This is the intro to my autobiography 'Who the F**k is Beejay Wells?' You can have this bit for nothing but if you want the rest you'll have to wait 'til it's finished...............then BUY IT........... Providing it gets published of course.
Introduction, or moaning and groaning
It's the early hours of the morning and sleep just won't come. That's the way it's been for me as long as I can remember, never being able to switch off when I get into bed. Lucky are the people that can fall asleep as soon as they go horizontal. Me, I just lie there, tossing and turning, staring at the wall in the dark trying to remember the colour of the peeling wall paper. Sometimes I can't even remember where I am, I've moved from place to place that many times.
Now here I am, in my sixties, looking back over a life that seems to be full of ex-wives, ex-girlfriends, expense, kids, dogs, cats, fish tanks and people after money. There's also a whole lot of miles behind me spent in the search for something that's always eluded me. Still it could be worse, couldn't it? It might be back where I started from and wouldn't that be a bloody irony.
So instead of waiting for sleep, death or retirement, (hopefully death 'cos retirement's too far away) I've decided to put my thoughts on paper, well at least on my computer to start with. Just between us though, me and the computer don't work well as a team so it could all end in tears, and I just know that this story is going to take me forever to do because I've only got two fingers that know how to type. I only use one though and leave the other one on the subs bench so to speak.
This means that while you are reading this account of my pitiful existence I'm probably retired in some cockroach infested wrinklies home on the Costa del Misery, sitting in a rocking chair with only one rocker, waiting for a nurse with the facial features of a sad garden gnome to bring me a meal that a pot bellied pig wouldn't touch unless it was force fed with a rocket launcher.
Why am I even bothering? I mean, look at the odds. I'm sixty-two and my mother is in her eighties, so after the heart attacks two years ago I can only hope that I'll last long enough to finish it. And she'll last long enough to buy a copy 'cos I'm sure nobody else will. In fact I don't think my mother will buy one unless it comes with a free clip on wine rack for her zimmer frame, and my sister wouldn't even read it unless the S.A.S. decided she needed interrogating and used it for torture.
Still, I've made a start and for once I'm determined to finish something I've started even though there will be many people saying "Yeah yeah. We'll not be holding our breath." And while I'm not really a vindictive person I'll be hoping that some of them do. At least until I have finished what I've started.
I won't name names though because I can't afford any lawsuits. In fact there isn't much I can afford right now, with money being so tight that when comes to paying bills I just shuffle them and deal one. Right now I'm down to my last pair of jeans and what's left of my T- shirts have more holes in them than a U.S. Presidents declaration of truth and a Baghdad hotel put together.
I no longer own a suit which is fine by me as it means I can't go to funerals or weddings and as four of the weddings I've been to have been my own, you'll understand why I'm in no hurry to make an appointment with my tailor.
Four times is enough. Why four times you ask? Simple. You don't keep a car for life, yet the car takes you to the pub and brings you home when you're pissed. Does a wife do that? More to the point. Does your car keep telling you to mow the lawn or get a shave on your day off? I don't think so, plus the car is easier to turn on and it doesn't get headaches. Mind you neither of them listens when you're talking to them so you can't win either way.
Learn from your mistakes my mother always told me, but how can you do that when you don't have the time to finish making them. Much better to watch other peoples mistakes and pick the ones that seem the most interesting. There are always new things to get wrong and if they are out there you can put money on me being the one to find them.
When making a balls up becomes lucrative then I'll be a millionaire, not that I really ever wanted to be a millionaire. Not at all. I'll be happy just to be able to pay cash for my tobacco and ignore the health warning plastered all over the packet, and that's another thing. Why don't they also put the health warning in Braille so that blind people can know that smoking is bad for them?
If I sound a little cynical it's because I am. Let's face it, being cynical can be a great asset, especially when some asshole is trying to sell you something. And when the Jehovas bloody witnesses knock at the door, you don't feel guilty about telling them to piss off. I've even known the Mormons to knock on the door and try to sell me their brand of religion and, as I believe that nearly all the shit going on in the world today is a direct result of dick heads 'spreading the word', it is not a good idea to sermonise on my door step, thank you very much.
Don't get me wrong. I love people, I love helping people but I don't need to be a Jesus junkie to do that.
I mean if there was a God who 'in the beginning' created man in his own image, how the hell did he know that women needed tits, good legs and a nice bum. Let's face it, he would've been in Eves bad books right away for not taking the extra day to invent little necessities like make up, the wonder bra, the Philips lady shave, aspirin and Delia Smiths cook book. It would also have been extremely sociable of him to have given Adam a Mary Jane tree so he could chill out whenever Eve had a headache.
Talking of headaches maybe I'd better get started so I can get finished and you can buy a copy, get bored and use it to prop up a wobbly table or something.