This blog section will not be updated. I have no real desire to be an author at this moment in time. Im much better at music.

However you can read the first chapter of a novel I will finish and hopefully publish one day in a few decades time.

It is possibly the worst chapter you will ever read and contains strong language.

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Chapter One: The arrival

I am useless and I feel that I have been useless since I was 17. I don’t really have a definite explanation to why this is; only a handful of theories and sometimes theories do not give answers. There was no event shock or major happening that made me become the way I am, I just went to bed one evening and woke up useless.

Since I was a kid who endured a fat Elvis period right up until my late teens I always wanted to become a world famous scientist who cured all known disease. This was my chosen path in life and from an early age I had the basic qualities that would help me in my chosen path of life: intelligence, common sense and an inquisitive nature. Failure was not an option for me when I first started school as very soon I was the talk of the parents due to my so called cleverness.

When you’re a kid and you’re clever, you have no option in becoming socially retarded, in fact its thrust upon you without a protest. My classmates would bully me or use me to get their hands on toys that their parents never bought them for Christmas. This went on until my early teens and I swore revenge on the bastards. I would use my intelligence to fight back as I found out I hated violence from an early age. I would be the one to walk over them one day as I was the chosen one to have the ultimate job, the smart car, the smart clothes, all Brylcreem and expensive deodorant, Finally lets not forget that I would be the one to have the girlfriend who was the fantasy figure of those who stood in my way and she would feature heavily in their late night sessions in bed which would climax with a million sperms hitting a nylon wall.

Oh yes, this was going to be my life and they would never achieve this. They would end up unhappy with their rotten lives, their low paid uneventful jobs and would forever be sexually frustrated due to two things: their lack of sexual prowess and the lack of eye candy in the shape of the old boilers they would go to bed with every night for the rest of their natural. The bullied boy genius would avoid that reality and would laugh at them.

However predictions sometimes never become reality and when I went to my bed one autumnal evening without giving my left hand a good bedroom workout I fell asleep and work up useless. Gone was the dedicated well mannered student. In his place was someone different. I simply woke up wanting to live a life worth living free from orders or set timetables. It was a life where I controlled everything about me nothing was dictated. I wanted to meet people, experience lots of things, and make proper friendships and stop being reclusive. I also wanted to divorce my left hand and find a new sexual relationship with a hand that did not belong to me.

Obviously this new found rebellious me affected many things at the time. I became difficult with people whom I didn’t like when before I would be polite and I hated anything academic which resulted in failing all my exams for the scientific life. School ended and I was more useless. I didn’t want to do anything at all. It was a life without colour and I felt cold all the time. I wasn’t mentally ill or anything. I just had nothing to fill a void in my life.

I did discard the social retard side of my being and made friends and had relationships with females which never made me long for a return to my previous sexual relationship with my left hand, but the void was still there! I would wake up with a hangover and my parents would tell me all about the great lives my former bullies were having. Nice jobs, flash cars, their dates with deliciously shaggable women/men. Hearing this was a nightmare initially which resulted in many a depression, but later on I couldn’t give a flying fuck to be quite honest. The answer to filling the void would come to me and it was a case of waiting for that time to happen.
Waiting for the big moment did create many problems with my relationship with my parents and I was lucky not to end up being homeless after many arguments with them and unidentified flying saucers thrown at my direction due to my uselessness. When I grew my hair long and dyed it black my homophobic father would not talk to me for several weeks when I was 20 as he was convinced I was toilet trading in the local park at night when my friends and I would sit around in the country park drinking cheap tonic wine and trying to hold our extra strength super lager which always ended up with vomit down my shirts that probably smelled like an old man’s smegma.

My relationship with my father was always caustic to say the least and when I became useless it got worse. He never understood me, nor did my mother but at least she did try. A parent or anyone close can offer advice or show their concern but if they haven’t experienced or tried to live the life you are currently living then they should piss off and leave well alone. They should focus on their own humdrum lives and try to make themselves happy instead of preaching their sanctimonious shite towards me. Their ‘advice’ would always make me become more alien towards them and I longed for the answer to come so at least I could escape their looks of concern whenever they saw me.

More weeks and months past and the social life was being augmented with the dole money. The one night stands with women after club nights were enjoyable but unfulfilling. It was nice to be attractive to women, and sometimes men which was flattering but I have remained and enjoyed being purely hetro which eased my regular depressive states. I was never happy inside. In fact I don’t think anyone is truly happy.

Take a good look around yourself, look at your family, your friends, your neighbours, your workmates. Are they happy? If you asked them they would think long and hard for a while and the majority would say no. However they found their answers to their lives for the most part whereas I was yet to do so, but when I was 21 the answer came.

I was sort of friends with a guy who played in a covers band who played around local clubs and bars around the Glasgow area. Clifford Blythe was his name and he was a piano player in a band unimaginatively called ‘The Vinyl Covers’. They had quite a great following of students and middle aged people especially middle aged women. I liked the middle aged women at that time in my life and I got to unhook many a Playtex support bra in those days so I would sometimes go and see them play whenever the urge took me. I found them to be bland but then again I never went to appreciate their Beatles covers.

Anyway, I knew Blythe from the church orchestra that I was forced to go to and participate during those long years of social retardedness when my parents discovered God when I was 13. Indulged by my mother to learn an instrument I took up the guitar and did get to become a Christian guitar god by the time I was 15 playing every Sunday at church. Clifford had to endure the same shit as me but he played his dissonant chords on the organ with enthusiasm as I coldly strummed my way through endless sermons.

