2010-11-01T14:18:57.
My question is met with this rather upbeat regaling of recent travels, it's so good to hear his voice, hear him sounding so much happier than he was the last time we spoke ... this is where I can now admit that for the last week, I've been expecting a knock on the door, he was so down, so lost and quite frankly - freezing
The conversation was going so well ... I just had to go and spoil the moment and ask
"Do you have any plans yet?" I knew .. even before the words had finished falling out of my mouth that I really should have stuck to discussing Bill Bryson
"I'm going to head down the M6 ... will probably turn off and explore Cardiganshire or somewhere around there, park up and maybe get a static."
Okay, so the novelty of driving around the country in a glorified ford transit van with a bed in the back is losing its appeal then ?
"Well it is winter and I can't get a decent internet connection"
Now at this point, my brain is screaming NOOOOOOOOOOOO don't go there, I already know what's coming, he's happy, too happy .. as the wheel turns and his mood rotates the dial so comes the second stage of his life cycle
There are things to consider when buying a camper van .. is the vehicle roadworthy, is there a decent amount of storage, does it come with a drop down pull out kitchen sink and optional mini fridge .. can you wank in it
No, truth be told its not a question that springs to mind when handing over your holiday bonus to the salesman but it turns out, it's actually something you should give real thought to, by all accounts, seeing the world is a fantastic journey, but its nigh on impossible to find somewhere private to pull over for moments hand to cock reflection
So there he is, heading back to Wales four weeks after he left, Australia is calling but he's not sure he's allowed back in the country or if his rainy day money is ever going to materialise .. so he's trundling along the highway tonight, no doubt singing some John Denver song at the top of his lungs as the road signs begin to change in to a jumbled hash of every single letter of the alphabet repeated with a few gobs of spit thrown in for good measure
But he does have a plan ....
Without an internet connection, saga-shags.com is out of reach and no-one is going to see the full potential of an OAP living in a clapped out minibus, even if he did get the one with the complimentary mini fridge and working brake lights
So his plan, that ties in ever so neatly with his new found ford logo - is to become an escort
and he's got it all mapped out, the perfect gimmick and a slogan
"I'm not an escort, I'm a Talbot driver .. I'll cum to you"
And so, four weeks after the great Scottish adventure began, he's now driving back to Wales with his frozen bits in need of reheating, looking for a place to bunk up for the winter and he's going to park up the van somewhere quiet in order to pimp himself out as a ride
it comes to something when you ask your father
"Does your RAC breakdown cover and roadside assistance come with a free supply of condoms
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2010-10-30T08:43:48
knowing you're on self destruct
knowing you are so scared, confused, paranoid and fucked up
knowing that you trust no-one but are reaching out to me
knowing I could help you
knowing that part of me wants to drive down and hold you while you cry
knowing I will never tell you that I still care on that level
knowing that if I did, you'd see it as more than it is
knowing that you should have had help years ago
knowing that you're about to do something incredibly stupid
I HATE ....
watching you tear yourself apart
watching you become totally consumed by this
watching that last piece of you die
I HATE ....
feeling so damn powerless
feeling so weak
feeling your pain
feeling that last piece of you slipping away
I HATE .....
what you're doing to yourself
what you're doing to the people that care for you
what you/it did to me to make it impossible for me to reach out to you
I HATE ....
how you're affecting me now
how I am talking about you and giving you such a focus in my life still
how you're on the floor and how scared you are
how much I still care
I HATE
the fact you will never know just how loved you were
the fact you're letting this thing beat you
the fact you're so blinded by it that you cannot see
the fact I could help you
the fact I should help you
the fact I daren't help you
the fact that your delusions and misconceptions make it impossible for you to accept that I can love you yet not be in love with you or want you
but
I still love you enough to not let you die and love you enough to never tell you these things
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2010-10-30T05:35
it's been a week now since the wandering Welshman got in touch, I'm sure he's ok .. more than likely got himself hooked up somewhere with a red headed buxom lassie .. yeah actually there are some thoughts where he is concerned that I really don't want in my head .. but its been a week or so
last seen near Moffat ..
