After getting home from work yesterday evening, I spent half an hour downloading some music to my laptop. The process was simple and straight forward, something many of us do regularly, adding to our digital portfolio, built up over the internet, without leaving the comfort of our own home. Attaching music to our collection has never bean easier; from youtube, spotify and amazon, the number of apps and internet sites selling music has exploded in recent times. Buying our favourite tune is simpler than buying a pint of milk, yet I yearn for a past that no longer exists, a time when buying a 'record' or 'CD' was a part of growing up, a right of passage and the beginning of adulthood!

I bought my first record in the early 1980s, Karma Chameleon; I think it was about 1983 and it was as memorable then as it is now. On a Saturday afternoon, I took the bus from Thorni Avenue, where I lived in Fareham to the centre of town; it was also the first time I had been allowed out on my own at the tender age of twelve years old. I can remember the day well, so well in fact, I actually took a photograph of the bus stop. I was a budding photographer then, as I am now, documenting every aspect of my life. For me being able to get on a bus on my own was important, it finally allowed me the freedom to do what I wanted, without Mum and Dad being around. On that weekend, I was able to explore the town centre, meet friends for a drink and act in a way I had never acted before. I felt like an adult, proudly walking through Fareham precinct, head held high, looking through shop windows trying to find something to buy with my weekly pocket money!

After that weekend, there was no stopping me. Each Saturday I would make the same journey and navigate my way to 'Our Price' to look at the latest singles. Growing up in the seventies and eighties was a special time, unlike today the music charts and the top forty were an important part of teenage life and like most people, I would listen to the radio on a Sunday waiting for the latest chart positions to be announced. Along with millions of others, I would place my C90 cassette in my Bush portable recorder and tape the latest entries, playing the 'chart show' again and again throughout the week.

Together with 'Top Of The Pops' on the television, the latest hit singles were a national institution, everyone took an interest in the biggest hits of the day and it was a part of my life I look back on with fondness. Music does define an era, the way people dressed, acted and the subject matter, important at critical milestones in all of our lives. It is with regret that I now see music shops closing down on high streets across the country, because these were the places that made my generation who they are today.

Like most people I had a large collection of records and later CD's and like my peers, I no longer have these tangible objects, displayed neatly on shelves in my lounge at home. I ripped all of my CD's and recorded all of my cassette tapes to a digital format long ago and the only evidence I have of these items are lists of data on my laptop hard drive, a far cry from my huge collection amassed over many years in the 1980s. 90s and 2000s. In thirty years, the market for music has changed out of all proportion and the luxury of walking down the High Street and buying a piece of history is long gone, along with the childhood I once knew.

The changes that have occurred in all areas of society over the 36 years since I bought my first LP have been dramatic. No longer do we have record players, large HiFi systems and cassette tape players, today we have a small MP3 player, an app on a mobile phone or a file on a PC or tablet. Most people, including me don't even download songs but prefer to stream music from providers online. The way we do things today are very different to yesterday and I have my head firmly stuck in the past. I enjoyed the way things were and probably because of my age hark back to a time that I regard as better, more fulfilling and innocent. We have progressed in the World technologically, bombarded with perfect images and encouraged to buy the latest fashions or subscribe to the latest youtube sensation, that mirrors all those before, we have become part of a generic, banal World, where everything, including music and musicians just look and sound the same. I miss the old days and will do everything I can to keep them alive, as part of this blog. Next time you download a song, maybe think about popping into your local music shop buying a CD and doing what you can to keep the last vestiges of this industry alive. Without your support it wont be long before the final music shop closes and another block of flats is built in its place...Is that what you really want?

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 many 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!

It's been a funny old day today. I have been going through old memories yet again, throwing away documents I have had lying around for years. I came across the old deeds for our house in France, the one we bought seventeen years ago. Of course we sold the property, along with the others we owned a long time ago.

whilst rifling through memories I was transported back to very different times; for the most part better and happier days, during a period when Darrell and I were doing remarkably well. Of course life takes many different paths and our time together has been somewhat adventurous; as many ups than downs; all part of the course when you are in a relationship such as ours. To be honest we have done so much in our life, that there hasn't really been a time we have stood still for more than five minutes, let alone settle down for a while. As people we have always liked to experience new things, one of the reasons we moved to Spain, yet there still seems to be something missing, something I can't quite put my finger on.

When I look at my family, Mother and Father in particular, I am reminded just how far they came in life. They told me much about growing up just after the Second World War; the 'Baby Boomer' generation. Like most people at the time, they struggled; there was very little money around and they fought hard to keep their heads above water. Today, despite the setbacks, Mum and Dad are very happy with their life, retired at 70 years old, enjoying the fruits of their labours. The thing is, Mother and Father never left the UK, never went on a holiday and never saw the World; very different to the life I have had.

