Big Charlie 11 Nov 12:07


I am one of 5% of the population in the not so elite group that left (I was expelled) from school with no qualifications whatsoever.

I never sat for any G.C.E.'s

Does this mean that 95% of the country is smarter than me ?

I think not.

I'm certainly not, I've just spent 20 minutes reading all this tosh

over 6 foot 2

just seen it, Dennis the Menace ;)

ffs
Eamon Andrews to appear at any moment...

Lovely post, Big Charlie. Could we have the next instalment of your life? It would be great if every poster had to give a history of their life before they could post on here.

Laughed at the last line. You are getting much funnier these days. Any reason for this? You, do wah and the Lager Khan are the funniest on the forum, keep it up.

Brasco 11 Nov 15:58
why have u not spoken to your mother for 30 odd years?

Meanwhile, back in the batcave...

This is probably not nice reading for those with a loving mother, who may find it hard to understand.

We never got on. From as early as I can recall, she had no time for me or my sister. I must have over 50 photos left over from when I was a kid, my sister has more. There is just one of my mother cuddling my sister, and none of her cuddling me. She cooked, cleaned, did the shopping, and all other things that mothers do, but there was never any affection. Good exam result, bad exam result, was all the same to her, she wasn't interested.

Her most annoying habit was to clout me whenever she felt like it. She didn't drink, didn't smoke ot take drugs, so I have no idea why she enjoyed hitting me. They weren't playful clumps, but they weren't as hard as she could hit either. I know this because she was 5 feet 8 inches tall. She'd do anythnig to get me a b0ll0king from my dad. It never bothered me as I knew he would never hit me or my sister.

If she hit my sister and she cried, she'd get hit again. From the age of 11 or 12 I ignored it as it didn't hurt me. She had a compulsion to hit, but for some reason wasn't using all her strength. A complete nutter.

The last straw came when I was 15. By now I towered over her, and she was doing her best to hurt me when she struck out, but I ignored it now as I got hit harder in school fights or at the club. I said to her ' Is that the best you can do you facking evil witch.' and sneered at her. She screamed abuse at me, ran upstairs, dragged my sister out of her room and layed into her with a clothes brush. I had ' snapped' before (and still do now and again) I ran upstairs, dragged her off my sister and pinned her to the wall by her throat. If my sister hadn't asked me to stop I'd have probably choked her to death.

At some time before 1977 she started having an affair with a painter and decorator. My dad was seriously ill and in an out of hiospital. With my track record I'm not about to say she was wrong to have an affair, but there are times to knock it on the head.

And what I type now I never knew until my sister told me after his funeral.

Somehow (and I've discussed it before on here) my dad knew he was going to die soon. So he arranged for my sister to collect him from the hospital and take him home. When they got there, the house was cold, and there were no lights on. Their bed had not been slept in, and there were letters on the doormat. It was obvious that my mother had been elsewhere for days.

What got right up my bugle was that she KNEW he was coming home, and couldn't be arsed to be there for him.

This was a Friday night. Dad died in his sleep the following night, but I had already arranged to see him on Sunday, which was too late.

She had no time for me and I have no time for her. Likewise my sister. Mother ended up marrying the painter and decorator, and she drove him to an early grave.

She's 'minted' now, but she can shove every last penny up her ringpiece, I want none of it, and neither does my sister.

My sisters daughter goes to see her now and again, her son doesn't bother, and my daughters are not interested. By what we're told, the painter and decorators daughters hardly speak to her either.

She's 80 now, and unless her brother and two sisters are still alive, she's going to be well short of mourners at her funeral.

No speelchequer was used in this post.

If this hits the big screen it will be beefed up for an X rating. :)

footnote : Anybody wishing to take the pi$$, carry on. I'm impervious to words. :)

You can also smoke in here.

That should keep canaryboy and infomaniac out.

I was a naughty boy.

"Paging Dr Freud. Dr Freud to reception please"

lol, orioles

Frightened, it would appear.

You don't own a mobile phone.

I was expelled from school at 15. Charlie describes a world, an atmosphere if you like, that was common in the 50,s and 60.s. Today there are different problems but his posts take me right back.

annie. 11 Nov 20:08
So why have you not seen your son for over 30 years?

Big Charlie 11 Nov 20:49
I was a naughty boy.

IT''S LONG, BUT YOU'RE NOT FORCED TO READ IT.

After the divorce I was taken to court for maintenance payments. My dad was still alive at this time. As you can judge by the way the thread started, I wasn't in charge of ICI earning thousands per annum. :)

She had a smart arse solicitior. As always, I stood alone.

I was asked to pay the total sum of £20 a week to the ex-wife. (£20 sounds paltry these days) I asked what it was for. I was told it was £5 for my son and £15 for her. Not one to mince my words, I asked why I should pay for her when the fat ** she was sh@gging, and living with, had covered her neck in love bites. I said I couldn't afford it on my wages. I was told to pay and to come back to court with proof of earnings which I hadn't taken with me. In the meantime I was still seeing my son for four hours every Sunday. This four hours included travelling time. I used to collect him in my car and take him to my dads house so they could see him as well. Total time spent travelling was 40 minutes.

When I got back to court, with my wage slips, showing that I took home £27 a week, they weren't happy. I showed them my rent book for the crappy bedsit I was forced to live in for £7 a week. By the time I paid the court and my rent, I was skint.

