That’s the beauty of a manuscript or a book. It’s physical shape and appearance doesn’t matter, indeed on a basic level it’s an inanimate object. It doesn’t feel pain or care if you throw it on the coffee table for weeks. What’s important is that some person in some time and their own era has exposed themselves on paper. Whether it be the remarkable discipline of Shakespeare or Milton, or your local friend, a book is a testament of it’s own times and stands up in a way that nobody can say that it’s right or wrong.

People say to me that the key to a good book that someone will stick with is its start. “Hit them with something that will grab their attention straight away” I agree to a point and have admired many authors’ ability to ‘hit’ you at the start. I’d love to know where they get that from – is there a phrasebook? If so I haven’t read it! If I can make a comparison – I love live music and if a band’s play list is structured properly and some thought is put into it, then you go and experience a rollercoaster ride, a series of highpoints, low points and a finale. A good start is important but over a concert of two hours duration, you leave the venue the whole picture will emerge, if it was any good. Neil Young was a master at that. In interview’s he has referred to this time and time again. I will refer to that later.

Now I will start with the process that is the purpose of this project (see how I’ve gone on tangents already!). I was born in Nottingham, England in November of 1972. That makes me thirty five. My story is very similar to many people whose parents are from Ireland in the late sixties, early seventies. My father was from a very beautiful rural village called Keadue in Co. Roscommon and my mum was from Sligo town. I don’t really know where or how they got together-it probably in some dance hall – I believe from stories that dad was somewhat a slick person and a very good dancer! I’d say he had class. Any soul that knew him will understand what I mean by saying that he had a ‘unique’ personality. I mean that affectionately. He saw what he wanted or needed and did what he had to do in order to survive. He had a wonderful personality and plenty of love to give. He very much lives on in my sister in so many ways. Sorry. Must pause. This stupid machine will not do what I want it to do. I’m on page three and it refuses to let me put words between words, there must be a setting somewhere.

Sorry. My mother, now she is completely different to how my father was. That’s at the total heart of the book. If the readers can realise that two completely different people from two opposite types of childhood can meet up in some dance hall and in that moment meet and obviously fall in love, then spontaneity does happen at the weirdest of moments, usually when you least expect. That’s why I said in the introduction if you are in some despair or crisis or even if you’re just looking for some meaning, please try to stay alive. I can’t emphasise this too much.

This might sound like a very insensitive thing to say but I’ve experienced it and it has to be said. It is so easy to give up on life and be in a dangerous place. Life is a battle and struggle. I don’t know of any person who does not struggle. For a lot just to feed yourself or buy a pack of smokes is near impossible. Others may have no end to their pockets and nice cars (God I’d love a TT Audi!) I deliberately haven’t mentioned mental distress or I hate to say Mental Illness. Labels’ are nasty things, no human is a label or has one attached to their heads. Nobody can see them and please don’t put one on you. I digress again-sorry. This timeline thing I’ve set out on a piece of paper is not happening. I can’t put things neatly into chapters. The filing cabinet in my brain won’t let me.

From pictures and what’s more rare pictures that I’ve seen in her early days, particularly her wedding album, my mother was a very beautiful woman. She still is. Sorry mum, I know you’re cringing but by the time you read this. I hope it’s too late to change it. I can easily see why my dad chose her. But there is a much deeper beauty to my mum than meets the eye, even an aura about the way she lives. She is very special and I ill no doubt talk about that for something later up the track.

It must have been a gut-wrenching experience to leave a land that is so familiar and safe, not to mention the friends and family that you must leave behind. England is far from Mars and only across the channel but it’s an unknown thing. It’s not a case then as is now to hop on a plane and fly for fifty minutes. Bang- you are there. To make it more difficult, the tickets were one way-on a boat. Ask my mum about boats. She goes green just talking about them.

My chronology is slightly wrong. My dad went first, I suppose to establish him. He was lucky that had what many don’t have, someone to go to – family. Between his cousin Teresa and my special great aunt, he was looked after very well. They gave him a very valuable base . Hence, Nottingham.