Yesterday I had a trip down memory lane; I went to visit my parents at their home in Catisfield. It's been two weeks since I last saw them making it the ideal time for a catch up. Dad picked me up from Fareham railway station and we decided to take a detour on the way to see Mum, driving to my old childhood home, where I grew up forty seven years ago. I have been back since I left there in 1981, but only briefly, in passing. Yesterday we parked the car and had a walk around the area I once called home! Like so many times before, my past has become a great source of comfort during a particularly challenging time in my life.

I have spoken about my childhood home before and written about my experiences in a number of short stories, but today I want to go into a little bit more detail, about a place that holds some very special memories for me. It is important that I spend my time in the UK as positively as possible, after all I have no idea how long I will be living here. Revisiting my youth, is all part of a process, rekindling bonds with family and places that I have ignored for far too long. Seeing the maisonette I grew up in, was just the tonic I needed to carry on pushing forwards while I am here.

My parents moved into Nashe House in 1971, the year I was born. They were the first occupants of a newly built social housing estate on the outskirts of Fareham. The flat was modern, spacious and even had a garden for me to play in, it was the perfect home, after the birth of their first child.

I remember this place with fondness. It was a five minute walk from my school in Tewkesbury Avenue and looked out over a huge, endless expanse of playing fields opposite. Going back yesterday, that particular view has been obscured, fenced off and surrounded by shrubs and bushes. The green gardens that used to be on our doorstep felt smaller than I remember and run down compared to the 1970s. I recognised my old home of course, but it didn't feel the same, it had turned into something different, something alien and a little bit tired.

These maisonettes used to be council owned and were well kept and neatly looked after, painted in the same basic colours, sporting the same metal fencing outside and a shed for every apartment, just beyond the communal washing area, where we used to play as children. Today most of them have been bought by owner occupiers, their individuality visible as Father and I walked around the estate. Paneled fences, austere walls, trellis and a variety of contrasting windows and doors were proudly on display, showing the personality of those who lived inside. The uniformity of the local authority estate had been lost during the intervening years; Nashe house looked jumbled, confused and uncared for, despite now being privately owned.

Nashe House and Hillson House opposite were a revolution in social housing during the early 1970s. Unlike other tower blocks of the era, these four story developments were built of brick, not concrete and were designed to sit sympathetically into the semi rural location it occupied in the Highlands area of Fareham. The spacious homes were designed for small families in mind and are twice as large as similar dwellings today. These were times of innovation in house building, modernity dictated design and although these places lacked character they did offer functional living for the baby boomer generation, rebuilding after the Second World War.

The most enduring aspect of growing up in this area was the community in which we lived. The photograph on the right is a picture of my Fathers old childhood home in Nashe Way, just a few yards around the corner from our flat. This was a larger family home and was one of six original houses built long before Nashe House. My parents had lived in this location all their lives, never moving more than a mile away from this neighbourhood. Even yesterday when I went back, the environment was as quiet as it used to be, just a few more cars parked on the side of the road, but essentially the same kind of atmosphere. This is in stark contrast to the Council estates in larger urban areas!

Just to the left hand side of our old flat there stood a row of old peoples bungalows, all part of this diverse neighbourhood. This is a photograph of Mrs Rogers house, the dear old lady I wrote about in 'Short Stories From My Youth' in an article entitled 'The Fence.' Mrs Rogers was a part of this local community that lived and worked together, looking out for one another; all of us getting on well. This model for modern living was the beginning of a change in attitudes towards different generations; divergent groups of people coexisting as one. There was no violence, crime or anti-social behaviour, just a friendly, welcoming climate of trust and reliance; neighbours leaving their doors open, kids playing outside and a future that looked rosy, compared to the problems of the past!

As a child growing up in the 1970s, I was always outside playing. In front of Mrs Rogers house was a small tree, probably just planted, today standing tall. This was the tree I buried 'my treasure' under to keep it safe. I would put my most prized possessions into Mothers tupperware boxes, dig a hole under this local landmark and hide them, covering them with dirt. Even today I squirrel items away, so I guess this was all part of my psyche, who I am and who I was destined to be.

