"Has Darren Laverty been Targeted"?

There are those out there who've collaborated to target me. Not that it mattered. 

Listen and learn

Investigation into My Media World Ltd (2023)

Investigation into My Media World Ltd

Case opened 9 November 2023

Summary-Ofcom is investigating whether My Media World Ltd has taken and implemented appropriate measures to protect the general public from relevant harmful material and to protect under-18s from restricted material.

Relevant legal provision(s)

Sections 368Z(1) and (2) of Part 4B of the Communications Act 2003.

Opening text – 10 November 2023

Ofcom has opened an investigation into My Media World Ltd, in respect of the video-sharing platform (VSP) service Onevsp (previously known as Brand New Tube). The investigation will consider My Media World Ltd’s compliance with its statutory obligations as the provider of a VSP service under Part 4B of the Act.

Part 4B of the Act came into force on 1 November 2020 and sets out the statutory framework for the regulation of VSPs. In particular, a person who provides a VSP service must take and implement such of the measures set out in Schedule 15A of the Act as are appropriate for protecting:

• persons under the age of 18 from videos containing ‘restricted material’ which includes pornographic material and other material that might impair their physical, mental or moral development; and
• the general public from ‘relevant harmful material’ which includes material that is likely to incite violence or hatred, or material that would amount to a criminal offence under laws relating to terrorism, child sexual exploitation and abuse, and racism and xenophobia.

Schedule 15A lists, amongst other measures, the inclusion of terms and conditions to the effect that:

• if a person uploads a video to the service that contains any restricted material that the person must bring it to the attention of the provider of the service; and
• that a person must not upload a video to the service that contains relevant harmful material.

Where providers of VSP services take a Schedule 15A measure, they are required to implement it in such a way as to achieve the purpose or purposes for which the measure is appropriate.

We have concerns about the implementation and effectiveness of Onevsp’s terms of use. The investigation will therefore examine whether there are reasonable grounds for believing that My Media World has failed to take and/or implement such of the Schedule 15A measures as are appropriate to protect its users from relevant harmful material and/or under 18s from restricted material.

See link here

Guardian/Observer article removal (UPDATE OCTOBER 2023)

I've chased this up over the years. Just making sure the article remains where it belongs...in the bin. Old documents and e-mails keep popping up.

Not so long ago one supposed "troofer" swore that  "The Observer have never retracted the story". and “There was no evidence that the Observer’s report was inaccurate, and the newspaper stands by it”. 

Below is an extract of e-mail exchange with head of legal for the Guardian and myself concerning this comment made in a variety of statements. Note the dates. Essentially these emails destroy any idea that the paper stands by its actions. Would you believe an individual who calls themselves a real troofer, or the Director of legal services for the Guardian? 

"Can I suggest that you seek further information from... [redacted]...as to what they are referring to when they says that the September 13 article is available online? 

Although no-one seems to have obtained copies of the article from the GNM archive, over the years, third parties have posted copies of what look like a scanned copy of the original print article on their websites. 

This republication has taken place without the Observer’s authority. Any apparent online republication of the article appears to be a scan of a hard copy of the article from the newspaper dated 13 September 1992”.

best wishes 

Gill Phillips

Director of Editorial Legal Services, Guardian News & Media (25.04.2021)

“The article is not otherwise available online via the GNM website. I have searched within the GNM website search engine for the headline of the article and, separately, your name and nothing is produced”. 

Gill Phillips, Director of Editorial Legal Services 

Guardian News & Media. (25 April 2021)

Further email exchanges found on a word document with the FORMER Readers editor (see image above) who has since appeared somewhere in the classical music pages

"Morning Darren I received an e-mail this morning to say that the technical team have removed the piece but that it may take up to five days to actually disappear from an archive search, can I contact your stalker and warn him off?

Stephen

"I have had two meetings with the editor he has agreed at an interim gesture of goodwill we will remove the article and photograph in question from our digital archive to prevent it being available to anyone else. All this may look like prevarication until a but I assure you it is not I am working hard to get to the truth about how this story appeared."

