God's Jukebox

By Will Beattie

Zach could do nothing but watch the remains of his life burn down around him. He had come so far - New Star Records was the arena, the music industry his temple, and with London his playground, Zach made sure he lived his dreams.

His future, just like the glory and riches, international travel and all the sex, drugs and rock’n’ roll he could handle, was promised. Zach had eagerly snatched the golden ticket as he arrived in London with everything he had owned strapped to his back.
But the streets weren’t paved with gold; there was no yellow brick road and the hurricane that tore through Zach’s life wasn’t taking him to never-never land.

There was also a piper to pay - Ronny Lava, Zach’s tyrannical record label boss, hell-bent on destroying Zach’s life, bringing New Star Records down with it, had set Zach up for the biggest fall of his life. Outnumbered and outgunned, Zach could only watch as his world came crashing down.

However, the universe, it seemed, had other ideas.
The appearance of a mysterious old man offering Zach the chance to go back in time via the soundtrack to his life and undo all the carnage and chaos would come at a price - faith and trust would be needed, but not even Zach could comprehend the changes he was about to make. With nothing else to lose, he accepted the deal.

Peering down onto the screen of the old Wurlitzer, Zach saw his soundtrack - every song that ever meant anything to him was there; he looked to the mysterious old man who was smiling, willing him on, silently urging Zach to hit the button.

The room illuminated, capturing Zach in a trance - memories of summers past came flooding back as Zach’s mind filled with all the music he had ever heard. He pressed play, the machine began to whirr - Zach had done it! God’s Jukebox had come to life.
Fate, destiny or divine intervention - Zach was about to find out just what his life means.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Will Beattie
• Release date: May 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476334899

Will Beattie

I have spent the last fifteen years working in various guises in the music industry. I've been an artist manager and music-journalist, with my last incarnation as A&R guy over at Ruffworld Music, working with Joe Ruffalo (manager of Prince, Earth, Wind and Fire). This long road led to the release of my first book - The Rock and Roll Times - Music Industry Bible. A High-Octane roller coaster blockbuster of sex and drugs on a biblical scale. Just kidding; It's actually a kick-ass guide showing young bands how they can create a career for themselves whilst chasing that never-gonna-happen-record-deal. And Win. The platform for the book is the soon to be launched music website - The Rock and Roll Times. More news to follow... My first book - The Rock and Roll Times - Guide to the Music Industry is a concise attempt at breaking down the myths, legends and bullshit surrounding the music industry, and how to break into it. Aimed mostly at young bands trying to get a record deal, it is simply a Guerilla Guide for Indie brains and talent to create a platform whilst understanding a career in the music industry is a journey and not a destination. Maybe along the way the book can help them make a little bit more money and a little less ripped-off. Chapters in the book range from: Rehearsals, Song-Writing, Gigs, Management, Legal, Recording, Getting Your CD into iTunes along with other valuable areas such as PR, Shooting Promo Videos and Merch. Having spent many years in the music industry myself in various guises as A&R, management and Press; it became obvious as the digital world took over, it would bring more chances and opportunities for young bands to get their acts together professional and get their music heard over the digital airwaves . It was under this premise that the book was written. Currently in development, are plans for music concept Websites that tie-in with a TV and Radio Show. More help is needed. If anyone out there would like plans, please feel free to get in touch. Outside of that, other books are in development that include TV and Film scripts.

Book preview

God’s Jukebox

Will Beattie

Smashwords Edition

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Everybody's On The Run

For Those About To Rock (We Salute You)

Whole Lotta Rosie

On A Rope

Change (In The House Of Flies)

Knights Of Cydonia

Heaven Can Wait

Infra-Red

Kickstart My Heart

Again

Stand Inside Your Love

Highway To Hell

The Pretender

I Wanna Be Somebody

Threadbare

Beside You

Morning Glory

AMERIKA

Rise

Nothing Else Matters

Radio Nowhere

Copyright

Copyright © Will Beattie 2012

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

An eBook Edition 2012.

Will Beattie asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this eBook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of Will Beattie.

www.willbeattie.me

Acknowledgements

During the course of writing this book, there were friends who helped out when it mattered, and to those who stood their ground, I give thanks. As always, special thanks goes to Dad, Alex, Andy and Iain, for being my family. I also extend gratitude to Rafer, Bub, Patricia Gucci, Frances Lamb, Jewels, Sheryl, David and Ann Doble, Viv and Paddy Kane, Mr Aiden Gilligan and lastly to Katy and Voodoo.