When I saw this  patch of green, I immediately recognised it and actually felt a little emotional. This area was a big part of my childhood and it wouldn't surprise me, if there is still a tiny plastic box buried just below this tree. It's memories like this that make me feel glad to be home, especially in my old stomping ground. There was something comforting about walking around the roads surrounding our old flat, something a tad nostalgic, triggering long forgotten feelings and memories of growing up around the family and friends I once held dear. Each of them were there with me on Tuesday, playing, laughing, fighting and running around, just as they did forty five years ago; my innocence returned as I made my pilgrimage home.

A short one minute walk away, was the school I attended as a child. This complex has remained largely unchanged. The same buildings are in situ, the layout, as I remember, a monument to sixties architecture echoing the voices of children who walked through the school gates, during those first important years of education.

I was philosophical, deep in thought, briefly looking around the old school buildings, remembering school assemblies, my old teacher Mrs Brooks, singing hymns in the hall, the playground beyond and school dinners, that I still enjoy making today. These were difficult years, but ones I still recall with happiness as I made my first tentative steps in the World. A place of learning has many stories to tell and this is where my narrative began. The name may well be different, but the substance is still the same, an institution that gently, calmly, encouraged me to play!

This rather ordinary block of flats stands largely unchanged since the early 1970s. The Great Storm of 1987 ripped off the flat roofs, now replaced by a more traditional pitched affair. The decorative open walls separating each garden have gone replaced by stark brick barriers, dividing neighbours, who no longer speak, a sign of the end of community perhaps and the beginning of self identity, a progressive act deeply regressive in nature.  The neglected out buildings, car parking areas and communal grounds, nestle awkwardly between the buildings, paint peeling, wood rotting, a shadow of their former self!

My early childhood memories living in Nashe House were positive, full of adventure, surrounded by children my own age. The experiences I had are often the catalyst for my writing; returning home to the place of my birth, gave me further food for thought. Revisiting the past is a calling I have to undertake, so much has happened in between and today I am looking for answers. Why did my life turn out the way it did? What could I have done to change my situation today? and what role, if any, did my childhood growing up in Fareham, have on my future direction? So much has happened  since I lived in this space, the blemishes of time clearly etched on its face, marks of a life all of us have led  navigating the streets we continue to tread!

This morning I had to take Duchess back to the vets in Portsmouth, they wanted to give her another checkup and see if there had been an improvement in her health over the weekend. To be honest, Duchess is still fine in herself anyway, she isn't ill apart from the loss of sight.

The vet took her temperature and looked into her eyes to see if there was any tail tail signs of damage or trauma that may have been caused, but she saw nothing. Talking to her, she suggested we carry on treating her for a virus and there was really very little else they can do. She has prescribed some antibiotic eye drops on top of the other medication she is also taking, in the hope she has a viral infection, rather than something more serious.

We have been told Duchess can see an eye specialist but the costs involved are huge, with a consultation starting at a thousand pounds. So we have to decide what to do next, which isn't going to be easy. All the time she is eating and drinking, there isn't really a problem, so fingers crossed she doesn't deteriorate and continues to make positive progress!

Yesterday, I woke up at 6 am as usual to go to work; whilst heading towards the bathroom, bleary eyed, I noticed our cat Duchess, acting strangely. She was bumping into things and seemed to have a complete lack of co-ordination. Concerned, I picked her up to take a closer look and to my horror, I noticed both her eyes had a cloud like film across their surface, obscuring her vision. She looked rather dazed and confused and was extremely anxious, naturally I was shocked. The day before, she was fine and her usual feisty self, Saturday she was a completely different cat!

I immediately woke up my Aunt and explained the situation; she like me was rather bemused by the whole thing and didn't understand what had happened during the night to cause such a terrible change in Duchess, including what seems to be a complete loss of sight.

While I was at work, Duchess was taken to the vets. After googling her symptoms on the internet, it was clear we had to get her assessed as soon as possible, time was important.

