Extract from my Novel Rockyboy2 The Quest for The Million

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THE QUEST FOR THE
MILLION
by Michael NICOLSON
Chapter one
Its Saturday night and time is running out, along
with my money. When did it all start? I can’t
remember exactly. Perhaps if we look back at my
life it will be easier to understand why I am
obsessed with getting on TV to play in the Poker
Million.
I was born in Glasgow in 1948, one of seven
children, four boys and three girls. We were very
poor, probably because my father was a heavy
drinker and gambler. We lived in a single end flat,
on the ground floor of a three story sandstone
tenement building in Govan. It was called a single
end flat because it was one big room, with no
bathroom or toilet. The small toilet was out on the
landing, and shared with the other tenants who
lived on the ground floor opposite us in number
thirty-five.
A young couple with one child, a girl named
Bonnie, who was about the same age as me, and
bonnie a wee lassie she was too, I always had a
crush on her for as long as I can remember. The
toilet door was a pine ledged and braced door, ill
fitting, painted black and hanging on a pair of rusty
tee-hinges, the type of door you would find on a
shed nowadays. It had no windows and was lit by
a solitary light bulb, hanging from a frayed brown
flex in the centre of the room.
Hanging from a six inch nail, driven into the
cream coloured, flaking plaster walls, neatly cut
squares of newspapers tied with a piece of string
through one corner, served as toilet paper. The
toilet seat was missing, so you had to sit on the
cold porcelain. To flush you had to reach a chunky
pine wooden handle, that was attached to a thick
black iron chain dangling about five feet from the
ground. The high level Victorian cistern was black
and had a hideous gargoyle face moulded into the
iron. To reach the chain I had to stand on the
slippery bowl and stretch as high as I could. When
I was a young boy I had a recurring nightmare, I
would slip while stretching to reach the chain, the
Gargoyle would come alive and push my head
deep down into the toilet bowl. While I choked on
the mixture of soggy newspapers and excrement it
would utter its spine chilling laugh, as it pushed
me deeper and deeper into the shit. Before I
drowned I always woke up and cuddled into my
brother, pulling the blankets tightly over my head,
but I never seemed to get back to sleep, I tried to
avoid the toilet as much as I could, especially at
night.
Inside the single end, thirty-four Elder Park Street
Govan, where our childhood dreams and
nightmares took place, the walls were painted pale
blue, with dark blue skirting and architrave's, the
Glasgow Rangers colours. My parents slept in a
big alcove on the left as you entered the room,
with heavy yellow curtains that could be drawn to
keep out the cold. On Sundays they were always
drawn, I think most of us were conceived on a
Saturday night or a Sunday morning. On the wall
facing you as you entered the room was a big
Victorian fireplace, black iron grate surrounded
with four rows of cobalt blue Delph tiles. On top
of the oak mantelpiece was an imitation gold
trophy with a Rangers football rosette attached,
and an old oak wind up mantle clock with a broken
chime, father used to get the big brass key for the
clock from the mantelpiece and wind it up every
Sunday evening, no one else was allowed to touch
it.
Above the mantelpiece was a huge bevelled edge
mirror in a heavy oak frame. I remember my elder
brother Neil standing in front of it when he was
about fourteen, combing his hair and looking like a
proper teddy boy. My father hated the Teddyboy
look and he was always shouting at Neil. Once he
tore up a pair of Neil's jeans with his bare hands,
after Neil had spent hours sowing them, because
they were so tight. Neil hated my father because he
felt he was treated so badly, but on reflection I
think my father just wanted Neil to be something
when he grew up, not end up in prison, running
around with the wrong boys. Neil never saw it that
way, but some of his friends were already drinking
bottles of red wine and getting into trouble with
the law, my father just wanted Neil to grow up
better than him.
In some ways I think my fathers ill treatment of
Neil helped him grow up stronger and eventually
become the fine, strong, family man of integrity
that Neil my brother was. I loved and admired my
big brother unreservedly and miss him more than
words can say.
In the corner of the room was a free standing
white electric cooker, always kept spotlessly clean
by mother. Mothers cooking was to say the least,
basic. Her mince and potatoes were legendary, her
recipe was bung a big load of mince in a pot, let it
cook for a while, then fling in at least five carrots,
peeled and cut into thick slices. Par boiling meant
nothing to mother, she said, "only French people
eat onions."
The carrots were very healthy as they were always
undercooked.
My sister Helen, a fine warm loving girl like her
mother, had simple tastes. From the age of fifteen
she wanted to cook just like her mother, she
invited a rather good looking boyfriend round to
dinner one evening, when we lived in Arden.
Being rather fond of mothers special, mince and
potatoes, she decided to cook the dish for her new
boyfriend. Unfortunately being a little short
sighted, and not wanting to wear her new
spectacles in front of her new love, she
unknowingly cooked him a packet of minced
morsels dog food, enhanced with nourishing
marrowbone jelly, for extra life and vitality. The
boyfriend asked for seconds, he loved it. While
waiting for Helens home baked apple pie and
custard, he unfortunately stumbled on the empty
packet of dog food lying on the kitchen table.
Feeling rather queasy now he made his excuse's
and left, without tasting Helens home made apple
pie or her ample bosoms, he was really 'barking'
mad at Helen, and never saw her again. He would
have been sorry, if he had known then, that Helen
would grow up into one of the most beautiful girls
you have ever seen. She ended up working at the
Bunny Club in London for a while as a waitress, as
did my other sister Katie. Katie won the Miss
Bristows Shampoo contest, the prize was cash,
clothes, and a Lucy Clayton modelling course in
London. My other sister Carol also won a
competition, the most beautiful barmaid in
Scotland contest. Carol had dark hair and was
stunning, just like my mother, she ended up
working for British Airways as an air-hostess.
It was smashing to go out with all three of my
beautiful sisters for a drink, once guys knew they
were your sisters they would buy you drinks all
night, just to get introduced to the girls. I was
always proud of my beautiful sisters and very
close. Now they all live in America we have lost
touch a bit, but that's families for you. I hope we
can all get together again soon and chat about the
old days. Helen is married to an American
schoolteacher, Katie to a Glasgow man, and Carol
also to a Glasgow man. Carol was the last to go to
live in America, her husband Jim is a successful
businessman and they live in Philadelphia. Katie
and Helen live in Rochester, New York State. If
my book is a success we will all go out and visit
them one day.