Stephen

More recently this.. 

ee how quick they change uniforms? Utter hypocrisy from all involved. Spokes in a wheel with CSA/paedophilia as the hub. 

Adventures of Ryan Tanner (part 4)

It was the spring of 1983 when Ryan was released from the detention centre to his mother’s home address in Holyhead. Any chances of returning to the care of the local authority had long gone. He hadn’t lived with his family for more than a few weeks since the age of 10. 

He now had a younger brother too.  Unbeknown to Ryan his mother Judy and her new man Norman had tied the knot at the beginning of the eighties. James was seven years old and cute enough as a little brother but he had his own room in a two bedroom council flat. Norman wasn’t about to allow Ryan to change that. In all honesty Norman had always resented Ryan’s presence in the family home. It was clear from very early on during some home visits that Norman and Ryan were never going to be singing from the same hymn sheet. 

Ryan slept on the newly purchased sofa bed in James’s room. It was never going to last Ryan thought as he walked along the quayside of the town’s fishing dock during the early hours of one morning. “I need to get my own place” he’d tell his friends as they watched the tonnes of mackerel being unloaded from fishing trawlers onto the quayside. His sixteenth birthday was fast approaching. Helping the fishermen unload their catch for a pittance wasn’t an option for Ryan, he wanted more.

A cold winter’s north easterly wind battered Ryan’s face as he hurried through town from the jobcentre to the local pub. It was a dead Tuesday afternoon and the litter strewn town centre was empty. Many of the shops had “closing down” notices in their windows and doors. The town that offered so much to Ryan as a child was dying a slow death.

The Queens public house was the only pub in town that Ryan managed to get served with alcohol Few sixteen year olds looked as mature as Ryan. He had a well-established moustache and sometimes darkened it with his older sister’s mascara. As long as he could avoid the side of the glass rubbing against his bum-fluff, thereby causing the mascara to run down his chin he could pass for an eighteen year old and manage to get served. His few pounds of benefit payments never lasted more than a day or two. His situation was dire. He needed to get out of this God forsaken town. Some of his former school friends were meddling with heroin. Ryan witnessed more than one suffering from the effects of withdrawal. “Time to get out of this shit hole” he said as he lined up his cue on the white pool ball. John Tuck coughed aloud in an attempt to put Ryan off his shot. “Yeah, yeah Tanner everyone says it but no-one ever does it” said Tuck. Ryan missed his shot, “yeah, well I’m not fucking everyone am I mate?” he replied. Sipping on the final drops of his pint of cider and black currant Ryan looked at Tuck, “I’ll be gone this time next week John, you watch”. Tuck laughed, “Yeah, yeah we’ll see”. 

The following weekend Ryan stood on the outskirts of Holyhead town at the side of the A5 with his thumb out. The A5 was a road he’d travelled many times previously. Whether he was being conveyed in his social workers car or, as was more often the case in some kind stranger’s car. Ryan knew the A5 like the back of his hand. He’d always hitch-hiked his way across the Isle of Anglesey; it was only twenty four miles as the crow flies from east to west. Anglesey was a beautiful place to live if you had the means to do so but Ryan never had those means. A car pulled up, “where are you off to mate?” shouted the driver “anywhere mate, anywhere but this shit hole” Ryan replied. “Jump in,” the driver said. That was the final day of Ryan Tanner as a resident of the town of Holyhead, the gateway to Ireland.

Ryan’s biological father was of Irish descent. He had a strong Irish accent. Ryan still clings onto this part of his DNA. Is there anyone who dislikes an Irish accent? Ryan used to put on a fake Irish accent when trying to court the female holiday makers that visited Anglesey with their families. There was never a shortage of tourists during the summer months. If every day on Anglesey was a sunny and warm day Ryan doubts he would ever have left. There are many magical memories of the summer holidays that have remained with Ryan throughout his life. There are also some not so pleasant memories he’s carried with him too. He doesn’t dwell on the negative thoughts that pop up in his mind every now and then, he deals with them in his own way. Usually this process involves alcohol or some kind of other mind altering drug. 

