Season Finale

The Lad's football cancelled due to Corona so here's an alternative match report to help me tackle the boredom and your entertainment.
Cottage Farm Alternatives (parents) -v- Cockspanner Stockpilers 22/03/20
Glorious day for a home match. Pitch trimmed to perfection, boots (toe capped) polished and Graham has had a match day Mohican with a view to intimidating the opposition. Sid has given his bonce an extra polish to dazzle them.

Kick off and straight away lino John is down Isle 8 whippet like and using his flag to take an eye out if anyone tries to get past him. Sarah has peeled off left to Isle 1 to create space for Andrew who's on the hunt for red top. Manager Normski has taken up a central position by the eggs and he is fending off the apes who think they need 200 eggs for two weeks of isolation. He's coping well.
Woah! That was out of order. A hoarder has just gone in two footed on Sue in the pasta isle. Debbie lets the woman get to the bottom of Isle 4 and leaves a sly elbow in after the challenge as retribution. The staff haven't seen it so there's no whistle and Debbie scoops up the four bags of pasta the woman was carrying. A swift pass of three of them to Carl who does the decent thing and passes them on to a group of elderly folk desperately wondering how they're going to survive on a tin of sardines, a pack of thins and a jar of stone filled olives for 12 weeks.
Dawn and Lisa are marshalling the defence and fending off any attempts to swipe stuff from our trolley. Its all getting a bit Rollerball (look it up kids its a belter) but they're keeping it tight. Lint has his foot on the neck of a scrote who had tried to grab 8 packs of toilet rolls. Lint is giving him an educational lecture pointing out that based on three sheets per wipe and the average wipes per toilet visit said scrote will need to have 83 shits per day to use 8 packs in 14 days!
Pauline, Andy and Keith appear down the flank with anti bacterial wipes and hand sanitizer to a huge roar from the crowd. There's a suggestion they were offside but the staff turn away the appeals. This could be a game changer as Mich, Sharon and Mrs ST create a lovely triangle in the centre to pick up colouring books and isolation boredom stuff to entertain the kids. A foul is called as Mich has inadvertently picked up a 6 pack of ribbed. Not required for this isolation since I availed myself of the quality buttered toast in The Peel some 14 years or so ago. She return them quick sharp and avoids a yellow card.
Its getting tense in the closing minutes. He's not even on the pitch but Normski is yelling at Luca. It's muffled in the crowd noise but I'm sure I heard "bloody head it Luca, head it!"  Theres a late break in Isle 19. Emma is out of position trying to cover Mrs Falsely Claiming To Have COPD as the reason she needs 50 tins of beans. Joy, Craig and Simon drop back and do enough to put her off going for the win and safely play it out from the back to steer the team to the checkout.
There's seconds remaining as Jackalyn slides in from distance, arm extended, contactless card at the ready and taps in for the win a split second before the final whistle is blown. I can honestly say, in my five seasons of sport reporting, I have never seen, and I am unlikely to ever see again, a match like that. We're exhausted in the stands and my Bovril and Tikka pie have gone flying. Goodness only knows how they feel on the pitch. These are true scenes as the title is secured in the most dramatic of circumstances. There's already talk of Knighthoods but that's for another day. As it is Normski directs us all to the Winchester to sit it out. What a season finale.

Inhaler

About a year ago I heard about Inhaler. A young four piece band from Dublin with a charismatic frontman whose surname is Hewson. You can see where this is going can't you? This exact situation first happened in 1978 or thereabouts. The problem was that in 1978 I was 6 yrs old and my life revolved around playing in the bomb hole in Pype Hayes Park, riding my green bike and playing Army with my non to mobile but entirely enthusiastic Nan. The '78 band from the North side of Dublin was about to change the music landscape forever but their impact on my life was still 9 years away.

The problem this time is that I am 47 and 30 yrs too old for Inhaler's immediate demographic but that's not to say that I can't use Inhaler to piece together a final gap in a musical Jigsaw. At least that's probably how I initially saw it with them becoming known to me as a side piece of U2 news. Inhaler's charismatic frontman is Elijah Hewson the son of Bono. I didn't see U2 until I was 18 or thereabouts and they were 12 years into their career with War, Boy, October, Unforgettable Fire, Joshua Tree and Rattle Hum already in their back catalogue, playing in front of millions worldwide at Live Aid and filling stadiums across America. Inhaler have 7 songs on Spotify, their roadie looks like a sixth former who likes to tinker with electrics a bit, they're supporting some good bands here and there but their own gigs are filling venues with capacities in the hundreds rather than the thousands.

