Seeing [RED]...By Paul Knight

How far the world of science has come to finally provide a ray of hope to those stricken with HIV / Aids. I still remember when HIV / Aids first hit the media's attention some 20 odd years ago. The propaganda behind it was more frightening than the actual virus, it was a disease that was out to kill homosexuals, created in monkeys and spread by Africans. These titbits were then followed by the fact you could catch it by being near an infected party or sharing the same toilet seat, being spat on or by coming in contact with their blood…the horror of that last one came to fruition when a heterosexual contracted the virus after a blood transfusion. This was the turning point that actually made the media report the real facts about the virus and once they did, everyone not affected seemed to lose interest.

From numerous campaigns that went out to scare the public, revealing the horrors and possibilities of unprotected sex, the whole sexual partners pyramid scheme (anyone remember that? If you had slept with 5 different people and they all had slept with 5 different people and they all slept with 5 different people…and so on and so on…), to nothing…medical science took so long to produce a glimmer of a real cure that the attention span for the deadly virus seemed to fizzle out of existence. The public found new things to occupy its time with…until now and it is about time.

The one thing that doctors and the medical profession never provide is a cure…only different ways to treat and ease suffering. Why? Because there is more money in keeping you ill than actually curing you. So for a cynical old duffer like me to actually see medical progress that can cure a virus that has claimed friends of mine, then I'm all for it…and have gone out to do my bit by buying [RED] products to help the cause…will you do the same?

If you are interested in doing a small part in the grand scheme of things then head on over to [RED] by clicking the link below:

Rather RED then dead...show your support.

My news, compared to that, seems somewhat lacking in moral fibre and coloured ribbons…but I am going to share anyway.

To all you UK readers out there…my book, 'Coding of a concrete animal' will be ready for the last Christmas post day to all those that pre-ordered it through Troubador (Click to buy it now). Due to the perfect timing of its release, Christmas (what was I thinking???) this graphic tale of the UK criminal underworld will NOT be available to the general public until late Jan / early Feb 2007.

This gives the marketing team time to get over their New Year hangovers and start publicising my book in magazines, radio, buyer's guides and the internet, it also means that you would be amongst the first to own, read and share your comments before anyone else. What are you waiting for? Get in on the ground level, help a fellow tagger / MySpace friend out, show your support by buying a copy, spreading the word though the power of email, text and word of mouth, and make it a number one bestseller.

I thank you…

To celebrate its release I am taking my new bride to Vegas next week (no kids…what will we do with ourselves?) and live the high life (even if it is for only 6 days). The last time I was in a casino was back in my naughty days, when a late shift would usually end up in a late night intake of drink, cigars and gambling…

I remember one night, when a group of guys bet more than they could lose and tried to do a runner without settling their debts. Big mistake, the club was in the heart of Soho and believe me, there is no place to run before something big and nasty emerges out of a side alley and gives you the old slice and dice. My entourage and I (6 lumps who had just finished a 7 hour shift at a drum and bass promotion…so you can tell what kind of mood we were in) were just about to come down the stairs of this particular establishment when the paupers, who were trying to make it away on their toes, ran straight in to us. Now at first, they thought we worked at the casino and started to double back down the stairs only to see the club bouncers making their way towards the stairs…they were caught like scared rabbits, dazed and confused.

They say that there is 7 stages of grief, me, I used to give plenty of people plenty of grief back in my previous life…some times for a reason and others because I was bored…but there was never 7 stages…maybe 3. You don't do as you're told, I give you verbal grief, you mouth back, I give physical grief, you get physical back then I give you pavement concrete grief…there was no 4th stage.

These herberts, however, showed these stages once they clicked that we were on the side of our comrades in arms…it's an unwritten rule that doormen watch each others backs (not always the case mind you…there are a few that talk the talk but fail to walk the walk) even if you work at different clubs.

The first was disbelief at their predicament.

The second was denial; their luck could not be this bad.

The third was anger in which fury reared its head as they attempted to STG.

The fourth was bargaining, once it sunk in that they did not stand a chance.

The fifth was depression, as bladders leaked, eyes wept and a lack of caring arose.

The sixth was acceptance, they knew they were in the wrong and was going to get a beating and so they gave up. Whack!!!

The seventh stage is guilt, which these fellows never showed and so got an extra smack across their knuckles (literally) with an extendable cosh.

