Hugh Gormley

So this Saturday just gone, Erin and I were returning from our local pub at 3am after the weekly lock-in session and a busy night that included Chelsea beating Manchester United 1-0 in extra time and the all hooliganism that goes along with it.

We had barely got across the street when I saw, 5 metres from the nearby nightclub ‘establishment’ a 20 something chap lying half naked (top half thank Buddha) on the cold concrete. My first reaction was to pull Erin in closer as he was loosely surrounded by 5 or so similarly attired youths looking bored and aimless.

On closer inspection though, a narrow river of blood was pouring from the back of his head and the girl next to him was frantic on the phone. I asked if she needed some help, further noticing that he had a mouth full of blood as well and wasnt moving apart from the occasional foot twitch…

She said yes, so I got down behind his head as she passed it to me along with the blood soaked serviette which someone had got her to stem the flow. A peice of skullbone moved whenever I shifted position on the ground as I rushed to remember the summer of 1986 and my nipper’s first aid training on Newcastle Beach.

The girlfriend was on the phone to the ambulance station and Erin dropped down to take a pulse… We tried our best to keep our voices low and calming to avoid upsetting her more and got him a jacket to cover up. The blood was pooring over my hands by now as I listened intently for every rasping breath… until they stopped.

Just moments before, the emergency operator had asked to put me on the phone and when I told her that he had stopped breathing, she calmly told me that I would have to start CPR. My memory becomes really unhinged here as it seemed to take me forever to get into action… I really didnt know what I was doing and every moment it seemed surer that he was going to die; right there, in my lap, on some cold concrete in North West London, way too young…

Finally, I did what needed to be done and got my shit together, checked again for breath and then got down and ready to put my lips to his… yetch! Not only am I kissing a guy (so to speak) but his mouth is full of foul smelling blood. I had my fingers in there before to stop him swollowing his tongue, and so knew that his teeth were loose from the punch that had laid him there.

It only took two breaths before he was noticeably breathing again - and luckily, the ambulance was fifteen seconds after that… they seemed uninspired and not surprising really considering that football fights had kept them busy all afternoon.

What really shocked my was this guys ‘mates’ were all around him - but just stood there smoking and drinking! They seemed almost oblivious to what was going on and I struggled to get one of them to give me a jacket to warm their friend despite having used mine to put compression on his head…

…quite frankly, people really suck over here…

A few good people drink over at our local pub though and know the guy who we’d helped. Apparently he is fine now and back home. Good to hear, and even better… they said he is going to buy me a beer sometime soon.

If you got this far though and you’re wondering what the point is - Learn CPR now, the helpless feeling of someone dying on you is terrible and it could be someone you love.

So yesterday I went to our local pub where Erin works to say hi and have a pint of ale after a hard’s day turd-buffing… One ankard turned to three as I chatted with ‘old bill’ about his carpet factory (or some such). I soon determined by the rumbling in my stomach, that a feast of KFC should be provisioned for my good self whilst upon return to my abode.

As I devoured that tasty land-bird; I was given to ponder upon the street afronting me and alas I saw two people who appeared to be the exact shape and size and colouring and whatnot of a chap I went to University with and his good lady fiancée. I thought then though that I had been mistaken and went back to my foul oily foul determining to get into contact with this chap as soon as possible…

But alas! I had only managed to gulp down five peices of the colonel’s magic recipe before I heard a voice calling my name… It was he (and she) after all!

Yes, yes, In the grand old city of London (population 76.4 billion) it is possible to collide haplessly with an old chum… In this case, one Glenn Edwards and his lovely girl Merryn who have only weighed their anchor in this shoals since two weeks! I had an inkling that they were coming here sometime soon… what a coincidence!

The two divulged their travel tales and we soon found that they knew the whereabouts of many other lost souls such as Beren Davidson and were about to lease a cottage on the Hills of Crickelwood which is just round the mayfair tree and up a drainpipe from my own Lakeside Manor.

How could such luck befall such a humble lad as I? One can only assume to be blessed…

Roll up! roll up!

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mmm… what a dramatic beginning… nevermind…

Ok, so I havent really been using this blahghg thing yet, but I promise that we will soon have a running commentary on our trip coming regularly through these here channels.

No excuses, will write at least once a week to document the ups-and-downs of moving to, living and working in ol’ blighty. Photos, videos, performance poetry for the masses - it will all be here for your consumption.

That’s enough for the moment though; I am at work but will be making the first few posts tonight… watch this space!!!