general feeling of well-being. A feeling that can be attributed to many factors, but the one that really stands out above the rest is Charlotte...enough of that for now!

This month marks the biggest changes in my life and those around me.
I have recently parted from my last girlfriend, Pamela. Although we have been living together for months since the break, she will be leaving our current house next week. I was all set to go back to my parents, which would have required more than 4hrs on the train every day to get to and from work! Then Charlotte entered my otherwise dull life, and suggested I move in with her...as her lodger. Well, I've accepted her generous offer, and it is just a matter of days before I will be calling her house, my home. It will be a strange situation, living with someone you love (there, I said it!) but knowing that the feeling is not quite reciprocated. I'm looking forward to sharing with Charlotte for many reasons, the least of which are quite selfish, the other reasons are far more interesting!
So certainly as of next week, I will be waking from and returning to her house that also shelters young Rupert and the not so young Ruby, two adorable house rabbits.

So the renewed sense of pride?

Well I can only refer the reader to the BBC News website, or any other news feed for that matter that deals with current and international affairs of the highest magnitude. No doubt you'll see a story that is watched the world over. A story so popular and seemingly understood by all those with a mind for current events that it would be hard to believe that I, Matthew Stephens, son of a policeman, ex-Royal Air Force serviceman, moderate standard badminton and squash player, follower of the San Francisco 49ers...could be involved with such a story, a piece of history. I was but a boy when this issue first entered the public domain, when the world mourned, and the rumours spread. I remember where I was and who surrounded me the morning of the breaking news. And now I am part of that history, not as a casual observer, but as someone who can portray those facts from a decade ago. I feel proud to be involved in something so big, and yet my name will never be spoken in wider circles, for although my work will not go unnoticed, my name will remain the property of a nobody.

It seems a shame to end this first post.
I doubt that the content of this premier edition will influence my future rants, it merely sets the scene for me, it summarises these last few weeks in the world of me. A passage of time that has been profoundly deep and almost spiritual, a fortnight that will shape my future dramatically, although it seems all so trivial right now.