You know what I always say? If you can’t be good — be interesting.
Yeah, I know what this looks like. Like I’ve just said something cheeky and I’m waiting to see if you laugh or slap me. And you’d be right. I live for that moment. That second when someone ain’t quite sure if I’m being serious or winding them up.
Truth is, I used to talk my way out of all sorts. Fines, fights, funerals — not mine, obviously — and once, accidentally, into a wedding I wasn’t even invited to. Don’t ask. Long story, short suit.
But I haven’t always had the luxury of laughs. There were years I didn’t smile much at all. I’ve had nights where the only roof over my head was a bus timetable. Days when all I had in my pocket was a bent Rizla and a dodgy lighter that only worked if you swore at it.
People walk past you when you’re down. They see the hoodie, the stubble, the can in your hand, and that’s it — case closed. But they don’t know I used to coach Sunday league. Or that I can still quote the entire second act of Goodfellas. Or that I cried when I lost my dog — like proper ugly cried, too.
I’ve made mistakes. Big ones. Hurt people, including myself. But I’ve also helped strangers, made ‘em laugh, shared what little I had. I’m not looking for a halo. Just a fair hearing.
That photo you’ve got there — that moment? That’s me choosing not to be invisible. It’s me saying, “I’m still here. Still cheeky. Still got something to say.”
And if you’re willing to listen, mate, I’ll tell you everything. But you’ll have to guess which bits are true.
Spoiler: they all are. Sort of.
