AND OTHER IDIOMS

Once upon a whence I was a pip. That pip squeaked "my name is Me". Before Me, there was a Sime, a Rook, a Kitchen Boy, a Private, and a Painter.
Then there's Uncle Gordon. He handed a baton to me when I visited He in his off-grid base in Lanzarote. 
There was a Great Grand-Pop whom decorated royal carriages. His son was an architect, and his grandson played snooker; he was a charmer, a crooner, with a voice like Sinatra.
Other Papa began as an apprentice for a Beano, a compositor, a butcher, an adventurer… a Grand-Master. He'd say, however, "I'm a printer". 
 
Husbands. Brothers. Fathers. Uncles. Proud. All of them.
What do you mean, what about me? It's my turf and I'll sprinkle it the way I know how if you don't mind.
 
What have I found; you ask?
 
My genes might contain holes, but Holy-Heck they're mine and I'm proud to sport them. 
 
Alright, alright.
 
I'll craic on.
 
Simply, no matter where from, generationally or geographically, in their words, these gentlemen before me could agree it is ‘cause of their "better-halves" that I am here to tell a tall tale. A modern homosapien, in a round world, within a small space the size of a mole's hill. That's my home. And might I welcome you.
 
When I learned to walk, my tentacles were not long past Ten-Months, less impressive than your average creature, but quite quick all the same I'm told they were to learn. I could kick a ball before I squawked, and I could chalk a beanstalk over a hundred meters faster than a Quickfit-Fitter could change your tyres. 
An early bloomer indeed.
Until I wasn't, at least. 
I retired young.
Banned from being good at ‘dancing’ with a ball inflated full of air by a small man with a sizable amount of needle, I was able to unlearn a lot faster than anything I had learned before that.
A stunt-person at heart, I became stunted.
Then I got older. 
Then a bit older again after that.
And then I was too olde to play at a level I once dreamt. 

So, I came out of retirement. 
It was an idle Tuesday, I believe, when unexpectedly, all of a sudden, I woke up grown a bit. 
Limbs aplenty. Cojones enough. An artiste was spawned. 
From Hall i' th' Wood to Hollywood. I suppose, in a way, I made up for time misplaced. 
The first leg of the journey was fast. In plain sight were lights. A speedy train straight to Harrods. Stocked. Check.
Then more.
Airplanes.
Then waywards. 
Slightly.
Then back Homeward. To the wild North West.
A printer I became. From barcodes to zip codes, far and wide they would post. 
Supremarkets, we swept up. 
From lamp-posts to boats to retreats just below hilltops, and bottle tops from which pills pop. 

Personally, I like Tea. I make loads for builders. Terracotta coloured. 
Gumshield in, I would say "No" twice to Central Saint Martins.
Thrice after I swatted bright opportunities from relatively big-hitters, supposedly. It's not them, it's me.
I was a boxer, you see, briefly. A lightweight. I'd swap the sellotape of a day-job, for star-spangled silk and canvas, unpaid, but a step up in experience undoubtedly.     
However, no matter what avenue I needed to utilise the ejector seat, from toddler to teenager, afterwards and quite recently, my one steady consistent, almost always, has been the desire to draw things. Just for me. 
I'm a homing bird. I can clarify my message.
Honing a craft, that's a hobby, I promised a gentleman with the last name Washington, that I would do what I have to do.
 
At first, I was afraid.
 
But, after some reflections, truth be told... I don't need to be the MVP, a VIP, or even RSVP'd to. It was only ever too hard when I stopped being the me you see before you. Making.
In all my years on Earth, my calculations estimate I've spent over a quarter nurturing those skills. If I sent a nickel to Saint Nic for every festive nighttime I spent scribbling for nothing, I'd expect a set of teeth like a Tooth fairy from Turkey.  
Then again, I've grown into my gaps.  
I'm 59mins from the bay of Morecambe, and I'm wiser. I eat ice cream when I want it. Hold the cone.
They say, "life is too short to be having anything but fun". All I know for sure is, how much I like being me right now. No excuses.
Yes, I had to bury the old me underneath the seaside. 
 
And I'm off on that note. Time to resew some seeds.

SHORTHAND EDIT

Who The Heck?: Rael Gough
What In Heck?: Part-Time Super
Why In Heck?: Why Not?
Where In Heck?: ONEMAN.LAND is not in Heck
 
The keys are under the plant pot. Enjoy your stay.
 
P.S. This simple task felt like nearly the hardest of my lifetime. 'Turns out, it ain't so bad. Hanging myself back out on the line, I would like to live as if my forebears could see me now. I wish to write like the writer, to be brave as the paratrooper, the artist, and my grandmas. Dedicated to my future child, for you I will illustrate a thousand thoughts.  
DISCLAIMER: Not all in one sitting.
 
P.P.S. Maybe I'm not meant to be alone after all.