Somebody had been blabbing and her solicitor asked who Karen was. I said she was my girlfriend. He said 'You mean the woman you co-habit with.'

I said 'Yes'

They decided that as I had a girlfriend, she should pay half of my rent and my food bills, leaving me money to pay my ex-wife.

I 'snapped', a chair went towards him, and if I'd have got near him I'd have broken his buck toothed jaw. I got locked up to calm down instead. When I got out the order had been made. £20 a week or no access to my son.

Obviously my girlfriend moved out, but that didn't carry any weight at the next appeal.

I carried on paying just £5 so that I could see my son. She was claiming her money from the DHSS and the money paid into court was being sent to the DHSS to replace it. Even after 5 or 6 months I still hadn't had my collar felt for non-payment and I was still getting access.

I found out that the reason I wasn't getting pulled by the court was that my mother, who was working, had been paying the £15 so she could see her grandson, which was why access wasn't stopped. I told my dad to tell her to stop paying as I couldn't pay her back, and the sl@g wasn't entitled to it, and I'd carry on paying the fiver for my son.

It didn't matter much anyway as the next time I went to collect him I found him sitting on the steps on a pub uin Devons Road in Bow. I normally picked him up at her parents house in Forest Gate but they were away somewhere. I went into the bar and asked what he was doing sitting on the doorstep in the main road. She was pi$$ed, and fat bastid went to stand up. I was a very annoyed teetotaller. I told him not to or I'd 'do him' where he stood. Four hours later I took my son back. They were both drunk. I facked off to see my best mate for a few hours to calm down.

The following week my car was out of action. My mother, being the awkward cvnt that she is, said my dad had said I couldn't borrow his car. He was upstairs in bed.

It was Sunday, my best mate had already gone out to Sunday football. I had to rely on London Transport. I picked him up, but she was in one of her moods.

'Make sure you're not back late' she grinned.

It was a wind-up as she could see I wasn't in my car.

'Four hours is four hours' she smirked.

By the time I got back to my parents house they had about 40 minutes to see him, then it was time to go back. I didn't ask my dad for his car keys and he didn't look well enough to drive.

It poured with rain. So much for bus timetables, the bus was 2 or 3 minutes early. I saw it go past the end of the park as I was walking towards the stop with my son. It was a typical Sunday service, the next bus was a 40 minute wait.

I got there well late, soaked to the skin. She was drunk.

She grabbed my son by the collar of his coat and yanked him up the hallway. 'You're facking late' she screamed. 'Which means no more access.'

In a split second, I saw my son sitting on the floor crying, and then red mist descended. First was a push chair on the porch, that went over the roof, a dustbin went through the front room window, and then her father appeared. He never got a chance to insult me, I was up the hallway and on him. Her older brother appeared on the stairs. He shouldn't have come down them, but he did. Her mother locked herself in the bog, and her younger brother took one look over the landing and stayed upstairs. Sl@gs fat boyfriend was nowhere to be seen.

Then a big bass voice boomed out my name. It was my dad. He had driven over there as he guessed what was going to happen.

'CAR!! NOW!! he shouted. I was 25, but my dad, as ill as he was, wasn't to be disobeyed. He stood at their gate looking at the mess.

Her father, being a facking prikk, shouted out 'All you (surname) are cvnts'. My dad, a completely non violent man, said quietly 'Could you come here and repeat that.' Her dad limped up the garden path. He stood in front of my dad, who was 6-4 and over 20 stones, (this tw@t was 5 feet 7) and said 'All you (surname) are cvnts'

Much to my displeasure, I knew my dad wouldn't hit him for this. I went to get out of the car but my dad calmly said ' Stay where you are.'

He asked her dad ' Do you include my wife in that statement?'

I was praying he'd say 'yes'.

He did.

One of my dads hands shot out and hit him in the chest, which took him off his feet and along the garden. He struggled to his feet and gasped 'You'll be hearing from my solicitor about this.'

My dad said 'If I hear from a solictor, I won't stop him coming back.' and nodded towards me. He got in the car, called me a facking lunatic (not for the first time) and we drove off. Later I found that my mother hadn't told my dad that I had no car until I had been gone for almost an hour. Her stupidity and my bad temper had cost her access to her grandson.

I lost all access for that episode. I knew an appeal would be useless, so I did the hard thing, and let him go.

Whether my son remembers any of it I have no idea.

I tried to contact him on his 18th and 21st birthdays. He wasn't interested. About 6 months ago I found him on Facebook. He told me in no uncertain terms to drop dead. I know women love to tittle tattle so I contacted his ex-wife on Facebook. I've got two grandsons of 15 and 13 who I will never get to see, and if she's telling the truth, I'm glad that fat bastid and old slapper changed his name.

charlie, if you're around, i have no idea how my gambler's anonymous 'guess' was in any way a clue for the real answer??

Walk quietly and carry a smartarse lawyer ;)

O my brief is realy cheap, I bet you couldn't undercut him :^0

Big Charlie 11 Nov 23:58
O my brief is realy cheap, I bet you couldn't undercut him

Too true!

Thinking about it, you're a helluva lot smarter than me :)

So what was the elite group then?

Can't be bothered trawling through four pages of exerts from Big Charlie's magnum opus to find out.

He 'left' school without any formal qualifications.