James F. Park

‘Hello, my name is James F. Park. It’s not really, it’s just plain James Park. I don’t have a middle name. I just stuck the F in there to confuse you, only joking, well about the confusing part anyway. Sorry, sometimes my wicked Glaswegian sense of humour gets the better of me. If you really, really want to find out what the F stands for then you won’t have to wait too long as all will be revealed soon enough. I was born in Glasgow in nineteen forty-eight. The Gallowgate to be exact, which is almost the city centre, well, nearly the city centre and that makes me an extra special wee person, that’s what my mammy used to say and mammies are never wrong, are they? I am very happily married to Ann, also a Glaswegian, or as I affectionately call her ‘Babes’ and we now live in dizzy heights of Kilmarnock, East Ayrshire. If I remember anything else I’ll add it on later, oh and I’m also a S.A.D wee person which is also explained later on. Oops, it’s me again, the quick witted one with the weird and wonderful Glaswegian sense of humour, so I guess it must be later. Babes said I had to write some even more useless info about myself as she thinks the above is far too short. So here goes. As I’ve already mentioned I was born in Glasgow what seems like a very, very long time ago. A time before automatic washing machines, microwave ovens, colour television and motor cars with electronic ignition. It was a time when there were steam trains that had their very own unique musky smell and tram cars, which still fascinate me, that trundled along Argyll Street that took me to visit my Granny as a star struck six-year-old. For me the day the trams stopped running was an unforgivable event but I suppose that’s progress. In nineteen fifty- four, on a bitterly cold and snowy December morning with Dad John, a Glaswegian, Mum Mary, a Belfast lass (so is it any wonder I’m a mixed up cookie) an older brother and sister we headed way out East in almost wagon train fashion to an unknown place called Garthamlock where I started my education in earnest. Having successfully manoeuvred my way through primary school it was onwards and upwards to the Big School which I somehow managed to get through without getting expelled (joking again, I was NEVER in trouble with the teachers, honest). I left school at sixteen and entered the even dizzier heights of the workplace in nineteen sixty- four. If truth be told I didn’t leave so much as ran out the bloody building as I hated it with a vengeance. Looking back now I wish I hadn’t because the workplace was and still is a very scary and eventful place. Although I ran out of school I still managed to get the sort of education that meant I can read, write and spell and I can also count without using my fingers and toes (and other bits) and the use of a calculator. The Calculator. What an absolute horrible invention (that’s just my opinion). It has taught the younger generation how not to use their brain when it comes to figuring out the answer to the simplest of equations. Go on, I dare you, ask someone who was educated in the last twenty years or so and see if they can tell you what 9 x 8 = without the help of said calculator, or do you need it? He who invented it should have been put in a sling and fired off to some far and distant planet never to be heard of again. But I digress, why did I start to write at such a late stage in life? Simply because I had nothing else to do, that’s why. One day I thought, I think I’ll write a wee book after all it can’t be that hard, can it? Hmm, and so having mentioned this to some of my present and past workmates who all said, ‘can I be in your book, please Jimbo, can I be in your book,’ I was more or less forced and I suppose encouraged into actually doing it and the result being this little masterpiece. It’s a collection, and I must admit, of funny Glaswegian stories from nineteen forty- one through to two thousand and seven. However, those so-called workmates who were not mentioned weren’t too chuffed and so I promised them they would be in the next book and so transpired ‘Jazzy and Tia’s first adventure,’ and is dedicated to my two lovely granddaughters Jasmine and Tia. In this story Jazzy is confined to hospital having had an asthma attack and dreams of animals that have magical powers and so their adventures begin. Almost all of the main characters in this one are loosely based on my work colleagues and so far none of them have threatened actual bodily harm so that in itself must be a good thing. Well, isn’t it? Anyway, from that wee book I went on sort of a writing rampage and the titles just kept coming and coming and the short version are the following: Black Dreamz More Black Dreamz The Final Dream Another Black Dream Aelfric Moor Charlie Charlotte 1918-1928 Conan Stanley The Cromwell Skinner David 1918-1928 James F. Park’s Enchanted Forest of Aethelwine The Tenny Weenies The Winchester Dolphins and The Mystery of Winchester Hall Jazzy and Tia’s First Adventure Loren Pell The Destiny Diamond Tammy the Tartan Haggis (version 1) Owain and The Hedgehog with the Dragon Tattoo Owain and The Red Clawed Dragon Peabody Jones Rab McFerran P.I Rachelle’s Adventure Simon Says Sita The Grey Shadow The Rustic Ruby The Tartan Detectives The Three Silver Teapots James James and The Falcon Budgie James and The Porridgedragon James and The Caterpillar Princess James and The Magic Mirror James and The Red Nosed Reindeer James and The Easter Bunny James and The Toothpaste Kitten Thanks for reading this drivel and please feel free to tell all your family and friends about this cheeky wee Glaswegian.