Whilst the artwork for God’s Jukebox was based on a concept by Will Beattie, it was brought to life and illustrated by Anthony Hanford, who did an amazing job – thanks Anthony.

http://anthanford.daportfolio.com

To my editor Bridget Gevaux, whose advice and guidance proved immeasurable – thanks Bridget.

www.abcproofreading.co.uk

For further information and to contact the author, head over to www.willbeattie.me

The Rock and Roll Times – Music Industry Bible, by Will Beattie is also available for all eBook readers.

For Andrew Hood

Everybody’s On The Run

The Toucan was the only place left for him to go.

It had become his sanctuary of solitude; a hidden gem secreted within the great metropolis of sin and vice that enabled his troubled mind to seek the clarity he yearned.

It felt safe and comforting. A place to breathe, where a man could shut the door for a few precious hours, away from the heartache and pain that his life demanded.

The lights dimmed to reveal shadows snaking across the walls as cigarette smoke hazed along the bar like a ghost in search of its former life, unaware that its flame had already extinguished, seeking salvation.

Whilst some sought guidance and solace from an envious man in a confessional, others made pilgrimages to holy shrines to seek out Divine Intervention. Those who needed not to be forgiven for their sins found a far simpler solution.

And to them, it was the only temple they would ever need.

No bigger than an average front room, the Toucan had remained unchallenged in its quest to serve the best pint of Guinness in all of London. Its modus operandi was simple: to provide safe haven from the agents of change and chaos in delivering pint after pint of liquid perfection.

Some drinkers believed this was because the distance between the barrel and the bar was so short the dark nectar couldn’t become spoilt; others believed it was because, once a barrel was opened, it didn’t have time to sit and stagnate, remaining fresh until it was soon emptied. With three barrels opened and consumed every day, close to two hundred pints or more were downed by the patrons of the Toucan. And Zach Laudon, who sat staring at the same poster he had stared at a thousand times before, made sure he was one of them.

Zach had to admit to himself the Toucan had become his refuge from the outside world; especially now, as he found himself hanging desperately onto the memories, embracing the warmth and atmosphere the bar brought him. Tears started to well in his eyes as he thought back to the previous few days.

In one single day his entire life had fallen apart.

Sense, just some sense, thought Zach, his mind scanning over the past few days’ events to find some inkling, some kind of clue as to why it all happened. Try as he might, he couldn’t see past the alcoholic haze of confusion that had descended upon him.

The telephone call had come early that morning.

Burnt into his psyche, the click after she ended the conversation, signalled the supreme ending to his own personal Armageddon.

‘What have you done? What have you done?’ was all she kept saying.

Zach had no answer.

He couldn’t talk his way out of this one.

The desolation he was feeling went beyond his body; it was as if his soul was crying out in pain, and no amount of alcohol could numb the agony.

For the first time in his life he didn’t know what to do or where to go.

Thoughts as dark as the drink he was holding entered his consciousness. He had to hold on, find some way of making it through. It had always come good before, but this time something told him differently – somewhere, deep inside of him, a feeling crept slowly up into his stomach, bringing with it an ocean of dread.

He had broken that which was unbreakable.

The thought of suicide was gaining strength.

You’ve got to snap out of this, boy, he told himself, his mind filled with dense and heavy thoughts as he made a deal with himself; he would consider suicide tomorrow. For now, at least, he needed the salvation only alcoholic oblivion could bring.

Zach looked around the pub. The bar area was tiny, like a holy shrine to Guinness, a place of worship. With only enough space for five bar stools, those who knew better staked and jealously guarded their prime area of sacred turf.

Decked out behind the bar, either side of the fine expensive whiskeys on sale, were pictures of regulars in various degrees of Guinness consumption; men in suits next to girls in dresses stood alongside media and music types.

The Toucan wasn’t a place where segregation existed - it stood as a church and all were welcome.

Zach’s eyes stopped at the same spot they always did, only this time the poster seemed to beckon him, entice him, and made him wonder what it would have been like at that time. History had declared it a magical event, and only in the sixties could it really have happened.

The poster shone like a guiding light amongst the blackness.

