about Hosiprog
CHAPTER ONE
HELLO WORLD !
Why was he born so beautiful, why was he born at all.

Ok, so we all have to start somewhere. In my case it was at about seven am one wet morning in 1942. May the 11th to be exact, when I was dragged screaming into the world, in a dingy rented room near Brentwood High Street. That room by the way, is now part of a dentists surgery. So if they ever put up a plaque outside 114 High Street, Brentwood to celebrate my birth, it will be a sort of poetic justice.
I'm also told that I was a breach birth, in other words came out sideways and was born awkward. A condition that has remained with me ever since. I also read somewhere that anyone having an awkward birth is destined for greatness. Well I've proved them wrong.
Now no way could I have been described as a beautiful baby, anything but. Which is probably why my mother promptly announced, that was it. No more like me, which again is probably just as well.
All over the world on that day, men and women were bravely fighting Hitler. laying down their lives so that those like me, being born on that day, could grow up in a world free from war. Makes you think, doesn't it. If they only knew I was about to join them, they might well have, laid down their arms, and started learning German.
Mind you the war left it's mark on me. For I suspect the Germans were not very happy with the idea of the birth of little Dennis and decided to do something about it. Mind you that something was a bit drastic, dropping a bomb on me. But it has to be said that I wear my war wound with pride. Across the back of my neck is a long scar, the result of having twenty odd stitches placed in it when I was 18 months old. I like to tell those interested that it was gained when some passing German pilot, totally lost over Essex. Decided to dump his bomb load on Brentwood, where the resulting blast blew me from my high chair, into the fireplace. From where I was dragged out, and rushed to St Andrews Hospital in Billericay where the medical staff had a field day with the back of my burnt neck.
Truth to tell, that German pilot was not to blame. True he dumped his bomb load, and yes I as under it at the time, but truth to tell it seems little me was at the time happily rocking back and forth in the said high chair, and got just a bit too energetic. So energetic in fact. That with the bomb blast, and glass and bits of house flying around, over went the chair, with me in it, straight into the open fire. Result one very burnt Dennis and a customer for that wartime hospital burns unit. Little wonder that for ever after that, mother never could find it in her heart to trust me into the care of grandma in who's flat, and fire I had taken a dive.

Don't quite know what I'm going to do with this page as yet, but I'll think of something