CHAPTER 17 LUCKY MAN

CHAPTER 17

LUCKY MAN

(October, November, December 2013)

Here it is the first draft of the whole chapter. I was back alone in the UK with my 2 kids. The Wicked Witch of the East was in Laos. Enjoy the read.

The steel baby bird touched down on the you’re not gorgeous gunpowder grey runway in soggy Manchester. "Oh, my God I can't believe it; I've never been this far away from home!" My psychedelic head had long ago determined that wherever I lay my hippie hat that’s my home. My tit for tat (hat) had been comprehensively super-glued to the kaleidoscopic land of tropical sunshine many equatorial moons back. Now the bloody cancer had exiled me to live out the rest of my days on the depressing drizzly coast of gloomy Blackpool. And the key to paradise had been chucked way out of reach.

Don't let me be misunderstood. I was eternally thankful for the National Health Service and the benefits system because without them I would have been stuck up shit creek without a blinking paddle. And let’s not turn a ‘snug as a bug in a rug’ blind eye to the shocking truth that in far too many locations around the globe there is no safety net for the wretched and needy who are living hand to mouth. If you are sick and have no dosh; tough shit, you remain ill or bite the dust. If you are unemployed without a roof over your skull; hard lines, you must beg or steal. It may well have been just another day in paradise for me during my travels but for many other poor sods it was simply one more desperate day in hell.

The world is a terribly unjust place with the filthy stinking rich greedy bastards owning fleets of top end cars, mansions in exotic locations and gambling millions in casinos while hapless children are starving to death. And we call ourselves mankind! I feel like a rant coming on but will keep it under lock and key for now because I have this book to finish.

Well, I’m a lucky man with my British citizenship entitling me and my two British children to be supported in our hour of need. Admittedly, stretches of my life have been spent living overseas but when employed in the UK I always coughed up my taxes and national insurance. My dear mum and dad paid their dues and both my grandfathers fought in the second world war. Therefore, I felt justified grabbing what I regarded as rightfully mine with both my feeble hands while I was helpless and at rock bottom. I had no other option really, did I?

I pictured myself as a working-class hero who had struggled to breakout from a drab existence in northern England to snatch a taste of freedom and adventure in exotic locations. Although I have no doubt that the folks on the hill still viewed a scruffy council estate Mancunian scallywag like me as an effing peasant.

In my heart of hearts the tropics was still my home. Perhaps I had spent a past life in lush wonderland and was eternally being drawn back. However, I imagine that it was the razorblade sharp contrast between shivering in a mind-numbing drudge in the gloomy cold and grey compared to strolling on by in the warm laid-back, live for today, sunshine lands of blue skies and warm seas that perpetually pulled me eastwards.

Yep, paradise wins hands down every single time. I visualised my hippie hat basking under a clear blue sky on a far-flung white sandy beach of a secluded tropical island awaiting my return. When will I see you again? Some sunny day?

We jumped into a pre-ordered cab for the one hour twenty-minute drive back to bloody Blackpool. The very second we reached our home from home we ditched the heavy backpack, and collected Eugene and his possessions from his Buddhist shelter with our ever-faithful red Fiat Punto. He was as right as Blackpool rain and overjoyed to see us. He dashed straight up to his room and there he would make camp unless he fancied a bite to eat or required dad’s taxi to run him about. Typical teenager! It was comforting to be with him again.

Life was a different kettle of fish now. I was an awfully unwell man; just me, myself and my shadow battling tooth and nail with my lethal enemy the death-dealing grim reaper. The mega strict iron-fisted dictatorship of herbs, supplements and organic fruit and vegetable juices was religiously obeyed. Sugar, animal products and processed food were taboo. It was imperative that I gave lock stock and barrel endeavour to guarantee that my immune system had the bullets to at least give me a fighting chance of outgunning this pernicious disease for my children’s sakes.

As well as fighting to rebuild and rejuvenate my damaged body I zealously devoted all my remaining strength and power to the wellbeing of Eugene and Jo who right here right now were entirely dependent upon me. My paternal instinct was fully wired. I was ready and willing to destroy anyone or anything that threatened my children’s welfare and future happiness. You better prick up your lugholes, Mr Big C!

