‘Youll never quite understand life until you take one away’

That was the phrase my father, Harry Looton, used to quote whenever he was telling one of his infamous stories from the times he’d served in the military. I was five at the time.

Five year olds are easily entertained, but my fathers’ way always had to involve lots of graphic detail and lots of gore. He would make me jump in all the right places and recoil in horror, all at the same time. He was a story telling master. Ok, they weren’t the most conventional stories you would expect a five year old to be subjected to, but I have to admit, I was fascinated by them. I don’t think my school teachers were all too impressed by them though.
Once, on a ‘what does mummy and daddy do for a living?’ homework assignment, I upset my teacher, Miss Scrooby, and most of the kids in my class by standing up in front of them and describing (in graphic detail no less) how my father, single handed, tore the throats out of 2 Taliban rebels and then kicked them in the cock (I added the last bit myself for humour value.) I was subsequently marked with an F for that assignment, and if I hadn’t have used the word ‘cock’ in my story I probably wouldn’t have served the rest of that week in detention either. I think the only people that appreciated the story were a few of my friends, because they were the only ones laughing. My add-on about the cock seemed to do the trick. For the rest of that year, whenever it was my turn to stand up and give a presentation –whether it be about History or the tearing out of throats- everyone in the class would fall silent, as if they were expecting the worst.

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