You just never know when an extraordinary story is going to come along but this one was told to me after a chance meeting with a guy called Derek one evening in the restaurant at the Salobrena Hotel. Unusually for me I was a little late for dinner and hadn’t realised that a large contingent of Spanish people had arrived earlier in the evening and had gone straight into the restaurant. I was very lucky to find the last unoccupied table and had just sat down to my meal when this man I didn’t know asked if it was alright if he sat with me because all the other tables were taken. “Yes, of course. No problem” I replied. During the course of the meal we got chatting and we hit it off straight away and continued our chat after dinner over a beer or two. We covered all the usual topics: football, women, football, women, where we lived etc. until we got onto the subject of our youths. It was then he told me of his extraordinary childhood. This was his story. His mum was Marjory and ...
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