When I first listened to their tracks I approached it all wrong. I was chasing something I missed out on. A reincarnation of early U2. Bono in his youth. The Edge with hair. I know why. It's a grasp at the past. It's an attempt to grab hold of a simpler time, a complete time. A time without loss. Looking for a patch, a plaster on grief.

My daughter went to see them in Sheffield last November (I couldn't go) but soon after we got tickets to be able to see them here in Birmingham at the O2 Academy. The temptation was to go in one of my U2 tour T shirts. Display my colours. I decided against it. I decided to give them a go on their merits. I hadn't seen any piggy backing on the success of U2. Of course, I've no doubt Inhaler have the full support of Bono and that of the parents of Josh (lead guitar), Rob (bass) and Ryan (drums), but I hadn't seen them using the connection, the unavoidable connection, to get a step up. So, out of respect for their efforts, I should give them a go on their merits right?

Rocking up to the O2 and we're guided upstairs. Not to the top tier of the 3000 capacity hall but the top room that used to be the top room of what was The Dome Nightclub in the early '90's. Small bar and stage with a capacity of maybe 400 or 500 at a push. In fact I blagged my way into an after party with Shed Seven a couple of years back in the same room after they had filled the main hall for 2 hours. Inhaler's 7 songs aren't going to fill 2 hours and, realistically, aren't going to sell 3000 tickets. At least not yet.

Lots of groups of kids (mid to late teens) at the right demographic but equally lots of couples. The main couples being parent (45 - 55) and child (15-20). Parent there because they like U2 and kids there because they've shied away from the Drill Rap bollox infecting the ears of kids today and the manufactured boy/girl bands. They're seeking out bands that have formed as mates, learning their instruments, playing their instruments and making their way through the music scene. A few of the parents couldn't resist the U2 colours but for me it didn't seem right for tonight.

Feet were the support band. A local group from Coventry consisting of a drummer, bassist, two leads and their frontman. They were very good to be fair to them. I described them on Twitter as 'Surprisingly good. Fearlessly charismatic. Think Happy Mondays crossed with The Cure drifting somewhere between late 60's, a touch of 70's, some 80's/90's crossover doused in originality'.

As the room filled for Inhaler I saw two schoolmates I hadn't seen for 29 years or so. When I say mates one was my best mate at school who I've not had anything to do with for 29 yrs and the other was an older lad, a bully who never really got the better of me and suffered the ignominy of losing his 1st XV Rugby team place to a kid he had bullied for years when I took his No 15 shirt and stepped into the first team. I didn't say hello. In a way it was what I was initially setting out to find. A blast from the past. In the moment it didn't matter. I didn't have the confidence to be the better man but I also didn't feel I really had anything to say to them.

Inhaler came out to a good reception from the kids who are going to be their loyal fanbase for life and us oldies there for whatever reason we were there for. For me, despite the obvious comparisons and the temptation to compare, I was gonna give them a go purely on their merits. It was much easier than I thought. As a U2 obsessive you can't help but notice how much he looks like his Dad and the odd frontman trait that's similar but it was never a distraction as Elijah is clearly carving out a musical career and style of his own.

They opened with When I'm With You a not yet on Spotify number. Josh leads us in.

"Sugar Hits
I need to taste it
On my lips"

 All four of them looked ridiculously comfortable and commanding on stage. I say 4. There's actually 5 if you include the keyboard player but he doesn't appear to be an 'official' member. They exude a confidence well above their years and they clearly love what they are doing bouncing off each other throughout the gig.

The 10 song set is 50% tracks on Spotify and 50% newer songs. I got a set list from @inhalerupdated on Twitter because I wondered what the songs were that I didn't recognise. For the sake of this blog I'll assume it's right. Throughout the gig I found myself liking every tune which is rare for me when hearing songs for the first time.

It Won't Always Be Like This was next and this is a cracker of a tune with a wonderful spinning chorus and live it gets you bouncing whether you want to or not.

"Play me like a record baby
Spin me around
Turn me upside down"

A Night On The Floor is beautifully moody with a great intro and lovely warm up for Ice Cream Sundae.

"Have your eyes focus
Just to clean up your mess
Or not"

I love Ice Cream Sundae. Took to it the first time I heard it and wow it thumps live.

"Easy as an ice cream sundae
Slippin' outta your hand
Into the dirt"

It's a crowd favourite for sure and so much better live. This was a recurrent theme. Every track I knew was better live. They inject a huge energy and joy into the songs. They're a band that have to be seen to be fully appreciated.

Falling In is all about the guitars for me.

