You can only make your own mistakes.

November 22, 2010 § Leave a comment

“When I get home I don’t wanna talk about what you’ve done, cos yeah you’ve let me down and fucked around but I guess you were having fun.” – Father’s DayFrank Turner.

When I was 13 me and mother never really got on. When we were talking we were fighting. Yes I was a horrible teenager who’s hormones were all over the place but she wasn’t without her part to be played. One day she asked me to “do something useful and get the clothes out of the dryer.” Our dryer lived in the garage, so I ventured out there. While pulling the warm clothes from the high dryer I knocked over one of my dads power drills, it fell onto the stone floor of the garage and broke at the handle, I knew it was bust. I took the clothes in and told her what happened. She made me feel terrible. “You can’t do anything right” – “why does this always happen with you?”- “Your dads going to be so mad!” It didn’t help that my older brother was immaculate and was never in trouble. So I went upstairs and I waited in my room. I waited the 2 hours until my dad came home. I heard his car home down the road and pull into the gravel in front of our house. I heard him walk into the house and into the kitchen where my mum was. I heard them talking for a few minutes. The drill was in the kitchen and I was sure that my mum would be showing him. I heard the kitchen door open and his foot on the first stair. This was it, this was what I had been waiting for. My fathers wrath that had been fired up by my mother. My dad was the perfect mix of carrot and stick but when my mum got at him about me he had no choice but to get me. He got to the top of the stairs and turned right, straight to my room, knocked then entered. There really was nothing I could do. I tried to say “Come in” and pathetically as I could but my dad was never a sucker for sympathy. The conversation passed with very little telling off which confused me greatly, the reason for this would become clear a few days later. When my father sat me down and told me that the drill had been broken for years, that my mother knew this, and told my dad never to tell me and to make me feel bad. It’s that sort of thing that stays with you as a child.

I don’t know why I told you that, or why I felt so uncomfortable writing it. I love my mum, I guess I’m trying to say sometimes you have to be really careful of people. A lot of times in my life I haven’t trusted people for good reason, a lot of times I’ve trusted people and they’ve fucked me over. I don’t know. What I’m trying to say is you can only make your own mistakes.

I’m in England and later will meet up with Mossy to collect the ashes. There has been a ground swell of people to this page and I’m not really sure why, if your new, hello thank you for coming, grab a beer pull up a chair or some shit to sit on. I never thought that my writing would hold any public attention.

No Longer an Astronaut.

Simon Blake.


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