Adventures of Ryan Tanner (Part 3)

Ryan Tanner walked through the main doors of Byrne House on a brisk but sunny morning in September 1981. He was 13 years old. His well-groomed black hair shone in the sunlight of the summer’s morning. He had a cocky smile. He looked like trouble and a decade or so later he was as troublesome as they come for anyone who mistreated him as a young boy. Byrne House was the place to house the Ryan Tanners of this world. He was there because no other children’s home would take him. “The last thing that Ryan Tanner needed was a family environment. He needs to be placed in an all-male environment” was the recommendation contained in the latest social workers report. Ryan knew nothing of the reports compiled by his former “carers”. He always thought that he was sent to Byrne House as punishment because of his behaviour whilst resident in other family orientated children’s homes. 

Ryan’s first placement in the care of the local authority was in a newly built modern looking assessment centre designed as a collective row of three to four houses. It was a new project for the local politicians to spend tax payers’ money on to try and gain some kudos in the forthcoming general elections.  It was a new and worthy cause that would bring kids and their broken families back together again. Ryan’s upbringing was alien to the concept offered by this placement. Any assessment of Ryan would evidence as much. Ryan Tanner was a hardened. He was child hardened by his first ten years of life. His behaviour was such that he attracted the attention of the officer-in-charge at the Yellow Project House, Neville Snot. In the time to come Neville Snot would regret the day he ever set eyes on that ten year old, who was just four feet and nine inches tall.

Early Tanner

Ryan Tanner was born in the summer of 1967. He was the youngest of three children. Soon after his first birthday Ryan’s father was posted to Singapore. Richard Tanner had joined the Royal Air Force a few years earlier. Ryan’s mother had initially refused to make the move with Richard because of her fear of flying. The thought of flying in a plane sent shivers down the spine of Judy Tanner. Eventually, she agreed to up sticks and make the move. Judy found it almost impossible to imagine bringing up the three kids without the support of Richard, emotionally and financially. 

Although Judy’s immediate family had offered to support her for the two years that Richard was due to stay in Singapore she knew it was the right decision to go with him. Ryan had vague and patchy memories of his mother singing a song which included the lyrics “Stand by your man”; he discovered later on in life that it was a big hit for Tammy Wynette. Music has always played a role in Ryan’s life; many of his memories centred on the music of a certain period. 

Whilst in Singapore Judy and Richard started to drift apart, Richard was constantly drinking more than he should for a father of three young children. Ryan’s two older sisters remembered their mother screaming and shouting about Richard’s constant nights out with his fellow air force comrades. Richard’s violent outbursts often resulted with Judy sporting a blackened eye or a thick lip, Judy couldn’t wait to get back home to the UK and to her family and friends.

In 1970 they all returned to the UK when Ryan was aged just three years old. The violence continued and it was inevitable given the size of Judy’s family that Richard was ostracised and eventually he left the family home. According to Richard, as he later explained to Ryan, he had no choice in the matter. Ryan never saw his father again until he was ten years old. Richard had a new family but he was still drinking heavily. This was a feature that was never to change throughout Richard’s life.  

Whilst growing up Ryan frequently asked himself the same questions; What if his father hadn’t left? What would life have been like if his parents had stayed together? Would his life have been different? He’d often fabricate a happy family life when meeting new people. Ryan would often brag about his dad being an RAF officer, he’d pretend to have memories of living Singapore and brag about the house-maids that used to look after him. Always trying to fit in with his peers Ryan never allowed his families breakdown to become a negative factor. 

