Wow!

A few posts back I moaned about my relationship with my utter fuckwit of a father. I don’t really do pity, much less self pity so I won’t stress the point but if he were to croak tomorrow I wouldn’t cry any tears.

One of the main sticking points twixt Sean and I (I can’t bring myself to call him Dad), is that he had virtually no contact with me when i was growing and I also was aware that he had another child, a daughter who was around 10 years younger then me. I’ve only seen her once and therein lays a tale that shows how sad my ‘connection’ to my family is. I was 13 or so and was waling up the Walworth road in south London with my gran. She stopped to chat to some guy that i didn’t recognise that was pushing a buggy with two babies in it. I had to be told that this man was my dad and one of the girls was my sister. Since then I’ve not seen her at all.

It’s always played on my mind for one reason and another and I have made several unsuccessful attempts to find her. I had all but given up hope of ever seeing her again; after all it had been about 20 years since we had met.

So why am i regaling you with this tale of woe? Two reason really, firstly this is my blog and I can write what the fuck I want to and secondly, on Sunday past, Stephanie inboxed me on Facebook!