Mornings in our nuthouse by the sea were a frantic hour long high tide of outright madness. “Eugene, Jo; wakey, wakey, rise and shine, it is time for school,” I would holler. This was greeted with not even a fly speck of activity. They were still miles away in the land of nod. I had to rouse sleepyhead Jo in the shower, brush his teeth, get him dressed then dish up breakfast prior to chauffeuring to school.

The remainder of the day would be used up cleaning the dishes, washing clothes, making the beds and dealing with the never-ending housework before collecting Jo at 3pm. Eugene would cook dinner for himself and Jo which was a thankful Godsend. Later, Jo would reluctantly get stuck into his homework so he could grab his reward of a spell of computer games prior to a bedtime story and lights out.

At long last my ready to drop dead carcass would flee the bleak real world and hide as a lonesome single man under the double duvet of the double bed. I felt washed-out as I drowned in hopeless despair. I’m a bad dream I just had today!

Jo proudly returned home from his first day back at school flamboyantly scoffing a lump of bread he had baked. Eugene was in his final GCSE year. Exams in June. He got stuck into computer games and dodged the troublesome homework. That’s my boy!

At the weekends, the kids were yanked off computer games to swing, slide and twirl in playgrounds. I avoided the witch’s hat like the plague coz didn’t want to tempt fate. From time to time, a nippy bracing saunter along the beach flinging pebbles into the cold battleship grey Irish Sea. Of course, we had to feed the eternally hungry ducks at the local lake too.

The dreaded superstore visit for the weekly groceries had to be performed and I flipping hate shopping. Jo’s mouth would be watering at the displays of doughnuts, sweets, fizzy drinks, chocolate and biscuits as he was led into temptation whichever way he turned. Even worse, Eugene would feast his eyeballs on eggs, pork, chicken and beef much to my horror. I made sure that we had mountains of fruit and vegetables to go with the shite the kids demanded. Eugene was not the tiniest bit interested in joining me on a healthy vegan diet but I was making steady progress with Jo.

Jo resumed his swimming lessons for thirty minutes each week at the local pool. I had been taking him since January and he was slowly improving. He couldn’t swim but at least he could put his head under water at long last. His mother had never joined us because she wouldn’t be seen dead with her ghoulish husband. Poor Jo, not having his mother to observe and cheer his achievements at the pool was heart-breaking. And poor me too!

On top of the endless housework, the lonesomeness of this solitary confinement was starting to do my head in. Sometimes I feel I’m gonna break down and cry. I get so lonely, so lonely, living on my own. I was down in the dumps in need of a little friendship and a spot of adult company.

Slaving over a hot stove ad nauseam and wrestling with the daily chores ad infinitum was making me sick. I had never had to do it before coz my mum, girlfriends and wives had always performed those easy tasks while I did some real work to bring home the vegan bacon! Well, instant karma has looked me right in the face and knocked me off my feet. Although the Wicked Witch had had it easy coz she always had maids to cook, clean, babysit and do the shopping while she brushed her hair and painted her fingernails.

I was a colourful tropical songbird singing sad songs of freedom to my sorrowful caged self. Dreaming of escape and spreading my wings as I flew back to the land of lush green trees, exotic fruit and clear blue skies. My head is always up in the clouds in a dreamworld. It’s not easy, living on my own. God knows I want to break free.

Thus, out of desperation to flee the dreary lonely hours of a dull day I subscribed to an online rambling club. You could chat to like-minded enthusiasts and participate in hikes that the members regularly arranged. The fact that I could barely stumble 100 metres never mind scramble up a hill didn’t deter my intrepid spirit. I chatted to a few walkers online which relieved the aloneness just a dab.

The endoscopy at Victoria hospital was a doddle. I was becoming accustomed to the eye watering tube shoved up my nostril and down my throat. I didn’t flinch but was relieved when it was done and dusted. I was double relieved when the oncologist informed me that there was no sign of the cancer. Blinking heck; I’m a walking miracle! I mustn’t get all gung-ho though because I am not out of the brown and nasty just yet. It is vital that I don’t get complacent. I must continue with my healthy lifestyle, ensuring that my body and immune system are strong enough to thwart the cancer in its attempt at making an unwelcome return.

On the 18th October, it was Eugene's 16th Birthday. We scored him a large cake and sang Happy Birthday. Wow how time flies. It seemed just like yesterday when I was singing Happy Birthday to him in a pub in Cheng Du, China. He was 3 years old then. Thirteen years gone in the blink of an eye. Yesterday once more.