I never used to understand why they chose to remain a part of the small village community and not widen their horizons, but then I never really understood the true meaning of contentment. I have always had a restless mind, wanting to achieve everything at once, all or nothing and no going back; as my old college lecturer said to me, I had a rather 'Do or die' attitude to life. Well yes I suppose I did, but things have changed and I finally want what my parents have; security, family, familiarity and a sense of well-being, something I don't have at the moment. Today I feel a little bit lost, it's true and I am trying to find the correct path to navigate, to restore my self worth, something I lost many years ago.

I do have many wonderful memories and of course share as many of them with you, my readers as I can. When you have lived the life we have, it is good to communicate your experiences to a wider audience. Actually since I began blogging three years ago, I have enjoyed reminiscing with family and friends, reliving the odd recollection I had forgotten about and putting pen to paper analysing just what was going on in my life at the time. This has been a life enhancing process and has allowed me to grow as a person, whilst remembering things I had forgotten long ago.

As I went through some old letters today, I came across one describing events before Darrell and I got together, in 1992, during my years at University. My ex-partner and I had travelled to London for the weekend, to help celebrate a friends Birthday. While we were away the decorators were in artexing the ceiling in our new flat. On our return, we were left aghast, at the mess that was left behind, plaster everywhere, on new furniture and carpets; safe to say, neither of us were very happy. Without this written account, I wouldn't have remembered the incident. As I read the account, I was transported back to the early 90s, where more and more memories came flooding back; a comforting journey I needed right now!

I was a terrible hoarder in the past, having many collections of everything you can imagine. The biggest advantage to my 'squirreling' nature, is the cache of documents, cards, letters and photo's I have also amassed. These are the 'memory joggers,' the links to the past that I need to hold on to, in order to move forwards in life. I have enjoyed clearing away the cobwebs; my mind feels unclouded; my past is more relevant now than it ever was!

A Very Clear Choice!

I began attending Fareham Park School half way through my first year as a junior in January 1969.  Those months were a blur; the only thing of significance that shone through was reading about the Griffins.  I loved these books and they grabbed my attention.  I believe I started a game on the playground, as I got bored at playtime.  One had to travel only on the painted netball lines and could only change directions at a junction.  When I played this with friends, one would have to try and catch the other person.

I was in Mrs Harts’ class for the second year of junior school and have only two memories .... the blue National Health Glasses I had to wear to correct my stigmatism and the boy who sat next to me, who always seemed to step into dogs muck and then scrap it on the bar under the desk.  It smelt foul and was very unpleasant, not just for me but for the rest of the class.  I remember Mrs Hart getting very upset about the smell; we were told to own up to who had stepped in the dogs muck again; no-one put their hand up.  So then there was the search at the end of the day; Mrs Hart went around table by table, searching and letting each table go; we were always last.  The boy would get yelled at; maybe she wanted him to own up at the beginning. For sure after repeated performances of this, she would know who had done it?  I would sweat it out, hoping that she wouldn’t think that I had done it (although I think I did do it once by accident).  Funny how I would think I would be in trouble for something I hadn’t done.  Maybe I got into trouble at home a lot, for things that I was supposed to have done?  I do remember the boy’s name but I wouldn’t like to hurt his feelings.

Life in Mr. Hebron’s class in the third year of junior school was going along well, bar the milk that we had to drink before going out to play.  Oh that milk was so foul.  It may have been cold when it arrived, but by the time we had to drink it, it was warm and oh it made me gag!  I think it was the result of a National Programme to ensure good nutrition for all children.  I was fortunate in that my parents were able to provide good food for my sister and I and that was one of their priorities. Other children were less fortunate; their parents had other values; the paycheck was spent down the pub, before the bills were paid and the family was provided for.  The idea to help provide some of children’s nutritional needs in school with the Milk Programme and free school dinners, is admirable.  I advocate the community helping each other and not deserting the people in times of need.

Playtime was fun, with the other girls in my class. We played two ball on the walls of the school; continued to play the ‘line’ game on the painted netball courts on the playground; and learned how to clap our hands in different ways with each other, at the same time as singing small songs, such as:

     “A sailor went to sea, sea, sea,
     To see what he could see, see, see.
     But all that he could see, see, see,
     Was the bottom of the deep blue sea, sea, sea.”

This one ditty was pretty apt, as we lived in community where a lot of the men were in the Navy.  We were used to our dads going off to sea or being deployed in Scotland or Plymouth for periods of time.

Then half way through the year, things changed.  They changed because I made a choice.  A choice that I would not change if I had the opportunity over again.  A new girl came to school - half way through the year - just like I had in my first year at junior school.  She and her family had moved into the area.  Others seemed uncomfortable around her.  She wore glasses and was socially awkward at the time.  She sat at our table;  I think I was conscious of how other people felt around her, but I did not feel that way.  Something inside of me knew that something was going to change, if I continued to be friendly to her and become her friend; I felt like it was the right thing to do.