The picture was unmistakable. The words stood out as if carved in white stone amongst a rising flood of black liquid.

Legendary guitarist Jimi Hendrix played his first ever UK gig here at the Toucan – or Knuckles, as it was then known…

‘Hey, Mikey. How the bloody hell did Jimi play in this place?’

Mikey the barman was busy adding the final stage in each pint of Guinness he was pouring. Included in each 180 seconds it took to pour, Mikey would add a little picture to the white head of the liquid that told the customer his pint was now ready to drink; sometimes the picture was a Shamrock, other times it might be a lion’s face or a teddy bear. It was only if you were rude, or Mikey didn’t like you, that you were served a pair of tits dressed up as a four-leaf clover.

‘Hang on a minute… You’ve been drinking here for four years, yet you’ve never been downstairs?’

‘Downstairs?’

‘See those stairs over there,’ said Mikey pointing over to where the toilets were, ‘they go down. Hence the term downstairs. Next time you need to empty your bladder, take a left and walk down. That’s where Jimi played the gig. Anyway, why the bloody hell have you never looked before now?’

‘It’s just never crossed my mind,’ replied Zach. ‘This is the bar, there’s the loo and over here is the door, which I enter and leave from. For some reason, I’ve never thought about it, until now.’

The thought perplexed him.

Why was it only now he thought to ask that question, to be curious about what happened all those years ago?

‘Old man Pete is the barman downstairs,’ continued Mikey. ‘Actually, if you can believe this, he was serving that night – he may even have served Jimi. Ask him, he’s talkative enough. He’s been working here for forty years, lives in the flat up the stairs.’

‘Yeah, maybe I will.’ Zach rested his empty glass on the bar and headed for the toilets.

‘Maybe you should,’ called out Mikey. ‘He retires this week.’

Zach spun round, but Mikey was already serving another customer.

For Those About To Rock (We Salute You)

Zach descended the stairs.

Twisting halfway down before turning left into a huge floor area, Zach calculated the cellar bar to be four times bigger than the bar above.

To his left, there were tables and chairs stacked against a wall covered in tattered pictures of 1920s Guinness artwork. To his right, a small stage area rose up from the floor. Zach noticed, in the corner, up against the back wall, something covered in a huge cloth. He wondered to himself if that was where Jimi had played all those years ago.

Small spotlights shone down from the ceiling, illuminating dust particles and painting the room in a strange haze of colour - colours so vibrant and alive that Zach reached out his hand as if to touch them.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up - the colours had an energy. It felt as if his hand was being scanned as he waved it backwards and forwards towards the lights surrounding him.

He started to feel a little dizzy as his eyes fell upon twelve stools lining the L-shaped bar.

Jesus Christ, how did I not know about this place?

‘Come over and take a seat, young sir,’ said the barman, who had been watching Zach. ‘Looks like you could use a drink.’

The voice broke the spell as Zach’s hand shot back to his side. He felt like he had awoken from a trance. He turned round to see an old barman smiling at him.

‘I’ll have a pint of the black stuff, please.’

Zach lit a cigarette as he looked at his reflection on the huge mirror behind the bar. He didn’t like what he saw. It had only been a week since his life had fallen apart and, in all that time, he’d only eaten a few rounds of toast. He couldn’t face food, couldn’t make it anymore; whenever he went to cook, all the memories came flooding back.

The happiest times of my life taken in one day, one very bad day. How could one person get their heart and soul ripped from them in so quick a time?

‘When did you start smoking?’ The barman placed down Zach’s drink and handed him a packet of crisps. ‘Here, eat something. It looks like you haven’t eaten for days.’

‘Oh, thanks.’ Zach placed a crisp in his mouth and instantly understood how glorious cheese and onion crisps could be; they seemed to be the perfect accompaniment to the Guinness. ‘I started smoking about a week ago. Why do you ask?’

‘Because you smoke like an amateur, like a man who doesn’t know what to do with himself. You haven’t settled into it yet. You inhale and blow out the smoke before it’s even had time to hit your lungs. Ha! Virgin smokers are always easy to spot.’ The barman turned and bent down, opened the fridge and took out a plate, which he then unwrapped and placed down on the bar. ‘Here, have this sandwich, too. It’ll help soak up all that booze you’re putting away.’