"What a glorious feeling
And I like it a lot"

My King Will Be Kind and again both Josh and Elijah seem to enjoy this one. I'd love to find the full lyrics to this to get the background to "I fucking hate that bitch"

"Oh you lost your mind
'cause I lost mine"

After these two non spotifiers is We Have to Move On. This is their latest track on Spotify and it's a wonderfully accomplished track.

"Sad, serious things
Never become unbroken"

Cheer Up Baby is the final new one in the set

"You're not on your own
Sinking like a stone"

There's No Other Place. This one is a belter. From the raw chords at the start to the booming drums to the rising anthemic lyrics this is pure class.

"And I'd jump if you told me to
Got the controls under your left foot"

The set was brought to a close with My Honest Face. I'd describe this as my favourite but then that's about 5 favourites I have already. Its a wonderful tune, a bass line that rattles the bones, its sing along, its moshable, it's grab your mate and belt it out to each otherable and it's a great tune to end a gig on and send everyone home buzzing.

"And Honey I could play the Joker
My made up smile broke your heart last night"

An hour flew by with me being completely immersed in Inhaler. Elijah looks accomplished on the guitar and has a voice that seems to have grown immeasurably in a year and is well suited to filling the stadiums they'll soon be filling. Rob delivers a bass that never misses a beat and rattles through as the backbone to their songs particularly It Won't Always Be Like This and My Honest Face. Seems to like the buzz from the crowd as he wondered off stage into the front row towards the end. If Rob is the backbone then Ryan is the powerhouse of the rhythm section. Stands out throughout but comes into his own in There's No Other Place. Josh just oozes cool. Looks like he's been tearing up gigs with his lead for years and interacts well with Elijah. Their influences are huge and varied but never copied. Of many of the influences in their music U2 was not a main one for me and the non U2 sound was a relief. They've an original, new, energetic album ready to go in these 10 songs. Elijah said it's on it's way and I can't wait. They ooze confidence, talent, charisma and polished musicianship producing a better sound live. They have shed loads of energy and they're gonna need it when they're filling stadiums, which they one day will, with their anthemic tunes born out of a wonderous mix of influence.

I went in looking for something I'll never find but I came out mesmerised by an emotional connection to something new, fresh and energetic. A band that I'm confident are going to change the music landscape again.

Equinox24 '19 - I knew she knew!

Equinox was hard. Really hard. In my head it always seems relatively straightforward and at 4mph (fast walk) 100 miles in 24 hrs is possible. In reality a lot of things have to fall in your favour to hit 100 miles (17 laps).
Good prep - mine was awful.
High level of fitness - couldn't be further from it.
Good training - in my dreams.
Free of injuries - not even close.
Stress free week build up with plenty of sleep - not a fuckin' chance.

Against the odds we did make it on Friday and Mich literally ran straight on stage to front The Detroits only 5 mins late at 8:05pm. Having been discharged from Hospital after a 2 day stay at 5:40pm. She had a 2 hr stress free adrenalin fuelled gig.

She hid her disappointment at not being able to run really well and we were both relieved we didn't have to put up a tent. The chaos of the day meant that instead of being in bed by 7pm it was nearer midnight. 
The following day I was stood on the start line, Gangster Morph, Trilby, no plan. Even by my standards I was ill prepared. I was thinking I'd be happy with my calves allowing one lap before the event. As it turned out it was a challenge just to make the start line. Once there and after being given the 'I'll be fine and you'll be fine' hug from Mich, I set off with the intention of doing one lap and see how it goes.

Powered almost entirely by the shared strength of those alongside me and the generous encouragement from those supporting I managed 7 laps, 3 sleeps, lots of laughs and some swearing. Unfortunately, decent mileage was never gonna happen as by lap 3 the heat had got to me, I was pissing creasote and I was ridiculously tired. I've fallen asleep in the Morphsuit whilst walking at Equinox before but it usually happens during the early hours of the morning or towards the end. I was worried this was happening 4 hrs in! Lap 4 was better after a Jacket Spud and 40 mins with Mich but fatigue was overwhelming. I had a break then lap 5 was a night lap. Then a sleep on a food bench. Another break and then lap 6 and 7 completed up to mid day arriving back to Johnny at 12:03pm missing the offer of #onemorelap by 3 mins. 7 laps is not to be sniffed at. My personal goals are ludicrously unrealistic but the reality is you can only do what you can do based on the circumstances you face on the day. The truth is I simply didn't have the strength of mind to endure. To push through the pain and fatigue. On reflection I'm happy with 7. It's better than 4 which it very nearly was and it's a world away from 3 which the whole of my body and the waffling space where my brain should be wanted it to be, teasing me to stop. It was like the devil himself, whilst sat comfortably on my shoulder, was offering comfort and respite and it could all stop if I just took his hand.