This is but one of many happy memories concerning casino's…I hope my experience of Vegas only adds to them.

Stay frosty!

Old age…it catches up with all of us…By Paul Knight

Looking at a recent photo, my tired old face seems to make me wish I was Dorian Gray…especially when I compare it to my lovely, youthful pic of when I was 23. As I loom towards the milestone of 40, I cannot help but to look back and reflect how I am so stuck in my cynical ways that it almost affected one of the happiest days on this planet for me and mine.

I have referred to my past life and the work I used to undertake, most of it went to guarantee that, if I were a religious man, I would not be entering the gates of heaven when I finally die. My upbringing and career choice made me secretive and made it extremely hard for me to share aspects of my life. Over time, I developed the ability to separate the 3 areas of my life, Work, Social & Private.

The friends and associates I make in work, are just work colleagues. I do not discuss my private life but I do start a social life with a select few from work. My social crowd do not get bored with my working day or my private life; it is all about the good times. My private life is just that, private. A handful of people get to enter my private life, invited to my home, meet my family etc but there needs to be a special bond there. My lovely wife however has to put up with me making her friends feel awkward and unwelcome because I just don’t like to open up my front door to those how have not shared blood, sweat and tears with me. It has caused a few arguments but we have come to find some middle ground on the subject and part of my code of life as rubbed off on her too, because she has come to live by it (to a certain degree).

Therefore, to recap, my work colleagues only know me in work and nothing else, my social crowd do not know about my work friends or what I do nor do they know about my private life, family etc and my closest friends know about my private life and share in with the special occasions. I am hoping by now you get the point of these last 2 paragraphs…

So, if I am so secretive about my life, why share at all? Because of old age and the fact that my secretive life meant only a handful of people knew I got married recently and who to…that was of course the beautiful Diane or Candyass to those out there in the internet world. Yes, despite having separate lives on the threads we have in fact been a couple for many years (the clues were all there people…), a couple, who are adults but do not feel we have to be a couple in everything we do. It also means I get to share these pictures with you all.

I am trying to change how I see life and writing the book helped a great deal with that…but I am what I am, Paulie the mystery man…toot toot!!!

Stay frosty

The talented Mr. Perry...By Paul Knight

Ben Perry is has big in personality has he is in stature…He stands in at 6ft 8” and weighed in at 22 stone (at the time of our business relationship)…when asked by an irate punter “Just who the hell do you think you are?” Big Ben simply replied “God…because I have the power to separate your head from your shoulders with one smiting blow.” Yes, the Ben Perry Haymaker was an equaliser that when in affect would put the explanation mark on the fact you just got hit by a 22 stone giant.

Although an intimidating sight, with his skin head and devil beard, he was more Gentle Ben than anything else and if any punters who used to visit the Goth and punk club “Slimelights” in the nineties would be able to tell ya, he was a good laugh.

It’s hard for me to take my old partner in crime seriously after witnessing him curl his huge frame under a small oval floor rug, whilst E’ing out of his face, to show the world he was really a turtle. He would stretch his neck, while making a turtle face from his shell (the small oval floor rug) and try to eat imaginary lettuce.

It was all very surreal…but not as bad as when Ben and a small group of friends tried to re-enact the ‘Wizard of Oz’ whilst on LSD. Watching a grown man tuck a chequered tea towel down his pants, while sporting a twine mop on his head, acting like he is stuck in a tornado, screaming “Where’s Toto?” Is an image that is not easily forgotten!

I’ll never forget the first time I worked with Ben, we were positioned in Burger King in Leicester Square, stopping non-customers from using the upstairs toilets. I know that must seem both petty and a waste of our time but despite the jokes and insults…it was one of the roughest gig’s going. When our company (Scorpion Security now trading under the name ‘Silent Security’) first got involved, it was being abused by drug dealers, prostitutes, transients and kiddie fiddlers…it was a family restaurant that was not a safe place to be.

The rent-a-cops that were in there before us never tackled the problem…why would they, they were getting £4.85 an hour. We, on the other hand, were getting 3 times that and were up for a rumble…so after months of fighting, death threats, stabbings and major displays of dominance…Scorpion made an example of all of them and marked their territory with the scent of blood.

Of course, once you have it how you want it…it needs to be maintained, so hence the heavy artillery to keep those who were not paying customers out of the comfy, out of sight upstairs area. Plus anyone who as ever walked through Leicester Square of a night time can testify that there is a huge amount of trouble with the drunk and drugged revellers, Triads and thugs (who can’t enjoy a night out without either mugging someone or getting in to tear-ups), these too needed to be stopped at the door and that is why we were there.