I had been chatting to a woman from near Liverpool on the walking site. I was my usual cheeky flirty northern monkey self and we had a good laugh. She loved doing cryptic crosswords and I would send her a clue every morning. Here are 5 of my favourites for you to have a bash at; answers at the end of the chapter.

1. Gegs (9,4)

2. HIJKLMNO (5)

3. Take notice of aural sex. (5,2,4,4)

4. O (8,6)

5. (3,3,3,1,4)

They are rather tricky and before you ask, the final clue intentionally has just the number of letters in each word. If you can get any of them give yourself a pat on the back because you are as Radio Rental (mental) as Psycho Syd. However, don’t drive yourself nuts and get your Primark knickers in a twist coz you can always cheat and have a sly peep at the answers, can’t you?

The last thing on my normally one track mind was a romantic date for starters, a bit of slap and tickle for the main course followed by a peck on the cheek and goodbye for dessert. However, I was buzzing at the prospect of having a bit of banter and a laugh with this scouse crossword fanatic. Although, I had not got a clue whether I would pluck up the courage to meet her in the flesh.

I eventually grew a pair of sphericals and boldly agreed to come together with this long-haired lover from Liverpool for a pub lunch and a short and sweet saunter along the beach. I was only too aware that the female of the species is more deadly than the male but the reckless daredevil in me provided the spunky bravado to escape my 4 walls and make contact with this potential black widow.

We arranged to rub eyeballs one Saturday afternoon after Eugene had kindly volunteered to take care of Jo. I looked almost presentable in my faded blue jeans, black tee shirt, trainers and olive green army jacket. I didn’t have a bunch of flowers, a packet of ribbed condoms or a victory V because love and lust were the last things on my broken-hearted mind. I don’t have no time for no monkey business. I was still yelping from the Wicked One’s abuse so no fair-maiden was permitted anywhere near my heart or any other bits of my anatomy thank you very much. I should be so lucky! Although you never know; some girls may have a fetish for death warmed up monsters!

My bag of bones wasn’t a bag of nerves as I cruised to The Wirral near Liverpool for this mysterious rendezvous. I sang along to tunes by Merseyside bands such as: The La’s, Echo and the Bunnymen, The Zutons and The Teardrop Explodes. I was a cool beatnik full of pep as I drove up to the meeting place to eyeball my blind date. Bet she will be wishing she was blind once she takes just one peep at my unsightly look of death.

When we laid eyes on each other it was instant attraction; love and lust at first ogle. The chemistry was pure Goldilocks; just right! Time to experiment! Well the red horny devil smiled in triumph at the conquered white celibate angel. Shit, I should have brought the flowers and condoms after all. We held hands and ambled to her 2 up 2 down terrace house just 5 minutes away for a cup of coffee and a cigarette. Are friends electric?

While I was sipping the caffeine and inhaling the nicotine my lusty libido was burning with the hots! The heat is on and my sex is on fire. I gazed into her smoky eyes and speculated, “You will you won’t. You do you don’t. You may you might.” I didn’t have long to ponder because her lips like sugar pressed against my eager mouth. She clutched my hot-blooded hand and escorted me upstairs as my craving eyeballs were focused on her sexy derriere in skin tight black jeans. Wow, there she goes! I licked my sugar coated northern monkey lips as I eagerly followed ready and willing to accept my reward.

I am not going into the full graphic details and supply you all the ‘ins and outs’ of this passionate encounter but I am sure you can close your eyes and imagine. No naughty self-pleasing though coz you have this book to finish.

To cut a long story short we entered her clean cosy boudoir and made passionate lust for 30 minutes. Afterwards she gazed into my sleepy eyes and softly smiled, “That was amazing Syd.”

I winked cockily and bragged, “Believe it or not I am even better the second time around.”

Her eyes widened with hero worship as she gleefully squealed “really?”

I grinned and replied, “Yes but I need a 20-minute nap first and while I am having 40 winks you must hold onto my naughty bits and never let go. Is that OK?”

She seemed puzzled but happily agreed. After the short snooze, I was revived and up for the repeat performance to conclude the double-whammy. When the encore came to an end, she purred, “That was magnificent. Even better than the first time. One thing confuses me though; why did you ask me to hold your private parts while you were sleeping?

