i've been living in spain for the past few months

working in a bar. benidorm. sun sea and sangria. i love it out here. the owner, stan, a ringer for chas out of chas & dave. Or it might be dave he looks like. i can't tell the difference. he's an old mate of me dads from years back. i've got him to invest in a kareoke machine and we do 3 evenings a week. i love it. i generally get the ball rolling with a few numbers while people build up the courage to get up. do a few more here and there thoughtout the night. i love singing. i was born to sing. the punters love it. at least they've never told me they don't. sometimes i think of back home, of the lads, of fraser, souness, mark, carl, john and the others but i not often. sometimes i wake up in the night. bad dreams and that. fraser, floating on a flying lilo, burnt to a fucking crisp. but i can live with it. so yeah, i've got me memorys. i phone the boy once a week. said he can come and visit me in his school holidays but he don't seem that bothered. it's her, putting fucking things in his head. thinks i'm living the life of fucking riley out here's she does. thinks i'm pissing it up every night. yeah i drink most days, and i do have a few at night, and sometimes i do go over the top during the week and at weekend but for fucks sake ... it's lonely out here.