Sean Urquhart

Paisley, Renfrewshire, GB

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Sean Urquhart

Category Audiobooks
Language English (Scottish)
Voice Age Middle Aged (35-54)
Description An extract from the audiobook 'A Glorious Mishap'. A narration of the introduction and first chapter. Two voices describing a marital breakdown.
Transcript Note: Transcripts are automatically transcribed and may contain errors.
acts in Peter's Gates on Forest Road introduction, nausea on dry land went toe 2017. Agatha, he said it was blood and soil as means of reductive description. I recoiled at his shoe titty, his slightly cults like Hold over Me and noted it had been a tense evening. I know as we sat reading old books and avoiding intimacy, those what's hung over us. I went to the kitchen and rolled a cigarette, finding the blood pounding in my head, making it hard to actually breathe. I was letting the past swallow me and always claustrophobic tendrils. He was undoubtedly a clever man. The war, this intelligence. Conspicuously. I was no acolyte, but it was certainly not his equal. And we weren't a romantic couple. We lived in the same host but separate rooms. There was no question of us ever really being a couple. We were annoyed. Habit. Karen and I. I got the impression that he never thought much about it. I like to cook for us for him, and we fell into this dependency. As I opened the door to the garden and let up my badly rendered ***. I felt utter despondency. I was on nothing I had given up. Reading the texts he recommended on watching the hubristic documentaries that he raved about and short. I let him think on sometimes act for me. I woke up. The vivid, literal passage remained in my memory as I should It on walked to work. It was often like that. I had whole paragraphs gifted to me in my sleep. It was perhaps the beginning of a novel was short storey or a fragment of someone's life I subconsciously overhead as I drifted through my week. Unfortunately, the passage above was all true. The dead don't talk, however, their deeds and what's traces out love them some more than others. My father often appeared in my subconscious, often in November, his birth month on the month of the holy souls in the Catholic calendar, on odd synchronicity, and my father is often changing me on my head. Magog sixties. I miss him. I really, really miss him and look for a replacement. Stupid. They can't ever be one. Iran is sleeping now, snowing heavily and exhaling his odiferous halitosis. I will never actually fathom how we became a couple. This is the reality of it sleep only brings brief respite from all of his ********. I know he's having multiple affairs, often continuously knowing that I might know what a joke. My lifers. My job is meaningful, well below any of my expectations of ambitions. They take a back seat to the great man's glittering career, a typical tale ofthe war so far, so every day approaching the end of my forties is almost a death nail for any kind of positive change. If I leave him, I would have to disentangle from the mortgage, keeping the meeting way Jenna well off pence and a good divorce settlement from a previous relationship and find a flat in the labyrinth of London or beyond. Basically, I was settling for the lane of least resistance. As I see stupid, I need to get away between the endless intellectual flim flam of his party's one stand. Needless to say, I cater for on the night spent alone with the cat in the TV. In the online relationship speculation, one has to have some escapism. I am miserable but miserable in that foster world sense not in grinding poverty of anything, neither but utterly bored and trammeled by my situation. I look at my dishwashers, hands on, rob at them as I robbed the moisturiser into them. I recall Aaron always slagging off my granny's mets *****. I have another small brandy and looked longingly at the vixen and the garden. I wish I will. She the free animal scavenging in nature and this most gilded of cages, Hampstead finest. I look for a simple and yes contented life. Is it too much to ask this longing? Obviously, from the reaction of my single friends, they think I'm party. All the great aren't they could. Apart from Dean, he sees the cultivated and well hadn't misogyny. It's a great pity he's a sexual these days, Old Bean. Also, he maintains, I've seen the bulge in his tight jeans as we talk about fleeing the scene. Also, my ego tells me I need some hope. Any hope might drudge off a job as a researcher is badly paid in. Tedious academics can be such a CD one cause you see L's Economics department is no different to any other office set up. It's rigidly hierarchical and riven with gossip. My boss, Madeleine, has an insecure, overweight neurotic with a passive aggressive streak as WeII, the Shias. I sit in silence, boarding up one starts to even. I don't quite comprehend, though. I have a 21 and economics from Durham. My Masters was a wrong move, but that is another storey. Iran's arching Iran's desire for me to be better educated than Noah's, highly as he typical behaviour. Dr. Iran Savage Esquire, The big academic ********. He was as much over education as he was about everything else and has Bailey Wick. His daddy. Routes have been shaved off a tad, but he retained this folks. Working class broke here, meant here meant which was his usual opening gambit to space actually being born and Bosque suburbia shepherded, to be exact. Only his father was actually Irish. Not that he mentioned that