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Firstly I've got no answers.
Last century age 7ish I was attacked in a public toilet, I took my fathers advise and tried to run like hell, but was caught, eventually after a struggle I was able to implement plan B whilst lying on my back I repeatedly kicked the man in a region known in those days only as "down there" as hard as I could, I escaped and without a backward glance, ran the 2 miles home in record time, scared, pissed pants, battered and bruised and thinking I was in big big trouble but being a little to young and stupid and certainly uneducated to understand, till quite a few years later, what had and could have happened, I never ever said anything to anybody ever, mums the word. In 1960's tinytown stiff upper lip NZ some things weren't talked about. For chunks of my childhood my mother was in hospital and my father worked his arse off, so there were 3 or 4 hours after school each day where I was pretty much unsupervised, so that day by the time my father got home I was already cleaned up and the scrapes were put down to the usual playing about. (please note: what happened to me then didn't in any way fuck me or my life up, that happened much much later after I married Hellen). It was some 20 years later that the man (well respected local man about town) was jailed for a bunch of historical sex crimes some dating back over 20 years, he did his time, he did it again, he did more time and he did it again. 2010 now In his late 60's he was jailed again for 8 years for yet another bunch of historical sex crimes, it also came to light that in the 70's several accusations were made against this guy and he paid them all off. Over the years I have met people who thought they knew this man very very well and initially did not believe the whispers. They were utterly shocked when his crimes was uncovered, some had exposed youngsters in thier families to this man completely unaware...... I feel for the victims and thier families almost to a man post attack they all suffered from childhoods littered with truancy and petty crime leading to broken homes, followed by an adult life of unemployment due to interupted/unsettled education, addiction's, and ongoing relationship and in many cases mental health problems, the list of the social fallout from this often undetected and unreported type of crime goes on.....
As far as not listening to or watching Franks music as played by Roy.....I'm listening to Franks music, because I love it, Frank wrote it and selected the sick musicians he wanted to perform it. Because I now know one musician was truely a very sick man does in no way change Franks music for me.
Well that's enough of that, normal non serious flippant non serious service resumes now: I blame music, Roy was exposed to a lot of music, he choose a career playing the evil stuff, the central scrutinizer was absolutely right, if you choose a career in music you could end up in tank C snorting detergent and being plooked (excuse me Plook) by potatoe headed Bobby, a nickname earned not by the shape of the head on his shoulders, but the head in his shorts, I hope they are all out of Anusol at the commissary Roy and if your reading this, don't even think about hugging your imaginary guitar or imagining imaginary guitar notes or imaginary vocal parts. Roy If only on the right day you had listened to the music of Judas Priest while riding a merry-go-round and cleaning daddys shot gun. The white zone is for loading and unloading. Good bye Roy, it was nice knowing you, before I really knew the real you.
_________________ Thanks for the music Frank.
Well I'm about to get sick from watching my TV
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