Ryan’s short visit to see his father at the age ten was explained to his peers in terms of joy and happiness. In reality it was anything but. The truth was that Judy had a new man in her life. She could see Ryan’s behaviour was changing for the worse so sending Ryan to visit his father was an attempt to pacify him. But Judy knew deep down that she was never going to allow Ryan to actually live with Richard. Ryan had barely taken his shoes off in his father’s new family home when his mother Judy was on the phone. “He’s only there because I want a break” she used to insist. “Make sure he knows he’ll be back next week”. Richard’s new family home was never going to be Ryan’s new family home. Ryan knew he was going home to his mother sooner or later. 

Social workers assigned to Ryan in the early days often tried to persuade him that if he moved to live with his father things would be better for him. “Think of the new school, the new friends and new adventures you’d have Ryan”. What they actually meant was; as soon as we can get rid of this one to another patch then all the boxes that were required to be ticked would be ticked, job done, next!

Early school days for Ryan Tanner were much the same as his classmates. That said, his teachers always seemed to single him out. His hand would be the first raised to answer any questions put to the class. If he was chosen to answer by the teacher he answered with the confidence of an adult. So much so that he usually ended up questioning the original question. Teachers often grew annoyed at Ryan’s cocky answers. “But that isn’t what I was asking Ryan” they’d say. “Well that’s what it sounded like to me miss” was his usual reply. Ryan was never without friends in school. Other children would want to sit on the same table as him at lunch time. His female friends often flirted and made it known to him that they wanted his attention.

Despite his forty years of smoking and drinking Ryan Tanner carried a look of a man that’d walked into the wind and the sun for most of his life. If he was ever asked about his age few people would guess it and most always end up guessing it as many years younger. As a wry smile appeared from Ryan’s mouth Ryan’s dream came to an abrupt end. He heard his name being shouted. “TANNER, HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY IT, get your fucking arse out of that pit NOW”! Ryan realised he’d been dreaming the dream again. The same dream he’d had for years-the dream of being a writer and writing books

Detention Centre 

The burly prison officer grabbed the base of Ryan’s bed and lifted it with Ryan still in it. Ryan stared at his ripping large muscles that were nearly bursting through his brilliant, starched white short- sleeved shirt; Ryan could see a web like pattern of deep purple veins bursting to break out of the screws biceps. “Where the fuck do you think you are”? Tanner’s bed was then dropped onto the polished wooden dormitory floor boards. “It’s not a fucking holiday camp you know”, the screw shouted across the dorm as he marched further on down the line of beds.

Ryan was serving four months in a youth detention centre (DC). He was now fifteen years old. He climbed out of bed and stretched his developing arms up toward the hundred year old ceiling of the dormitory. Cob webs filled the gaps in between the wooden beams and the lime coating under the roof tiles. “I hate this shit hole” Ryan murmured to himself. The usual routine followed-into the wash room with its freezing cold terracotta floor tiles and cold white ceramic tiled walls. Pick one of the forty or so deep Belfast sinks, strip wash, clean teeth, shave, rinse and dry. This was always followed by-back to the dorm, get dressed into the uniform of checked shirt and denim dungarees, build a square bed pack from your sheets and pillow, place it at the head of the bed on top of the mattress and then stand at the base of your bed until the screw had inspected the bed pack and permitted you to go down to the dining room to wait at your table for breakfast. It was the same routine every morning for nearly four months. The only respite was for the last few weeks when Ryan managed to get a job on the detention centres farm. 

Although extremely hard work and a 5am start Ryan enjoyed the change of scenery and the farm banter that came with the job. Additionally the “farm lads” food was also considerably better in quality and quantity. Ryan applied on numerous occasions for work on the farm but his general behaviour wasn’t good enough. He was informed that he needed to improve his over-all general behaviour before being allowed out unsupervised on the farm. With only three weeks left of his four month sentence he was deemed a suitable choice. Ryan hated the governor of Worthington House detention centre as he hated all the other people who’d claimed an authority over him as a child, a teenager and a young man. ‘Bastards, all of them’ he often thought, utter bastards. cont.......

4 years 6 months and 10 days.

Events of recent have emerged in such a way that I'm relying on a higher power to guide my actions. Left to my own devices things would inevitably hit the fan. Not anymore. No longer do I dive in head first and retaliate. Seems to be working so far. 