One day we suffered at our table trying to down that warm, off-tasting milk, chatting, and then went out to the playground together.  As we walked out, the girls that I had always played with, hindered our path and confirmed my gut feeling, that things were not going to be the same ever again.  You know, I have never regretted that decision to make friends with the ‘unpopular’ girl.  She was an excellent friend whilst we lived in Fareham and then went our separate ways after college.  My only regret is having lost contact with her when I moved out to the States.  I moved, then moved again and she was moving at the same time and we lost each other’s address.  I wish she had written to me at my mum’s address; she still lives in the same home we moved into in 1969.  Her parents had moved away from their home and I didn’t know where they had gone.

My friend and I hung out together even when we weren’t in the same class.  I went around to her house often.  We would type on our typewriters writing story after story together and then reading them to each other.  I was fascinated by the organ in her house.  She lived near Blackbrook Park which was a decent walk from my home.  It was safe enough in those days, that I could walk to her house by myself, at such a young age.    There is no way I would ever have let my children do that same walk on their own, at the age I was doing it.  My friend had two older sisters that were twins; they were about twenty years older than my friend.  Both her sisters and her mum were very eccentric and flamboyant; her dad was a quiet man.  It was quite intriguing for me to watch them interact and a little intimidating, as I was not used to the behaviours  and didn’t really know how to respond to them.

One of the things that I remember doing at school with my friend, was sitting on the field in the summer, near Fareham Park Infant School and eating our packed lunch.  She always had two or three packets of crisps with her and was always generous enough to share with me.  My mum only bought plain crisps then; sometimes cheese and onion or salt and vinegar but mostly plain.  I recently realized that my mum actually likes plain, lightly salted crisps the best, that’s what she buys as a treat for herself when she comes out to stay with us.  Now that I have twigged they are her favourite, I’ll get them in for her.  My school friend introduced me to smokey bacon, prawn cocktail and Bovril crisps.  It was very exciting for me to try these.  Crisps are one of the things that I miss very much in the States.  The chips out here don’t have the same texture or flavour.

I remember sitting on the grass in the playing field, eating Bovril crisps with her, the day after my mum had the 'birds and the bees' chat with me, the night before.  I was ten years old; I remember feeling quite bewildered and unfocused that day, staring at others playing on the field but not really seeing them; thinking what my mother had told me was quite bizarre and could it possibly be true?  I think my mum had to have the ‘chat’ with me because that year, we had  several movies at school ranging in subjects from accident prevention, germs, and having babies.  Actually the films were really good and I wish my children had seen them.  I still am conscious of not leaving things on the stairs in case someone falls over them going up or down  and all the germs that one can leave on a dish cloth!

My final year at Fareham Park Junior school saw me in Miss Trill’s class as a fourth year.  Miss Trill, who was affectionately called ‘Bird Seed’ or ‘Budgie Seed’ was an older lady about forty (well that’s what she seemed to be to me).  She had very dark hair and I was a little afraid of her.  I learned a few years later that she had married, which was a great surprise to me.  I must have had some presumptions about who is marriageable, for it to have been such a surprise.  I’m quite embarrassed to have had those thoughts all these years later; why shouldn’t she have the chance to be happy?  In that class, I remember a humanities system that we used. I can’t remember the name of it, but it was color coded.  As you got through the levels in each color, you moved onto another color, with a greater degree of difficulty.  You had to read the text on the card and then answer questions on it.  It was nice to get onto the levels that were a little more challenging, but I also remember getting stuck and not having a resource to go to.  Miss Trill was a little bit fierce.  I remember once that we were being taught how to address envelopes.  She taught us that it had to be the following format:

      Mr. and Mrs. intials surname
      number and name of street/
     Town
     County
    Postcode

We were tasked to address the envelope to our parents.  I checked my work two or three times before I stood in the queue to show Miss Trill.  I was pretty shocked and humiliated for her to tell me that it was wrong.  Mystified I returned to my desk.  I read it and reread it; I couldn’t see where it was wrong.  I knew I had to go and show her again and this time try and ask her how it was wrong.  Shaking, I stood in line;  she was very quick to tell me that it was still wrong.  I disliked the sharpness in her voice, but I had to ask;  I knew that she would be annoyed.  I plucked up the courage and asked her what was wrong with it.  Sharply she looked at me and said ‘You have put ‘Mr’ twice;’ I was stunned; why hadn’t I seen that I had done that?  I walked back to my desk very cross with myself, very embarrassed and humiliated.  Let’s just say that Miss Trill’s voice was loud and sharp.  How could I have missed that?  Once back at my desk, I looked at the envelope again;  I got ready to correct it, But I looked at it and looked at it; I could not see that I had written ‘Mr.’ twice.  Then the light bulb went on!  My dad’s initials are M.R.  That’s why it looked like I had written ‘Mr’ twice.  So now I have to line up again and let this scary teacher know that it is correct!  I know I was shaking in my shoes .....

