Nine Foot Tall Read online

  If you want to.

  Everything that ever happened to me or those around me was orchestrated by me in one way or another. Fuck fate. Fuck destiny. The way that things map out is your own doing, not anyone else’s.

  For all the violence, the hurt, the broken hearts, the lives torn apart, the drugs, the drink, the women, the music, the pure and utter hedonism, would I do it all differently given a second chance?

  Would I fuck!

  There are all these social workers and psychoanalysts and do-gooders in the world. The ones who tell you that kids who turn to crime, take drugs and sleep around must be from deprived backgrounds or broken homes or the blah blah bastard blah.

  Well get this, people…

  I did it coz I fuckin’ loved it. Simple as.

  Summer 1972

  I was five years old, lying on my belly with my elbows on the carpet, resting my chin in my hands. I was pretending to watch Love Thy Neighbour on the telly, in reality I was listening to my mam and dad chatting to each other, laughing and joking and talking about films.

  ‘That was a great film, Jackie. The French Connection it was called. Bloody great film.’ My dad had been to the cinema with his mate and was telling my mam about it.

  ‘Yeh, what was it about?’ She didn’t like the same films as my dad, but she acted interested anyway.

  He sounded excited as he told her the plot. ‘Well, this cop, Popeye Doyle, has to infiltrate a drugs dealer in France…’ I was listening intently, whilst still staring at the telly, ‘and the cop is just as much of a villain as the bad guys, if not worse. Mad car chase and everything. It’s great.’

  My mam still acts interested. ‘So, does he catch him in the end? The cop that’s worse than the drugs dealer?’

  My dad shakes his head. ‘Nope! He gets away from him. They’ll have to make a sequel, sure they will.’

  He got up from the sofa and bent down to pick me up, and he placed his giant Hulk hands around my waist and lifted me above his head, laughing and tickling my sides.

  ‘How are ya, little man?’ He was smiling at me as I looked down on him from above, my little bum nearly touching the ceiling. ‘What do you wanna be when you grow up, eh? Do you wanna be a policeman? Just like Popeye Doyle?’

  I looked down at him and gave him the cutest, cheekiest, almost knowing smile.

  ‘No, Daddy… I wanna be a drugs dealer!’

  He put me down, placed his face in his palms and walked to the kitchen. The radio was playing as he entered shaking his head. The song playing was Cher – Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves.

  Daz Courtney was born and raised in Leeds. He was educated at various schools in Leeds, culminating at St Michael’s College, after which he studied Business at Airedale and Wharfedale. He was all set to start a journalism degree at university. But in 1985, just a few weeks before he was due to start his course, he ‘accidentally’ became a DJ. This made him forgo his studies and he quickly became a successful DJ and popular face on the scene around Leeds in the 80s and 90s. Nine Foot Tall is his first novel, based in part, around his experiences during this time and the places he worked and frequented.

  Acknowledgements

  Anyone who has ever written a novel, would have you believe that it is a solitary affair, a lonesome journey, it’s not.

  Forget the image of the tortured author, sitting alone by candlelight, a near empty bottle of Scotch on his desk, suffering for his art, that vision is for the birds man!

  My writing journey was on a road filled with laughter and love, and the people that created that laughter and love helped me to create Nine Foot Tall.

  I must start by thanking my publisher, The Book Guild, and all concerned with the production of my book, for believing in Little Daz from Leeds, thank you.

  Thanks in abundance goes out to my late mother Jackie, who believed in EVERYTHING I did, or said! Bless her. My dad, Hulk Dad, John, for being my hero, as all dads are to their sons. My siblings, Julie, Nick and Ben, for laughing at everything I ever say or do, and believing nearly everything I tell them. My children, Tom, for working tirelessly to help me get this project off the ground, and laughing at my every word, Josh, for believing in me, believing my tall stories, and also laughing at everything I ever say, Rosie, for her fabulous marketing photos and laughing at everything I ever say, and Jaime, for laughing at everything I ever say!

  I must give thanks to all the singers, bands, groups, acts, dj’s, pubs, clubs and bars of the 80’s and 90’s who gave me so much enjoyment and influenced a mammoth part of my life.

  A big thank you should go to my dear departed pal, Shaun Melody, taken far too soon, a man who helped to shape my life, and my outlook on it. Thank you Blue Eyes, you lived your life like a shooting star, fast and short-lived, but filled with brightness and wonder, inspiring awe in all who set eyes on you.

  And of course, a thank you of gargantuan proportions must go out to my wife, Suzie, who came into my world at just the right time and possibly saved my life. She taught me how to love again, and encouraged me to continue with my writing, both of which I had almost given up on. For this, My Suzie, My Suzie, My very own Suzie, I love you and I thank you.