Zach stared at the barman as he felt the shivers of deja-vu come over him.

‘Y’know, you look familiar. Have we met some place before?’ Zach realised the second he started eating just how hungry he was. It didn’t matter what was in the sandwich; it was food, sustenance, and he was glad of it. ‘It just feels like I’ve met you before, somewhere.’

‘Perhaps,’ replied the barman. ‘I’ve been around a long time. You may have known me a long time ago, in some other place or some other time.’ He paused and looked at Zach for a few moments. ‘You seem to have the weight of the world on your shoulders. What indeed can be bothering you that much? Tell me your story.’

Zach tried eating the sandwich as fast as he could - he couldn’t understand how he had started to feel full already.

He put the empty plate back down onto the bar as he looked at the barman.

‘My story? Ha! I’m still trying to make sense of it. All I know is that my heart and soul are shattered into a thousand tiny pieces and I honestly don’t know what to do. I can’t think straight. I just feel numb and lost. For an entire week I’ve lived inside the warm, safe, cocoon of alcoholic oblivion.’

‘Sounds heavy, man. This thing… how did it happen?’

‘I don’t know. The perfect storm, I guess? The universe conspired against me, maybe? All I know is, right now, I don’t care whether I live or die. Everything was going so well. I loved my life. For a change, I actually loved it. Then one day, along comes God, who decides to take one of his almighty shits right down on my head. What in the name of the unholy did I ever do to God?’

The barman stared at Zack with curious eyes. ‘What makes you think God had anything to do with it?’

‘God, Satan, the Universe – whatever. Some kind of force, be it divine or otherwise, could only have transpired to create this unholy mess.’

Zach picked up his drink and stared straight into the mirror.

He really didn’t look healthy at all.

‘I rarely find in this world that people accept responsibility for their actions,’ said the barman. ‘It’s always some fault of some unseen presence or force at work that causes the heartache people go through. Even then, people find it hard to see past their own selfishness to admit they themselves are their own architects of destruction. On the flip side of that, let’s just say that maybe there is an unseen hand guiding the way. Those very same people tend to freak out at the thought that destiny has a hand in their lives - that they somehow are not in control. You just can’t win. But let’s say, perhaps sometimes things are just outside of your understanding. Perhaps there are things going on that you are not aware of, and that maybe, just maybe, this is some kind of Godsend preventing some even bigger catastrophe from happening.’ The barman moved just as Zach sprayed Guinness across the bar.

‘Godsend? A Godsend is when you catch your balls in your zipper and you manage to only rip off one testicle. A Godsend is when you manage to lose a fiver and then find a tenner. In this case, it’s more like Satan’s granted me three wishes in reverse. I tell ya, if I had the chance to go back over and see where it all went wrong, I’d do it. To just have that chance, that sweet little chance to take a left instead of a right, I’d sign my soul away right here, right now.’

‘Those are heavy words, man. Are you sure you would do that?’

Zach sat brooding, mulling over what he had just said.

The chance to go back and do it again…

‘Yeah, why not? I’ve seen the film. I prefer the one with Liz Hurley - great knockers - but, yeah. Who the hell wouldn’t want to go back and undo the carnage that’s happening to me right now? Damn right I would.’

‘That’s almost funny - Jimi said the same thing.’

‘Jimi?’

‘Yeah, Jimi, as in Hendrix. He had similar thoughts, just like you, until he played on that stage. That night changed him forever. He sat where you’re sitting, in the very same spot in fact. He looked at the mirror and also hated what was staring back at him. He didn’t drink, though - he was a smoker. Loved his weed, some drugs, but not big on booze. This wasn’t a Guinness bar back then, it was just a pub with a downstairs basement where teenagers and hipsters could go for a dance and feel cool. It was the sixties, after all. Something happened to Jimi that night - he had an experience. Why do you think he called his band the Jimi Hendrix Experience? It was 1966, England had won the World Cup, and Jimi was at a loose end with his life. He’d demobbed from the US army and came to London. His heart lay heavy, too. What am I going to do with my life? he asked me.’

‘What?’ said Zach incredulously. ‘ Jimi sat here and asked you that? How old were you?’

