Just a boy from Bristol

Life begins at, well...whenever. I have decided that 83 is as good an age as any, and I have now invested in a spanking, sparkling, brand new website, and more importantly, a half decent blogging facility. I also have a new dog arriving at the end of August. Her name is Madge, named after my late mother, and she is a black Labrador. It has been 7 months now since my much loved girl, Ruby, left us for Rainbow Bridge, and to be honest, the grief still lives on in our hearts, but we are ready now to make a further emotional investment in another furry friend. I can promise Madge a good and loving home for as long as nature permits

We were hesitant about taking the plunge; mainly because of our age, but several family members and even more friends, all reliable and loyal pet lovers, have guaranteed security in the event of crisis. We have thought long and hard about the moral considerations and are now happy with every potential succession plan.

More importantly, I am writing again. The much delayed Part 2 of Just a boy from Bristol is now continuing at an increasing pace. It is only a matter of weeks now before my proof readers will be huddling over the pages and scribbling away like frustrated schoolteachers. Part 1 taught me a valuable lesson; that memoir writing can be a quite traumatic and painful exercise. Part 2 has, from an emotional point of view, been even more brutal to my senses. I am now writing about the period from age 8 to 18, a period when all sorts of raw emotions were sweeping through me. Now, I am not going to lie. I have, over the many years, developed a decidedly casual, flippant air about all the important things in life. In truth, I have always found adult life to be a scary place, and I'm sure I am not alone in using this particular disguise, as a means of getting by. Putting pen to paper is a sure fire way of causing long forgotten traumas to resurface. At times, tears are never far away, but tears also speed up the healing process. One reader commented that there were tears or laughter on every page. The writer shared those feelings.

I can hear Mrs boy from Bristol climbing the stairs, muttering something about 'bloody blogs'. Time to say goodbye from my maiden blog. Tomorrow, I will be writing about my first love, my first date and my first kiss. All in the best possible taste of course. Goodnight my friends.