It seemed like being on holiday when I first moved to Glasgow. My friends all met me at the station, luggage was dropped off, and we hit the cocktail lounges of the city. It wasn't real. I had what seemed like a fortune in the bank, but no job, and no home.
The home bit was soon sorted though. Everyday I'd have breakfast with Eleanor before she went off to Port Glasgow to look after the Weegies peggies, then I would get to know my new home. I walked all over the city. I visited every museum and gallery and place of interest. It was on one of these walks I went into a showroom and bought my flat off plan, but it wouldn't be ready for four months.
The first day there I'd sent off my c.v. to everyone I thought might be interested in employing me. I was offered a job by Scotland's oldest jewellers. I was initally supposed to be a sort of social butterfly, in the showroon of their flagship store. It sounded good on paper, although the money wasn't exactly great.
I hated it. For flagship store read two customers a day. Being surrounded by diamond encrusted Rolexes but no customers, wasn't my idea of a fun days work. Suprisingly we always did our targets. It only takes two customers a day parked on the yellow lines outside, and spending a hundred grand in cash before you meet all your targets. I'm saying nothing, except the money was always clean before it reached our firms bank account.
Time to pull a few strings. My godfather has the biggest independent chain of 'adult' stores in the country. So after a few phone calls I ended up managing his store in Glasgow. It wasn't at all sleazy. It was in a beautiful Georgian building in a smart part of the city. Without going into too much detail, we did have quite a strong opposition to the store from the Kirk which is quite well represented on most of the councils in Scotland. Thus my job also entailed quite a lot of media involvment, regarding the legality of the people of Scotland to decide what they wanted to legally buy. I did hate the fact that although the law had been changed by the government, a small minority of do gooders with God on their side tried to dictate what the rest of the people could or couldn't buy and watch.
It was an interesting job for sure. I met some great people, and learned a lot, and became more tolerant, and certainly never judged a book by it's cover again!
Glasgow was great. I had a good social life, a beautiful home and everything to look forward to. Strangley after two years I became very, very depressed. I remember sitting in the spring sunshine with John telling him I was wondering when best to commit suicide without hurting my Mum.
Looking back it seems strange, there was no reason for me to be so desperate. I've since learnt that early onset Parkinson's manifests itself in depression. By this time I did know something was wrong. I was struggling to write, and I remember my hand shaking a couple of times when I was stressed, although the GP up there thought it was a trapped nerve. The most vivid memory of knowing something was wrong is of having a meal with Eleanor, John and Don, and Ellie really laying into me, telling me I was a selfish no good son because I'd told my Mum I was very down. My hand was flapping like a seal's under my napkin.
So after just under three years I decided to do something I never imagined I would do. I moved back to Oswaldtwistle. A month later I was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease. I was thirty nine then, last year.
I have no regrets about anything I've chosen to do, or where I've lived, but the best thing I ever did do was move back home.
The home bit was soon sorted though. Everyday I'd have breakfast with Eleanor before she went off to Port Glasgow to look after the Weegies peggies, then I would get to know my new home. I walked all over the city. I visited every museum and gallery and place of interest. It was on one of these walks I went into a showroom and bought my flat off plan, but it wouldn't be ready for four months.
The first day there I'd sent off my c.v. to everyone I thought might be interested in employing me. I was offered a job by Scotland's oldest jewellers. I was initally supposed to be a sort of social butterfly, in the showroon of their flagship store. It sounded good on paper, although the money wasn't exactly great.
I hated it. For flagship store read two customers a day. Being surrounded by diamond encrusted Rolexes but no customers, wasn't my idea of a fun days work. Suprisingly we always did our targets. It only takes two customers a day parked on the yellow lines outside, and spending a hundred grand in cash before you meet all your targets. I'm saying nothing, except the money was always clean before it reached our firms bank account.
Time to pull a few strings. My godfather has the biggest independent chain of 'adult' stores in the country. So after a few phone calls I ended up managing his store in Glasgow. It wasn't at all sleazy. It was in a beautiful Georgian building in a smart part of the city. Without going into too much detail, we did have quite a strong opposition to the store from the Kirk which is quite well represented on most of the councils in Scotland. Thus my job also entailed quite a lot of media involvment, regarding the legality of the people of Scotland to decide what they wanted to legally buy. I did hate the fact that although the law had been changed by the government, a small minority of do gooders with God on their side tried to dictate what the rest of the people could or couldn't buy and watch.
It was an interesting job for sure. I met some great people, and learned a lot, and became more tolerant, and certainly never judged a book by it's cover again!
Glasgow was great. I had a good social life, a beautiful home and everything to look forward to. Strangley after two years I became very, very depressed. I remember sitting in the spring sunshine with John telling him I was wondering when best to commit suicide without hurting my Mum.
Looking back it seems strange, there was no reason for me to be so desperate. I've since learnt that early onset Parkinson's manifests itself in depression. By this time I did know something was wrong. I was struggling to write, and I remember my hand shaking a couple of times when I was stressed, although the GP up there thought it was a trapped nerve. The most vivid memory of knowing something was wrong is of having a meal with Eleanor, John and Don, and Ellie really laying into me, telling me I was a selfish no good son because I'd told my Mum I was very down. My hand was flapping like a seal's under my napkin.
So after just under three years I decided to do something I never imagined I would do. I moved back to Oswaldtwistle. A month later I was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease. I was thirty nine then, last year.
I have no regrets about anything I've chosen to do, or where I've lived, but the best thing I ever did do was move back home.
that was a good read.