The fourth year also brought more recognition of being part of a team.  In Fareham Park Junior School, every class in each year were divided into teams, which were named after the patron saints of Britain:  St. Andrew, the patron saint of Scotland - colour blue; St. David, the patron saint of Wales - colour yellow; St. George, the patron saint of England - colour red; and St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland - colour green.  Each of these patron saints have a day during the year when they are remembered.  If you were in the Brownies or the Cubs, you could wear your uniform to school on those days.  I was always in St. David’s house during my years of school.  Some students were put in different houses during their sojourn there, but I was always in St. Davids and St. David is who I supported.  We worked in teams getting house points for work that we had done.  During my years, St. Davids and St. George were always the top two houses for points and were always in competition with each other each week.  Even in sports we were in our teams.  I kind of let my team down in PE as my arms and legs didn’t seem to coordinate, unless I was in the swimming pool.  We played a lot of rounders.  I remember sports day.  I also played netball.

The other wonderful thing that I liked to do in junior school was country dancing.  We used to do it in class and then we had some extra time to do it at lunchtime; after everyone had their school dinner. Now school dinners, that’s another thing.  I got chosen to help serve the school dinners; I loved it when I was putting the jam or sugar on someone’s rice pudding, but felt awful when I had to serve out the mince.  The mince at school was terrible. I don’t know how they could cook it so badly; it made me retch; it was even worse than the warm milk!  I helped serve schools dinners during my fourth year; during that time, the school kitchens were renovated and they had to bring in an outside caterer.  Their food was totally amazing and I often would go up for seconds.  Because I served school dinners, I also got to have one free.  This meant a change from the sandwiches that I used to bring in - or worse yet, the cold toast and jam.  I don’t know why my mum would think that cold toast with jam on it would be tasty.  I have always liked hot toast and still do.  Love my food hot not tepid! Or in the case of toast, cold .....

Anyway, back to country dancing; I loved to do the Victoria Reel and the other dances.  Because I was tall for my age and there were a lack of boys, I often had to be the boy in these dances, but I loved to dance them; there was something satisfying about dancing with a group of people, in a systematic way.

The final thing I thought I would mention about junior school was that we took the eleven plus.  For those of you not familiar with this, there was an intelligence test that was given in the fourth year of junior school.  From the results of this test, students were then filtered into three types of schools. If you did well in the test, you went to a grammar school when you left junior school.  If you didn’t do well, depending on other aspects of the score, you either went to technical or secondary school for the next five years.  I did read somewhere, that there was another test given earlier in junior school, so this combined score contributed to the decision of where, your post junior education would be.  The tripartite education system had been existence since the mid 1940’s.  I do remember sitting in the school hall taking this examination.  

Now I could get on my hobby horse about this, but I will leave that for another time.  Suffice it to say, that I would have gone to the grammar school if they hadn’t built the new Fareham Park Comprehensive.  I’m actually glad that I attended this school and this type of education, as it suited my learning style and my personality better.  We were the first year through this school, being built around us as we went.  This was really good for science, as teachers could dissect the rats they caught on the building site (so glad they didn’t ask us to do that)!  We were quite fascinated with the pregnant rat.  We also got to see a pair of cow’s lungs; and thank goodness for clarinet lessons - as I missed them cracking open the fertilized eggs and seeing the headless chick running around.  I felt so sad for the chicks that died and the cut up rats.

We had sky blue PE skirts, tracksuits, white collar tops for PE and black leotards for gymnastics and dance.  We used one of the larger classrooms for PE; by the third year we had the gym, the running track and the dance/drama studio.

Have to say that my time at Fareham Park Comprehensive School was pretty boring!  Most of the time, I read the book that I had brought in, as teachers struggled to make my class quiet enough to teach.  I was in class K through out my five years there; my friend was in P. 

The first couple of years there were fine, but by the third year, I was getting bullied.  Girls from my class would wait for me and try and push me down the stairs and hit me with wooden spoons in cooking.  My mum came up to the school and had a word with my tutor.  She told them that I would only take it for so long and then probably lose my temper and someone would get hurt; she didn’t want me to get into trouble for that.  I’m thankful for my mum’s confidence in me, but I wouldn’t have actually lost my temper; I wouldn’t have really known what to do in those kind of situations.  I knew that  I didn’t want to go to school and that I was frightened and had no control over the situation.  I was so glad to move on from that school and go to college; academically it was more satisfying and I felt safer.  Ironically, the girls that bullied me were the first ones to come to me for help when we were doing our ‘O’ levels and CSE’s.  

