Bloody nightmare. I'm in our Irish office terrorising the users when I get THAT phone call. "Drop everything. Come now. He's going."
A very kind soul* books me onto the next flight from Knock into (spit) Manchester. From there I can catch a train into Liverpool to make my goodbyes.
What the kind soul doesn't tell me, because he is a kind soul, is that the flight to (spit) Manchester is a prop plane. Anyone acquainted with me knows I loathe flying and the very notion of a prop would induce a Tena Lady moment.
I'm stood at Knock airport waiting for the flight to arrive (yes, Knock airport is like a bus terminus and you have to wave your arms if you want the plane to stop) and I can hear the incoming engines. As it pulls into view at the terminal I can see it's a fucking prop plane and I go white with panic. I have no choice but to get on the fecking thing.
By the time the prop has bounced across the Irish sea and very nearly clipped the Liver Building I am catatonic with fear thinking it might be a double funeral. As we disembark I have a moment where I nearly kneel and kiss (spit) Manchester soil in thanks. But the thought of Bill Shankly stops me at the last moment.
The train takes for fucking ever. We stop at every Woollyback village between Manc Land and Liverpool. I am half demented and the batteries on me Walkman have run out.
Finally make it to Lime Street and onto another train to Fazakerley. I leg it over the road humping my holdall straight to the hospital and up to Ekky's ward to his bedside. He's got all manner of tubes in him and he looks really, really poorly.
At his bedside Big Sis and Middle Sis are already there looking very, very upset. Nevertheless, "Good flight?" one of them sniggers sympathetically. "Sod off" I reply and sit down to catch my breath. After a few minutes I ask "is Ekky supposed to be that colour? He's awfully blue".
Big Sis is a nurse and checks him over. "God, he's blue, his breathing's not good."
Middle Sis ducks down and emerges with a tube that appears to have become detached from the oxygen supply in the wall. "It's this" she says looking at me, "You've just stood on it with your big fucking feet. You fucking mong." The other end is of course attached to the oxygen mask Ekky has over his face.
A very kind soul* books me onto the next flight from Knock into (spit) Manchester. From there I can catch a train into Liverpool to make my goodbyes.
What the kind soul doesn't tell me, because he is a kind soul, is that the flight to (spit) Manchester is a prop plane. Anyone acquainted with me knows I loathe flying and the very notion of a prop would induce a Tena Lady moment.
I'm stood at Knock airport waiting for the flight to arrive (yes, Knock airport is like a bus terminus and you have to wave your arms if you want the plane to stop) and I can hear the incoming engines. As it pulls into view at the terminal I can see it's a fucking prop plane and I go white with panic. I have no choice but to get on the fecking thing.
By the time the prop has bounced across the Irish sea and very nearly clipped the Liver Building I am catatonic with fear thinking it might be a double funeral. As we disembark I have a moment where I nearly kneel and kiss (spit) Manchester soil in thanks. But the thought of Bill Shankly stops me at the last moment.
The train takes for fucking ever. We stop at every Woollyback village between Manc Land and Liverpool. I am half demented and the batteries on me Walkman have run out.
Finally make it to Lime Street and onto another train to Fazakerley. I leg it over the road humping my holdall straight to the hospital and up to Ekky's ward to his bedside. He's got all manner of tubes in him and he looks really, really poorly.
At his bedside Big Sis and Middle Sis are already there looking very, very upset. Nevertheless, "Good flight?" one of them sniggers sympathetically. "Sod off" I reply and sit down to catch my breath. After a few minutes I ask "is Ekky supposed to be that colour? He's awfully blue".
Big Sis is a nurse and checks him over. "God, he's blue, his breathing's not good."
Middle Sis ducks down and emerges with a tube that appears to have become detached from the oxygen supply in the wall. "It's this" she says looking at me, "You've just stood on it with your big fucking feet. You fucking mong." The other end is of course attached to the oxygen mask Ekky has over his face.
I've just cut off his oxygen supply.
Big Sis fixes it and then gives me a chinese burn. On my neck.
Big Sis fixes it and then gives me a chinese burn. On my neck.
A little while later he wakes up. He looks at me and gives me a big Ekky smile: "Hello babe, I thought you were working in Ireland."
"I was Daddy, but I came back to see you."
"Ah, that's nice. Did you bring me any Duty Free?"
"Ah, that's nice. Did you bring me any Duty Free?"
At that point I knew this time he was going to pull through. Especially after I pulled out the 10 year old bottle of Jameson I'd bought in Knock airport. Well, I needed something to steady me nerves once I'd seen that bloody prop pull up.
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