The words below came to me at sunrise recently. I thought I'd share them as I begin day 1655 of sobriety. The saying 'it works if you work it' has never been more apt. 

Now we know the truth to be this: “Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic”

We’ve never seen one single case where one of us was able to go back to successful drinking… to believe anything different than that is to believe something that is not true, or to believe a lie. This guy believed that after 25 years of sobriety he could now drink like normal people.  Now based upon that belief he took a drink, triggered the allergy, couldn’t stop…four years later he’s dead.  Now is his real problem the fact that he has a physical allergy to alcohol or a form of insanity that tells him it’s OK to drink alcohol after 25 years of sobriety? The real problem is centred in our mind telling us we can drink, rather than in our body, that ensures that we can’t drink.

We have seen the truth demonstrated again and again: "Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic." Commencing to drink after a period of sobriety, we are in a short time as bad as ever. If we are planning to stop drinking, there must be no reservation of any kind, nor any lurking notion that someday we will be immune to alcohol.

From Joe and Charlie Bless em.

Adventures Of Ryan Tanner (Part 2)

......This was the first morning for over a year that the freight train of fear hadn’t arrived. Ryan Tanner’s every waking moment had been a nightmare since his arrest some twelve months previously. The freight train of fear had passed by for the first time in over a year. It wasn’t coming at him at speed; it wasn’t on its way. No screaming whistle and no screeching of the brakes. It was over. The possibility of ten years in prison was no more. The judge’s words kept repeating in Ryan’s head “You’re free to leave this court Mr Tanner”.

The journey home took just under four hours. Maggie, Ryans mother-in law, had slept for most of it. Apparently, she’d refused to go to sleep until Ryan was tucked up in his room. Ryan’s wife had mentioned earlier that it was about 3am. Ryan enjoyed the drive. Smiling and winking at the other drivers who were also caught in the stand-still traffic on the various motorways and dual carriage ways. Nothing could ruin his day he thought. The photographer back at the hotel was shocked to discover Ryan was happy to be photographed. Ryan chose the spot for the shoot in front of the same fish tank he’d attempted to swim in during the early hours. The news of his acquittal had made the headlines. Luckily, there was nothing about Ryan’s attempted early morning dip. Ryan remembered his audience the night before. “Fuck em” he thought. The presenter began, “A man was yesterday acquitted of all charges of stalking over a four year period”, the newscaster announced on the radio. “Ryan Tanner, who is fifty years old, spoke briefly to our reporter after his acquittal at Kingdom crown court yesterday. He said, I am innocent and have been innocent of all charges since the day the police smashed down my front door and arrested me. It’s time to gather my thoughts and spend some quality time with my family”. Ryan laughed out aloud as he re-tuned the radio. Don McLean-Chain Lightening that’ll do nicely he said as he turned up the volume using the control paddles next to the steering wheel.

2012 was the year Ryan had decided to try and in his own words “put things right about Byrne House”. Too many news reports were reporting that senior politicians and other well-known show business celebrities had been regular visitors to the home where Ryan had lived for two years. These supposed politicians had allegedly regularly picked up boys and took them away to London to be sexually abused in various addresses at high class parties. Ryan knew it was lies he was watching the creation of “fake news” in all its glory. The dramatic music behind the news features, the special reports involving experts and specialists filled the TV screens day and night for almost a week. Ryan’s mobile phone rang; it was Barry from the BBC Wales. A deep southwalian accent requested an interview. The promise of a £50 payment to talk about the Byrne House visitors on the phone for a few minutes sent Ryan into a tirade of expletives and curses. Barry apologised and promised no further contact. A quarter of an hour later Roger from BBC Wales was on the phone. Ryan knew Roger from the mid-eighties. Some of the so-called care staff had been convicted of sexually abusing some children at Byrne House. Roger had interviewed Ryan about his time there as a teenager. 