‘I find time to be an ageless experience,’ said the barman cryptically. ‘Anyway, he sat there and asked me what he should do. I knew he played guitar because his upside-down Fender Stratocaster was sitting next to him. I also knew he wanted to make music, but he was talking himself out of it. His time in the army had made him see the world from a different perspective. He wanted to be a peaceful and loving man. Music was the one thing where he could spread that kind of message, but he’d started to believe he should just give it up and head back home. He didn’t believe he was on the right path, but then life intervened and showed him he was on the correct one.’

‘And how did life show him that? Divine intervention, perhaps?’ Zach noticed the barman looking over at the stage. His eyes seemed to lighten up, as if he was anticipating something.

Zach knew he had to ask. ‘What is that over there?’ as he pointed to the shrouded object.

‘That was Jimi’s divine intervention... It’s God’s Jukebox.’

‘God’s Jukebox?’

‘Yep - God’s Jukebox. It plays the soundtrack to your life. Every song that has ever meant anything to you is on there. It takes you back to the time you first heard it - the sights, the smells. It actually takes you straight back to the moment the song had any impact or meaning for you. Think of it as a musical time machine that gives you the second chance we ask for when things go belly up. With a heart as heavy as yours, it might be a good idea to revisit those parts of your life; a kind of life review to see where you may have gone wrong, or maybe even get the chance to do things differently. You know, after playing a few songs, it might just give you a different perspective, maybe even a deeper understanding of who you are and what you came here to do… What do you think?’

Zach stared at the barman, unsure. ‘I think you’ve probably been down here too long. How can it take you back?’

‘Come over and I’ll show you.’ The barman led Zach over to the stage. ‘Stand in the front here, and I’ll just remove the cloth.’

Zach did as he was told and watched the barman remove the cloth - it seemed to have a magnetic quality about it. Zach noticed that, whilst the spotlights illuminated the dust particles in the room, the stage seemed eerily free of them.

It was as if the stage had an atmosphere all of its own.

Zach had to shield his eyes as the barman removed the cloth - a bright, almost iridescent, light shot out into the room.

He was beginning to feel a little strange.

The machine looked like an old Wurlitzer jukebox from the sixties or seventies, something he remembered seeing on the TV show ‘Happy Days’. Fonzy appeared in front of him with a big cheesy grin giving him the thumbs-up, telling him it was all going to be OK.

Zach started to wonder if he had been slipped acid as the jukebox emanated a low humming sound; it felt like energy, like it was talking to him, seducing him into taking this chance.

He felt as if he was back in the trancelike state he had experienced earlier.

He could feel the beat of his heart slow down, while a strange sensation of lightness took over his whole being as voices from the past echoed around his head.

‘You need to sit in this chair, Zach.’ The barman had pulled out a white-coloured chair from within the jukebox and motioned Zach to sit in it.

Feeling strangely drawn, he sat down and became glued to the chair.

Everything was happening so quickly.

Zach faced the white glowing machine in front of him. The humming sound started to grow louder and pulsate through his body.

He slowly moved his head to face the barman but found he couldn’t speak.

A slight fear overtook his mind; he was starting to fade from his reality.

He heard himself speak but he knew his mouth wasn’t moving.

‘What’s happening to me?’

Zach couldn’t see the barman speak, but he could hear him in his mind.

‘Zach Laudon, you are safe and protected, you have nothing to fear. The choice is yours. You can choose to review the soundtrack to your life; to review and understand the events around every important song that played over the movie of your life. To get a second chance, to go back and find out where you went wrong and put things right. Or you can carry on with your thoughts of suicide and death. You seek sense - sense to understand; sense to find guidance and peace and to go on living a life of hope and happiness. Your life is not meant to terminate at the end of a rope, or off a building, or from an overdose. Your time is not yet up. This second chance is offered to you as a gift. However, if you do this, you must understand that, after each song is played, you will need to understand why you did what you did, why you made the choices you made, before moving onto the next song. You can only make one change to your life, so use that change wisely. If you decide to do this, in order for you to meet the life that you’ve had and loved, to change what has happened to you this past week, you must be completely sure when to undo the mistake you made. If you choose too soon, you will miss your chance to change where you are today. Do you wish to continue?’

Zach could feel himself say ‘Yes’ as the room around him disappeared.

The jukebox glowed an intense silvery-white light that engulfed his entire being and seemed to spread throughout the room. He couldn’t see past it; it was as if the light had gone into him, filling him with calm ripples of peace.