I smiled as I informed her, “Oh that is because the last time I slept with a Liverpool girl she stole my wallet.”

Hahaha. I bet I had you going, there, didn’t I? It is just one of my off the wall jokes. I apologise for being a naughty fibber. Merely my warped sense of humour. I blame it on the chemotherapy. I better let the pussy out of the bag and give you the low down on what really took place that cloudy day in Merseyside before you fling the book in the rubbish bin.

This is the honest to God’s truth. Cross my heart and hope to die. I parked my car and saw her standing there. Shock, shock, horror, horror, shock, shock. What in tarnation? I wasn’t expecting movie stars and swimming pools but she was a dead ringer for Grandma out of the Beverley Hill Billies. In all honesty, she was younger than me and just a normal woman in her forties. The naked truth was that my Peter Pan lifestyle in south-east Asia being eternally surrounded by beautiful young Tinkerbells and Wendy Darlings had distorted reality. Welcome back to the real-world Psycho Syd.

Viewing the event from her perspective, her grey matter must have screamed, “Good Lord! It is the ‘visitor from the grave’ straight out of the Hammer House of Horror! She was more than likely thinking, “Frankenstein and Dracula have nothing on you. Jekyll and Hyde join the back of the queue." In any case, love and lust weren’t on my list of tasks to accomplish today and I was cocksure that they weren’t on hers either. I was here to escape the daily grind!

We popped into a local pub and plopped our bums down on a wooden bench in the empty beer garden as we regurgitated tales of heartbreak, betrayal and loss, blow by blow. Her ex was a cheating pisshead and mine was a cheating fucking bastard as you already know. I slurped a vegan soup as she masticated on a hot dog. A short while later we dilly-dallied along the beach chirping away like two broken-hearted love birds. We gulped breaths of fresh healthy salty sea air between the drags of filthy unhealthy tar and nicotine.

We then diddle-daddled to her humble abode and dawdled in her back-yard choking on cancer sticks as we nattered away. Out of the sky blue her mouth ejaculated, " Syd, one thing I do miss is sex." My jolted eyeballs almost jumped out of their sockets and I nearly shat myself too! I simply nodded and responded, "Me too." Could it be that this liver bird has a kink about scary monsters, my unscrewed head sweated? I was scared stiff! Be that as it may I was not up for a slice of monster mash in this black widow’s boudoir. Under the circumstances, I made my excuses in a shot and got my busy blue arsed fly’s body out of her web and flew to the safety of my car with my tail between my legs.

Thank goodness, the wheels were still on my car; well Liverpool does have a reputation you know. I put the pedal to the metal and burnt rubber back to my 4 walls.

On reflection, a satisfying time was had and it was gratifyingly enjoyable partaking in a spot of friendly chit-chat with this lovely lady. In all fairness, her unforeseen jaw-dropping remark regarding sex may well have been just that; a comment and not a flirtatious nudge for me to drop my ball-hugging black jeans for a period of wham bam thank you mam. Perhaps my once bitten twice shy state of mind is making me paranoid!

Three weeks later a letter arrived regarding that day in Mickey Mouse (Scouse) land. It wasn’t a love letter but a document putting me in the picture that a speed camera had snapped me driving over the speed limit in Liverpool. I had my naughty cheeky arse smacked as karma whipped up a bored shitless day at a speed awareness course.

Welcome back to the grim reality of life as a solitary man and the Groundhog days of unrelenting mind-numbing housework. I had a girl one day, she left and ran away and now I’m all alone with no one to call my own. Coz I’m a lonely man. I’m hiding from the sun to wait for night to come because the day’s so long. Yes, I’m a lonely man. Got to be some good times ahead!

On the 28th October I took my miserable self to the lonely blustery beach and gazed at the chilly Irish Sea through waterlogged eyes. Look at me standing; here on my own again. I need to run and hide. It isn’t a wonderful, wonderful life. My thoughts were 24-carat black and my heart of gold was shattered into bits and pieces. I was weak, sickly, was rapidly losing weight and had severe diarrhoea too. I was shitting myself in case the dreaded cancer had returned.

