Mr Conor de Blank

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Right, I’m going to be completely straight forward with you. I’m writing this book as a 15 year old boy, unsure as to where he’s heading in life. I’ve been kicked out of school with next to no qualifications and basically I’m fucked for life. This book may also end up being written into my 16th year as a human being on Planet Earth. I know what you’re thinking, ‘this book is going nowhere for me’, but trust me, read on and I can assure you this story may end up being very moving for you. You might cry, as some people who have read a much shorter version of it have ended up doing so. It’s not the most pleasant of stories but maybe could teach you a lesson if you’re a young person reading this, or, if you’re all grown up, even bring back some memories and familiarities from when you were a child.

Let’s start in the beginning, (very biblical I know but bare with me on this; it’s my first time). As I predicted, I was conceived as an accident, my father being a big time criminal and heroin addict (along with many other hard drugs I’m sure). My mother was going through a very tough stage in life where she felt unsettled by her parents for some reason, became a punk of some kind, would away from home incessantly, take all sorts of revolting narcotics and most possibly have a lot of sex with various guys. I’m not sure how my mum and dad actually met, that is a riddle to be solved, but I do know that they had a little flat in London and were living together with two dogs, one of which a violent Staffy. Once mum had found out that she was pregnant with me my father lost it. Every now and then he’d beat her and hurl abuse at her. I’m not sure what he was like sober; my mother says that he was never to be seen so. He was always wired on something.

My mum gave birth to me on the 9th floor of St Thomas’ hospital at the age of only 17. I was a hideous little blue thing, almost like some flanimal. My mother took care of me for about a month or two still putting up with my...
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