First Short Story Published

My first published short story "A Talk With Death by Mark R Cain" is published in a book of stories from writers in Strathclyde, "Paperclips" edited by Suzi Blair in 1993.

I was only 18 and over the moon, but the euphoria was short lived when I realised my name didn't actually appear anywhere in the book, replaced instead by the name of the writer in the short story.

A Diary. Christmas Hols

It's 1:30am and I'm watching an old Frankenstein film with Gene Wilder in it. It's quite funny. I'm also drinking some Kronenburg - some German beer. It's not very nice.

My name's Chris Young and I'm 15 years old. I'm writing this diary in my bedroom at my house, in the hope that I'll be able to read it in 10 years and laugh - har bloody har.

I'll write the rest tomorrow. G'night.

Hello again.

Today I didn't do much. I played against my chess computer - which kept beating me. I played some pool on my new slate snooker table Santa got me. Dad says I'm improoving but I still can't spell.

We played Pictionary in the evening - I won one game and lost two.

S is home. She and S played Dad and I at pool - we won 2-1. They're both staying here tonight so I have to make sure no-one sees this. They're downstairs at the moment.

I just found a Christmas card from Granny, containing £10, so I got £58 including a John Menzies voucher for Christmas.

I'll need to do my Christmas thank-you letters soon. I'll use S's typewriter.

See you the morrow.

First Day At School

Ah yes, I remember waking up extremely early and getting dressed in my nice new shiny school uniform, five years old, complete with bright red socks, and feeling very dapper about it.

When mum woke up though she pointed that red socks were not really part of the uniform and I should wear grey ones instead. 
Obviously my tendency towards non-conformity was already in its early stages and visible even then...

Born

I remember it vividly. 

Curled up in the foetal position in the warm darkness yet being thrust out into the world without even a coffee. The terror, pain, rushing down a long dark tunnel with a mysterious light at the end, but somehow calmed in the knowledge that all my relatives would be waiting for me on the other side.

I was born at around 9pm, but understandably I'd been a little reluctant, so the staff had me induced, probably with a two sugar cafe latte solution. This sent my mother into contractions when there was no-one around. Then a nurse came in, took her off the drip and told her, "Whatever you do, stop pushing," and the contractions stopped. According to my mother there were many babies being born that night and they were a bit short of people to deliver them. Sounds like a bit of a 'mid-wife crisis'. 

Finally the staff came in and delivered me. Dad hadn't been there - apparently fathers weren't allowed to hang around in those days, so he probably was in the pub or pacing the corridors smoking.

Apparently I was almost nine pounds, a long baby with long fingers and toes, which I still have to this day.