The people I run with make it possible. Not just the solos but everyone. We're all busting a gut out there. From flashes of Dennis the Menaces passing by with supportive shouts, to putting the world to rights with Wendy, to being humbled to tears by Rosemary (the Morphsuit hides a world of emotion ), to photo opportunities and hugs with fellow Equinoxers, to a shared hatred of That Hill, to teams whizzing by with a word of encouragement Aldridge, Simon Heroes, Shabbas, Poppyfields, to the lady sobbing her way down the back straight as part of a team who, when asked if she was OK, said "it just means so much to me". I could do no more than give her a hug and tell her I was proud of her before finishing the last 500 metres of that lap with tears streaming down my face, to laps catching up with old pals with great stories and personal triumphs, to having to take a moment to gather myself after a runner said they'd done Outlaw because of my Bmx exploits and from that had seen me tackle Equinox and thought it seemed like a good idea to have a crack at it too.

The supporters make it a joy. The power up signs that I can't read through the Morphsuit, the comments made that they think I can't hear because of the suit, the banter, the "see you in 40 mins", the shared fire pits, the hi fives and the low ones from the little ones, the kids running alongside in their Ironman suits (I had suit envy) and the constant bombardment of encouragement. 

Then of course family make it complete. The hugs, the tears, the crewing, the winks and the knowing looks. I got one from Mich as I started the back straight for the last time. She knew, I knew, she knew I knew and I knew that she knew too. A mental challenge of mine is to always run the field. Always. She hugged me as I went by and then got across to the finish to be there for my finish. Her strength is unimaginable at times. I take from her as much as I can to do the best I can. I was so pleased to fall into her arms at the end I nearly forgot my medal.

I've gotta shout out Johnny and Laura and their crew as well as Glenn and his and the shops, massage and food outlets. I called on all of them to get me through this at various stages. Matt from Pop Top Kitchen who fed me all weekend (apart from the spud) finally broke me at 12:30 Sunday when, having just finished and sat down, he brought my food over to me instead of me going to collect it and within the wrap (which was the Paul McGrath of breakfast wraps) were some ££'s for the charities.
I've said it before and I'll say it again its the best way to spend a weekend. I don't know how Johnny and Laura do it but just keep doing it.
I'm done with fundraising after 9 years. During that time you lot have raised shed loads. You lot have changed lives for the better. You've almost certainly saved lives. Thank you, sincerely, for your generosity of both hard earned cash and of spirit. I'm taking a break. I've stuff to deal with and a body to repair. I'll be back at Equinox in some capacity for sure but I won't be running again unless I've trained injury free. Thank you.
To those that don't like my sponsorship requests, my begging, or the way I tackle challenges (apparently its disrespectful to the sport) you can rest easy your timeline will be free......for now!  Morph out. 

We see the sun go down in your eyes

I'm in a pub - on my own. Many years ago that would not be an unusual thing to hear me say but the outcome would be quite different. Perhaps not the thought process but definitely the alcohol intake, the drunkeness, the aggressiveness, waste of money and wondering around somewhere trying to self destruct. Anyway, tomorrow, as I have for about 10 years, I am safe in the knowledge I won't have a hangover. 

While Mich rehearses with her band and because they’ve no milk behind the bar for me to have a cuppa whilst watching the footie I played some solo pool. It’s amazing how poor you can become at something you used to be so good at. To be fair I was playing pool every day and every night as a kid as my parents had got me a pool table one Christmas. 35 years on and the belly gets in the way for positioning, the failing eye sight means the end of the cue is about as far as I can clearly see and that gut instinct on positioning, lines and angles has long since departed. My mind wanders as I play. The odd shot flickers back to a less complicated time. The deep red sunset sears through the misted pub glass reinforcing a loss suffered nearly 32 years ago. A loss that weighs a heavy grief that I carry with me constantly. 

"The sun so bright it leaves no shadows only scars carved into stone"

I recently blogged about stress and anxiety and it’s talent for exacerbating grief. I mentioned in a video after a miserable run that as time ticks by and memories fade it gets harder and harder to remember my mom’s face. I can look at the few pics I have and of course I know what she looks like but as a real memory, an actual mental visualisation I can recall whenever I want, it’s becoming harder and harder. She appears in the odd dream. I don’t know, when I wake up, just how clear she was but it always leaves me so utterly devastated that it was only a dream and it is always so brief and unlasting. Often ruined by me being late for a job somewhere important like Buckingham Palace which will inevitably be set in somewhere weird like a football stadium or the local chippy and I’ll have lost my teeth or I’ll be naked trying to fry a mars bar and daffodil. That kind of dream! That brief moment though, where she comes in to order a battered Corgi or Swan, she’s in the queue talking to me and I have to ask her to hang on a sec while I serve the customer before, who could be Kevin Pietersen or Sport Billy, but she gets served by Richard Prior instead and leaves before KP’s pitta has popped for me to make his kebab! Of course I wake as I chase after her. Usually getting pretty close.