From what I can gather, the vet was as perplexed as we were, not knowing what had happened, but began by carrying out a series of tests to try and establish the cause.

All we know for certain, is she doesn't have Cat AIDS or Felv, that was ruled out within ten minutes of her arriving. In the interim she is being treated for an infection, which is all they can do over the weekend. She has been given a cause of antibiotics and we have to monitor her carefully, in case she becomes even more unwell than she is already. So far, she seems in relatively good spirits and is still eating and drinking as normal, although her eyes are getting more and more cloudy by the hour; all of us are at a loss as to what is really going on!

This morning I have been speaking to specialists on line, chatting in forums and searching the symptoms that Duchess is currently suffering from. I always do this, though it really does no good and just causes more anxiety. I have become aware that white cats are more susceptible to sight and hearing problems, reading about similar cases where cats have gone blind over night. I also understand cats can live long healthy lives without sight but am mindful of any worst case scenario, including a tumour and other forms of cancer. For now we have to wait and keep our fingers crossed. She is a fighter and will do her best to get through this situation, whatever the eventual outcome I'm sure!

A new group has been established on facebook entitled 'Magnum Club - Southampton!' The group, dedicated to all those who used to attend this iconic nightclub in Southampton, has well over three hundred members now and is growing everyday. It was set up by former Manager David Moss, a person I know well from my years living in the city. Members are taken on a journey back in time, familiar faces, stories, photographs and club memorabilia are the backbone of this page. People who used to go to this nightclub in the St Mary's area of Southampton are able to chat with one another and relive their past, spent dancing the night away in a club that focused predominantly on the gay community that it served.

The Magnum opened its doors in 1969; if my memory serves me right, it was the oldest gay club in the Country until it closed in Easter 2004. My journey, as a fully fledged gay man, if there is such a thing, began in 1992, when I first walked through the ominous black doors of the club, on the corner of the road where I used to live. I was a student and had just 'come out' to University friends. I knew the Magnum was a gay venue, but had never actually been inside, until I plucked up the courage one Friday night in November, during my first year living in Southampton.

As I sharply knocked on the door, a rectangle peep hole opened, a voice echoing beyond, asking me if I knew what kind of establishment I was hoping to enter. Avoiding eye contact, I nodded my head and was duly invited inside. This was the first time I had been in any such place and was mesmerized by my first trip into the unknown. I was drunk and got even drunker as the night progressed enjoying my new found freedom  and a long list of phone numbers I had collected by the end of the evening. It wasn't long before I was walking through those doors again and again and again.

The years between 1992 and 2000 were important to me; apart from spells living in Australia, Southampton was my home and The Magnum was a place I frequented regularly, celebrating my sexuality, around like minded individuals. I met my first, second and current long term partner in this place and spent many years getting to know those who called it 'their own!' The sense of belonging in  this club was palpable, friends returning night after night, week after week. The Magnum was at the centre of a large, close-knit  and at times difficult gay community. This club had hosted many events, celebrated innumerable milestones and witnessed a sea change in attitudes towards the very people it served; it was a monument to the struggle every gay person fought to legitimise their place in the World. When one entered the club, one suddenly became the majority, the discrimination disappeared and all of us could be who we damn well wanted to be. A club so steeped in history had become the benchmark for the future all of us enjoy today.

At forty eight years old, I look back with fondness at this period of my life. I met many wonderful personalities at The Magnum, many of whom I remain in contact with today. The impact they had on my life has become more relevant as I have grown older. Dancing, chatting eagerly with new found friends and escaping the harsh realities of 90s Britain was life enhancing and allowed me to discover who I really was. I liked my first experience of the gay scene and the club at its very heart and clambered for more. Of course the more you immerse yourself in a group or institution like The Magnum, the more familiar your colleagues become. The people I met there were akin to family and bonds were formed, relationships blossomed and inevitable arguments and distrust occurred, all part of the course when you live your life in close proximity with others, who also walked through the door of the club at the end of the road. Back then, unlike today, people returned to The Magnum regularly, in the same way I attend a social club, visit my family or knock on my neighbours door. I can't stress enough, just how close everyone was. For a young man in his early twenties, like me, it was so different to what I was used to.

