Well, I was an only child. Not many friends in the neighbourhood. Spent a lot of time in my room, imagining. Thinking of my future. Playing games for England, kissing the girl across the street. Funnily enough I never once imagined that data input would be my future.

I used to watch World of Sport, it is my first cognitive memory. I can remember the drag racing, the lumberjack championships, the exotic american typefaces. I wish I had been allowed to bet at five years old, because I had a pretty good eye for horses form at that age, a gift which has diminished with time. I can still recall that Sea Pigeon and Nightnurse were pretty safe bets. And Dickie Davies. Thinking back I am sure I saw him more than my father until I was twelve. My father was more of a Fred Dinage character in my life.

I can remember showing my affection towards girls by cycling. The more times you went past their house, the more you wanted them. Someone you really liked would be on a once every couple of days route. Claire Johnson was a twice a night, really worth making the out and return route pass through the same street for. Cute little nose. Never once came out of her house though. Ahhh, the life of a pubescent stalker.

Later of course, it was vodka. Never understood how I could drink the filthy stuff, neat, maybe half a bottle at a time. Think I was just warming up for acid frankly. With whisky, there is a point of extreme purity of thought before you get to the pissing in your pants stage. Not vodka, you just get the colours, the room swirls, you throw up on the cat, and your best mate tells you the next evening how you announced to the world you thought you might be gay before collapsing face down on the floor.

Now whisky I could really drink, neat doubles, the odd quadruple on cheap nights. I know for a fact, indisputable fact that I once had an hour-long conversation with a Welsh speaker, and we both made perfect sense, at least to each other. I wanted to be Jim Morrison, but lacking looks, three fellow travellers on the road to success and enlightenment and a good voice, I settled for his alcoholism and a ropey biker jacket. The only miracle is that I actually got laid in this period at all. Now I just want to be Noel Gallagher with less facial hair. Time teaches you to reign back on your ambition.

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