"Dress torn in ribbons and in bows like a siren she calls to me"

The last time I saw my mom was 27th June 1987. I’m sure it was a Saturday and it was bloody hot. I’ve no recollection of any part of the day until about 5:30pm ish. I had been out doing my paperounds. During that time my only moments of clarity, moments entirely devoid of stress and worry, were on the rugby pitch or whilst doing my rounds. I’d finished my rounds and had cycled the last couple of miles home no handed. A common challenge I set myself. There were only two tricky junctions to negotiate. Tricky when no handed that is. A right turn off Walsall Road into Little Aston lane being particularly hazardous and therefore all the more satisfying to complete without face planting onto the tarmac, because it’s a downhill build up and no handed means no braking so swinging a right at speed. The last turn was a more sedate right into The Grove which only became complicated if there was a car approaching and disrupting my window of opportunity to turn, again without braking. That day it was clear and I leant into the turn and set myself to power to the top of the hill with the aim to not fail by touching the handlebars. I remember the sun was shining through the spokes of my Raleigh 10 speed. I powered up the hill only looking up as I passed The Goldstones. Instead of a clear view to our house, at the top just to the left, I saw my Auntie Sue stood outside the Prices’. My heart sank and I dropped down onto the bars. My challenge suddenly entirely irrelevant as I was ripped, abruptly, back to reality. I pulled up and walked the last couple of houses up to Auntie Sue. 

I took out my ear phones and switched off my Walkman. I don’t remember what I was listening to although it was almost certainly Clapton or Hendrix. If I was a betting man I would say it was probably Hendrix Live at Winterland. I struggled to ever get past Red House and constantly rewound the tape to listen to it over and over again. There was something magical about Hendrix. A sound that I was transfixed by. I think The Cry of Love gripped me as much as any of his albums (most released posthumously!) and I would often seek solace in the emotion of his guitar and his delivery.

"Drifting on a sea of forgotten teardrops"

The Joshua Tree had been released 3 months earlier on 9th March ‘87 and whilst that album has held my hand throughout my life and all of it is associated with love, loss and grief, I don’t think I had been captured by it just yet. In fact whilst I know exactly how I can’t pin down when I discovered it. The how was down to Gavin Wade who gave me a taped recording of the album he had made. I can picture now quite clearly, in Gav’s very individualistic writing style, the label read ‘ The Joshua Tree & Unavailable B Sides ‘. Each letter styled with a flourish that covered just about anything he could doodle on! Since that day, whenever it was, The Joshua Tree has consoled me, accompanied me, comforted me and acted as an instant reference to my mom. Which is strange as I don’t think I listened to it until after she died. Similarly though, I remember a few years earlier, probably ‘83 or ‘84 ish, whenever I hear Night Swimming by REM (an absolute favourite of mine). I am taken back to sitting in the back of my Dad’s company car travelling back from The Priory Hospital in Edgbaston after visiting Mom and I’m looking out the window watching the street lights whizz by trying to light the dark. It’s weird because Night Swimming wasn’t released until Automatic For The People in 1992! In fact I can tell you the actual song that should spark that memory and it was The Flying Pickets - Only You! The mind has a funny way of dealing with things.

"Every streetlight reveals the picture in reverse"

Anyway, whatever I was listening to I turned off. My Auntie Sue sat me down on the corner wall of No 7. She put her arm around me allowing a momentary respite from the glaring sun on my neck. “It’s time” she said as she gave me a hug. “It’s time”. If ever my world stopped spinning it was probably then. I knew, we all knew, that it was any day now that mom would die. What had started as breast cancer 4 years earlier had returned as an inoperable brain tumour with a vengeance. It had sucked the life out of her pretty quickly. I don’t think she had been ‘with it’ for a while but certainly she hadn’t come round for a couple of days. It had stolen everything from her. Her movement her figure her looks her wit her love her care.