The Magnum gave most of us a sense of purpose in an unforgiving World. Many of those I knew had little or no contact with parents, rather like me. The society we lived in twenty five years ago was very different to that of today. Being gay was still a big deal. Parents seemed at least to be less accepting than those in 2019. The Magnum and its patrons became surrogates for the family many of us didn't have. Human nature dictates our desire for acceptance and this club nurtured that need.

From the downstairs brightly lit bar, playing popular hits of the time, the middle 'chill out' room, flowered wallpaper adorning the walls and the dark, sweat fueled upper dance floor, hardened clubbers oblivious to the World outside, The Magnum catered for all. There are many nights I can't remember, too 'wasted' to recall; equally there are other weekends, still vivid in my memories, pictures flooding back triggered from a recollection, flashback or name on the tip of my tongue. Male strippers, World Aids Day, DJ Mark Dukes, Brian Conley in the bar. A conversation with Danny Le Rue in the toilet, bumping into Sue Pollard in the foyer, all special moments, a part of me and the words I write, vivid, like watching TV!

The Magnum was a one off, never again to be repeated. The gay scene today is banal and sterile in comparison, without purpose or the guts to campaign on issues we still need to conclude. The history of me is rooted in the walls of a club, no longer there, a part of me lingers at the back of the dance floor, in the dark, under the DJ box in the sky and my future, still uncertain as it was in 1995, becomes my focus in middle age, whilst all the time remembering with passion a life lived hedonistically, decadently, unrestrained in a club that opened my mind!

Looking back to 2015, when I first started blogging, I never would have imagined, I would be living in Portsmouth with my Aunt. Back then my life was very different, I barely saw any of my relations, let alone end up pushing my little Cousins around the streets of Fratton, watching them grow, taking their first steps and sitting them on my knee!

I am getting used to family life again after thirty years away from those who really mattered. Mother, Father, Aunts and Cousins, all playing an important role in my life and I am thoroughly enjoying being a piece of something far better than I. Families really do matter, I am a part of them, a bond that is unbreakable.

I used to think it was 'Darrell and I against the World.' well I was wrong, as I have been on so many occasions. Today Darrell and I are still battling hard to survive, dealing with the difficulties, life have always thrown our way, but we also have a family network around us. Despite him being on the other side of the World, that final piece of the jigsaw still missing for now, I am happier than I ever have been and can look forward with hope, not back in fear!

I've had a pretty busy morning at Cancer Research today. Despite the usual selection of fun filled photographs, there were a lot of donations to go through, from munificent members of the public, who continue to do what they can to raise money for the fantastic charity. This evening I wanted to say a few words about donations and encourage readers of 'Roaming Brit' to donate generously.

All charities rely on gifts from the general public, Britain has a proud tradition of Charity shops and a great deal of money is generated from the sale of unwanted items. Cancer Research in Portsmouth is a large unit, the largest such establishment I have ever worked in and consequently has a lot of stock to categorise and catalogue. Volunteers and Managers alike have to assess and evaluate huge amounts of contributions. Eclectic in nature and in many cases unique on the high street, all are given free, in the hope they will realise some much needed capital, so Cancer Research and other institutions can continue to carry out their good work.

Today I was sorting and pricing electrical goods, others were tagging clothing and many more were sorting through general donations. Around eighty percent of donations are sold in store and a well trained and focused work force continue to get the best prices they can. I myself give when I can. When I left for Spain in 2015, I gave most of my belongings away to the British Heart Foundation and when I returned to the UK last year, I donated the rest of my personal effects to 'Easy Horse Care,' a charity I used to work for in Gran Alacant. This Spanish trust, rescues horses and donkeys across the Valencia region of Spain; many are injured or mistreated and badly in need of care. I have never just thrown saleable items in the bin, I know from previous experience, just how important a gift to a charity can be.

