What the fuck is Cult of Zoid anyway?

I first tried to answer that in January 2015. I needed somewhere to write, to get some of the mad shit out of my head and put down the stories I could still remember.

Eleven years later, here we are again.

The name needs explaining.

Back in the 1980s, a mate called me the "Funky Fatoid". I was carrying a bit of weight and spent much of my time goofing around. It probably suited me.

A BMX magazine sent a reporter and photographer to Crawley, West Sussex, to meet our crew. We were teenagers riding crappy ramps and causing enough mayhem to attract some attention.

Somewhere between my mate saying "Funky Fatoid" and the magazine going to print, I became "Fat Zoid".

That got shortened to Zoid. It stuck.

The "Cult" bit makes it sound as though there are more of us. So far, it's mostly me.

I've had a strange life. Bikes, cars, friendships, bad decisions and situations that still take some explaining. Some were funny at the time. Others needed a few years.

There are difficult stories, too. I grew up with an absent father, a single mum and grandparents who did much of the raising. Those things belong here, but I'll write about them when I have something to say.

Rhona and our son, Karta, are central to my life now. Karta has just turned 21. That alone gives me plenty to think about.

CoZ is somewhere to collect all of this. Old posts worth another outing. Stories I never finished. Things I remember because nobody else seems to, and things other people remember rather differently.

I thought I had things handled most of the time, but I wasn't doing as well as I imagined.

I'll get details wrong. Where memory fails, I'll say so. Where someone remembers it better, I'll listen.

In the original introduction, I reckoned I might write every day. Eleven years on, I'm making no such promise.

But I have a few stories to tell.

Prepare to be underwhelmed.