I know we didn’t get up and go to our house straight away but I’ve no idea how long we sat there for. It could have been an eternity encapsulated in a second. It could have been a fleeting moment that dragged out forever. Everything that had ever happened in that street over the previous 8 years played out in front of me. Every game of volleys and headers, hedge hopping, knock and run, fights, tantrums, threats, laughs and stunts sliced through time to pause for a second as if to offer a moment of support or to unravel and fall away at the end. Eventually we did go in and the house was full, or at least appeared to be. Aunties and Uncles, friends and neighbours. Tears and silence mixing uncomfortably. My little brother was with Dad and I joined them. It might have been hours but I remember it as minutes. I said goodbye (she couldn't hear me) and I kissed her on the head. She took her last breath and in our dining room, converted to a bedroom, she died surrounded by us all. In that moment I was hit by every failing, every weakness, every time I let her down and acutely, so acutely, how much I still had to learn about her and from her. You don’t get a chance to right any wrongs. There’s no final words. No goodbyes. No last exchange. Just loss.

"Sleight of hand and twist of fate"

The sunset was deep red that evening. It trawled the horizon sucking in the odd wisp of cloud along with the last ounce of daylight. The Grove stood still and took it in. The world held it's breath as if in shock. I watched from my bedroom window in a house full of grief, sadness, loss and love. I took myself away - physically and emotionally. 

There’s nothing afterwards. No comfort. No gravestone chatter enjoyed by  Ricky Gervais in After Life. No videos to watch with prepared monologues to get you through the aftermath. No Post It Notes dotted about as a guide to how to live your life without. There’s no conversation you can have. Someone once suggested I write a letter to her as a way to help with the grieving process. It’s not for me. I’ll be waiting an eternity for a reply! We just die. We burn or rot and that’s that. We don’t rise. We don’t return as an animal. We don’t float about visiting. We don’t talk through old wrinkly women who can only deliver the message if we pay. We grasp at straws. At glimpses of comfort. We’re vulnerable and there for the taking. We accept the con in the hope it makes us feel better. It’s no coincidence the biggest con of all is the richest con of all.

"I'll see you again when the stars fall from the sky
and the moon has turned red over one tree hill"

Where The Streets Have No Name

I drive a lot in my day to day. If sport is on the radio I will listen to it. If not I will listen to Kermode and Mayo Film Review on the podcast and if I am up to date with that I will listen to U2. The other day I searched U2 on the BBC Podcast thingy and listened to a Radio 4 interview with them. The Edge was on about the simplicity of his chords and how he writes music with the idea that notes and chords are very expensive so he uses as few as he can. He keeps it as simple as possible. Of course he than adds the effects which give it the unmistakable Edge sound.

He played the opening notes to Streets without effects and the impact was immense. It's purity and simplicity was unnervingly beautiful. The impact was physical. The result is a sound that can fill stadiums borne out of simple notes in a box room bedroom. I played it back about 50 times whilst trawling through the mechanical wasteland known as the M42. Tears streamed down my face - a reaction I am having to get more and more used to as I have less and less control over my emotions.

You can listen to it here 10:38 into the interview https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/b00hpb1q

The point or link or reference I am trying to make is that something so simple and pure can rock the world and last week (I started this blog on the 5th February 2019) this was brilliantly exampled at The Spirit of Tamworth Awards night. Mich had been nominated as Coach of the Year. Something she has been doing for a relatively short space of time but which she throws all her effort into. Now, anyone can get nominated and if enough people nominate you then you're likely to get noticed but the panel look at the 150 word nomination messages sent in with each nomination. Mich, like so many of the other nominations in all the categories, didn't expect the nominations and didn't expect to win. Indeed notification of her being short listed surprised her to bits. The nomination they read out when announcing Mich as the winner was from a run club member who is recovering from a brain tumour and who had lost all her confidence. She explained how through Mich's run club and as a result of Mich's support she had regained her confidence and belief in herself. Whether she runs 5km or a marathon seemed irrelevant it was the belief that Mich had instilled in her. Mich will tell you that she doesn't really do anything other than get people together and make them run. Thankfully it's not up to Mich to nominate herself or give a reason because she entirely undervalues her impact on so many of us and just how much of a positive influence she is. Thankfully we know. Something as simple as "getting people together for a run" can rock the world.

Many of the other nominees in all categories and their associated stories were a real inspiration. Youngsters battling life threatening illnesses with a smile, fundraisers making a difference to others, people giving their time, money and effort to make someone else's life a little better. None of them doing it for recognition but doing it because they have a selfless sense of community. The room was buzzing with positivity. Humbling and inspiring. A lesson on how, tomorrow, to be a better man.
 