much, especially among his many cronies. Only one detractor existed in the mix. The offer mentioned Dean was a true working class lady, born and bred and West Essex, as he put it, no part of trendy Walthamstow. He hated coming to harm students and insisted I meet him in his picturesque local the floor port, a Runyonesque set of characters, mostly locals, drink there. A lot of Scots and Irish in East End, Football enthusiasts for enthusiasts read religiously observing Arsenal, West Ham and sports fans glued to the plasma on their days of worship. It was a secular temple on. The one was never fully accepted. It was a good day. I usually Nate out the hash and speed usually fuel that My own reminds was not whether chemicals themselves, but rather the banter that was influenced by their ingestion. As I said, No speeding toward Liverpool Street, I have an ache in my pelvic region, a numb feet of something indefinable. My luggage suggests holiday, but it really telegraphs leave taking. I have had enough of being the negative foil to the great man of letters. That's the simple fact. Abuse comes in many. Gedi's abuse comes in many guises, and many clothings on. Erin was so subtle about his own peculiar version, he was no outright *******. If you get my crude meaning, it was all the put downs, the way I dressed my dry skin, my slim physique, my lack of interest and has endless lectures, tools and rampant masculinity. He even had the temerity to arrange couples counselling that was tortured us the therapist was even a friend of a friend of hers, a total set up. I knew I would struggle without his income. Getting a flat or even hosted of my meagre salary meant starting at the bottom rung again. So be it. I am not. Good morning, my lot. I am fortunate. He is not the violent type, at least at this point. The cold of November is entering my bone marrow and I feel edgy. I'm nervous. I've doubled. My dose of Murtaza Ping has helped one leak a little a mere soap to my building. Tension Iran. After Fox, sick, she's gone custody text and not so fun for well, I gave up eight good top end deals. This is that a payment abuse me. Jesus, That's Noah's ******* ********! Agatha Liverpool Street. The start of the next fees. Iran will be pressing reasons by now to bind. I will not be going back. His last party was the worst example yet. Off his tape of base behaviour, he put on a bloody porn video we're having after dinner drinks. She moonlights as a cleaner at kings, he said, as if this is some kind of this cleaner. I was aghast as his coterie laptop. This dubious humour. They laughed as the woman was humiliated by some dead eyed stud. Christ, the pathos, those bloody apes. I took myself off to the kitchen and started or the dishes. As the deal's off, laughter continued unabated. There were no women there, the usual hallmark of an ear in grand standing. There are no women there go no challenge. I have become so numbed to all so beaten down. I wass. I looked at the departure departures board Norwich. I had a vague notion of going there, but it didn't seem far enough away. I had a valid passport, so perhaps Stansted was more appropriate. I know Iran will be getting positive stroke from one of his cheap gig mistresses or has equally deluded powers stuff him. I'm having a much needed quality. I would head to Barcelona and see if might still talk English. There one text which seal it and it did. He'd be delighted to have me over. I feel a swell of contentment will being did he was shaping up. It won and the maddest of Agatha's departure. I find myself here again. The Latvian hooker was attentive on the brown was good. I'm strictly fair whaler when it comes to the G of Poles L A. How? Give me the full massage and after care, as it were. Where What's the Mir Tun? She asked for? I gave her an extra 20. So impressed was I by Hostelling servers. Islay, Ana Ma Little bed covered in my own effluvia MME. And watched the demons and the ceiling taunting me and exposing my brain to the UN riel riddle of the moment. Smoke was never my go to guy on chemical towns. I was a dedicated Pesce head with a great taste and fine wines and more whiskeys. My mates from Naughty with the Charlie on the Mandy. But I usually Demotte on grounds of my massive snobbery on wanting to maintain my social upper hand. They never copped onto my own lover fear with Morpheus as it was minimal, a re a treat. I like the nameless Latvian ***** leave as I continued ruminating on the ceiling Rose marvelling at its intricacy like life is, I get that Barcelona was awash with protests and paranoia, a city riven with divisions. It remained in me of the bail faster Aaron took me to in the early nineties and, of course, his family home in Daddy, the family home of his father, At least honeymoon in purgatory. As he sardonically put it, It was a great trip. We're staying in. The Europa was far from actual fun a bombing, another bomb threat and a d. Counting to Daddy was quite exciting. I suppose. Iran's Huma I should have realised then just how cruel he could be. A bloody philae wass. At least I land as I brushed past a heavily armed cop at a man without fragment Hahnemann, August 1993 killing Joe. Matt would meet me later in that weird Manchester theme pub. I had a cold it you don't lapping up the nostalgia on me and my taking the Pessoa of his club. His mother sent him close packages by ****, he dressed like a delinquent off duty social worker on his uppers all feet. Fred Perry and clumpy shoes and badly cut jeans