Sadly, the bullying has appeared in its multiple forms again and again in my life.  Even this last year, it has reared its ugly head in the workplace.  I know that wherever I go, it will happen again, so this time I am not going to run away from it and am endeavouring to change my behaviour in response; again, another clear choice.  Hopefully, it will have excellent benefits as did my choice to be friends with the girl in my third year at junior school.

#Fareham Park Junior School#

I am currently writing a book about my school days, living in Fareham. In 1976 I started at Fareham Park Infants School in Tewkesbury Avenue, Hill Park. I was a pupil for two years assigned to Mrs Brooks class.  I then moved up to Fareham Park Junior School, just a hop skip and a jump away from my first institution.

Sadly my two old schools are no longer there, well not in the same guise, so getting information on the period 1976 - 1982 is proving a bit of a challenge. I have been in contact with the new academies, who have promised to do help dig out old records and photographs from the time.

As part of this book, I would like to ask pupils and teachers who were in attendance at Fareham Park Infants and Juniors during the six years I was there, for their help. I am looking for anyone who has old photographs and doesn't mind donating them, for the inclusion in this new publication. Of course I don't mean physically handing the photo's over, but scanning them into a PC and sending me a digital copy. Also I would like to ask ex pupils and friends, if they have any stories and recollections they would like to share. I want to include personal memories from you, the readers, throughout the book and will of course be delighted to include a reference to you, or not, depending on your wishes.

As a writer I think it is important to document every aspect of my attainment; I write about many different subjects but find real life the most rewarding. With your help I feel sure this book will get the recognition it deserves.

If you want to take part in this 'school project,' please send your digital copies and comments to:

You can also fill in your details, leaving a comment in the box below and I will endeavour to get back to you as soon as possible.

Thanks to everyone for taking the time to read this blog entry today, I know how busy you all are. In my blog 'Spanish Views,' there is a section entitled 'Short Stories From My Youth.' I am currently showcasing various aspects of my life, growing in in the 1970s and 80s; my own personal account of the time. Please take a look; it may give you some ideas for your own anecdotes, jog your memory or just take you back to an altogether innocent time. Whatever you do, please keep reading 'Spanish Views,' you make the blog the success it is today!

We found the old Sky box the other day. The one we used to use for television, when we lived in sunny Southampton. We have an extremely large satellite dish on our roof; about four times as big as the usual ones back in the UK; I like to call it, an Expat Dish!  I plugged it into the socket on the wall and hey presto, I started receiving SKY TV. Not only that, but the settings, tuned to the Meridian region, on the south coast of England were still in place. It was good to see the news from back home, also the advertisements aimed solely at those living in Hampshire. The Mayflower Theatre popped up, promoting its latest production of Miss Saigon, not a show I have seen myself, but it brought back many memories of happy times spent at this fantastic Playhouse.

Originally the Mayflower was called The Empire Theatre and was opened in 1928. At the time it was the largest theatre on the south coast of England. With the onset of moving pictures and dwindling admissions, The Empire became a cinema of sorts, popular among local residents from 1933; by 1942, The Empire was mainly used for viewing the latest films of the day. Between 1950 and 1986, The Empire became the Gaumont, still used mainly as a cinema, although very much in decline, as television became the popular pastime of the day. The Gaumont also hosted many of the musical greats of the era, but was still failing to make money. Several applications were made to turn it into a bingo hall and a ten pin bowling alley, all were refused. In 1983 Southampton City Council bought the building, refurbishing it at a cost of three million pounds, turning it into a charitable trust. This was also the same year it became a grade II listed building. After major renovation work between 1986-87, the new Mayflower opened on 24 February 1987. Initial audience figures were disappointing, although with the introduction of major pantomimes, audience turnout climbed steeply, making it the popular venue it is today!

Darrell and I have attended many presentations at this grand old theatre, including Taboo, The Goodbye Girl, Evita and my favourite Psychic Sally. All of the performances were exceptional. I always enjoyed dressing up in my finery, watching the latest performance, in the best seats we could get. We have of course seen many West End productions too and both enjoy going to the cinema; something we haven't done since moving to Spain; rather disappointing for me. This isn't surprising; living on the Costa Blanca, it isn't usual to enjoy British theatre. Nevertheless it shouldn't stop us attending Spanish shows or indeed Italian opera when we can!

Alicante does have its own theatre, The Teatro Principal, which hosts cultural events, concerts, dance and opera. The 160 year old neo classical building is well worth a visit and does on occasion show English speaking productions. There are also many other venues up and down the Coast, as well as local amateur dramatic society productions, popular among the Expat community. As a keen theatre goer myself, I need to spend more time enjoying these shows and will make a point of doing so in the future.

