Memoirs – A Life of Crime

These are the stories that shaped my life, these are my memoirs

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Joe Hoover is the highly regarded author of “Current account cheque book” published by Barclays Bank.   He will soon be launching a Stateside book tour reading excerpts and signing copies.

Reviews for Current Account Cheque Book:

“It grips you from the first page,  ‘Account Payee Only’ resonated with me,  his words are life affirming”

“I couldn’t put this down, a fantastic debut”

“An absorbing and interactive novel, cleverly inviting the reader to insert their own comments in the ‘Pay to’ and ‘For the sum of’ segments, leading you to create your own adventure in his fantastical world”

………………………

Slowly I unclasped my mother purse and shielded my eyes from the explosion of moths that burst from within.   There gleaming was a shiny new 50 pence piece.  I had never seen such riches.

I slid my fingers in and grabbed the coin, screwed my fist around it and ran out of the kitchen.

Later that day at the local shopping centre, a tawdry place it was.  I had become lost in the branch of Tesco’s many years prior, doomed to walk the aisles forever -and this was long before supermarkets sold food that was edible.

It was all row upon row of faggots and tinned peas back then.   (For the benefit of my American readers by faggot I don’t mean it was where neighbourhood gays frequented to cast furtive glances over the Spam.  Faggots are congealed balls of unidentifiable meats stuffs which gave variety to the UK diet of tinned corned beef and boiled cabbage)

It was at this same shopping centre that I spied a drugstore, my mother would often go in here for cotton buds to prod our ears with, Nit lotion to burn the bodies of head lice along with our scalps, cough mixture to boil our insides.

They also sold a range of sweets but not the garishly child baiting packaging of your normal confectionary.  This looked altogether different, it had words like nougat, honeycomb and coconut ice.   I recall the bar of honeycomb which resembled a gold ingot to my eyes.   I retrieved my carefully hidden 50p from my sock and bought the treat stashing it in my shorts to indulge in later from the sanctuary of my bedroom.

My glee was short-lived, my mother had spotted me and I caved under interrogation, I was sentenced to a brash smack on the legs and threatened with those chilling words “Wait until your father gets home”

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45 Comments

  1. Wait – so faggots are cans of meat, but fags are cigarettes?
    Are you sure the English invented the language?

    Reply
  2. Oh dear, I can only imagine that father will make you eat those faggots of meat and wash it down with cabbage soup. (I can’t imagine a worse punishment.)

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  3. Thanks for explaining “faggots”. I didn’t even have to ask. ;)

    Reply
  4. HA!!!!!!!!! wait… I thought a faggot was a bundle of wood… stupid evolving language…

    Reply
  5. When my brother got married in Texas as best man I was asked to keep the speech short. So I said “Anybody wants to know the dirt on him join me outside for a fag.” My how the redneck bible bashing f’wits laughed. Is the honeycomb a Crunchie? Remember Gordon Honeycomb the newsreader? Them were the days………

    Reply
  6. I love your intro! Brilliant!
    Your mum could have been glad you didn’t steal the candy….

    Reply
  7. LoL!! I love the concept you started this off with and the story itself was something out of Dickens. I have to admire your integrity, Joe. You didn’t steal the candy which is what a lot of kids would have done. You only stole from your mother’s faggot (I’m assuming purses are called faggots in England). You were a sweet child I’m sure except for this one incident?

    Reply
    • :-D Oh I’m laughing so hard. Mum’s purse is the only thing not called a faggot in the English language

      Mostly sweet, once I pushed a girl over on her rollerboots whilst I was on rollerboots, she actually pushed me first but she was the one who grassed me to her parents. And there was the time I accidently killed that hamster.

      Reply
      • Rollarboots? That makes more sense I guess than rollarblades which is what we call them! Oh that poor, dear,sweet little innocent hamster!

        Reply
        • These predated blades, had 4 proper wheels.

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          • Oh those kind! I used to skate on metal skates that attached to my saddle shoes with a skate key. But they did have four proper wheels at least.

            Reply
            • I tried rollerblades once, did a group skate all through London on a Friday night, hundreds of people. I couldn’t brake so almost shot straight down the stairs of a tube station. I hung up my blades after that

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              • Ahaha! Well thank god there were hundreds of people there to break your fall! What a nightmare that would be. I don’t blame you for hanging up your blades after that. I could never stop on skis. I loved skiing but only when I didn’t have to stop.

                Reply
  8. Absolutely a gripping tale! …. and thanks for stopping by during my absence.

    Reply
  9. Those childhood lessons are not forgotten, are they? And I’d like to write my comments in your cheque book: Pay to the order of Peg-o-Leg, 1000 pounds.

    Reply

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