1435 Hrs
I’ve been thinking about my father’s proposition about being the licensee of his new public house and I think that it is in fact a stellar idea. University is just one big waste of time. Who needs it? Not me. While everyone else is living a grubby stinky little student life, watching babies crawling on the ceiling, wearing their skiddy pants inside out in order to get an extra days wear, I’ll be in sunny Torquay making good money and building my middle class business empire. In years from now I’m sure I will probably meet most of these students, when ordering a take away at the nearest drive-thru.
Dad said he would rather me have my name above the door so to give me a leg up in life. I don’t blame him, he probably realizes that since I have a sixth form education I will have the superior ability to run a business. Miller said he wouldn’t be stupid enough to put his name to anything Dad’s doing, but he’s just jealous that I was asked and not him. It’s obvious he wouldn’t take it seriously, while Dad recognizes that I will turn it into the very best public house in the town. In fact Dad shouldn’t of just ‘asked’ me, he should of dropped to his knees and bloody well BEGGED me to help him run his business because I’m gonna make us all rich!
So I’m off to Torquay at the end of the week. I’ll help the family get this pub up and running and once it is a massive success by New Years, I will go and get myself another bar. I’ll be the next Richard Branson. He started off with a music shop above a shoe store and I’ll start my empire off with public houses. I’ve already started to make some notes:
1. Make it the best establishment in the southwest
2. Make the family respectable, and law abiding!
3. Invite celebrities to stay at the hotel over the pub and drink in our bar for free. We’ll make the money back because people will come in from all around the country to see’em at our place. I could also invite a TV crew to film me, Jacob Cox youngest licensee in the country, run my bar better than most landlords twice my age.
4. Ban karaoke forever. We will be a class venue. Karaoke is stupid and we will have a finer type of people in our premise
5. Open up more venues in a few months when The Royal Ship is making a fortune. Maybe think up a brand name like Virgin. Cox Shop?
6. I will not drink!!!
7. DO NOT LET MILLER SLEEP WITH THE STAFF. In fact only hire ugly staff so Miller does not try to bed them and cause internal staffing problems.
Anyway, that’s all I can think of at the moment. I’ll keep updates as often as possible
Friday 26 February 2010
Thursday 25 February 2010
Monday 14th August 2000
1823 Hrs
DAY BEFORE A LEVEL RESULTS
I’m really excited about tomorrow because I will be getting my A level results and then I can at last escape from my repugnant family. That might sound a bit harsh, maybe nasty and you can be forgiven for asking what terrible actions they might be guilty of. Do they beat me, abuse me, ignore me? No. They do however fecking annoy me.
Until recently my tiny wild haired Irish mother (along with her raggy prehistoric side of the family) was in the business of beating the living pootang out of people and sticking their pet’s heads up where the sun doesn’t shine. Why? Because if you were unfortunate enough to run a pub, club, shop or even a paper round on the west side of Birmingham, you paid the O’Shea’s clan not to do these lovely things to you basically. A family to be proud of. Not!
My ratty face Father is in the business of running up debt and then running away. I have many fond memories as a child of listening to him answering the phone in a woman’s voice, proclaiming never to have heard of a Mr. J. Cox. He once took to wearing women’s clothes around the house. He wasn’t a cross dresser, really, it was just in case the bailiffs came unexpectedly. We expected their unexpected visits almost weekly.
Whenever you see a newspaper article reporting about today’s sh*t eating, fat bag, silly clothed, state sponging, abuse hurling, fuzzy face, scruffy haired yoofs, you are reading about my (allegedly) identical twin brother Miller. (There is, however, nothing portly nor disheveled about my appearance. I am well tailored and down with fashion)
There is also my brother Clint who is a bit of a slick Frank Sinatra wannabe, the cuckoo in the nest because he towers over the rest of his short arse family, looking down on us with his deep blue eyes and bastard good looks. Last of all is my sister Marie who is very quiet, in a disconcerting kind of way. She has lots of friends around her at most times but not one of the miserable ickle boggy nose munchkins look like they like her.
I feel that I have been trapped on an island of savages. I’m sure there has been a horrible mistake, I couldn’t possibly belong here. Perhaps a plane crashed or I was washed ashore, where I was unfortunate enough to be adopted by the local tribe. Now though I have become a man and I have built myself a boat. Tomorrow I will leave this god forsaken island. I will row away and leave the lords to their flies. Goodbye all. Return I shall not.
Yes tomorrow at 1400 hrs I will go to my old school for the last time to collect my exam results and then I can begin my journey to university. I need nothing less than C’s in English, Math’s and History (though I’m expecting B’s at least). My family is moving to Torquay at the end of the week to take over a public house that my Father has ‘somehow’ managed to acquire. He asked me the other day to be its licensee. HA! Noooooooo fookin way! I will be staying with Curly once my family has moved, and then I’ll hopefully be going to Oxford to study law.