Many of the facilities Darrell and I took for granted, living in Southampton are no longer on our doorstep. Living in Gran Alacant, we have access to fantastic beaches and scenery, but there are not the English speaking activities  we used to love; from the cinema, theatre to concerts and bookshops. Today both of us rely heavily on the internet to keep up to date with the latest movies or books and it is a continual source of angst, that we can't just walk down the high street and purchase a novel or buy a ticket for the afternoon matinee. This is a fact of life living here and you do eventually accept the differences. I can at least look back on  past experiences  with fondness and could of course fly back, stay in Southampton for a few days, attending a play if I so wish. The difficulties of Expat life are not insurmountable, you can overcome most disadvantages. I do miss the UK everyday, but I am more than happy to be living in Spain; the benefits of our life here, outweigh the negative aspects of living back home!

I've been feeling a bit nostalgic lately; it's been nearly two years since I left Southampton, for a new life in Spain! In this new section of my blog entitled 'memories of Home' I want to explore the city where I once lived, on the South Coast of England; a place I moved to in 1992, when I attended University; I continued to live there for nearly twenty five years. I have many special memories from that time, that I wish to share with the readers of 'Spanish Views!'  I continue to keep in contact with those I knew back home and am delighted, that so many have expressed a desire, to post photographs and entries, describing this rapidly changing city, keeping me up to date with the latest developments, as I live on the other side of Europe.

'Memories of Home,' is a way of safeguarding my links to a city, that has a special place in my heart. It will encompass views and photo's from those who still live there, including historic facts and places of interest, as well as my own recollections, from a generation, so firmly rooted in my past. Southampton made me who I am and continues to influence my future. I hope you enjoy this dip into city life!

If any of my readers from Southampton would like to take part or contribute to 'Memories of Home,' please contact me using the form below and I will endeavour to include you in my blog. All contributions welcome; history, muses, local interest and personal stories!

In the year 2000, Darrell and myself moved into Wyndham Court, in central Southampton, next to the Mayflower Theatre. This large social housing development holds a lot of memories for us both; I thoroughly enjoyed living there. Imagine my delight when I discovered an old friend, Dominic Donkin, had just moved there himself. Immediately I asked him if he could take a few photographs of the old place, which he duly did yesterday, dragging himself out of bed on his day off.  In today's entry, I want to talk about the memories I have for this building, its history and importance in Southampton. Wyndham Court is a grade II listed building, and rightly so; this monument to Brutalist architecture is of great significance to the city and Britain as a whole.

I have always been a advocate of Brutalist architecture, having become interested in its place, within the modern history of Britain, after watching the film 'Beautiful Thing,' set in Thamesmead, London, a mecca for modern building techniques and experimental architecture. Despite an outward bleak appearance, the structure and utilitarian purpose of these buildings, were perfect for housing the baby boomers of post war Britain. I lived in one of the apartments at Wyndham Court myself; they were large, spacious, with stunning views over the Southampton skyline.
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Wyndham Court is situated in the heart of the city, having been designed in 1966 by architect, Lyons Israel Ellis. Southampton City Council wanted a building that reflected the culture and history of the city, which it does perfectly. It was intended to evoke the cruise ships that sailed to and from the port of Southampton, which could be seen from the windows of this epochal building. The construction of Wyndham court was completed in 1969, a record three years after the initial design was submitted. Located near Southampton Central train station, it comprises 184 flats, shops and cafes. 122 of the units are two or three bedroom apartments, 61 are one bedroom flats or bedsits. Like most building projects of the time, Wyndham Court was designed to house a wide demographic, as it still does today. 

This marvel of social housing won an architectural design award in 1966 and was grade II listed in 1998, a contentious decision lambasted my many, including the local press. English Heritage described the building as 'sculptural and impressive and remains a favourite with writers and architects alike.  I have always found this building iconic and pleasing to the eye, holding it in high regard as one of my favourite pieces of Brutalist architecture of the time.

Today Wyndham court remains an important housing development, loved among local residents. Many of the flats have been sold off to tenants, since 'right to buy' was introduced by Margaret Thatcher in the 1980s. Two bedroom properties can sell for the reasonable price of 125,000 pounds, relatively good value for money for a home in the centre of Southampton; offering far more space, than their modern counterparts and close proximity to businesses and facilities, utilised in city living.

Wyndham Court has lasted the test of time, leaving an impression on the history of Southampton that will endure the generations. It remains a popular residential area of choice today, as much as it did fifty years ago when it was built. This building was constructed to house the professionals of the time and despite the changing demography of residents living in the building, today in 2017, professionals are once again moving to this sought after area of the city.

Like me, Dominic Donkin is happy to have secured an apartment in Wyndham Court; I hope he will be very happy there. So much architecture of post war Britain has been disparaged and in many cases demolished to make way for more aesthetically pleasing construction; I am just glad Wyndham court has remained, standing tall, to continue to tell the story, of life in this vibrbant part of the city.

