Anxiety Depression Crash - Part 5. My brothers.

 I have two brothers, Michael [Mick] & John.

Two weeks after the cortisone injections, (click here if you missed it) my dad invited me to Bridlington (Brid - I spent every summer there from birth to 18 in their caravan) to see mum and dad (88 & 90) along with Mick, John and partners. First the background.

I am the oldest of four, now three as sadly Mandy (features in many of my earlier blogs) died age 49.

Mick was an amazing builder, never advertised and never short of work. We built a house together, ran a business together buying terraced houses and refurbishing them. We did well until, Mick decided to buy, with a loan, a JCB (bloody big digger, £26,000). I was presented with a personal guarantee to sign. I refused and the business relationship ended the same day. Six months later it was sold at a huge loss. We still worked together for many year’s but the spark had gone.

Five years ago, just after meeting Sheila, I went to the Canaries with my dad and brothers. I wasn’t good. Each morning we would walk along the ‘front’ for two hours followed by a pub. Three pints each, two my dad and apple juice for me. I did sneak a joint in as my tipple of the morning. Lunch, pool and then the serious drinking. More apple juice, the odd larger and more joints for me. By 10pm it’s dancing time and I come to life. In my pocket a joint and a toothpick, the type you by in boots (TePe) with a holder and mini wire stick as all the meat is stuck in my teeth, I’m in the zone, having a ball as the toothpick, joint had been smoked just before, falls from my pocket.  Mick grabs it and makes a huge fuss, refusing to return it. He is convinced, given all my energy and dancing, it is a hypodermic syringe and I’m injecting drugs. Our relationship deteriorated further that day and I never went away with them again. For many years my ‘Wacky Backy’ medicine led him to believe I was the addict who needed help. Six pints, loads of wine and a few whiskies, a day, didn’t count as it wasn’t a drug. Us humans are so easily brainwashed (search Watson & behaviorism for why). Me thinks the same is happening with the virus. He ho.

Where was I? Oh yes...  

Brother John was, still is, a big softy with a tough exterior. His first wife left him. I took him on a rugby tour to Canada and took him skiing, as you do for someone you love. We stayed friends and have cried on each other’s shoulder many a time. Unfortunately, his second wife, Dianne, is good friends with my first wife Kerry which becomes apparent very shortly.

Sheila and I announced our wedding, both are invited. Mick send me a message, ‘Congratulations, do you have Queens arms phone so we can book’. He books a room but cancels two days later as his wife (she doesn’t like me) says they are not attending. John has a conundrum, easily solved by booking a skiing holiday to clash with the wedding.

After the wedding we with visited both. We stayed with Mick overnight and had a pleasant evening. I stayed with Mick, with my dad early 2019. We had dinner, they drank whisky I went into the garden for some Whacky Backy. The next day we exchanged messages, he said, ‘get a life without drugs and don’t piss on my floor and shit in my bed…I followed you to the downstairs loo (my wee does sometimes spray sideways, long story for later) and you had pissed over …Linda washed the bedding there was a deposit on the sheet (skids marks do happen at my age) which no-one would want to find’.  They ought to try looking after someone with colon cancer for a few weeks.  Or, having children.  No contact since. He ho.

Sheila and I were also due to visit John’s home, after the wedding, but that became a hastily rearranged lunch in Worcester somewhere down the M5, over 100 miles from where they live. It was pleasant if not a bit disjointed. The important bit to remember is that was the last time I spoke with or had contact with John’s wife Dianne,. We said our goodbyes and left.

Back to August 2020 and my trip to Brid.  I had just instructed a family lawyer to help arrange family mediation with my children. She was aware of my visit to Brid and we were in touch daily. I arrived a day before the rest, booked into a B&B fifteen minutes’ walk from my parents’ home. Dad and I walk into town for a pint in a very packed Wetherspoons and crowds everywhere. Virus? Brid must be exempt me thinks. We had a great time and repeated the exercise the following day. On returning John & Dianne were sat in the garden.

I smile and say, ‘Hi John, lovely to see you, do we touch elbows, shake hands or hug'. John stands, walks away from me and announces they are leaving. ‘John what’s the problem’ I ask. ‘You should have thought about that before opening your mouth’, he says and then left.

I spoke with my lawyer (she was aware of happenings) and she offered to speak with him. She called, he answered, and they spoke for a few minutes. His response was, I had spoken to his wife, been rude, abusive and told her to fuck off. My lawyer had no option other than believe him and said goodbye. John contacted her the following day to request no further contact. As I said above, I had had no contact with John’s wife for well over two years. My dad was shocked and upset.  I often wonder why folk tell lies, the truth is much easier as you don’t need to remember anything. I still love my brother John and hope we can meet again soon. Om

A bit more about Mick and my parents next. Two years ago my dad was in hospital five times with a mystery stomach problem, I was with him for three of them. On the last occasion Mick was in attendance. He contacted me, said it was ‘bad’ and he planned to implement their Lasting Power of Attorney over both mum and dad. He wanted me to put in writing I owed my dad £22,500 (which I do) and he also needed to stop my mum giving Mandy’s children (both have no money) without giving the same to his children, who have loads of money. My mum called me as he wanted her to sign forms. I said, 'don’t sign and give your money to whoever you wish’. She didn’t sign and the LPA didn’t happen. A few weeks later Mick saw dad; he screamed abuse, called him a fucking bastard, spittle in his face for not stopping his wife giving money to Mandy’s children.

Where was I? Oh yes Brid with my dad and brothers.

Mick kept clear. The next day I checked out of my B&B and headed south, battered, not bruised, but very shaken. The moment I left, Mick saw dad, he screamed abuse, called him a fucking bastard, spittle in his face, for inviting me to his home. My dad was visibly shaken as  a 90 year old might be when abused by his son.  I told my dad to call the police, he didn’t. He ho.

I drove home and drank myself to sleep.  The Valium, Tramadol and larger didn’t help but my knee and shoulder were on the mend.

The anxiety & depression was now full on. The only thing left to do was…

CRASH.

Have a good weekend.