I was growing weaker and sicker by the hour. I blotted out my alarm from the kids with a loving smile before and after the school run. Throughout the day, I toiled to keep on top of the housework. I was at my wit’s end convinced that the terminal disease had returned. My frail body was a puny blob of soreness not aided by the nonstop trotting upstairs screaming, “shit not again.” Very scary times indeed.

I spoke with the wicked Witch daily. There was no love lost as she delighted in painting bright pictures of her brand-new state of the art lifestyle. Art for art’s sake; money for God’s sake. Any impression of a renaissance of the good old days had disappeared down memory lane way back to the middle ages.

From my perspective, I was helpless and snowed under in despair after the unanticipated avalanche of nightmares had knocked me arse over tit burying me in pain and sorrow. Out here in this space. Groping in the dark. Out here in this place. Calling out your name. Won’t you hear me call? Won’t you hear me call? I’m calling out, don’t leave me now. I’m calling out. Don’t leave me now.

Piteous I know, but the tears of this broken-hearted clown stung with the realisation that death was just around the corner coz the dreaded Mr Big C was back. I was so needy of a bit of tenderness and a few words of love and support. Deep down in my shattered heart I understood that the Wicked One would never supply a shoulder to cry on because she just wanted me to die.

If my foggy chemo brain recalls correctly it was Halloween when I blabbed that I was terribly unwell, had the shits and was losing weight rapidly. I held the phone waiting for the whooping and cheering before the evil scream of, “Yessssss, hurry up and die.” I was left astonished when she burst into tears and began sobbing uncontrollably. She blubbered, “I want to come back and take care of you.” That was the first time in over a year that she had shown any compassionate warm-heartedness towards me. I was startled and the floodgates opened as my salty tears saturated my cheeks before splashing onto the brown carpet between my trembling feet. My choked-up voice stuttered, “I w-w-will c-c-call y-you tom-m-morrow.

It can’t be true; I just stood still. What can I do; I just stood still. Can I rely on you; I just stood still. My mind is cracked up. My thoughts just froze up. My throat is choked up. What can I do? I just stood still.

I didn’t get a wink of sleep that brainstorming night as my perplexed tree unceasingly played ‘she loves me, she loves me not. I was dancing with tears in my eyes as my heart jumped for joy proclaiming that her sobbing was out of love and compassion. A moment later, there were tears on my pillow as my head warned, “don’t believe her, they are just big fat crocodile droplets.” I was really tempted to agree to her request because I was so desperate for some love and support. On the other hand, after the hell she had dragged me and Jo through my gut reaction yelled, “No bloody way.”

The next day my bleary eyes and frazzled mind eventually crashed on the sofa downstairs for some much-needed zeds. I was jolted out of my deep slumber by the phone. My missus tearfully wept, “I need to know you are ok and I want to return to take care of you and Jo.” Heavens above, this was the loving tongue of the girl I once knew and yearned for. Is it ding-dong time and the Wicked Witch has finally been laid to rest? I pinched my half-asleep self to make sure it wasn’t a dream. I rubbed my sleepy eyes and contemplated; she sounds wholeheartedly sincere but I was also deeply suspicious and who could blame me. She loves me. She loves me not.

I interrogated, “You’re not itching to return because you are pining for your boyfriend, are you?”.

“No, I am not interested in him at all, I only want to be with you and Jo,” she emphasised.

I roused my drowsy visage with a damp face-cloth before gravely notifying, “It will take everything I have to get you back here. I will have to bear the cost of the flights and the visa as well as transferring enough money for you to live on while your return is being arranged.”

I continued in earnest, “The only money I have left to use is the last of the cash my mum left me after she died. So, I am begging you not to make this request unless you are sincere in what you are saying.”

She pleaded, “Please take me back. I need to be with you and promise to be nice and take care of you and the children. So, don’t worry Syd I will be good”

I finally believed her so I agreed, “Ok I will fly you back.”

She said, “Thank you so much.”

Am I happy or in misery? Whatever it is, that girl put a spell on me. My heart and soul were bewitched once again. I was in a state of blissful intoxication counting down the days to this loving reunion. Holding hands, soft kisses, comforting hugs and kind words of support would be mine all mine in just a few dreamy weeks.

