Butterfly Effect
In mid-1986, I broke up with a girl after a few months, who, then hooked up with my best friend. As he and I were both gamers, it did affect our relationship and thereby my gaming which was a 'bit pants'. I drifted away from Sheffield Wargames Society and sort of did my own thing whilst still trying to wargame and roleplay with the other 3 or 4 groups I was part of, but frankly I was cast adrift.
My main peer group were going through a period where, being like me, pretty sensitive and historically bullied types, they quite often used to select one of the group and give them a passive-agressive hard time, and let me tell you a bullied geek makes a terribly effective bully in their own right (popping them on the nose, would seem the best option to prevent things spiralling, but this wisdom only seems to come with age) and so it went on with this cyclic circle of meanness and like a couple of guys I copped my fair share as I was from a different area of the city to the core of the group and so was an easier mark.
So, I drifted off with the younger brother of one of my gaming and reenacting friends and one night ended up at a party of an acquaintance of his. This guy was part of the Goth sub culture, about as far from my own long haired and combat-jacketed peer group as was possible, but I was made welcome, and a week later threw in my lot, had the sides of my head shaved, a piercing or two, a new black wardrobe and copious mounts of hair dye applied.
That weekend, I returned to Calvin's flat for another party and met the girl who I'd spend two and a half years with in a doomed and exceedingly toxic relationship which, cost me a friend for 25 years, scarred me for 30 and nearly got me killed - No, really.
It was meeting my wife and the birth of our daughter in 1989 which literally saved me from in all probability simply erasing myself.
I became more and more distant from people who despite their youthful power games were actually friends with one of them screwing my girlfriend in 1987 resulting in a rather nasty face off in a night club and a vendetta which was only settled a few months before my friend passed away a couple of years ago - Way too late to regain our former friendship.
Whilst I would not have met my wife, had I not gone to that party and decided to change my circle, it was not at all a good time in my life. I fought with my parents, was thrown out, had friends but no real 'friends' and became a recluse and rather unpleasant person as the relationship with the aforementioned girlfriend became surreal and dangerous. She was sleeping around, I was going ballistic, but was simply too weak to walk away.
Anyway, it all came to a head in the Spring of 1988. I'd met the magnificent woman who would go on to be my partner, wife and constant companion of almost 32 years (so far) but was too controlled by my so-called girlfriend to leave her and move with Kayte to West Yorkshire. By now I was a literal recluse. We lived in the same house but my girlfriend was never there and was actually doing her best to take out her own anger on me by using others.
A few months earlier a rather distasteful character had been breaking into the flats and bedsits of the Goth community with a group of almost comic book stereotype thug-friends, and had tried the same at my own flat, but I'd called the police and as you'd expect of South Yorkshire Police in the 80s they'd done absolutely nothing, despite catching a home invasion in progress.
Anyway, a few weeks later, someone had gone into the cemetery behind the home of this moronic miscreant, put two crossbow bolts through his windows, and the balloon had gone up in the Goth community despite the fact the secretly a lot of people probably cheered and raised a glass to the vigilante.
My girlfriend who was at the time a 5 foot 6 bundle of neuroses had suggested that she thought it was me because I 'used to do archery' about 6 years earlier whilst still at school, but how do you explain to people without the intelligence to hold a reasoned conversation, that a longbow and a crossbow are nothing like the same and that had nor have I ever used a crossbow.
Word got back to me that I was being looked for with the intention of stabbing me with the result that I may exit this coil.
I changed address, and became a real recluse, venturing out at night to get some fresh air,. The last time I went into The Limit, Sheffield's iconic alternative night club, I apparently avoided being knifed by literally 30 seconds.
I was in a mess mentally and socially and what's more I'd done nothing to warrant it. I have done some stupid things in my life, but stupidity with projectile weapons is not something I'd condone.
I had made contact with a couple of older friends, who kept their ears to the ground and found out who'd done the deed, and tried to intervene with the house breaker, who would have none of it. My girlfriend was still stirring the pot, unbeknown to me as our relationship went onto a death dive culminating in me coming home one morning to find her in bed with a guy, who, had been out the night before in my leather and boots and who, according to a friend who'd called around at the house the night before to find I'd been taken to the house of some old friends to get me to actually interface with the world outside had been told by this cuckolding cuckoo that he 'was 'gonna throw all Mark's models in the bin' in a fit of bravado to impress my very-shortly-to-be-ex.
