Alive Presumed Dead

By George G George

This funny collection of stories which are true were put together by myself, I wanted to share them with others as they are worth reading. You will laugh and maybe cry but most of all you will enjoy the book. 

This book is a humorous, funny, sad and a light hearted look in to one man’s life, mine Richard Head every memory in here is true, ish. I have changed the names and places to protect the innocent and myself hopefully, most of what your about to read is from my life. There are some incidents I’ve heard from friends, but I’m not telling which. Okay the Typhoon part isn’t true or Two Tree Island, and a few bits more but it’s a story right? 
Richard Head better known to everyone as Dickhead, I had been searching for something to boost my boring life. I wanted something to give me a new outlook, I needed a different challenge, but what? Then a job opportunity came along and I grabbed it with both hands, that was a life changing moment and probably not for the better.
I’m just your normal run of the mill bloke, but ended up fighting for my life many times. I had survived a major air crash only to be stranded on a tiny island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. I’ve had to fights sharks, depression, insanity, plus much more and I recall my most funny and sad memories but mostly funny. I was there for over 500 days, and this book tells of how and what I had to do until he’s rescued. 
My next big challenge is to return home and face the family, knowing that I’d been given up as dead a long time ago. The kids and grandchildren were easy, facing my wife Tina who was now engaged to a new man, would be another thing altogether. Read on and see how I fair, will it be success or failure?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Publishdrive
• Release date: Nov 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9781311332097

Book preview

George G George

Alive Presumed Dead

Alive Presumed Dead

George G George

Chapter 1:

Alive Presumed Dead

Just another day in paradise; I’ve cast my fishing line out into the crystal clear waters of Coral Cove, which is the name I’ve given this place. I’ll wait for a fish to take the bait. In a cloudless sky, the sun’s hot rays beat down overheating anything caught in its beams. That’s why I’m sitting under a palm tree in the shade; the waters have plenty of fish so I won’t be here long. God, how I hate fish! Just once I’d like a T bone steak, bread and lots of butter and a chilled cider. Is that really too much to ask? It seems it is. Now my mouth’s drooling like Boson, a big dog we had years ago. Why am I moaning, I hear you say. Stop complaining. You don’t have to work and you have sunshine every day. Warm sun, cool water. How I’d love to live like that; you must be the luckiest man alive.

Wrong, you’re so wrong. I’m here - stranded on a small atoll, no bigger than two football pitches in the middle of the vastness known as the Pacific Ocean and I’ve been here alone for 488 days. I am long past taking to trees or crabs, although I still call out to the occasional bird that flies over. A Samsonite suit case was washed up a few days ago. The first bit of luck I’ve had for some time. Inside was a lot of woman’s clothes including lots of thongs and bras. This was a top heavy girl, the size on the bra read 36 GG and the thongs are small. Well, I won’t be running short of eye patches or sling shots for a while now.

The best result though was a laptop and a solar re-charger, Yeah! Now at last I feel like I’m still in the 21st century. Believe it or not, the mystery woman had left the password in her bag as well. She must be a blonde. Only they would be so stupid. Now, if only it had internet, a wish too far. Maybe if the blonde was here as well – that’d be a wish way too far. Still at least I can play solitaire.

Having quickly gotten fed up with that game, I decided to write my own story and tell the world of how I came to be here and how I survived, LUCKY ME. That reminds me not to play the lottery again, ha, ha, ha. I crack myself up sometimes. They say it’s a sign of madness when you laugh at your own jokes. But when you’re the only one around, who else is there? I’ve told the palms all my best jokes and no response. Maybe I need to work on my delivery?

So the floats bobbing in the water and I’ve fired up the laptop, in the shade its cooler and easier to see the screen. I still remember buying a stick on screen for my tablet at home, with the promise of easy viewing in the direct sun…BULLSHIT YOU WANKERS…IT DON’T WORK.

Right that said, I’ll start. I’d best give you a short description of myself. Otherwise you might wonder when you find these bleached bones half buried in the sand, who the hell was this tosser? My name is Richard Head. Yes that is correct - Richard Head. My dad had a strange, sick sense of humor. Dick Head is what I’ve been called ever since I can remember. If you think being called Sue is bad, Mr Jonny Cash, then try my name.

I was born in London’s East End, when being a cockney meant something and everyone spoke English. I suppose you think I’m racist. Wrong again. I have had many friends that were from different races, I’m just saying that’s all. I am really your normal run of the mill bloke - average height and build and thinning hair - that was the last time I looked into a mirror. At 56 years old, I’m a proud grandfather many times over, eighteen times to be precise with another on the way. Shit, it’s probably nearly one and a half now and I don’t even know its name or sex. It’s like my kids are trying to repopulate the world single handed. China you’re looking second best at the moment compared to my lot.