I was dying for some affection before I ultimately kicked the bucket and broke on through to the other side. I elbowed the niggling doubt that it was all a pack of beastly pork pies (lies) right to the very back of my cranium. I floated on cloud nine with a peaceful smile on my face oblivious to any possibility of an unfavourable outcome. Because if this was yet another spiteful sleight of hand trick of hers then I would just curl up and die. I was in dreamland as I sang, “Oh, what a lucky man I am.”

As I scrawl this I really can’t believe that I agreed to it and you are probably ripping your hair out in utter frustration. You must be raging, “The bloody idiot; if he flies her back he deserves everything he gets." But hold onto your top hats, cloth caps and pretty bonnets for a moment and grab a view of things from my beanie covered head. I was extremely poorly, just skin and bones and convinced the cancer had returned. I should have been in bed fighting this hideous illness instead of struggling with the housework and taking care of my kids. Plus, the dreadful fear of what would happen to my children if I was suddenly whisked off to hospital, was constantly stabbing my mind. So, in all fairness I had no option but to take an almighty risk and pray to the supreme being above that she wasn’t speaking with forked tongue.

I started to feel a little better but made an emergency appointment to visit my oncologist who informed me there was still no sign of the cancer. Yippee. Maybe it was just the stress of being alone, swamped with housework that made me sick! It looks like I will still be alive and kissing to enjoy the family Christmas in a few weeks’ time.

The month of November continued just like October; the day to day running of 12 Blackpool Road and looking after my kids. With a difference though because this time there was a spring in my step as I sang and danced to heaps of Madchester tunes, busy mopping the floor, cleaning the plates and hanging up the washing. I was full of vegan beans and felt like I was gonna live forever. I was completely mesmerised wearing my rose-coloured specs dreaming of the one love I would be getting very soon.

Obtaining a United Kingdom visa for my ex devil was not a piece of angel cake though. She was unemployed and I was disabled. However, it would go in her favour that she had previously visited the UK. And it was advantageous that she owned land and property in Laos: the blinking house I had sweated for years to buy that she had kicked me and Jo out of a few wicked times. With that thought in mind, I looked to the universe and voiced, “I’m begging you that my wonderwall won’t turn out to be fool’s gold otherwise I will be crying my heart out with a waterfall of tears. I put this daft song title wordplay madness down to the chemo too!

I concluded that the best plan of action would be to apply for a Visitor’s visa so she could stay with her husband and son over the Christmas and New Year period. If the application was a success we would once again be playing happy families before needing to apply for an Exceptional Circumstances visa so that she could remain with her sick husband once her Visitor’s visa had expired.

I provided her with as much documentation as humanly possible to support her application. Firstly, I wrote a letter explaining why it was important that we were together for Christmas. Next, a report from my psychiatrist stating that it would be a tremendous boost for my mental wellbeing to be reunited with my wife over the festive season. An offer of employment upon my recovery from a school in Laos. This was to emphasise that our intention was to resume our life in Vientiane highlighting that she wasn’t scheming to remain in the UK once she got her twinkle toes on British soil. Documents from the hospital as evidence of the seriousness of my medical condition were enclosed. And last, but not least, a copy of my bank statement as proof that I possessed sufficient funds to support her visit. My loyal friend Janet had kind-heartedly lent me the sum of ￡800 to make the statement appear a bit healthier. I splashed the cash for the application and booked her an appointment at the British consulate in Vientiane. It was now in the hands of the Gods.

All I can do is pray, fret and pace the brown carpet in the living room.

My friends and family were unsurprisingly extremely uneasy with regards to my rash resolution to allow my love bird to fly back. Janet cautioned, “I am happy to loan you the money but don’t agree with your decision because I have a sneaking suspicion she will be just her same evil self. A leopard doesn’t change its spots.” Ann, my sister-in-law warned, “It is up to you but be very careful because I don’t think you would be able to cope this time if it all went wrong.”

We spoke and skyped daily. She was just like her old young self with words of love, support and kindness. I smiled self-assuredly as I satisfyingly mused, “You made the right decision, Syd.” The Gods had heard my desperate pleas and her visa was granted. I am now floating in heaven too. I’m a lucky man, yes I am.