Things were different this time. Many years had passed and Roger was a senior reporter and he was expected to be able to deliver the goods. “OK, Ryan I understand what you’re saying but might there be any chance you could put me in touch with Alwyn Hughes?” Alwyn had been sexually abused according to the jury at the trial of Peter Hogget. Hogget had been convicted of numerous offences of sexual abuse against a number of boys at Byrne House during the 1960’s through to the middle of the 1980’s. “Roger” Ryan said quietly “I think it’s best if you fuck off. Leave me and anyone I know alone if you’d be so kind”. “But Ryan”, Roger persisted, “this is big. What’s it going to cost me?” Memories of Alwyn came to Ryan’s mind. He placed the phone on its cradle. It rang again. Ryan grabbed the dog lead and summoned his four legged friend. “Oscar, c'mon let’s go”.

Oscar heard Ryan’s legal defence time after time without knowing it. Each evening as they walked Ryan would inform Oscar what his reply to any of the prosecutions questions would be, each line would be rehearsed over and over. Oscar was happy to listen as long as he had a ball to fetch. The judge had agreed a time limit on Ryan’s trial, six days. The case management hearings and the pre-trial preparation hearings evidence was bollocks, Ryan explained to Oscar. It was a jury Ryan wanted, a jury of twelve normal everyday people who would see right through the prosecution’s case. “You wait and see Oscar; I’ll be taking you for a long walk on the 20th of June 2017. And so it was. Ryan and his sheepdog Oscar walked for five hours on the 20th June 2017.

Ryan Tanner’s refusals to accept the media’s mantra- that politicians visited Byrne House made him enemies. Whether it was on social media in the newspapers and or in the main stream media, various so-called “victims” made appearances and made wild and far-fetched claims. Tanner knew some of these so-called “victims”. They’d been at Byrne House together all those years ago. Martin Watson appeared on Sky News and looked almost dead to Ryan. His skin was white and his hair was wet from the sweat he was expelling. Martin was drinking from a beer bottle during the interview and wearing a denim jacket and ripped jeans, he lied through his teeth that resembled a row of bombed houses. Ryan turned to his wife and said, “That’s bullshit. Every word is bullshit, I was there”. “Don’t let it bother you” she replied. “Well it does bother me” said an uncomfortable Ryan. “It’s doing my head in”....cont

The Adventures Of Ryan Tanner (Part 1)

Ryan Tanner grinned as the judge announced his acquittal. “You’re free to leave this court Mr Tanner” the judge announced. Tanner, with his head held high surrounded by the glass walls of the crown court dock waited for the overweight female custody officer to unlock the door to freedom. 

No goodbyes and no looking back. Tanner held out his hand as his wife locked hers into his. They headed for the main doors of the court and disappeared outside into the public foyer. Once the lift reached the bottom floor Ryan could see the media scrum waiting outside the entrance to the courts. 

They scuffled and fought for the best position to catch a glimpse of Tanner as he exited the swinging doors of Kingdom crown court. Microphones and flashing cameras were aimed at Tanners face, “How does it feel Mr Tanner? Are you glad it’s over Ryan? Will you be suing the police Ryan? Have you got a message for your accusers Mr Tanner?” “Do you intend to sue them?” Tanner picked one camera and spoke directly into the lens, “these people have attempted to destroy my life. They failed, the police, the Crown prosecution service and certain politicians have spent thousands of pounds of public money on a prosecution that should never have been brought. I am innocent and have been innocent of all charges since the day the police smashed down my front door and arrested me. It’s time to gather my thoughts and spend some quality time with my family. I’ll be making an official statement in due course”. Tanner’s wife locked her arm into his and smiled at him. “Let’s go Ryan, let’s get away from here” she whispered in his ear. 