I was at The Lime Tree Club when the answer came. The bohemian atmos and rustic décor of the place suited me and I always felt relaxed there, even sexually relaxed too as it was a good pick up point for bohemian type girls who were always fun to be around. As I examined the club from my bar eyeing up the bohemian boobs that were in my line of sight I saw the distinctive figure of Clifford Blythe entertaining a few good looking women near the main exit. I could tell that the women were not feeling entertained by the look on their faces. Perhaps they felt intimidated by the 6ft 5 lanky git with long wavy red hair scraped back behind his ears. His attire always amused me; a black leather military coat, with matching trousers, shirt and tie. I should not be complaining about Clifford’s sartorial wildness as I usually liked to wear my black leather jacket, white t-shirt, black skin tight leather trousers and my favourite white ankle boots. Perhaps I liked to stand out from others or I just had no fashioned sense. Maybe it was the former as if you seemed to be more individual; the more girls would notice you when out looking for light relief. Anyway I thought I looked the part however I didn’t really show an outward confidence in case I would be perceived as a poser.

Feeling sorry for the lovely female forms I decided to go over and make some small talk with Clifford before the girls finally tired of him.

‘Hey Cliff, long time no see! I didn’t know you were into women! ’ I said, trying to make my opening gambit impress the ladies.

‘Predictable as ever Shaw, predictable as ever…’ a not amused Blythe replied. It didn’t seem to impress the girls either as they stared rather awkwardly at me.

‘Don’t listen to this sexually frustrated twat of a friend of mines. Kate and Laura this is my old church friend Renwick Shaw.’

The girls started to laugh and both started to become loud ‘Oh my God!! Oh My God!! HAAAAAAAA!!! That’s a pure homo name if that’s yer real name mate!’

Oh I forgot to tell you my name. Well it really is Renwick Shaw – no stage name. I was named after my Grandfather who also had to suffer the indignity of laughs wherever he introduced himself to people. Don’t ask me where the name comes from as my parents never gave me a decent answer when I asked as a child.

After the initial laughter and red face on my part I got into the small talk with the threesome. Both girls were true eye candy for the hetros, both tall, natural blonde, honey colour skin, slim and all the curves in the right places. But they too got bored with me as well, especially Kate who was more talkative though towards me.

‘So let me get this wan straight man. Yer in yer twenty’s an ye huvnae hid a joab? That’s pure shocking!! Whit dae ye dae fur money?’

‘Well I kind of wait around every fortnight and I go to the bank and there is a small deposit of money waiting for me. I take the money, I spend the money.’ was my cold answer to people who were beginning to piss me off. Sure Kate looked good but her voice was too grating and common for my likening.

‘Aye okay man, yer so fuckin funny NOT! Yer jist another wan that milks aff the state watching Neighbours and Quincy repeats oan the telly and complain about how life is pure crap blah blah. So original NOT!’

Oh boy this girl had saw through me and I didn’t like it. I would have tried to instigate an argument about the benefits of being useless but I didn’t need to as I overheard Clifford come away with his infamous ‘ I want to hang myself with your tights!.’ chat up line towards Laura which only got a foul mouthed reply back. The two sets of eye candy said their goodbyes and left me and the chat up king with our lagers.

‘Clifford. When will you learn that a woman would not appreciate or get turned on by watching you trying to kill yourself with their tights? Tights only give them a sweaty bum and Thrush so it’s not a big fantasy for them.’

‘Aye well, some women like that kind of talk Shaw, and those two didnae. Probably thong wearers. Hey do you think they might have Brazilians?’

I ordered another pint for myself and a whiskey and coke for my underwear fetishist colleague.

‘Actually Renwick I’m glad you’re in here tonight as I’ve been trying to contact you for two days now. ‘

‘Well I’ve been in bed and I didn’t want any interruptions.’ I replied. I didn’t want to appear interested as to why Blythe would want to contact me at home.

‘Hmmm okay. Well, ye know that Pete is leaving The Vinyl’s for a proper job in the post office? I thought it would be cool if you could take his place on rhythm guitar.’ Blythe then downed his drink in one go. ‘Tae cut a long story short I’m pushed for time and I can’t get a proper replacement for the gig next Friday night at the 13th Note.’

I did still play a little and I knew how to play the songs in their set. Plus I need the cash and I’m game for anything once. I’m not a musician but something told me to accept the offer.

‘Thirty quid and I’m all yours Clifford. It will be a laugh!’ I replied.

We shook hands and arranged a time for rehearsal. Then we started downing our lagers and got so drunk that I ended up harbouring thoughts of hanging myself with a pretty girl’s nylons as well.

The gig at the 13th Note happened after a half decent rehearsal at Clifford’s house with the rest of The Vinyl’s. It was an excuse for money and free booze. However as I was on the smoke filled stage I found the answer I was waiting for. As I strummed, finger picked and made love to my Stratocaster copy; I found my calling in life. It was to be on stage and to be make music. I felt alive and I felt good for the first time in my life. It was amazing not to feel useless for once.

The applause we got was fantastic even though the punters had heard The Vinyl’s about hundred times before. All of a sudden there was a new energy in my life, something that was positive which also made my heart sing and feel warm. On that stage I made the start of the journey of life where everything would work out for me.

I had finally arrived.

© Stephen Sherry