‘Now everybody's got a crazy notion of their own.
Some like to mix up with a crowd, some like to be alone.
It's no one else’s business as far as I can see,
But every time that I go out, the people stare at me...’
I have been called some things in my time. Terrible things. I have cried myself to sleep more times than I care to remember. I have been kicked, punched and spat upon by strangers, and all because of how I look.
Human beings can be terribly cruel to one another.
When people tell you – constantly – that you’re ugly, you find it very difficult to like yourself. Much easier to imagine that people are right – how could so many of them be wrong after all? Much easier to blame yourself and loathe yourself and wish that you could change into someone that other people looked kindly upon; someone other people liked.
Well, I am that ugly man, concomitant emotional freakshow and all.
However! This is not going to be a record of me staring into the folds of flab where my navel used to be, feeling sorry for myself and wishing I was Jake Gyllenhaal. No, it isn’t. I’m just getting some stuff out of the way. I promise.
Essentially, in a nutshell, I’m a really ugly-looking bloke with a heart of gold and I’ve been living mostly alone for the past 30 years.
But things have happened recently which have convinced me that I don’t necessarily need to change into another human being; I just need to change.
I’ve been really lazy, and really self-indulgent. For too long. Far too long.
Also, last night turned into one of the best birthdays I’ve ever had – actually THE BEST birthday I’ve ever had, without question – yet by other people’s standards, it was probably pretty tragic. Tragic or not, it was just the kick start I needed to turn things around.
So - mark my words: THIS TIME NEXT YEAR, I WILL BE HAPPY.
Crikey. Or, as one of the most important figures of the twentieth century, George Formby, would have it, ‘Ooo, ‘eck.’