They shared a pouting kiss and made their way to the back of the building where they had parked their car. A few hacks attempted to follow them. Tanner politely asked them to leave them alone. Apart from one persistent little shit the media pack backed off and allowed the couple room to walk away freely. “But, Mr Tanner”, shouted the remaining hack as he walked backwards in front of Tanner as Tanner moved forward “what about the victims in this case?” Tanner paused and leaning forward, “the only victims in this case are my family and friends and the general public”, now I’ve politely asked you to allow us to get on with our lives so please leave us alone, or else”. The hack realised soon enough that Tanner was heading directly into his personal space. He moved aside and allowed Tanner and his wife the space to walk on. 

The next morning Ryan Tanner awoke and sat up in bed. He looked out of the windows on the thirteenth floor of the St James hotel in London. He could hear his wife singing in the shower, Dolly Parton. Standing next to the full length windows Tanner moved the net curtains to one side and looked down on the main street. Ant sized people went about their business. Red buses, black cabs and motorcycle couriers waited for the traffic lights to change colour. Something was amiss. Ryan thought for a while. Walking over to the half sized kettle he stopped. He caught a glance of himself in the full length mirror. His stomach was bigger than it was yesterday due to the previous night’s feast of alcohol and food. His stomach felt wrong. Not because of the over indulgence the night before, it was something else. Then it came to him.................cont....

Addiction/Recovery

For my 8th birthday my elder sister bought me a pack of Weetabix cereal. I distinctly remember my mother saying “you’re bloody addicted to them you are“. She wasn’t far wrong, I loved them. Is there a difference between addiction for/to something and loving something? Answers on a postcard.

At present, in my mid 50s, and with the benefit of hindsight one could argue the above question for decades. Thousands of therapists and scientists could and would spend the rest of their lives, trying to or rather pretending to try to, answer that question. 

The phenomenal recent increase of therapeutical practices with regards to addiction could not have gone unnoticed. Thousands upon thousands of so-called practitioners, swarm the internet through social media with adverts and promotional offerings with a promise to the addict or rather the addicted customer, a solution to help them take control of their lives and break free from their addictions. It doesn’t matter which addiction, it doesn’t matter why the addiction, it doesn’t matter who is the addict. What matters is that the customer has the finance or funding to pay for the specific therapy. The customer can can choose from a myriad of options available to them, ranging from hallucinogenic drugs to tapping their forehead repeatedly. Many therapists offer a range of solutions/remedies to the addictive customer, all for a special price… of course. Some of these so-called therapists have become millionaire celebrities in their own right. I could reel off half a dozen names of the so-called “specialists“ but I won’t bother. It’s not as if they need the publicity, indeed they have waiting lists as long as airport runways. 

Many of the modern day wizards/healers lay claim to have experienced traumatic events, which have led them to their position in life. Many more are just well read clowns, who make a living by profiteering from the suffering of others. It’s not a new phenomena but any means. 

Anyway back to me. For the past 46 years i’ve been labelled and have self labelled myself as someone with an addictive personality. My most recent addiction is a three year old boy who my daughter gave birth to during the height of a global detention/lockdown. Can my love for him to be described as an addiction? Can his love for his mother be classified as an addiction? There are many who would argue yes, absolutely. Those same people would be quite happy to charge you by the hour to take you through the psychological psychoanalytical physiological and sociological reasons why. I try to avoid such people. 

From 1977 through to 1984 I was unfortunate enough to find myself in the care of the local authority (hardly surprising given both of my parents were alcoholics). I learnt very quickly how to smoke, drink and behave or adapt to my environments. By the age of 14, my addictions ranged from antiperspirants, deodorant, petrol, glue, alcohol, and tobacco. By the age of 17, I had added, amphetamine, cannabis, ecstasy and LSD to the list. By the age of 18, I had served two prison sentences. I was ejected from the care system with very few social skills, no education and no ability to decipher the world around me. I was lost in a haze of sex drugs and rock ‘n’ roll. 

My early 20s arrived with a stumble. I had managed to reduced my addictions/dependencies down to just alcohol, tobacco and cannabis. Although I was living a life, it wasn’t one any parent would choose for their own children. I began to discover the world of employment and all that comes with living an independent  lifestyle i.e. responsibilities, planning, foresight and budgeting. 