Black Dog Running

Today I ran with my Black Dog. The Black Dog. Side by side through the howling wind and stinging rain. So together I absorbed his anxieties, his panic, his fear and his loathing. I couldn’t shake him off. We were Siamese like. Joined at the hip. Through the woods he dragged me haunched to the ground. Labouring through the leaf mulch and ever deepening mud, rocks and stones shredding my hands and knees. Dodging falling branches becoming harder as the mud became thicker. Sometimes I’d begin to rise, to straighten to get free only for a sideways gust to whip a branch up into my face and drop me again to my knees. A salty mix of sweat and blood flowing into my mouth from my nose or the sting of red leaking into my eye from a split above. Either way enough to instantly put me down and gasp for breath. Every moment of relief, every burden offloaded, just a momentary pause. I ran today searching for a clarity that seemed impossible to find. There were glimmers. Miko and Chief tried to draw me away from the Black Dog, tried to free me, but a sharp ‘no’ called them away before I could be free. A wondering thought to something more snowflakey would see me almost straight, almost breathing free, almost in reach of the unobtainable light at the end of the tree lined tunnel. Every step became a chore, a reason to stop. Extra laps added as punishment for weakness increasing the frustration. Hips taking the brunt of each laboured effort up the hill. It wasn’t until the last lap that I took control, found a moment of clarity, tamed the dog constantly lurking in the background. Successfully dodged the remaining branches and skipped over the mud with a lighter feel. I’d gone out for 8 miles of control. I’d finished with nearly 12 and a resolve to try again. To be a better man.

Every Breaking Wave

A blog a little out of sync with my usual spoutings. Its a blog you may never get to read. Over the past 12 months I have written it about 100 times and deleted it each time. Sometimes it has acted as an outlet and other times it has acted as a frustration. It's entirely nothing to do with you and so in many ways, like social media, I question why i should write it at all? On the other hand we're encouraged to 'talk'. It's a serious subject that the media has made fashionable to talk about. Joe Marler being the latest to 'go public'. A rock of a man crushed by anxiety. Doesn't make sense does it?

I am kinda torn between getting it down, getting it written, publishing it - the click of the 'publish' button being the last act of total control - and not. After all its personal, the failings are personal, they're only in my control, they're harboured by me, protected. To publish is both an admission and a selfish attention seeking act. It also smacks of jumping on the bandwagon myself if indeed there is such a bandwagon - which there probably isn't. I would also question the validity of how i feel. To be able to rationalise it, break it down, get it down suggests, to me, its a falsity. A bit like when you're staggering around age 17 after two pints of Fools Gold telling everyone you're drunk. If you're aware you're drunk you're not yet drunk. Right? In the same way if you know you're losing it you can't actually be losing it. So I am inclined to take everything here with a pinch of salt. You, if you get to see it, should too.

'Sometimes I feel like I don't know
Sometimes I feel like checkin' out
I want to get it wrong
Can't always be strong
And love it won't be long'

I am often chronically sad and utterly consumed by grief and within the same moment I can be totally happy and full of joy. Don't get me wrong, in many ways I am the luckiest man alive. I am overwhelmed with love from Michelle and my two wonderful kids. I live vicariously through them. All the good, the joy, comes from them. Everything I wish I was I see in them. I see people every day in my job who literally have the world on their shoulders. They're crushed by immobility. Some of them have known nothing but the restrictions they live by and some have had their previous freedoms taken away by illness or accident.They are without choice. Their situation is beyond their control. I'm crushed by choice. By a weight of grief and sadness exacerbated by stress brought on by failure and excuses. My failure and excuses. I'm even failing in my attempts to stop failing and yes I have excuses for that too. I've always had excuses for my failures.

I've unraveled before. A couple of times. The last time was 2006 when I tried to get myself out of debt that only led to more intense debt that magnified the stress that exacerbated the sadness and grief. Thoughts darken, solutions less clear. Anxiety constant and panic instant and prolonged. Exhaustion unavoidable and the nightmares keep sleep a fleeting visitor. Bankruptcy a brief relief but resulting in a subsequent constant battle to stay afloat, to provide the basics, to breathe.

I'm here again, losing the battle. Unraveling. I'm trying to make the right decisions, facing my mistakes but I am being tested. Severely tested. My home is no longer a sanctuary. It's a noose, a weight, a restriction. I have no voice, no place. Fear is palpable, stunning in it's impact, inducing a sudden spike in heart rate, uncontrollable shakes and quivering voice. It's brought on by the simplest of things. One of the kids asking if they can have a couple of quid to top up their Xbox account or for a spot of lunch while out. Nothing major, they rarely ask for anything and certainly nothing unreasonable. The biggest fear is using a debit card. Even on pay day before the direct debits go out it's the scariest of moments placing it on a contact less pay unit with the wait to see 'approved' lasting an instant eternity. The post and the calls and deciding which bill we do or don't pay each month and the rapid escalation of cost in penalties for missing this and missing that.