He could no longer see with his eyes; his senses took over as he felt his spirit project itself from his body.

Vivid colours, together with intense waves of energy, washed over his mind.

I can see a purple haze.

Zach knew he was thinking this to himself. He couldn’t talk, he could no longer feel or control his body; but he could sense - he could sense he was more alive than he ever felt in his entire life.

He could feel himself in suspended animation, as if he was watching a backwards movie of his life on a movie screen in High Definition.

That’s what Jimi saw too, came the reply inside his head.

Zach could no longer feel himself attached to his body. It felt as though he was floating as he fought the urge to grasp hold of something - anything - to keep him grounded.

The sensation of time speeding up, then slowing down, going forwards then backwards, filled his stomach with dread.

He felt he was inside a washing machine, cleansing him of all his present life. He tried to grab onto his thoughts, but they disappeared as fast they came.

And then it all went crazy.

Like a rollercoaster ride across the universe, stars and supernovas opened up and exploded cosmic dust in front of him. Energy rays shot through his being, causing him to feel both light and dense at the same time.

Voices in the distance beckoned him forward, calling his name, pulling him into the future, before finding himself floating gently, like a leaf from a tree, onto the ground.

A stillness shrouded his body. He tried to see, but he couldn’t get through the thick-frosted glass in front of him.

His hand reached out - it felt real, cold, spongy and dense.

He pushed his hand through as the rest of his body followed. He found himself inside a huge Wurlitzer jukebox standing at the front of a stage, looking out to a huge dome-shaped auditorium. In his right hand he held a baton and noticed he was wearing a very fine tuxedo.

What the hell...

Zach looked around the huge arena he now found himself in and realised he was waiting patiently for the orchestra to arrive.

He instinctively knew what he was about to do.

He looked down to a music stand and read through a list of songs he was waiting to conduct; each one was in a particular order, with handwritten notes prohibiting him from changing the set-list.

‘Follow song order as stated’ the notes read.

Muffled sounds of instruments tuning up from the orchestra pit indicated the musicians were getting ready. Zach had been so absorbed in reading the song-sheet that he hadn’t heard or seen the vast orchestra arriving.

Behind them rose a huge video screen giving him a bird’s eye view of both the orchestra and the movie that was now playing: he recognised it as his life, and he was about to conduct his soundtrack. All eyes from the musicians were now on him; they waited quietly and patiently for the conductor to begin.

Zach looked at the baton, then down into the orchestra pit.

With a flick of the wrist, they launched into AC/DC’s ‘Whole Lotta Rosie’.

Whole Lotta Rosie

Coming to the end of a long nine-week holiday, the boys were getting restless.

The new school year was only days away.

All summer long, the two boys had been inseparable, for both shared the same secret - Mrs Holiday, the demon headmistress of Lisburn Central School, and Zach’s form teacher.

It had been a difficult adjustment returning from Germany. Zach’s father had been posted to the jungles of Belize for six months. Then, for family reasons, they had to return home to Northern Ireland.

Their home felt like a foreign country after all those years away and, whilst he remembered old familiar faces, there were some faces he thought he’d forgotten.

On his first day back at school, Zach had taken one look at Mrs Holiday and started crying, making him cling onto his mother even tighter as she went to walk out of the door.

As Mrs Holiday was of the opinion that little boys were to be seen and not heard. She had taken great offence at Zach’s emotional outburst and decided to place him in the corner with a dunce’s hat on to teach him a lesson.

However, it only served to fuel the hatred and loathing he developed for his teacher. It didn’t help matters when his mother tried to console him as, when Mrs Holiday stepped in to discipline Zach, he found himself in the middle of a tug-of-war between his mother and teacher.

When Zach was eventually allowed to sit down, he was placed next to the last person in the world he wanted to sit next to - a girl.

This was no ordinary girl - she was blonde, confident and clever. Zach, on the other hand, felt stupid, ugly and shy. He felt the last place on earth he belonged was at school; it was a completely alien environment that held no place for a dreamer like Zach, and the teacher would do her evil best to beat that out of him.

As the years went by, Mrs Holiday only served to reinforce those feelings of inadequacy and stupidity. Instead of building him up, she broke him down; instead of giving love, care and compassion, Mrs Holiday never missed a chance to belittle Zach