I remember having to stand on the first step just to come to eye level with him, I was a new guy with Scorpion at the time whilst Ben was an established body…but we clicked straight off the bat and the rest, as they say, is history.

I have some absolute cracking memories of Ben (you will need to read the sequel to ‘Coding of a concrete animal’…of course first you will actually need to read ‘Coding of a concrete animal’) and it was a crying shame we fell out of touch…the last I saw of him was when he worked for ‘Autoglass’ in Black horse Rd…if any readers, know him…please get him to contact me through this site.

Thanks for the assist…and stay frosty.

Snap Happy...by Paul Knight

What can I say, you put a few old photo’s up with your profile and the first question that comes up is:

“Where are the pictures of the celeb’s?”

Yes, I rubbed shoulders with some of the biggest names in music, acting and the world of finance but I was working (and not in a position to take happy snap’s with my clients). Most assignments are under a confidentiality contract (you’d be surprised how many of the famous brigade like their privacy when it comes to things they shouldn’t be doing), some are so controlled by their managers / Agents that they wouldn’t even know they had security let alone pose for photo’s once you were off the clock and the others just didn’t like cameras…what can I say, I’m not a big lover of having my photo taken either. But those I have partaken in hold some good memories and start the telling of some interesting tales.

My two biggest regrets regarding private photo’s are the Great shed fire of ‘87, where every baby photo, family snap shot and boxing pic went up in flames when someone set fire to my folks garden shed when they just moved (ironically off of a very nasty council estate where they had no trouble…except for one major incident but that’s for another blog) into a middle class environment in Chingford. All those little knick-knacks that everyone has (that had yet been unpacked) were stored in there and 19 years of memories went up in a cloud of smoke.

The other regret was not emptying my attic out when I walked away from my 6 year relationship with my ex-fiancé. There was some fantastic photo’s etc stored up there but when I walked away from the woman I no longer loved I only took the clothes on my back and my border collie…everything else stayed and I would assume went the same way as those artefacts in the Great shed fire of ’87.

After all that, having my photo taken or even being in the background was a no-no, for personal and business reasons…being easily recognised does not make a good impression when trying to keep a low profile whilst looking after someone who also would like to keep a low profile.

Unlike certain celeb’s who need to stand out, a prime example would be the detail the security company I used to work for got assigned with a certain ‘Material Girl’ who insisted on having the biggest looking bodyguards with her whenever she stepped out the door. This approach of course led to the much publicised fracas that was known as the Hyde Park incident. Those who remember this will be able to tell those who don’t…all I can say on it is that it involved the singer, jogging and inflated ego’s. And who was it that got to spend 16 hours a day for 3 weeks looking after her ‘Lucky’ knickers…you guessed it. Who the hell believes that they are that important that they need their underwear guarded? Still a job’s a job.

A great man once told me (and this was repeated to me 2 years later by another great man) “It’s nice to be important but it’s important to be nice.”

As this particular blog is about photo’s…it leads quite nicely into the subject of cameras. We used to work with a bubbly, northern lass by the name of Cheryl, who used to shrill on the door of the Shepherds Bush Empire… ”No Cameras!!!” Sounding like something from the TV show, ‘Open all hours’.

This requirement however, left the front door with a nice box of confiscated cameras…now being the mature, professionals we were, at no time did we take inappropriate photos of our genitalia or other areas of the human anatomy that could embarrass ya in front of your grandparents. No, I can honestly say that no inappropriate photos were taken…they were all appropriate right down to the last one that looked like a long nosed fella that sported a beard and curly eyebrows (you work it out). The camera’s were then returned to their unsuspecting owners until processing was needed (this was before digital camera’s)…all except one. There was one time we didn’t return a certain disposable camera, because the talented Mr. Perry (Big Ben – 6ft 8” and weighed over 22 stone) and myself, snagged a photo with the Cadbury’s Flake girl from the early 90’s, and didn’t want to give it up…so we kept the camera and used up all the film on taking pictures of the team.

So there you have it…the reason why no photo’s of me with my clientele will ever be available for public display…I know it’s a let down (or even a cop out) but that’s the facts, Jack.