I've battled debt for as long as I can remember. When I first got pocket money I bought a football in advance of the pocket money over the next 6 weeks. From then on I have been in debt. My paper round money came to me as a fraction of my pay after all the sweets and Coke through the week were taken off. My bar money would be non existent on pay day after the Strongbows were deducted. I then became a prized customer of Barclaycard, MBNA, EGG and whoever else. Almost tripping over themselves to give me credit I would never be able to repay, it would be easy to look at them and pass the blame. I could blame being part of a credit generation, the immediate generation. Of course that's not the case and it doesn't help to pretend otherwise.

I have allowed myself to become affected by the negativity of others. It's surprising just how much of an effect a negative influence can have. Negativity chips away. It doesn't hit in one impact, it doesn't overwhelm in an instant. It's a gradual stripping of defenses. A little bit here and a little bit there. It pushes down with a steady increase in pressure until your own outlook becomes negative. It doesn't even need to be aimed directly at me although some of it is. It's being around it, witnessing it, others laziness, reluctance to help themselves, their selfishness, their lack of respect for themselves and those around them, seeing negativity being inflicted on others.

Staying strong and positive is hard. In many ways I am surrounded by it and I am often relying on the positivity of others, leeching off it, stealing it, however it does become harder to do. Moments of clarity can become few and far between but with each one the relief, the release, the weightlessness is wonderful. Equinox 24 provided a whole weekend of being surrounded by positivity. 48 hours of being in a happy place with kind souls, no judgement just support. The determination, strength, kindness and achievement of others is infectious, healing, necessary.

I am mocked, lovingly, for my tears. Often they're entirely reasonable. Everyone wells up when Doc appears on the pit wall in Cars right? Or when Matt Dawson breaks to set up Johnny Wilkinson's World Cup winning drop goal? When it becomes more than that though. Uncontrollable. It might be a story on the news or the radio, a radio presenters husband talking about her last days battling breast cancer, a policeman describing his efforts to save a colleague, a story of a brief awakening from dementia brought on by a TMS commentary or the presenter thanking the nation for a deluge of well wishes for his wife's recent cancer battle, a moment after an assessment that brings everything home. Often something without explanation, an exceptional song, an exceptional sporting moment, a reminder or a memory. It's not always tears. It can be a freezing, a solid grip that takes hold in a moment that becomes prolonged, locked in.

'You know I need you to be strong
And the day is as dark as the night is long
Feel like trash, you make me feel clean
I'm in the black, can't see or be seen

Baby, baby, baby light my way'

I am lucky to come home each day to Michelle and the kids. It might be a dig in the arm from George or an introduction to the indecipherable language of a teenager from Ellie that snaps me back but more often than not it's a hug from Michelle, a look, a smile, a glint that says everything in absolute silence. She has a knack of timing a text, singing a song, stealing a glance or a touch, to perfection. She carries, she inspires, she loves unconditionally, selfless.

I don't intend to unravel completely, I don't think I will. The joy and happiness and love I absorb will always outweigh the fear, sadness and grief. Whilst the grief is constant it wavers in intensity and is directly linked to pressure and stress. Sometimes I can be grieving without any impact on the moment whilst in the next I can be floored by it. Reduced to a wreck.

'Sleight of hand and twist of fate
On a bed of nails she makes me wait
And I wait without you'

If I can rationalise it I can control it. If I can control it I can see through it and grow from it. The weight isn't physical but it's no less crushing. The battle is constant, the extremes instant and constantly switching. The Facebook Smile is always a con. Too often we hear of a suicide of someone behind the smiling profile picture. The perfect social media life. It's considered the cowards way out by many (probably those who haven't considered it) but in reality it's the ultimate bravery, the final selfless act when someone can't see a way out. Perhaps considered the only rational conclusion to an entirely irrational process. To erase the problem blighting the lives of everyone else. Freeing them to live.

Nothing is perfect in life or in a virtual world. The restrictions are too great. I can't truly speak my mind. I can't be honest for fear of impacting someone else's sensitivities, upsetting the narcissistic sociopaths that cling to a connection, a tenuous tedious link to someone they don't like, to monitor, to Big Brother, so they can be outraged, so they can choose to take offence, to be the victim they long to be, when the meme pops up that they deem to be about them, to be a slight or a virtual attack, because the world (despite science suggesting otherwise) rotates around them. I've stepped away to do whats right, face my failings, take stock of my mistakes that cause the pressure, that lead to the stress, that create the weight. Make things right.

'And drowning is no sin'