However, at the age of 25 I had a new addiction. My daughter was born on November 22, 1994. She was a game changer in many ways. I discovered unconditional love, innocence, compassion, security and many other human emotions that had eluded me. I was now a father. 18 months later our second was born. He was my first son. Another addiction added to the list. Over the next few years we planned for two more. We lost one in the very early stages of pregnancy but had our third nearly a decade after our first. A good set up. I was content with my lot. Or was I? During the entire 30 years of recovering from my childhood disasters I was ignorant of why I had to drink so much so often to such extremes. I had no idea of the depths alcohol had taken me.

It wasn’t until I attended a meeting of similar minded people, that it dawned on me. It was March 15 2019. A small wooden building in the village of Menai Bridge on the island of Anglesey, north Wales. It was cold, it was wet and it was my first realisation that I was, am and have been an alcoholic for many years. Some argue it took hold in the womb. Who knows? Who cares? 

I haven’t consumed alcohol since that day. My sobriety is now an addiction. The more I have the more I want. And as if I any reinforcement of sobriety was required, it came along in the form of my first grandson in June 2020. He’s a gift beyond description.  

It would take an entire manual to describe and evidence the battles, internally and externally, I have fought to reach my station in life. However, I recently arrived at a junction. Decisions were required regarding the next decade or two. Who, what, where and when are we heading? Where do I want to end up? And how do I end up there?

In the very early years, we decided we’d like to be Driftwood artists. Collecting driftwood from the coast of Anglesey cleaning it, tart it up a bit and sell it on. A dream like existence that would involve beach strolls, sunsets and barbecues. it took a while, but we eventually realised dreamers only exist in dreams. So thereafter we embarked on an educational journey through university college etc eventually graduating in the early 2000s. My wife and I both becoming officially recognised criminologists. 

Initially, I was a mentor to teenagers from deprived backgrounds. There was a lot of outdoors stuff and associated physical tasks. They looked up to me, they trusted me and they opened up quite freely on a wide range of subjects. You can guess some of the more negative issues I counselled them for. I had a rapport beyond the comprehension of any other staff members reach. I began working in the criminal justice system only to discover I was different from everyone else employed in the criminal justice. It was never going to work. I left with a bang. I’ve dipped my toe in the children’s residential services, I endured two years of non-governmental organisation trauma working with ex offenders and have more recently ventured into and out of the profit making arena of private rehabilitation. 

The latter providing a sordid example of how bad things have got. The sales team in the private rehabilitation industry, usually the unit managers are evidently able to convince some very well off vulnerable people to spend upwards of £10,000 a month with a promise of solving their addictions. The paying customer is led along a merry path which has been designed with their vulnerabilities in mind. They use tactics, not unfamiliar to second-hand car salesman or scrupulous landlords. They reel you in and hook you using tactics that thus far, are mostly concealed from the publics gaze. Part of my future plan involves close scrutiny of such units. Especially the local offerings here in north Wales.

I am anti-authoritarian. I am a child of the system of government which has repeatedly and perpetually been unable to provide the tax payers any services to a decent standard. Every government since 1967 has failed to provide adequate personal assistance to enable the addicted among us  to climb the economic, social and educational ladders of life. The systemic influences of financial gain are obvious. 

Alcoholic pensioners by the dozen are convinced to part with tens of thousands of pounds to spend some time “with others, among friends, and with people who understand you, in a luxury environment.“ They’ll be told about the clean sheets, the laundry service, the meditation, the yoga, the restaurant styled food, the local scenery, the fresh air, and not forgetting “the program” or the more recently favoured jargon used by the private providers “your individual pathway”. Customers are provided with “schedules“. Failure to adhere to these “schedules“ could result in your discharge. Therefore you will forfeit any remaining payment. In other words, if you don’t do what you’re told we do you have the right via the signed contract to terminate your stay or “pathway” and to keep your money. Shocking. 

My last, and arguably, the most powerful of addictions, tobacco is a battle still being fought. Don’t ask.