In this section, entitled 'Memories of Home,' I will be recalling some memorable times, spent with old friends, back home in Southampton. As an Expat, who has started a new life in Spain, I believe it is important to touch on circumstances that brought us, myself and Darrell, to Gran Alacant. A chain of events, that when added together, made us realise that our future was no longer in Britain. Some of these times were happy, others traumatic, but combined, they fired the trigger of separation!

Christmas 2014, was probably the best Christmas I have ever had; I say probably, because if truth be told, I remember very little about it, but always recall, with fondness, chuckling to myself, the vague memories of that special festive time. All the best occasions are the ones you don’t prepare for; the spontaneous oddities that happen from time to time, like a whirlwind of laughter and celebration, still very much alive and kicking in my memory box, along with that period, in 1997, when Princess Diana died; that’s how special, that Christmas was to me!

I had invited my Voluntary Deputy Manager and her son round for Christmas Dinner. Denise was a fantastic lady, someone, who was giving up her time, free to help Oxfam in its endeavours. She was a godsend for me and was also a dear friend; always supportive, honest and true to herself. In truth I had spent a lot of money, making sure Denise had a Christmas to remember. Her circumstances were not the best and she was finding it very difficult coping with life at that time, rather like I am now.

There was me expecting a quiet, ‘normal’ Christmas; how wrong could I possibly be. I was trying to do the traditional Christmas thing. There was the biggest fuck off turkey I could find; I had made cola ham and there was every trimming you could imagine. Posh crackers, an abundance of alcohol and I had even made my own gravy, not the Bisto granules of the past. That’s what it’s all about, Right? We ate dinner and I felt like a bloated whale, as one usually does on these occasions, so laid down on the sofa, to ease the pain. Naturally I fell asleep; by the time I had woken up, Denise and her son had left and myself and Darrell could settle down for a quiet evening, watching Christmas television. I had always invited someone round to my home at Christmas, who had nowhere to go. For me it was a bit of a tradition, that I had done for many years. It felt just like a normal family Christmas, like the ones from the past.

When I refer to a normal family, I am really referring to my Gay family. These were the ones who were there for me, year in and year out. A community of people, who had suffered the same misfortunes and experienced the same happiness, together, as a close knit group. A group that I miss every day, I have to admit!

As I drifted in and out of sleep on the sofa, my mad wayward daughter, our Lee, sheepishly phoned up. We hadn’t spoken for quite a while, having fallen out over her insane ways and that yo yo relationship of hers, that I never approved of and would publically denounce and attack at any given opportunity, at the drop of a hat, causing more problems for our Lee. Can I just mention, that when I refer to ‘SHE’, I am talking about a male in the main; it is a gay thing, a term of endearment, whatever you want to call it, an affectionate reference if you will. Just in case of any confusion!

It was the season of goodwill to all men; actually I draw the line at all, what I really mean is, most men and women, if you want to be particularly PC about it. Me, being the charitable person that I am, told our Lee, she could come round for the evening. He arrived a little worse for wear, with what I assumed was her latest ‘special friend’, bearing gifts of joy, seemingly left fermenting in a darkened room somewhere!

Our Lee tried to get one over me, as she always did; we shouted for quite a bit, scratched each others eyes out, in a drunken tirade of expletives, that made no sense at all and generally spat venom at each other, in that way, only gays know how to do. She had taken something, this wasn’t normal, our Lee was happy, this was not the gay daughter I knew. Our Lee has her problems, which are vast and many, and it seems she had discovered the joys of ‘Happy Pills;’ to alleviate the pain of depression; a heavy dose of medication that was akin to the excess of Christmases past, spent in car parks dancing the night away, until the police arrived to remove us.

Our Lee had brought presents abound; more consumption with low expectations. You can imagine my surprise at how swimmy I got. ‘I’ll just have half, no more, stop right there, that’s enough. I don’t like to overdo things these days, with me ailments, age and disabilities. That was it, I don’t remember much thereafter.

Now my house has always been an open house. That isn’t necessarily a good thing. Sometimes I have seen things, I wish I hadn’t, but when you are as accommodating as I it goes with the territory; you accept sometimes, the bad follow the good. I obviously don’t enjoy strange behaviour 24/7, but it has happened, especially when out Lee plies one, with Christmas cheer. Lee has got me in some states in the past, but to be brutally honest, I was pickled. The sherry trifle had gone to my head and things happened, no daughter should see. She had her little camera, to record such fond memories for the family album, clicking away, getting all the best angles and had all the best lighting. She knows how to make the best of what she has, that one!

Things happened inbetween, oh how we will laugh about it in the future. At the time it all seemed a bit weird and our Lee left in a rage. As we always do, both of us fell out and were out for each others blood. In these situations, I would always make things worse. Constantly phoning her, shouting and screaming down the line, demanding she came back. Lee for her part, one of the worst liars I have ever known, made excuse after excuse; even pretending to be on a tram in Thornhill, on his way home. For a fleeting moment, I accepted her explanation, until, in my sorry state, I realised, there were no trams in Southampton, let alone Thornhill. The more she lied, the worse I got. I love our Lee with all my heart, but we are really, just no good for one another. Despite this, I have the happiest, funniest of memories of time spent in her company.