I refuse to message him, if he's out of signal range, I'll only fret until he replies .. but mainly because he's another 'thing' I need to let go of
yes it's coming to winter, yes he's going to discover snow and ice and arctic type conditions and yes, he's ilequipt to deal with that
but he's a grown man, albeit it with a limited sense of age and responsibility thanks to the wonderful lack of chemicals in his brain that make him do things like this
but he is a grown man and as much as it kinda falls to me and my brother to care for our parents in their old age, I'd much prefer to have to worry about meals on wheels, the winter fuel allowance and whether or not they'll get arrested for flashing inappropriately in tesco rather than face the fact that he needs a level of care that he is neither willing to admit to or accept if offered
I've had people tell me he is going to die up there, I should go rescue him and get him sectioned and be rather rude about my apparent lack of concern but to be brutal in my response to those accusations
yes he is going to die, we all are .. but I have this awful lack of desire of wanting him to die holed up in some home somewhere, miserable and waiting for goddo
he doesn't 'need' rescuing ... for who am I to say what is right or wrong for him, if this is his life choice, then I'd be failing as a human being in pulling him from that and inflicting my own preferences upon him
what will sectioning achieve .. other than enforce a regime that will break his spirit, box him in to what society perceives as the right way of living for a man entering his twilight years, numb his mind and then throw him back out in to a world he is unable to breathe in only to watch him fall and break again
I don't think he's happy, I don't think he will ever truly be happy - but out there he's not caged in, out there he doesn't have to 'be' anyone other than himself and out there he has a freedom from the constraints of a mental health label
so I won't contact him ... one way or another he'll be in touch when he needs to
yes I worry, yes I lay awake at night thinking about him
but I'm not his keeper nor his carer, I'm his daughter and I love him dearly, the manic, selfish, unpredictable gert bogwhoppit of a man I'm proud to call my dad
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2010-10-25T12:33
There I am, standing in B'ham new Street this morning and down on platform level, all hell is breaking loose due to abit of frost abit further up the track resulting in 20-30 min delays on so many trains the backlog was a total mess .. so then came the platform changes - queue 300 people running in one direction, 200 people running the other and 20-30 obligatory random stewards, old people and students milling about by the 40 different types of coffee shops upstairs
its OCTOBER .. lord alone knows what travelling in the midst of a real winter is like on that part of the network but down here, it certainly doesn't involve Olympic 2012 auditions in a railway station
after a somewhat delayed and chaotic start, my train finally pulls in
and then along come the "got to get a seat, got to get a seat, get the fuck out of my way I have got to get a seat" warriors .. true stiff upper lipped, titanium pointed elbowed ninjas who will happily see you under the train rather than sat in coach C
a short scuffle ensues ... we've had trains in this country since 1807 .. surely some 200 years later, people would know that when a train pulls in to a station, there are some people will will usually get OFF the train before new people board .. so its only polite to stand clear and allow them room to do so without invading personal space or risk a criminal charge .. evidently not if you're boarding the delayed 10:42 cross country to Bristol
broken toed and breathing heavily, I find a seat .. which, strangely isn't actually that much of a challenge, ok, so I had to move one row forward when a couple of students found me and my rump warming their reservation but I found seating .. I had a whole two forward facing seats to my broken rucksack and myself, it was bliss .. all I needed now was a hot chocolate and I'd be living the life of Riley ...
sadly however, every passenger of coach C also now found themselves living the life of Riley
Riley being a rather cute child of the Klampetts, a whole half a train of family off on a half term jollie somewhere down south and who all have read 'practical parenting - the repeat every word ten times at 50 dbs louder than a steam train approach to child rearing'
Can you say blue Riley? Riley say blue, blue, blue Riley, blue .. oh look Riley animals, can you say horse Riley, horse, Riley can you say horse ... would you like something to eat Riley, eat? Riley? yes? would you like a sandwich Riley, Riley say sandwich, mum ask Riley to say sandwich, Riley, sandwich ...