DAY BEFORE A LEVEL RESULTS
I’m really excited about tomorrow because I will be getting my A level results and then I can at last escape from my repugnant family. That might sound a bit harsh, maybe nasty and you can be forgiven for asking what terrible actions they might be guilty of. Do they beat me, abuse me, ignore me? No. They do however fecking annoy me.
Until recently my tiny wild haired Irish mother (along with her raggy prehistoric side of the family) was in the business of beating the living pootang out of people and sticking their pet’s heads up where the sun doesn’t shine. Why? Because if you were unfortunate enough to run a pub, club, shop or even a paper round on the west side of Birmingham, you paid the O’Shea’s clan not to do these lovely things to you basically. A family to be proud of. Not!
My ratty face Father is in the business of running up debt and then running away. I have many fond memories as a child of listening to him answering the phone in a woman’s voice, proclaiming never to have heard of a Mr. J. Cox. He once took to wearing women’s clothes around the house. He wasn’t a cross dresser, really, it was just in case the bailiffs came unexpectedly. We expected their unexpected visits almost weekly.
Whenever you see a newspaper article reporting about today’s sh*t eating, fat bag, silly clothed, state sponging, abuse hurling, fuzzy face, scruffy haired yoofs, you are reading about my (allegedly) identical twin brother Miller. (There is, however, nothing portly nor disheveled about my appearance. I am well tailored and down with fashion)
There is also my brother Clint who is a bit of a slick Frank Sinatra wannabe, the cuckoo in the nest because he towers over the rest of his short arse family, looking down on us with his deep blue eyes and bastard good looks. Last of all is my sister Marie who is very quiet, in a disconcerting kind of way. She has lots of friends around her at most times but not one of the miserable ickle boggy nose munchkins look like they like her.
I feel that I have been trapped on an island of savages. I’m sure there has been a horrible mistake, I couldn’t possibly belong here. Perhaps a plane crashed or I was washed ashore, where I was unfortunate enough to be adopted by the local tribe. Now though I have become a man and I have built myself a boat. Tomorrow I will leave this god forsaken island. I will row away and leave the lords to their flies. Goodbye all. Return I shall not.
Yes tomorrow at 1400 hrs I will go to my old school for the last time to collect my exam results and then I can begin my journey to university. I need nothing less than C’s in English, Math’s and History (though I’m expecting B’s at least). My family is moving to Torquay at the end of the week to take over a public house that my Father has ‘somehow’ managed to acquire. He asked me the other day to be its licensee. HA! Noooooooo fookin way! I will be staying with Curly once my family has moved, and then I’ll hopefully be going to Oxford to study law.
Introduction
Name: Jacob Hank Cox
Age: 18 years old
D.O.B: 26th November 1981
Occupation: Student
Home: Birmingham
Family: Twin: Miller Hugh Cox age 18 (Born 1981)
Brother: Clint Lincoln Cox age 17 (Born 1983)
Sister: Marie Louise Cox age 10 (Born 1990)
Mother: Ivy Beryl Cox age 48 (Born 1952)
(O’Shea maiden name)
Father: Johnny Paul Cox age 45 (Born 1955)
Pet Dog: Trix’s (The Devil) Cox age 10 (Born 1990)
Introduction
I have decided to keep an online blog (diary) now that I have got a brand new laptop computer, which my best friend Curly (actual name Michel Butler) kindly got for me on the cheap last weekend. I would get a real diary but if my brother Miller found it he would denounce me as a homo butt plugger on the grounds of the diary being concrete proof (hence why I also could not and never can buy a Take That CD!). I also like the idea that people online can follow where I am going in life, because I think I will be going far! So these ‘accounts of my days’ are not only for me, but for future generations of Cox’s and all those interested in my great adventure through the years to greatness.
Age: 18 years old
D.O.B: 26th November 1981
Occupation: Student
Home: Birmingham
Family: Twin: Miller Hugh Cox age 18 (Born 1981)
Brother: Clint Lincoln Cox age 17 (Born 1983)
Sister: Marie Louise Cox age 10 (Born 1990)
Mother: Ivy Beryl Cox age 48 (Born 1952)
(O’Shea maiden name)
Father: Johnny Paul Cox age 45 (Born 1955)
Pet Dog: Trix’s (The Devil) Cox age 10 (Born 1990)
Introduction
I have decided to keep an online blog (diary) now that I have got a brand new laptop computer, which my best friend Curly (actual name Michel Butler) kindly got for me on the cheap last weekend. I would get a real diary but if my brother Miller found it he would denounce me as a homo butt plugger on the grounds of the diary being concrete proof (hence why I also could not and never can buy a Take That CD!). I also like the idea that people online can follow where I am going in life, because I think I will be going far! So these ‘accounts of my days’ are not only for me, but for future generations of Cox’s and all those interested in my great adventure through the years to greatness.
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