There were certain people, who were in my life at that time, who I wish, had never been; people of low moral standing; who feed on others pain and live a miserable existence. At a time when I should have been celebrating, not only was I rowing with Lee, but was also dealing with someone else, who had made threats against friends. In these circumstances, I always felt a duty to intervene. It had all been brought about by the usual lies and rumours, started by bored, generally unemployed people; someone, said something to someone else, about something…….You know the sort of thing. In my book, if you do anything wrong, you own up and admit it; anyway, I digress! I was trying to defuse a rather sensitive situation, whilst dealing with Lee’s rampage across Southampton; getting them to see sense on a number of different issues. They, were sadly using my frank honesty, as a reason to gossip more; stirring that gay cauldron, as is often the practice. With myself and our Lee at loggerheads, three way conversations, hearsay and confusion, Lee did what she does best, and dug the knife in even further; she rattled me old bones!

Back on the sunny side of the City I was dealing with more pressing matters. Christmas festivities were getting jiggy. The arrival of Our Jamie and pregnant Mother to be, Kirsty and Jay, brought a different level of specialness to the festivities. Kirsty was in a bit of a mood, eating twiglets by the bucket load and needed cheering up. As usual, once again my expensive, extensive, couture wig and designer outfit collection was raided; the family looked radiant, that Christmas weekend. A friend, who shall remain nameless, for reasons of a personal nature, bought some more memorable items from her revealing collection of themed costumes, and our Jamie took a shine to all of them. Jamie loves to dress up. Ever since I have known him, like me, he enjoys that lighter side of life. In many ways he is a child at heart. When he left Spain, he did leave a hole, at least for a while. As long as he continues to be the loveable kid, he should do well. People are drawn to him for his fun, over the top nature. Everyone needs a Jamie in their life, but nothing is forever!

We dressed for Baby Georges pram/trolley, multifunctional tartan vehicle, test drive,. We all looked stunning. Jamie had his 1970s retro bakelite dial phone, in case of emergencies. I told him, these old corded phones, would work anywhere, any time, if he needed assistance. Strangely, he believed me, which it has to be said, isn’t unusual for him. Still he was happy enough, clutching the 70s green phone under his arm, cord tied round his neck! We headed towards The Avenue, to wave at the cars this fare Christmas eve. Due to the stunning nature of our looks and style, a strange man, disguised in a real fur hat and big glasses was flashing his lens at us, all the way there and back. We later discovered the pervert was that Jay, capturing the moment for his album of people he'd most like to shag....Beautiful we were! (tongue in cheek, I grant you)

I also spent time with dear old friend Dale, Our SJ and Our Claire on New Years Eve, and had the best time ever. I had not laughed that much in a long time and SJ's smile was that big, it did weird sexual things to me, lesbian or no lesbian; she will always be, the best looking guy in the club, for me! It was really great to see people happy. Laughter and joy is a great healer. With all the problems we had at the time, we always knew how to laugh and enjoy the lighter side of life. In reality, that is what will always make these people special. They have all left an indelible mark on my heart.

Towards the end of my time in Southampton, during the last few years, I had established some wonderful, memorable friendships. I had finally found the acceptance I had always desired; close friends who went out of their way for me and Darrell. People like that are rare, priceless if you will. I could never have known, just how much my life would change, after this last happy Christmas. My life became so tainted from the scars of Oxfam, that even I realised in the end, I would never get back the emotions, of that festive period. If you endure what we did, you find it very difficult to show any form of emotion, especially happiness. You forget how to smile, cry, shout and be yourself; you become emotionless, dead inside, unable to show feelings. That Christmas of 2014, was the last time, I truly enjoyed life, as it was meant to be. By March, I had left the job I loved, to try and rebuild my life. Until today, I had not remembered that last Christmas fully. I wasn’t supposed to be happy again, how could I recall these events. However, my current circumstances are difficult and I am finding myself referring to the happy memories of the past, to get me through each day. As I recall these occasions, I will of course write them down. They are a part of who I am and who I want to be again. They should never be forgotten!

These times are more relevant now, than ever. They are part of the process, that brought us to Spain; links to our future, away from the place that I will always call home, first, the friends, I will always remember the most and the events that I will always cherish as reminders of what I left behind. Spain is a difficult place; a path littered with the failures of those who came before. There are no guarantees as with anything in life: We make our own judgements, choices and mistakes, but whatever happens here, I have the satisfaction of knowing, I at least tried. It is always better to have tried and failed, than never tried at all!