I had been working as a site manager for a building company and been doing this job for ten years. Over time there’d been many changes. In fact, too many for me, so I was looking for a new challenge. I wanted something that had nothing to do with construction in the UK and toyed with going back to Germany to work as a bricklayer.

This work is all I’d ever known since I was thirteen. All my life I’ve worked. My kids still don’t believe me when I told them, I’d been working since I was eight years old. Me and my older brother cleaned cars in the town car park, long before the eastern boys got in on the act, and I did a paper round at eleven for two years cycling four miles before I had even delivered a paper. I did three years in the Royal Green Jackets severing in Northern Ireland, Germany and the USA.

After completing a bricklaying apprenticeship and having worked for many tossers, I went to Germany and did the Brits on tour for nine years, then went on to running sites. Yes I could have gone higher in the company but just didn’t want to, I like the construction animal; he is a different breed to any other I know.

So how lucky did I feel when an agency contacted me saying they had just the job for someone of my skill and experience. The Cook Islands was the place the guy told me. Not that I had a clue where that was. But I knew it wasn’t in the UK and that was good enough for me.

The wages were way above what I was on at the moment. Alright, I knew that was the carrot and had a director not annoyed me minutes earlier then I may have said no, but I didn’t and I said yes. Yeah, tell you what, count me in, I told the agency guy.

Afterwards, when I bragged about being head hunted, my wife Tina said she wasn‘t interested in coming. Okay, I thought, that sounds about right; we could do with a break from each other. How wrong can one man be? Very wrong it appears, I miss her so much and wonder what she’s doing now? Getting shagged senseless, I bet.

How did I come up with that? Simple really. I must have been classed as dead by now and she’s a woman who has needs, just like myself. At least she can do it with someone, unlike me - the crack one off king of Two Tree Island, my name for this sand bar I call home, STOP MOANING AND WRITE TOSSER. Sorry, sometimes I need a good kick up the arse.

Suddenly, the rod leapt from my side and I raced to stop it from disappearing into the water, picking it up in my left hand and with a spear in the other. I pulled the line in slowly and waited as the baby shark sped on to take my catch and speared it.

Shark steak, not a T bone. In fact not even close.

So I’m standing on the beach dressed in a shocking pink woman’s dress with a big floppy sun hat and no I’m not wearing a bra or thong. Maybe I’ll try them tomorrow.

With the baby shark killed I can continue writing. I’m not putting the line back in the water as the shark will do me for a couple of days. The funny thing is - not so long ago - I was close to being eaten by its mum or dad. I didn’t hang around to ask which.

I’d been standing in the water trying to spear a fish when two baby sharks swam close by and I thought that’s strange, then they turned and headed straight for me which as a city boy made me turn and run. Good job I did as I saw a bloody great shark heading towards me. Shit! I didn’t think anything could move that fast in water. Luckily for me, I’m fast on my feet and was out of the water so quickly that I would have given Jesus a run for his money on the walking on water trick.

Sitting on the sand, I burst out laughing insanely, more from fear and relief than anything else. It made me watch the place and soon I worked out it must be a spot that the sharks use for a sort of safe haven for their young. That was until Dick Head arrived and spoilt everything, as our American friends would say, Shit happens. But I digress, where were we, Doris, you old slapper? Shit, I’m talking to a machine now, I’ll have to watch that won’t we, Doris? Doris is the name I have given the laptop.

Chapter 2:

The Flight

So as I was saying, I got this job offer and with a rush of blood to the head, I packed a bag and passport and set off for Heathrow Terminal 4 and freedom. Had I known I was to have this much freedom, I’d have run a mile and never looked back.

Reader, be aware of what you wish for.

There I was in departures waiting for the gate to come up on the board, I’ve flown many times and every time I’ve never really liked it. My solution is to have a few beers. Not this time, I’d had a curry with Tina the night before and was suffering with Bombay Bum. At the time, I’d thought Tina had gotten the cook to put something in my food, wish she had now. So I’m watching the board for my gate and running for the toilet. I was sure I hadn’t anything left in my guts to come out. Seems I was wrong I had loads.

My gate number came up and I went for another shit before dashing to the gate, asking for the nearest toilet when I got there. Luckily, it was right next to my gate. In the twenty minutes that