Now, I actually snapped at this news, having only been told as my friends escorted me home, and I admit that I went a bit crazy. I went into the house, up the stairs and there he was, bold as brass. It was at this point that I delivered what I consider to be a classic tirade which went thus: "You can wear my clothes, eat my food, sleep in my bed. You can even fuck my woman, but if you ever touch my figures, I assure you, it will be the last thing you do...'
The guy got dressed and said he see my ex later and my ex sat there in bed, with her mouth wide open, realising that indeed something had changed and that the relationship was finally over between us. Throw my figures away, indeed - the cheek!
Anyway, a few weeks later I got back together with my now wife by an amazing bit of chance and fortune, (see my book for details as it was truly amazing and rather funny) and we settled down.
Unfortunately, nothing was going to convince that house breaking moron that I was innocent, and I have had recurring nightmares for over 30 years which leave me screaming and shaking whilst I assume the fool who carried out the revenge attack presumably got on with his life.
Every now and again, the name of the house breaker appeared in the local press as he was sentenced or released for some criminal or violent act or another, his most recent being this year in the early Summer, (iirc) for Grievous Bodily Harm.
Last night I'd gone with my wife and daughter to see an 80s icon play a gig here in Sheffield, and as we walked into the venue, chatting happily, who should appear in front of me but that same piece of violent criminal detritus. I alerted my wife, and we went to our seats. I was shaking and dealing with a panic attack as it seemed my nightmares had ben made manifest, and what was supposed to be a celebration of our daughter's 30th birthday, became an ordeal I don't want to repeat as he constantly kept coming into the aisle to our front to take footage of the gig.
I am ashamed to say that I was genuinely afraid, despite not being the type of person who gets rattled easily. The inability for me to resolve the situation in the 80s, prove my innocence to someone who just did not care about the truth, the 9 months I spent in a hermit-like state and the narrow avoidance of termination have built a psychological wall of cold terror that I just cannot cure myself of.
We got home safely in the end, but my wife and I had to explain to our daughter why her Dad was in a fragile mental state. At once I was ashamed at my lack of nerve, but it also made me realise that at heart I am a man of peace, not of war, which although it may sound like a cop out, is I think a preferable way to be.
This dark period in my life however has taught me that friends , true friends are valuable. My two best friends aside from my wife are miles away from me. Roger, I communicate with several times a week, and in fact as I finish this post, I'll be writing to him. Darren is in Japan, but I understand that after a quarter of a century avoiding having to eat noodles and sushi, he is now hoping to return to the U.K, so perhaps in the foreseeable future we'll all get together across the gaming table. It was gaming which brought us together and gaming which I believe has helped us re-establish our friendship in our middle years.
My main peer group were going through a period where, being like me, pretty sensitive and historically bullied types, they quite often used to select one of the group and give them a passive-agressive hard time, and let me tell you a bullied geek makes a terribly effective bully in their own right (popping them on the nose, would seem the best option to prevent things spiralling, but this wisdom only seems to come with age) and so it went on with this cyclic circle of meanness and like a couple of guys I copped my fair share as I was from a different area of the city to the core of the group and so was an easier mark.
So, I drifted off with the younger brother of one of my gaming and reenacting friends and one night ended up at a party of an acquaintance of his. This guy was part of the Goth sub culture, about as far from my own long haired and combat-jacketed peer group as was possible, but I was made welcome, and a week later threw in my lot, had the sides of my head shaved, a piercing or two, a new black wardrobe and copious mounts of hair dye applied.
That weekend, I returned to Calvin's flat for another party and met the girl who I'd spend two and a half years with in a doomed and exceedingly toxic relationship which, cost me a friend for 25 years, scarred me for 30 and nearly got me killed - No, really.
It was meeting my wife and the birth of our daughter in 1989 which literally saved me from in all probability simply erasing myself.
I became more and more distant from people who despite their youthful power games were actually friends with one of them screwing my girlfriend in 1987 resulting in a rather nasty face off in a night club and a vendetta which was only settled a few months before my friend passed away a couple of years ago - Way too late to regain our former friendship.
Whilst I would not have met my wife, had I not gone to that party and decided to change my circle, it was not at all a good time in my life. I fought with my parents, was thrown out, had friends but no real 'friends' and became a recluse and rather unpleasant person as the relationship with the aforementioned girlfriend became surreal and dangerous. She was sleeping around, I was going ballistic, but was simply too weak to walk away.
Anyway, it all came to a head in the Spring of 1988. I'd met the magnificent woman who would go on to be my partner, wife and constant companion of almost 32 years (so far) but was too controlled by my so-called girlfriend to leave her and move with Kayte to West Yorkshire. By now I was a literal recluse. We lived in the same house but my girlfriend was never there and was actually doing her best to take out her own anger on me by using others.
