I grew up as a child of the ultra-Conservative Maggie Thatcher era, of 1980's England. It was a time in which iron curtain banners of the cold war, only existed in dodgy late night art-house movies on Channel 4 - and where nobody in Britain watched Channel 4. In this ferociously capitalist period of history, rich bastards became even richer bastards, privatisation of public industry created dole office queues as long as a John Holmes hard on, and my Father constructed new and imaginative ways, to live through an entire decade, without finding gainful employment.
For me, I was still in single digits; political and social agendas never existed beyond my Dad throwing his jacket on the ground and stomping upon it; the time local Conservative governor John Gorst asked him why - if he hated the Tories so much, he wore blue. Or the endless amounts of 'Vote Labour' pamphlets we posted in letter boxes with him, post election spring. In truth, I could have happily posted leaflets saying 'Suck Cock' on the front; at least it led us out the house.
Much more important was the fact I didn't own a plastic Thundercats lunch box set - like all the other six-years old at my comprehensive school; The A-Team, Mask, and My Little Pony were also popular. Everyone wanted to be the leader, Lion-O. But I always preferred Panthro - Lion-O's bald-headed, spider hating, Panther clone. I loved his sheer intelligence and unique way of thinking, as well as carrying an unbreakable noble code. As fictional animated Anthropomorphic beings go - his face on my flask was all I needed; If I did, then Britain could be run by a midget version of The Krankies, for all I cared.
I grew up with six brothers in a council house to terminally unemployed parents, where the bi-monthly welfare check we survived on, was split two ways; half to my Mother, the rest for my Father. Her share took care of me and my siblings, whereas my Father's lot either burned away through unfiltered tobacco leaves, or vanished; in that mysterious way the money of stingy bastards often does.
Like anybody with pillows of cash stashed away, he pleaded poverty whenever the opportunity to spend a penny arose; a brother needed clothes, the fridge was empty; which it always was, or Birthdays and Christmas loomed on the horizon. We lived on the hand-me-downs handed down from previous hand-me-downs purchased in the cheapest of charity shops. We also lived in a daily diet of oil drenched bargain chips and dry, white bread; If then was today, Poundland would have made a killing from our household. In comparison to most of those fortunate enough to be born in the United Kingdom, Our childhood was poor - dirt poor. Our Do-It-Yourself haircuts never washed (we regularly had nits at school), clothes always filthy, and shoes containing more holes then Blackburn, Lancashire. We were in essence, pikeys living with a roof and indoor toilet.
On question, the excuse of our Dad's short armed, deep pocket philosophy, usually came from answers such as - "we have no money", and "It's all Thatchers fault. We all gotta go without". A child accepts without rebuttal, and were unaware he was in fact stealing from the mouths of his own children. My father had created the A-typical corrupted environment; my own private communism. Where its followers had no choice in being pillaged by the leader of a backward arse regime, designed to help only themselves; made to suffer under the banner of equality. While all my friends and neighbours were trying to survive as a unit in rough environments - (the Thatcher era of 1980's England was notoriously brutal on the common man), my brothers were scrapping for the small collection of chocolate bars our Grandmother left for us on Saturday mornings - after our Dad had pigged out on the best ones for himself. As well as a mixture of long-lost emotional validation.
Eventually his rule dissipated with the break up of both his marriage, and my own family unit - and I never got my Thundercats lunch-box set; I believe I used a World Cup 1982 bag - even though it was 1987. The odd thing is - even though this life was in no way designed to aid any of us, it made me and my brothers tougher people. I find myself having a strong understanding with those who grew up, in the veil of a poverty stricken East. While in tune with the 'feed the self' mantra, conditioned upon the spoiled ethos of western society. I can also have thanks for every time I enjoy a nice meal, or a cleanly washed set of duvets. It also made us ridiculously creative people. Without money, games are more imaginative, and food is whatever you can conjure up - Toasted ham slices in white bread, probably one of my best. More than anything, while it didn't teach me how to be a man, it showed me exactly how not to be one; at least, in my view anyway.
My childhood taught me three vital lessons of life; capitalism destroys societal communication. Communism is impossible to implement, against the unchangeable face of human nature. And Thundercats lunch-boxes are now available on ebay...
Lee.
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| "I think, therefore I am." |
Much more important was the fact I didn't own a plastic Thundercats lunch box set - like all the other six-years old at my comprehensive school; The A-Team, Mask, and My Little Pony were also popular. Everyone wanted to be the leader, Lion-O. But I always preferred Panthro - Lion-O's bald-headed, spider hating, Panther clone. I loved his sheer intelligence and unique way of thinking, as well as carrying an unbreakable noble code. As fictional animated Anthropomorphic beings go - his face on my flask was all I needed; If I did, then Britain could be run by a midget version of The Krankies, for all I cared.
I grew up with six brothers in a council house to terminally unemployed parents, where the bi-monthly welfare check we survived on, was split two ways; half to my Mother, the rest for my Father. Her share took care of me and my siblings, whereas my Father's lot either burned away through unfiltered tobacco leaves, or vanished; in that mysterious way the money of stingy bastards often does.
Like anybody with pillows of cash stashed away, he pleaded poverty whenever the opportunity to spend a penny arose; a brother needed clothes, the fridge was empty; which it always was, or Birthdays and Christmas loomed on the horizon. We lived on the hand-me-downs handed down from previous hand-me-downs purchased in the cheapest of charity shops. We also lived in a daily diet of oil drenched bargain chips and dry, white bread; If then was today, Poundland would have made a killing from our household. In comparison to most of those fortunate enough to be born in the United Kingdom, Our childhood was poor - dirt poor. Our Do-It-Yourself haircuts never washed (we regularly had nits at school), clothes always filthy, and shoes containing more holes then Blackburn, Lancashire. We were in essence, pikeys living with a roof and indoor toilet.
On question, the excuse of our Dad's short armed, deep pocket philosophy, usually came from answers such as - "we have no money", and "It's all Thatchers fault. We all gotta go without". A child accepts without rebuttal, and were unaware he was in fact stealing from the mouths of his own children. My father had created the A-typical corrupted environment; my own private communism. Where its followers had no choice in being pillaged by the leader of a backward arse regime, designed to help only themselves; made to suffer under the banner of equality. While all my friends and neighbours were trying to survive as a unit in rough environments - (the Thatcher era of 1980's England was notoriously brutal on the common man), my brothers were scrapping for the small collection of chocolate bars our Grandmother left for us on Saturday mornings - after our Dad had pigged out on the best ones for himself. As well as a mixture of long-lost emotional validation.
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| "Pliers, Selotape, and kendo sticks - opened my gf's car from the outside. My brother's invention" |
My childhood taught me three vital lessons of life; capitalism destroys societal communication. Communism is impossible to implement, against the unchangeable face of human nature. And Thundercats lunch-boxes are now available on ebay...
Lee.