Riley .. tell your family to shut the fuck up, shut the fuck up Riley, can you tell them that ?
The modern day window licking public transport nutter has been replaced with the new generation freak .. only now it comes in various shades of jeggins, hooped ring earrings and a gob the size of the Dartford tunnel
the only break in the life, dietary requirements, toilet habits and misdemeanours of this rather bemused looking child is the announcement that states the refreshment trolley is coming down the aisle and its cargo holds the much coveted hot chocolate - by this time I can only smirk at the reference to the fact that the 'British Rail Trolley takes all major credit and debit cards ... to anyone visiting from outside the UK, being told to get your plastic out when ordering a cup of tea should, in my mind ring a few alarms bells about the extortion rates in this country ... and I suddenly get a brief image of my father in my head ... I'm turning in to him, "how much for a sodding coffee? I don't bloody beliiiiiiiieve it"
and the final insult to this journey o'er land today? they ran out of sodding hot chocolate back in Leeds while they were waiting for the points to thaw!!!!
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2010-05-01T06:01:11
You saved my life that day and writing some silly little blog recognising the date feels totally an inadequate acknowledgement - but here we are .. 12 years on and I can still feel your hand.
Without you, I wouldn't be here today and I wish the people I hold dear could have known you.
I still feel truly blessed, that after you pulled me free of destruction, I was able to be by your side and hold your hand as you slipped away, your strength and compassion, even as you grew tired was incredible and for all that you did, for all that you were and for all that you will always be - I thank you x
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2010-10-03T02:02:37.
A very dear friend, although I doubt she will ever read this or understand just how much of an influence she has had in my life in such a short space of time and how much I miss her already, told me I had to say when I was needy and say what it was I actually did need, trouble is, the word NEEDY - that's what made me totally freak out, the reason will be explained in this blog but this is me saying thank you for pushing me in to finally saying what I do NEED to say
Another dear friend, no that's wrong, my sister, was so bang on in her honesty of my actions and behaviours that I was speechless and yeah, did buck against her, did step back and just sit thinking 'wow', I love her to bits though for saying everything she said and for loving me anyway
I had a friend grab hold of me yesterday and tell me what I already knew but was fighting against, to her, for that moment in time where she refused to let me crawl under that rock, I will be ever thankful
and another treasured friend this morning said it was time to finally get that help I've been avoiding, get that last piece of support I need to really engage in, although I'm not entirely sure she knows why I need more than a cup of a tea and a chat with someone, I love her for the fact that she had the balls to say what she did
and here's the thing ... the one part of me that I have hidden from you all,
the one part of me that brings me more shame than I can ever truly explain,
the one part of me that leaves me on the floor thinking that once people know .. they're going to drop me like a hot brick and run like fuck .. is that I .. have a mental health 'disorder' and while does not excuse my actions, may some how explain them
In 2001 I was diagnosed with BPD, PTSD and Depression and have been running from that diagnosis ever since.
I am probably one of the hardest people to counsel, to love, to understand or to be a friend of. I will get defensive, think without rational thought, push people away before they walk away and hide my true feelings, thoughts and fears behind a warped sense of humour.
Because of this diagnosis, I won't say when I'm in need of something because I feel like I have failed in my need to 'appear' normal if I do and I know that that is wrong, I know that I do more damage to myself and those around me by trying to be strong, independent and in total control of this thing in my head but that is my coping strategy - trouble is, today, I'm sat here knowing it's finally time to open up this part of me, accept it is part of who I am and say well world, this is me, love me or loathe me, I can actually live with that. I'm not going to force myself on anyone, will not seek sympathy or pity or weak relationships, fuck, its taken me over 10 years to finally say this and don't expect for one moment anyone is going to read this and think ok .. I can deal with that, so if you can't, if you're now sat there blinking at the screen and thinking you cannot cope with this, that's actually fine, I will love you nonetheless and smile, because your honesty in that means more to me than a message of *hugs*
and yeah, this is the part of me so scared of being abandoned that I do have to say that bit out loud, because I am, truly terrified that you will leave, I just .. today can sit here and say it knowing its time for me to get help and for you all to be fully aware of ALL of me and make an informed decision as to whether you will still hold out those hands or if they are to be withdrawn permanently.