Everyone has a personal cause to champion, one that is close to their heart, so I would encourage all of you to give something, as often as you can. I was amazed at the generosity shown by people as I opened sacks today, valuable, freshly laundered and neatly folded clothes. We are also given items we can't sell, things that really should have been disposed of and I would also stress the importance of vetting the items you give. No volunteer wants to sort through a black dustbin liner of soiled garments. We had a few such bags today and it can be stomach churning at times. Nevertheless everyday is like Christmas when you work in a charity shop, you never know just what you will find.

My boss Zerina wanted me to thank everyone for their continued support and pass on her best wishes to all those who read my blog, following our shop in Portsmouth. Writing about my charity work is an important aspect of my life; I know many of you who read 'Roaming Brit,' are also interested in this side of me. I would like to end this entry today, by asking you all to help Cancer Research in its work by donating what you can. Equally if you have some spare time, why not pop along and have a chat with Zerina, Jo or Sam and do some volunteering yourself; you wont be disappointed!

I recently saw this heartwarming video online, it really did bring tears to my eyes. A beautiful dog rescued from almost certain death. The love shown in this beautiful animals eyes was testament to its owners dedication, throwing a lifeline to ensure this little dog had a second chance at life. Named Freddie, the hope is she will now have all the devotion and love she needs to try and live a full life. Rescuing an animal is a truly amazing thing to do and something my partner Darrell and I have done many times ourselves!

Our first rescue cat was Lily, an oriental foreign white. She was a breeding cat, kept in a cage for most of her life and badly in need of a forever home. I saw her story in a local newspaper in 2007 and immediately fell in love with her. I had seen no photographs, just a write up about her situation. After giving birth to her last litter of kittens, she suffered complications from a botched cesarean, leaving her badly scarred; as a result she acquired a hernia, which required a further operation. Her life as a breeding cat had come to an abrupt end and she was about to be euthanised when she was rescued by a local charity.

Lily was a fantastic cat, who Darrell and I loved with all our hearts. We were lucky enough to have her in our life until her death in 2017. She was extremely needy, but wonderfully loving, always close to both of us wherever we went, even travelling with us across Europe to our new home in Alicante. Her final few weeks were terribly upsetting; the bond we had with this amazing intelligent cat was so close and unforgettable, that we found it very difficult to let go. Knowing when the time is right to say goodbye is important. When I rescued her from an uncertain fate in 2007, I knew instantly it was the right thing to do, just as I knew it was time to put her down in 2018.

The memories I have with Lily will be with me always, she was a big part of my life, as any pet is. Her plight pulled at my heart strings and I was so content watching her grow after such a traumatic ordeal. Because of her past, she did have many heath problems, surviving cat flu on several occasions, when she should have died, but she was such a special girl everyone who met her, just couldn't help falling in love. When she died, we had her ashes scattered in an animal sanctuary near our villa in Spain. A part of her will always remain there and it will always be an excuse to return to our old home from time to time. I am glad she was a part of my life, I will always have her close inside, often looking at photographs and remembering the times we all spent together as a family!

A few months before Lily died we rescued two tiny kittens, while living in Spain, they were no more than five or six weeks old and it was touch and go whether or not they would live. Thankfully they survived and we were lucky enough to have Mollie and Wildling for nearly a year. Of course we would have loved to have spent more time with this wonderful brother and sister duo, full of adventure and character, even after being dumped in a garden, trying to survive in the hot Spanish sun.

When I left for Spain in May last year we reluctantly decided to have Mollie and Wildling re-homed. Our destiny was moving firmly away from Gran Alacant and it seemed unfair to uproot these two young cats and take them to a new home in the UK. The last thing we wanted to do was give up the new additions to our family, but we found them both a home together with two of our friends living an hour and a half drive away in the southern Spanish province of Murcia.

We were happy to take on Lily, Mollie and Wildling, they were all very special pets. Every rescue animal has a story to tell and suffers from the memories of a past they would rather forget. They did have their own set of problems and we did have to dedicate more time to their rehabilitation, but the love they gave in return was so precious, it was worth all the pain and heartache.

