Graeme1988
Hie yer hence from me heath!
Hullo, there lads n' lassies! Or "Ach, aye, the noo"! Ye awright? Guid! Well, this is ma first ever thread on here. So, sorry if am a wee bit nervous n' that. Huv'nae a clue whit am gonnae talk aboot? :idontknow: Ma life? Awright, then. Here we f**kin' go...!!
Let's Paint This Forum Tartan! F**k yes!
Oh, a wee word of warnin' afore we go any further. What wi' me being Scottish, ah swear A LOT (as if ye cannae tell). So, yer offended by that sorta vulgar language, then... F**k off now! (Only jokin') And ah will be writin' maist o' this thread in ma auld, native, muther tounge - the Scots dialect. Makin' it aw the mair difficult tae understand.
Right. So settle doon. Get yer favourite alcoholic drink, a kilt, some heroin, and start watchin' Braveheart wi' the subtitles on - it's funnier that way. Follow that wi' the movie adaptation of Irvine Welsh's Trainspotting. And enjoy... Or brace yersel'? Cause this will'nae be a linear, followin' post. Oh! And ladies, resist the urge tae start strummin' yer invisible banjo, awright? If y'know what ah mean...? Aye, ah know, the Scottish accent is sexy as f**k... apparently? Well, more so, if yer no' Scottish.
But, anyway, ah digress...
Where should we begin? The start... Why not! It'd make mair sense, won't it, eh?
So, ah was born to mixed race parentage (Scottish muther; Kenyan father) on March 31st 1988, in the Cresswell Maternity Wing of the Dumfries and Galloway Royal Infirmary in Dumfries. Ah was born 2 and a half months premature. Ah nearly died during ma own birth. And weighted only 1 pound; 9 ounces (less than a bag o' sugar).
Ah was then transfer from Dumfries to the Queen Mother's Hospital in Glasgow, as ah hud bleeding on brain and need a shunt to relieve the fluid. As a result of that, ah've got a scar that resembles the number 4 on the back o' ma head, on the right-hand side. Don't "Awww...." or start gettin' f**kin' teary-eyed on me now! I was at the Queen Mother's Hospital for about a month and a half before being transfered back to Cresswell in Dumfries. Ah hud tae attend the Outpatients department there.
And when ah finally weighted around 5 pounds; 5 ounces in late June 1988, ah was sent home to live with ma mum and older sister, in Lockerbie. Ma oldest sister didnae live wi' us. And ma dad pretty much walked oot upon hearin' ah hud a physical disability. At least, that's why ah think he was'nae around durin' ma childhood.
We lived at Broomhouse Court, intitially, before movin' house on June 3rd 1993, to Victoria Park - which was an area closer the town centre. Went to nursery in Lochmaben, a town just 4 miles from the town where ah was raised and live. Basically, it's the town that you driving through when yer goin' to Dumfries. But ah don't recall much of ma time at Lochmaben Nursery. Ah also started attending Lockerbie Primary School after the summer of 1993.
When ah was a year old, ah found out ah hud cerebral palsy, which led to walking difficulties. When ah was 3 years old I started attending the physio therapy department at the Royal Hospital for Sick Children in Edinbugh, had to get fitted for walking splints to help with ma cerebral palsy. Had to attend every year to get fitted for new splints, what with me gettin' taller and outgrowing the old pair.
The car journeys up to the Royal Hospital in Edinburgh were f**kin' hellish, though. Depending the time of the hospital appointment, ah'd usually huv tae be up early, like by 7am and ready to leave by 8am. Unless the appointment was in the afternoon. Ma oldest sister would drove me n' ma mum back n' forth to each of these hospital visits. And when ah say hellish, ah mean it...
Takin' the A701 road above Devil's Beeftub - which is a deep, dramatic hollow in the hills north of the Scottish town of Moffat. The view was beautiful, pretty spectular.
But the road was f**kin' terrible! It'd just twisted and turn, a sweeping corner every few minutes. It was like a rally car driving track. Believe me, it was vomit inducing, at times. Ma mum would bring along some ginger-nut biscuits, and eat them in her attempt tae stave off travel sickness. Hahahaha! Whilist am in the front passenger seat tryin' no' tae be sick over the front car window.
Though, the great thing aboot attend the Royal Hospital for Sick Children was that ah got tae skip school for half the day, occassionally. If ma appointment was in the morning and I was back by mid-day, ah just walk intae my primary school class: "Sorry, am late, miss. Hud an appointment at the Royal Hospital in Edinburgh. Here's the letter." Then ah whip oot the actual confirmation letter ah got from the hospital a few days earlier, sayin' ah had an appointment at whatever time it was. Sometimes it was early morning, like 10 o'clock, other times it was usually 1:30pm or later. Afternoon appointments did mean ah was only at school for a few hours, until the first school interval.
Oh! And when ah was born, my mum recalls one of the doctors sayin' to her that:
"Well... he's got a wee bit of brain. But, there's a chance yer son won't be able to walk or talk" F**kin' proved those cunts wrong, eh?!
Right... ah think ah'll, eh, leave it there fur now. Enough o' ma wee, mad, mental, lingustic ramblings. But ah hope ye enjoy readin' them. And if ye want tae hear more, let me know. Because ah've got quite a few other humourous stories from ma school days and beyond. If yer interested in hearin' them?