In an omnipotent flash the return tickets were booked; Turkish Airlines - Bangkok to Manchester. In just one week’s time I would be hand in hand with my beautiful wife. Til death us do part she would stand by me as I fought this bastard cancer. Her silky touch and tender voice would make the loneliness vanish into thin air. Subsequently, I secured flights from Udorn Thani (an hour across the border) to Bangkok. I had also been transferring cash to her every week so she had enough wonga to live on. It was money well spent because now I was safe and secure living in her heart. I broke the good news that the travel was sorted and she warmly thanked me.

During the days leading up to her departure there was an unmistakable U-turn in her attitude. The warmth in her voice had noticeably cooled; distant and off-hand. Suddenly, her computer was on the blink meaning no skype sessions and her mobile battery was malfunctioning so phone calls were limited too. Mission control we have a problem. I was spaced out with apprehension and began having second thoughts about my chop-chop decision to give the nod to her undoubtedly sincere heart-wrenching pleas. But it was a bit like closing the stable door after the horse had bolted because she possessed the visa and tickets already. Or am I just being paranoid?

An additional occurrence stoked up the sneaking suspicions bouncing around my brainbox. A close pal of mine sent a text message spilling the beans that he had just caught a glimpse of my missus in the pub. It was entirely up to her of course and I had absolutely no issue with that until I telephoned her and inquired, “Where are you?”

She sweetly replied, “At home.”

I responded, “Bullshit, a friend of mine has just seen you in the Samlo Pub.”

Initially, she was incensed at being caught red-handed before explaining, “I just wanted to see my friends before I return to England.” Fully understandable but why the slimy deceit?

Another incident which banged niggling doubts in my mind was the time I proposed to switch her flight to Bangkok, from Udorn Thani to her home city of Vientiane. This would save her the inconvenience of having to cross the Thai border. She put her angry foot down and refused point blank. “No way, I have arranged everything already,” she insisted. “My brother will drive me,” she informed.

I retorted, “How can your brother possibly take you when he only has a police car which won’t be permitted to cross the border?”

She hit the flaming roof and screamed, “Don’t worry he will find a way.”

Something smelled very fishy. So, I quizzed, “You haven’t found a boyfriend in Laos, have you?”

Her tone of voice softened as she responded so sweetly and convincingly, “Don’t be silly, I only have you.” This left me feeling secure and reassured once more. Could it possibly be that I was way out of order for not trusting her and was just behaving like a sad not born yesterday green eyed monster? Nonetheless, with all the mucky stains on her blemished track record no one could point a finger at me for having any doubts?

On the 4th December, I toddled off to delight in watching Jo play a shepherd in the school nativity. Pity his mum wasn’t here to share this festive event but at least she will be here full of joy and good tidings for Christmas. And his 5th birthday next week too.

On the morning she was due to fly she phoned to say she was on her way. She notified me that she would switch her phone off but send me a text from Bangkok. A friend of hers phoned and informed me that a woman who purchased garments in Thailand to sell in Laos was giving her a lift. What the hell happened to her brother?

I was getting frostbitten feet and had a shuddersome feeling of impending doom. The writing is on the wall. I sent her a message stating. “Something isn’t right don’t bother coming.”

Her reply was a selfie and a text from Bangkok airport “See you soon.” Will she still love me tomorrow?

I had a fretful sleepless night before driving to Manchester airport. I parked my car in the ultra-expensive car park before awaiting the arrival of my loved one.

I was a very unlucky man this red-letter day of reunification because there was a 7-hour delay because of a sodding problem with air traffic control. Just my luck! This was going to cost me an arm and a leg at the car park but it will be the best dosh ever flung away when I am eventually hand in hand with my wife once more. My mind flipped back to the time when she arrived in April 2012 with hugs, love and kisses. Calm down, Syd. Only 6 more hours to go.

I beamed with joy observing reunited couples laughing, hugging and kissing when they met their loved ones after a time apart. Their faces were illuminated with pure magical love. I was delighted for them without even a spec of envy because my bewitched mind knew it would be my turn very soon.

And then I saw her. I raced over to her with a love-struck smile as my lovelight dazzled all in the arrivals area. I opened my arms and cried, “Welcome home.” She stared at me, looked at the ground and marched straight past me.

To say I was devastated was a massive understatement. I wasn’t just crushed; I was pulverised. The world stood still as I stood there alone again, naturally. I whispered to the floor, “Please swallow me up.”

My heart sank and my mind screamed, “Oh no, what the fuck have I done?”

I’m a stupid gullible man, yes, I am!

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