If you are thinking about re-homing a rescue cat or dog, don't think twice, you will not regret it. The time we had with all our pets was rewarding and special, there was never a dull moment. When Darrell returns from Australia we hope to once again settle down and welcome some new rescue cats into our life, until then, it is great to continue reading stories of others, doing what they can to help animals in need, just like those in the video above. Animals do indeed make a home; my life certainly wouldn't have been the same without them!

Yesterday was a very emotional day for me and everyone else who attended the funeral of my Aunt Carol. Carol had been battling Cancer for five years, her large, growing family keeping her going through some terrible, dark days. With their love and support, she won many fights, but ultimately Cancer took hold and she died peacefully at home, surrounded by her loved ones.

Cancer is indeed a terrible scourge, half of us will get it at some point in our lives. Watching someone you love suffer the ravages of this dreadful disease, opens your eyes to just what other people endure every single day. I became a volunteer at Cancer Research because of my Aunt; her struggle became my struggle, not in the same way, but in a way that I could help raise awareness and funds for a cause that I now champion in her name. Volunteering should be a personal journey, connecting us with groups and organisations that resonate with our own sense of purpose; I am glad to be doing my bit to help others currently confronting this dreadful illness!

Aunty Carols funeral was about a celebration of her life, encompassing everyone who knew her. Her final farewell began at Holy Trinity Church in Fareham, my home town, where I met my Father for the Service of Remembrance. The Church has major significance for my family - It was where Mum and Dad were married and where my Aunt and her family also celebrated milestones in their life. It is a beautiful church steeped in history and was packed with familiar faces, noticeable, as we took our place next to my Aunts, Uncles and Cousins.

The service was powerful, touching and moving; the music brought back many memories of times spent with all my kinfolk in years gone by. Her daughters Tracy and Carrie-Anne spoke eloquently about their Mother, voices echoing around the hall, words spoken, striking a chord with all of us, sat in the pews. The Reverend Sally Davenport spoke poignantly about Carols life, her childhood, her husband my Uncle Terry and their large family, all the while encouraging memories to resurface, as if it was yesterday. Finally my Cousin Tim sang his favourite song 'You'll Never Walk Alone,' as his Mum lay peacefully in the white wicker casket in front of the alter, adorned with flowers and memories from a happy, fruitful, eventful life.

Te Revd Davenport spoke of my Aunts dedication to her brood. Carol never went on fancy holidays, in fact she rarely left her home town, she enjoyed being surrounded by those who mattered. These were words I had heard before, when referring to other family members. Maybe it is generational or maybe just unique to my relations, but they never travelled the World as I do today, they never wanted to see the Great Barrier Reef, the Leaning Tower of Pizza , Pyramids or Great Wall of China, as I strive to do; they were just content with the joy and laughter that families bring, in a house full of memories, in a home full of cheer! This was a service that made me realise just what matters in life, close bonds with those I love is important, more so now that ever, material gain and pursuit of wealth just isn't on my list of priorities, reconnecting with my past is the only substance that I desire.

After a Service of Committal at Portchester Crematorium, we went to the Cams Hall Golf Club for refreshments. I spent a good few hours in the company of family, that I rarely see these days, except on occasions like this. Talking about their lives, living in different parts of the Country, far removed from my childhood growing up in Fareham was a joy. The only positive aspect of the day for me, if there was such a thing, was the fact that all of us came together as a unit to celebrate my Aunts life. She would have been happy to know that we were all there together, chatting, reminiscing and reliving moments special to her.

The older I get the more funerals I am bound to attend, this is a sad fact of life. It is however a reminder of just how fragile and finite all of our lives are. For my Aunt to depart this mortal coil, surrounded by so many characters, all of whom played a role in her life, is testament to her ability to bring people together. It is a reminder of the love she was shown by all those who knew her, in life and in death, it is a tribute to the respect she was accorded...A Mother, an Aunt, a Grandmother, a fiend!