Ah guess, the only thing left to say is... Cheers! :brindis:
Let's Paint This Forum Tartan! F**k yes!
Oh, a wee word of warnin' afore we go any further. What wi' me being Scottish, ah swear A LOT (as if ye cannae tell). So, yer offended by that sorta vulgar language, then... F**k off now! (Only jokin') And ah will be writin' maist o' this thread in ma auld, native, muther tounge - the Scots dialect. Makin' it aw the mair difficult tae understand.
Right. So settle doon. Get yer favourite alcoholic drink, a kilt, some heroin, and start watchin' Braveheart wi' the subtitles on - it's funnier that way. Follow that wi' the movie adaptation of Irvine Welsh's Trainspotting. And enjoy... Or brace yersel'? Cause this will'nae be a linear, followin' post. Oh! And ladies, resist the urge tae start strummin' yer invisible banjo, awright? If y'know what ah mean...? Aye, ah know, the Scottish accent is sexy as f**k... apparently? Well, more so, if yer no' Scottish.
But, anyway, ah digress...
Where should we begin? The start... Why not! It'd make mair sense, won't it, eh?
So, ah was born to mixed race parentage (Scottish muther; Kenyan father) on March 31st 1988, in the Cresswell Maternity Wing of the Dumfries and Galloway Royal Infirmary in Dumfries. Ah was born 2 and a half months premature. Ah nearly died during ma own birth. And weighted only 1 pound; 9 ounces (less than a bag o' sugar).
Ah was then transfer from Dumfries to the Queen Mother's Hospital in Glasgow, as ah hud bleeding on brain and need a shunt to relieve the fluid. As a result of that, ah've got a scar that resembles the number 4 on the back o' ma head, on the right-hand side. Don't "Awww...." or start gettin' f**kin' teary-eyed on me now! I was at the Queen Mother's Hospital for about a month and a half before being transfered back to Cresswell in Dumfries. Ah hud tae attend the Outpatients department there.
And when ah finally weighted around 5 pounds; 5 ounces in late June 1988, ah was sent home to live with ma mum and older sister, in Lockerbie. Ma oldest sister didnae live wi' us. And ma dad pretty much walked oot upon hearin' ah hud a physical disability. At least, that's why ah think he was'nae around durin' ma childhood.
We lived at Broomhouse Court, intitially, before movin' house on June 3rd 1993, to Victoria Park - which was an area closer the town centre. Went to nursery in Lochmaben, a town just 4 miles from the town where ah was raised and live. Basically, it's the town that you driving through when yer goin' to Dumfries. But ah don't recall much of ma time at Lochmaben Nursery. Ah also started attending Lockerbie Primary School after the summer of 1993.
When ah was a year old, ah found out ah hud cerebral palsy, which led to walking difficulties. When ah was 3 years old I started attending the physio therapy department at the Royal Hospital for Sick Children in Edinbugh, had to get fitted for walking splints to help with ma cerebral palsy. Had to attend every year to get fitted for new splints, what with me gettin' taller and outgrowing the old pair.
The car journeys up to the Royal Hospital in Edinburgh were f**kin' hellish, though. Depending the time of the hospital appointment, ah'd usually huv tae be up early, like by 7am and ready to leave by 8am. Unless the appointment was in the afternoon. Ma oldest sister would drove me n' ma mum back n' forth to each of these hospital visits. And when ah say hellish, ah mean it...
Takin' the A701 road above Devil's Beeftub - which is a deep, dramatic hollow in the hills north of the Scottish town of Moffat. The view was beautiful, pretty spectular.
But the road was f**kin' terrible! It'd just twisted and turn, a sweeping corner every few minutes. It was like a rally car driving track. Believe me, it was vomit inducing, at times. Ma mum would bring along some ginger-nut biscuits, and eat them in her attempt tae stave off travel sickness. Hahahaha! Whilist am in the front passenger seat tryin' no' tae be sick over the front car window.
Though, the great thing aboot attend the Royal Hospital for Sick Children was that ah got tae skip school for half the day, occassionally. If ma appointment was in the morning and I was back by mid-day, ah just walk intae my primary school class: "Sorry, am late, miss. Hud an appointment at the Royal Hospital in Edinburgh. Here's the letter." Then ah whip oot the actual confirmation letter ah got from the hospital a few days earlier, sayin' ah had an appointment at whatever time it was. Sometimes it was early morning, like 10 o'clock, other times it was usually 1:30pm or later. Afternoon appointments did mean ah was only at school for a few hours, until the first school interval.
Oh! And when ah was born, my mum recalls one of the doctors sayin' to her that:
"Well... he's got a wee bit of brain. But, there's a chance yer son won't be able to walk or talk" F**kin' proved those cunts wrong, eh?!
Right... ah think ah'll, eh, leave it there fur now. Enough o' ma wee, mad, mental, lingustic ramblings. But ah hope ye enjoy readin' them. And if ye want tae hear more, let me know. Because ah've got quite a few other humourous stories from ma school days and beyond. If yer interested in hearin' them?
Ah guess, the only thing left to say is... Cheers! :brindis: