Me? Really?! No, I couldn't possibly. Well,
alright then, if you insist....
I guess it's time to unmask
myself and answer the question that I'm sure has been
on all your minds. Who am I? That's a good question, thanks
for asking. It all began long ago, in a Ford Galaxy far,
far away. Sorry, bad joke.
I was born a small underling of no fixed talent in Blackpool's
Victoria Hospital on January 12, 1965 and on that same
day, far away
across the Atlantic, a large section of mountain came
crashing down outside of Hope B.C., Canada, burying forever
several cars and their occupants on the Trans-Canada Highway.
I swear I had nothing to do with it.
Life was pleasant enough in the small fishing town of
Fleetwood where we lived although I yearned for more out
of life than working in the local "Fisherman's Friend"
factory, despite their reputation as world leaders in
the field of vile tasting throat lozenges.
Longing for adventure and more appetizing snacks, I convinced
my parents to emigrate to the untamed wilderness of Canada
in April 1966. We eventually settled in Burlington, Ontario,
my father procuring employment at Procter & Gamble
in nearby Hamilton, and my mother the slightly less glamorous
and highly underpaid position of housewife.
After several fun filled years living in the metropolis
of Burlington my parents, as people often do when they
discover they don't really like each other anymore, decided
to go their separate ways. I was carted off on a long
and perilous journey across Canada in a bright yellow
van with no doors and a nasty habit of shredding its tires.
Our destination was British Columbia, the pacific rim,
land of the free and mild.
The next few years are a blur. We moved around alot. The
parental types attempted a short lived reconciliation
in Chilliwack where my father was assistant manager of
the local airport. I spent most of my formative years
in Chilliwack which was a shame because I despised the
place but it could have been worse I suppose.
During this time I was able to nurture my two main desires
in life: to become a rock star and a WW2 fighter ace.
The fact that I had missed the second world war by several
decades didn't seem to dampen my enthusiasm for the latter....
Eventually coming to the realisation that there was no
real demand for Spitfire pilots anymore and that shooting
at other aircraft was now somewhat frowned upon - at least
in Canada anyway - I set out to realise my ambition of
sleeping with a lot of groupies. Little did I know I had
picked entirely the wrong instrument to turn the chicks
on. They really should incorporate that into the high
school band class curriculum. Lesson 1: "Choosing
the right instrument for maximum groupie interaction".
Of course, there are exceptions to every rule, but I guess
I wasn't willing to go to the same extremes as Tommy Lee
to find my Pamela Anderson.
Still here? Still awake? Clearly you're feeling a bit
masochistic. In that case, go to
"Part 2: The Rock Years".
away
across the Atlantic, a large section of mountain came
crashing down outside of Hope B.C., Canada, burying forever
several cars and their occupants on the Trans-Canada Highway.
I swear I had nothing to do with it.
The next few years are a blur. We moved around alot. The
parental types attempted a short lived reconciliation
in Chilliwack where my father was assistant manager of
the local airport. I spent most of my formative years
in Chilliwack which was a shame because I despised the
place but it could have been worse I suppose.