I'm actually bloody good at forcing people out of my life, for someone so truly scared of confrontation that she lived in destructive relationships rather than stand up, scream, shout, argue and risk losing someone, I do a mean 'fuck off and leave me alone' - I just do it in whispers and for that I am sorry too, because the hurt that causes ... I'm ashamed because I am aware I am doing it, I am aware that I don't want to do it, sit in tears wanting to say actually, I'm pushing you away but please don't leave, but I don't and that's a huge part of why I'm writing this today.
So .. this is me, I'm 34 years old, I have BPD, PTSD (yeah, still, because I have yet to find someone safe enough to discuss the reasons why with) and Depression
At the moment I am struggling with a lot ..
My father, has manic depression and I'm his main source of support during the times when he decides that he needs whiskey rather than pills, sex rather than peace in himself and anger rather than understanding
My children, I question whether I should be their parent, their guide in life when I struggle with my own sense of worth, I fight for them, become obsessed with their needs and hold on to the hope that I'm doing enough, yet I don't think I am and the social services number is still on speed dial because there are days when I give serious thoughts to giving them up
My finances - yup, I'm in a huge mess and would really love for a 2k lotto win to fix it all, I have bills piled up under the desk and am now too scared to look at what's inside
My physical health
- paint your own image here, my pubic bone was broken during a fuck some many years ago, combined with the joys of childbirth, my pelvis fused badly, my back is out of alignment, my hips are now grinding away to dust and need replacing, my GP wants me on the list, but my own fear and pride mean I won't sign up, I should walk with two sticks and be off my tits on morphine, I chose not to because of my own stupid logic on it being a visible sign of weakness and I'm therefore vulnerable to assault - so, I walk with a waddle and fight through the pain of that because its easier than saying help me or letting people see I am weak
- I am badly in need of a dentist, I have deliberately let my teeth get in to such a disgraceful mess that any day now, one from the front is going to fall and the one next to it is wobbling away quite nicely, why .. again because of a ridiculous self perception that no-one will actually come near me if they see them and I have another layer of a barrier between myself and being hurt
So, this is me .. and the reasons why I need you all to maybe not fully understand, but accept that I am fucked up, behave outrageously and then go hide in a corner.
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2010-04-17T03:05
Dearest Darling Grotes,
I'm still working on the formula for that paint, you've turned me in to a B&Q whore and I will treasure you eternally for that and for everything you've taught me about the strength of a person.
It's not right that you're not here, but you are still so very much a part of the lives of everyone you touched and we miss you, I miss you, so so desperately at times that the injustice of it all is some days too much to bear.
One day, the shelves of B&Q and every other DIY store in the land, will be filled with Child Unmarkable Nasty Tone paint and the world will always remember the ultimate cunt.
Looking to the stars today,
Lil Flo xx
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2010-04-14T23:25
So last night, my eldest, turns to me and says mum, how do you carry on a dream from the night before and I'm just about to launch in to a piece about how you can't, all you can do is close your eyes, let your mind relax etc when he cuts in with... because last night I had a sexy dream, I was in a prison cell and this woman ... well I won't carry that one on to protect his little fantasy but lets just say that it totally floored me
OK, so he's a teenage boy, doing what boys do and I've tried so hard to be cool mum but its so difficult. J has no sense of personal space, is unable to process appropriate conversation and while I love him even more for his gungho, speak his mind without giving a flying fuck about any offence he may cause attitude, some days, I really do wish he had the ability to contain it.