A few months earlier a rather distasteful character had been breaking into the flats and bedsits of the Goth community with a group of almost comic book stereotype thug-friends, and had tried the same at my own flat, but I'd called the police and as you'd expect of South Yorkshire Police in the 80s they'd done absolutely nothing, despite catching a home invasion in progress.
Anyway, a few weeks later, someone had gone into the cemetery behind the home of this moronic miscreant, put two crossbow bolts through his windows, and the balloon had gone up in the Goth community despite the fact the secretly a lot of people probably cheered and raised a glass to the vigilante.
My girlfriend who was at the time a 5 foot 6 bundle of neuroses had suggested that she thought it was me because I 'used to do archery' about 6 years earlier whilst still at school, but how do you explain to people without the intelligence to hold a reasoned conversation, that a longbow and a crossbow are nothing like the same and that had nor have I ever used a crossbow.
Word got back to me that I was being looked for with the intention of stabbing me with the result that I may exit this coil.
I changed address, and became a real recluse, venturing out at night to get some fresh air,. The last time I went into The Limit, Sheffield's iconic alternative night club, I apparently avoided being knifed by literally 30 seconds.
I was in a mess mentally and socially and what's more I'd done nothing to warrant it. I have done some stupid things in my life, but stupidity with projectile weapons is not something I'd condone.
I had made contact with a couple of older friends, who kept their ears to the ground and found out who'd done the deed, and tried to intervene with the house breaker, who would have none of it. My girlfriend was still stirring the pot, unbeknown to me as our relationship went onto a death dive culminating in me coming home one morning to find her in bed with a guy, who, had been out the night before in my leather and boots and who, according to a friend who'd called around at the house the night before to find I'd been taken to the house of some old friends to get me to actually interface with the world outside had been told by this cuckolding cuckoo that he 'was 'gonna throw all Mark's models in the bin' in a fit of bravado to impress my very-shortly-to-be-ex.
Now, I actually snapped at this news, having only been told as my friends escorted me home, and I admit that I went a bit crazy. I went into the house, up the stairs and there he was, bold as brass. It was at this point that I delivered what I consider to be a classic tirade which went thus: "You can wear my clothes, eat my food, sleep in my bed. You can even fuck my woman, but if you ever touch my figures, I assure you, it will be the last thing you do...'
The guy got dressed and said he see my ex later and my ex sat there in bed, with her mouth wide open, realising that indeed something had changed and that the relationship was finally over between us. Throw my figures away, indeed - the cheek!
Anyway, a few weeks later I got back together with my now wife by an amazing bit of chance and fortune, (see my book for details as it was truly amazing and rather funny) and we settled down.
Unfortunately, nothing was going to convince that house breaking moron that I was innocent, and I have had recurring nightmares for over 30 years which leave me screaming and shaking whilst I assume the fool who carried out the revenge attack presumably got on with his life.
Every now and again, the name of the house breaker appeared in the local press as he was sentenced or released for some criminal or violent act or another, his most recent being this year in the early Summer, (iirc) for Grievous Bodily Harm.
Last night I'd gone with my wife and daughter to see an 80s icon play a gig here in Sheffield, and as we walked into the venue, chatting happily, who should appear in front of me but that same piece of violent criminal detritus. I alerted my wife, and we went to our seats. I was shaking and dealing with a panic attack as it seemed my nightmares had ben made manifest, and what was supposed to be a celebration of our daughter's 30th birthday, became an ordeal I don't want to repeat as he constantly kept coming into the aisle to our front to take footage of the gig.
I am ashamed to say that I was genuinely afraid, despite not being the type of person who gets rattled easily. The inability for me to resolve the situation in the 80s, prove my innocence to someone who just did not care about the truth, the 9 months I spent in a hermit-like state and the narrow avoidance of termination have built a psychological wall of cold terror that I just cannot cure myself of.
We got home safely in the end, but my wife and I had to explain to our daughter why her Dad was in a fragile mental state. At once I was ashamed at my lack of nerve, but it also made me realise that at heart I am a man of peace, not of war, which although it may sound like a cop out, is I think a preferable way to be.
This dark period in my life however has taught me that friends , true friends are valuable. My two best friends aside from my wife are miles away from me. Roger, I communicate with several times a week, and in fact as I finish this post, I'll be writing to him. Darren is in Japan, but I understand that after a quarter of a century avoiding having to eat noodles and sushi, he is now hoping to return to the U.K, so perhaps in the foreseeable future we'll all get together across the gaming table. It was gaming which brought us together and gaming which I believe has helped us re-establish our friendship in our middle years.
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