A Good Catholic Boy Arrives in Radford..


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Having come from a quiet market town I found Nottingham quite.. um... different! I shared a terraced house on Gamble St with a Hungarian refugee whose chief talent lay in attracting a succession of beautiful women, and an ex- Belgian Congo mercenary whom we were forbidden to wake up suddenly on the basis that if we did; we would be killed- Mike was normal in every other respect, being a Sales Rep for Birds Eye. Frank, our intrepid Hungarian who wished to remain childless, would buy natural products to this end- i.e. items made from lambs intestines which were actually very expensive, which he dutifully washed out and hung on the line in the yard to the consternation of the neighbours. I used to attend weekly Mass at the Cathedral and I volunteered for something, and I remember two Good Catholics visiting me to sign me up... with said items hanging on the line in front of them. If they recognized what they were they showed no sign of it.. however, they never returned. Another memory I have is of having to take a neighbour to the Children's Hospital with her child- and realizing the staff there were under the impression I was the husband. I wouldn't have minded but the lady was of VERY ample proportions and I was little more than 8 stone. I kept trying to say 'I'm just the neighbour' but gave up- anyway, the whole waiting room were under the impression that we were a double act laid on for their entertainment. Finally, the Nurse said 'would you and your (giggle) husband like to sit down?' upon which my companion elbowed me (sending me across the room) and bellowed 'HEAR THAT NICK? SHE THINKS YOU'RE ME 'USBAND!' All I could think was 'what a relief!' Anyway, we got back home and there was another neighbour shouting up to Frank's bedroom window 'TRACEY! get out that f*****g house!'

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My birth mother (whoever she was) threw me out after six weeks. I probably couldn't fight and swear sufficiently.

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Don't knock Radford. Dad was born in a house on Croydon Road. My mum brought up on Salisbury Street. One aunt lived on Bright Street and another on Denman Street although most of their time was spent in the Dover Castle. They said my uncle was an artist. They were right. A p---artist.

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