In 2015, I wrote an article about a house I used to live in, 'The Mansion.' That was the name we called it; a place a group of friends and like-minded individuals inhabited between 1994 and 1995. This was the house I fell in love with and have remained connected to ever since. The short amount of time I stayed there, had a profound effect on my life and was a big part of my youth, growing up in early 90s Southampton. Ever since I left 'The Mansion,' I have always wondered about its history, the people who lived and died there and the memories people had of this beautiful old building, near Bitterne Triangle in Southampton.

Twenty-seven years ago, seven of us decided to rent this rather large, imposing property and live our lives together, safe in the knowledge that we would look after one another and be there when times got tough. Growing up gay in the late eighties, early nineties was very different to today. All of us were regarded as second class citizens and many suffered bullying, abuse and attacks on a daily basis. Renting a house jointly was a great way to feel secure, safety in numbers if you will, and live like the family unit many of us never had!

The day we visited was cold and uninviting. I remember looking up and down the road for the right house, but there was no number on any of the doors. By a process of elimination, we deduced, the large mock Tudor residence, at the top of the hill, must be the one. How could it be? How could this large, sprawling estate be our new home, the place we had come to see? In fact, this substantial, well-formed property was,  and as we entered the hallway, I think I can speak for everyone when I say, we fell in love.

Each room we entered was old, faded and had seen better days. Peeling wallpaper, patterned swirly carpet and the imprints left from paintings removed from walls. The vast 1960s blue melamine kitchen had mirror tiles on the wall, a reminder of times long since past. There were open fires, tall ceilings, a sweeping staircase and room after room, hidden behind every door, each one bigger than the last. There was an upstairs kitchen, a small bedroom with a balcony, as well and an old lift, no longer working. Cracks in the walls, broken windows and plumbing that used to echo throughout the house and a musty smell, damp and neglected. Despite its dilapidated state, it was a house that pulled at our emotional strings and became such a large part of all our lives. This was the place I still dream about today and remember with fondness, as a monument to my past and all those who came before.

To us, 'The Mansion' was a party house, where we danced weekends away, filled with friends and clubbers, straggling out of the Magnum Club during the early hours of Sunday morning. All of us continued to celebrate our sexuality, the music of the time and the freedom that youth brings. I met many people during this period, including my husband; some I remain friends with today, others were fleeting acquaintances that left as quick as they came. People from all walks of life, would descent on our home for a few days, never to be seen again. Even today I get messages from people, who remember the 'Mansion Parties' of the past and I just can't place who they are; Transient friendships are not the best for making memories.

Of course the neighbours who lived in their large well maintained homes, along the Avenue, must have been at their wits end, suffering yet another night of revelling. Cars used to park up and down its whole length, blocking drives and traffic trying to get past. As our driveway filled, so did the neighbouring roads and backstreets. The Mansion was a beacon for the gay community and holds an affectionate place in all our hearts for the great times it epitomised and the freedoms it encouraged.

My interest in 'The Mansion' has spanned a quarter of a century, and I have been interested in other people's memories of this once great house. Today, with the power of social media, I have been able to collate the reflections of neighbours and others who have a deep connection to the house, reading about their experiences and feelings as this building was torn down and a faceless block of flats was built in its place.

The comments about number 49 were above all positive, as members of the public recalled the splendour of the building; countless respondents said they used to play in the forest next door. Every one said how sad it was, that it was torn down and replaced by apartments, as I am also. When a building leaves a mark, it is a sadness when the physical memory is erased.

Many of those who replied to my advert for help, remembered the house in its heyday. They spoke eloquently about walking past, glancing back and wishing they lived there. Others mentioned playing around 'Deep Dene,' at the back of the house, meandering down to Bitterne Triangle at the end of the road. Ghostly walks, an emotional drive past and a price tag of £9000, many years ago. The response has been amazing, and I am astounded that so many individuals hold this building dear, just like me, for their own sentimental reasons.

One of the previous owners, Mr Harding also commented:

'The house was called Willowthorpe and was known as 49 Cobden Avenue. My parents purchased the home in the late 1960s, from an old lady who wasn't able to live there any longer, due to age and health. The lady worked on cruise ships and owned the hairdressing salons. The home was in a poor state and my parents turned it into a wonderful family home, where myself and my two brothers had a wonderful childhood.

My parents ran a plumbing business known as G E Harding and sons Ltd from our home, and all three brothers trained as apprentice plumbers in the business. This business still remains to this day.'

Mr Harding emphasised that many comments on my social media post are close to correct, but many others are not. The house was not haunted as many speculated, and other words about family discontent are also not true. The family are alive and well, having moved to Bassett and finally Warsash.

Willowthorpe or 'The Mansion' as we called it, seems to have left lasting memories with the people of Bitterne Triangle and Southampton as a whole.  This smart, handsome building, built in the early 20th century, saw many families come and go over the years. Like so many other large houses of the time, it was torn down and replaced with flats, HMO's and other, smaller family homes. Its enduring legacy is the impression it left on those who lived there, walked past each day, and others who dreamt of a lottery win, buying this spacious home. It will forever remain prominent in my life and was at least in part responsible for the path I followed, the relationship I have today and the people who still talk about the 'Mansion House' days. I will forever be reminded of the parties, time spent with friends no longer with us and the beautiful mock Tudor residence, I was happy to call home.

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!

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!

It’s time to move on with the memories from that memorable time in my life.  I would like to auction this painting for Bipolar Support, which this website will also support through Google Adsense.  If you wish to place a bid, on this water colour I had commissioned in 2000, please use the reply box below.  It's time to let go and pass it on to someone else.  

If it wasn't for The Bipolar Support Helpline, things may well have been very different for me.  I have more than enough memories of that time!  Who knows, it may well be worth thousands of pounds in the future!