Until the next one…stay frosty

Self Preservation...by Paul Knight

Even with all I have seen over the years, I can still be amazed by the slightest thing…the slightest thing in question this time, is how some nasty people with a limited capacity to be able to walk and talk at the same time, let alone throw in the extra addition of chewing gum (who I would have presumed were either dead or had been incarcerated) from back in the day have grasped today’s technology of emailing and blogging or in this case Blog reading. Why amazed, seeing as I used to be one of these Neanderthals and am writing the blogs that the others are reading? Because I was always (well there were a few years in the 90’s where this wasn’t the case) Brain rather than Brawn. It just seemed out of the ordinary to have a few ex-associates contact me through (I’m assuming and hoping) MySpace or Blogger.

I am sure they would be the first to agree that they would have been the last people to even know how to turn a PC on let alone use it to a beneficial level (I hope this is the case because now I know you are reading my blog’s, I wouldn’t want to offend or anything…besides fella’s, you know me, if I ain’t busting balls then I must be dead). So hence the amazement when I got 2 separate emails from 2 fellow face-punchers asking "What’s up?” and “What happened?” Did I see the light and follow the path of Jesus like some of our kind has done, does the love of a good woman really make a difference or am I still pulling scams and this is all an angle? I won’t go into the replies I sent but the basic response was “No” to all of the above. I just woke up one morning and said “Today is the first day of a new life”…no religion, no angles, no alternative reasons…It was just a desire to change.

There is a code amongst the family, firm, underworld (pick your preferred label for the criminal fraternity…whether it is to romanticise or dramatise) that you do not speak outside of school, you don’t grass and you do not drop others in it. Now obviously there are those that despite swearing to uphold this code, squealed, at the first sight of trouble from either the police or opposing fractions, like a fat man camping in Hillbilly country…cue the ‘dwelling banjo’s’.

Self preservation sets in real fast and suddenly the rules don’t apply and they do whatever they feel needs to be done to escape trouble…loyalty is well sought after commodity and should never be taken for granted…It is a golden rule I have lived by all my life and as a result, have been asked to be involved in a number of dodgy things because other’s knew that I was solid, a diamond geezer who knew how to keep shtum…in total, I could be counted on…but now a little tremor of doubt is setting in with some of my old running buddies regarding what secrets I am giving away in my book. To them I say ‘fear not’…although based on true events - names, places and dates have been changed to protect the guilty who were smart enough not to leave a fingerprint, evidence or witnesses to their involvement. Besides, the story focuses on the fictional character called 'Billy Michaels’ (wink, wink) and his brothers… And no, I am not insulted that they would think that way.

When I decided to walk my current path, I moved address, changed my mobile number and stopped hanging around my old haunts…there was still the odd occasion I would bump into an old face or asked to sort something out for someone…get hold off a “cold elephant and a handful of peanuts” (don’t ya just love street talk) or pass a message on etc…I rarely gave out my new contact details…but somehow, others still knew how to get hold of me if my services were needed…I would like to think it was out of the same loyalty I showed towards them, that my decision to get out of the game was respected and the calls were minimal.

I know that makes me sound like I was some top ranking mafia lieutenant or something (I wasn’t) but that’s the way it was…I was never high profile, I rubbed shoulders with all the big names but made a point of not being remembered…pretty hard I know when you’re 6ft 2” and was tipping the scales at 18 stone but I find that those who love the limelight will die in the limelight…me, I like the idea of growing old enough to be a burden to my kids like they’re a burden to me now…lol.

When asked for 2 words that best describes me…I always use ‘Respected’ and ‘Connected’, it’s the only way I can be summed up and I am happy to live with it. There are big names with even bigger nicknames out there that I have a lot of respect for, “the Guv’nor”, “Chairman of the board”, “the Yellow pages of crime”, “Mean Machine”, “Short, baldy bloke” the list goes on…me, if I had a nickname that best suits me, it would be “the AA” because I always know a man who can. Whatever you wanted I could put you in contact with someone, for a small considerable fee of course…I won’t go in to how far my connections went or what I could get arranged but those who know me can regale you with some amusing stories and confirm just what a few phone calls and a trip to Southampton docks can accomplish.

Anyhow, the need for a bottle of JD, a couple of cigars and a few spare hours to reminisce about the old days are in order to get additional material for the sequel but it seems people are waiting to read the first one before wanting to participate in the next…self preservation again, it’s the name of the game.

Be cool…and stay frosty.