Number 1 Best Selling book; Alcohol Stole My Mum...
In 1978 John Taylor is eight years old and is in love with life. At school he is top of his class and adored by all the teachers. On the football pitch, he exhibits skills way beyond his years and, better still, his beloved Arsenal have just reached the FA Cup Final. Everything is great for John until the day he comes home from school and sees his alcoholic mother lying in bed after being beaten to a pulp by his violent father. From then on, his world changes terribly. To escape his painful and turbulent childhood, John finds solace in sports, especially football. He becomes a huge Arsenal and Celtic fan and amongst those supporters, he experiences a 'real' family, a togetherness as he travels with them to stadiums up and down the country. When John reaches adulthood, he is able to build a good life for himself with his loving partner and two beautiful young daughters. However, like so many who carry unresolved childhood trauma in their hearts, John falls prey to his own addictions. With the demons worsening in his head, and in the midst of a mental breakdown, he begrudgingly checks himself into rehab. Whilst there, he was given a choice: does he want to see his girls grow up, or does he want to be just like his mother? Faced with a 'life or death' situation, John opens up about his childhood for the first time ever in his life. Alcohol Stole My Mum is a hugely brave examination of a man's life to date. It is a story of great redemption told with a depth and candour that seeks to inspire and to help others. It is a compelling tale of how alcoholism destroys the family unit, but, worse still, creates devastating consequences that endure for years. Yet it is also laced with great humour.
On August 21st, 2015 at 10:30pm in an Archway hospital, my son Rafi Supino Arif came into my life. It was a momentous occasion, filled with all kinds of emotions. But as he started to grow, one thought kept repeating itself. Would I write about him, let alone record an audiointimate book on the experience of raising a son?
Then on his first birthday it was there that Rafi first heard applause and the look on his face hit something inside of me. Within a week I had begun writing Colour me Father.
After I had written about his birthday I then found myself writing about dreams, pigeons, Sister Patricia, (May God rest her soul) fatherhood, Wood Green and Robert De Niro, (who now owns a copy) and it became apparent to me that I should let the words flow, whatever came to mind.
I also saw that I was fulfilling a lifetime mission – that of paying homage, in my very very limited way, to a piece of literature that ranks as one of the finest in my mind – Oscar Wilde’s De Profundis. This is a letter that Oscar wrote to his boyfriend whilst serving his last year in Reading Gaol. (In the first year of his imprisonment the authorities refused to allow him to write and I think that one of the cruellest punishments ever heaped upon an artist.)
During the writing of Colour I only read De Profundis. I would start it finish it, start again. My thinking was that if just one per cent of its quality rubbed off on my work, then I would stand a chance of producing something very worthwhile.
My writing process was quite simple. In the morning when walking Rafi to a nursery session, I would plot out the book in my mind. I would then put those idea into a small Dictaphone that I have. Back home, I would write out those ideas and then on Saturdays I would head for the British Library where I would spend all day writing.
Sundays I would rest, Mondays the process would start the again
I think it my best work to date. I hope you do as well.
