Brian Morgan

I'd nipped home on the Wednesday afternoon and my girlfriend said: "Sit down I've got something to tell you". And I thought it was something really serious (laughs), which it turned out to be. Her hairdresser had phoned her up saying: "Go and buy an Evening Mail and open the middle pages." And that's what was produced on my lap. A photograph from twenty-one years ago. And then the phone started ringing.
I was in too much of a state of shock to answer it. But the next day was the worst. Just like the other lads in the photograph... the amount of stick that they got, and sarcasm, it was unreal. Suicidal. I thought I'd go to work early to get away from everybody before they turned up. But they had the same idea, and turned up at the same time. So I took it like a true man and went out to do my job and tried to forget about it. But I couldn't because everywhere I went people had made photocopies of the picture. Enlargements. Every cupboard door, and locker door, every drinks machine you went to there was a photocopy on it, and sarcastic comments underneath.

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