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I arrived back from holiday in America with still nearly two weeks of paid time left on my contract with the RAF. On top of that I got a fine financial settlement from the RAF too, meaning that when my final pay cheque was paid into my account at the end of September 2005, I had thousands of pounds. I also had no one to answer to, I had the account of my trip to write up, and there was music to listen to, baseball to watch. I took months off.

Each day would start with me having a late breakfast, walking to the corner store to get some milk of biscuits, then sitting at my desk in the front room, writing, listening to music, then spending the night watching sport, drinking wine, beer or whisky, eating Pringles. It was far from perfect, but it was my life.

The house was leftover from the divorce. We had a tenant, and I got Debbie to move out, had it furnished and lived there for the last year I was in the mob.

Now it was mine.

I had given up on my season ticket at Norwich. I was sensible enough to realise how going to Carrow Road and following them could eat through my money, but I was spending loads on Sky and the rest of my lifestyle.

I did realise I needed to work. All I wanted was a job in town I could walk to, or cycle to. Paid enough so I could pay the mortgage and support my wine and Pringle habit. But I could find nothing.

I took a job at an agency, doing all sorts of driving jobs, but I was spending as much on fuel to get to the depot than I made. That sucked.

Then I got a gig driving for the Cotswold Company, delivery mail order goods around London. Three days from the depot near Swaffham.

We drove down the A11 to London, through the middle and over Tower Bridge to the south east, where we delivered until it was dark. We parked up on a quiet road and slep in the cab. Yes, it was grim, and got worse as the week went on as we did not shower. Or wash, really.

After another day delivering, we parked up near to Selhurst Park where Norwich were playing, and it was on TV, so I went to a pub, drank ate the money I made that day.

By Thursday the van was empty, and we drove back to the depot where I then drove back home to Oulton Broad.

I went home to the house, to the empty house.

I needed something to come back to.

I needed a cat.

I called the RSPCA, and they came round and I passed their test, so on Friday I went to one of their catteries, where there was just one kitty cat.

Topaz was so scared, so tiny, so young, that she would only eat when stroked.

If you are patient I was told, she will be a wonderful cat.

So, I took Molly home. When I opened the kitty box, she ran and hid in my sofa for a day. Coming out only to snatch food and lay huge cats eggs in the litter tray that smelt like nothing on earth. I disposed of them down the loo.

But in time, little by little, she came out of her shell, and turned out to be the best darned cat I ever met. Topaz was a poor name, so I looked at her and said, you look like a Molly. She seemed to agree, so she became Molly.

So, we made a home with each other. She was a house cat, and we used to watch the football, baseball and gridiron together. I fed her, played with her, and tried not to gag when I emptied the litter tray.

I had something to come home to, though I had no job.

After Christmas, I got a job delivering beer. Yes, beer. So for a month I learned the routes and customers, delivering barrels, kegs, bottles and the such all over north Suffolk and south Norfolk.

It paid a pittance, but it felt good to work, and the manual work meant I would lose weight.

But it paid so poorly, and they expected to do overtime for free. It only paid 34 hours, and then having to do up to eight hours a week for free, I refused, and said that unless overtime was paid, I would leave.

So, they handbagged me for a week saying the contract was coming, and I would be paid, allow as well. Until the Thursday night of my 5th week when I was given a draft of the contract; no paid overtime.

I left the next morning, keeping the contract to show the DHSS why I had left.

That night I began t get a pain in my leg, a pain that bu the next morning felt like I was walking with a broken bone. I went to the doctor and he told me I has sciatica. I could not walk, let alone work. The treatment at the time was drugs and rest. So I drugged up and rested, burning further through my savings.

I began not opening my mail, and hoping that my credit car would be OK when I used it. I was coming to a crunch, it was just as a matter of when.

In June, I got a letter that I opened, it said there was insufficient funds to pay the mortgage, so I was now in default. I had no job, no money.

Mum bailed me out, but it was clear I had to get a job.

This was my lowest point, borrowing thousands from Mum, her only doing it as the alternative was me moving back in with her.