Don't get me wrong, I beam with pride that this child, who was once a rabid, frothing at the mouth, violent little fucker has found it in himself to let go of his anger, has worked so very hard with every member of his care team to learn how to speak, to act, to relax - and its incredible to watch him become a young man, to watch him grow and explore himself but wow, honestly, they tell you the birds n bees talk is hard, wait till your son wants to know how to wank.
J, J is my hero .. I'm not usually one for giving that title to anyone, I don't believe that any one person deserves more or less credit than another for overcoming any obstacle life throws, I think that everyone faces challenges and that each experience, while on face value look worlds apart, actually cannot be compared. Every person has a back story, a reason for being the person they have become, I do not feel pity for anyone, no matter how vile, dark and twisted their path, because life ... teaches, and every single experience in life is a stepping stone. Yes, there are events and circumstances in which you feel your heart will break, but if you cannot see the beauty that comes from those situations, embrace the lesson and learn something from it, carry it forward with you without regret, then you are already lost.
But yeah, J is my hero because of how he has grown, I cannot take a credit for any part of that, because J is autistic and to get to where he is in his life today, he had to reach in to his own mind and reset a balance. That is tough for anyone, but for J, not having the ability to process thoughts and actions in the same way as you or I means his journey in to adulthood is a truly magical thing to watch. And no, I do not for one moment think his struggle is any more or less challenging than any other persons, I just happen to find his truly breathtaking.
A few years ago, I started writing his story, I have one laptop dedicated to him and used to sit for hours writing about all the chaos he caused, but I got to thinking last night, laying awake for hours unable to fall asleep, going over my own history - how unfair of me is it to publish his own fight for freedom, for acceptance.. its his story and my job, is simply to preserve the memories, keep them safe until he is able to explore them.
Up until 2 years ago, J's schooling was horrendous, as a parent you let go of that tiny hand on your child's first day of school and watch as they walk in to registration with so many emotions and I am so glad that on that day, I had no idea of the living nightmare that was to be the following 7 years of his life - if I had of done, I would never have let him go.
Hindsight is a wonderful thing and while I shouldn't wish for any part of that experience to be different in terms of what we all learned from it, I do wish his time in mainstream had been less traumatic.
I have page upon page of memory stored away, the ones I shouldn't have laughed at but still do, the ones that broke my heart and the ones that filled me with absolute joy. I hope one day he will be able to read them, to see just how far he has come from the days of running about in his pants, having thrown his uniform at the head teacher, of trying to jump any door or window that looked like a plausible escape route and of sitting perched in that tree telling the world to just fuck right off. But, I'd hate for him to remember the torture, the pain every day bought, the violence, the fear, the confusion because while I have hundreds of funny stories (well, they're funny now, at the time I despaired) - I also carry the memory of the day it all stopped, the day my child showed just how scared and confused he was, how desperately unhappy and overwhelmingly debilitated he was in his life, the day he took a pair of scissors to his throat.
The education system in this country is damaging, its based on an archaic principles, governed by a society that has little compassion or understanding, that isn't willing to bend or grow and really, is so far removed from ground level that the people who come up with the codes of practice, curriculum's and 'golden rules' are more than likely machines.
I've been a parent support advisor for several years now, I can recite targets, mission statements, the SEN CoP manual and the whole education act in my sleep - but what I cannot do is sit in silence, allow our own experiences of the inclusion policy fade without using the experiences we have gone through to make a difference.
I don't want a war, I don't want to detract from all the positives that do come from our education reforms, but I do dream of a day when society finally accepts that for some kids, mainstream school should never be an option, not because they should be locked away in an institution, but because every child is unique and has the right to an education that isn't restrictive, demoralising or abusive.
My son is the strongest person I know, his life has and always will be a fight for acceptance, for understanding, for appreciation, it kills me inside knowing that this will always be the way for him, that he will never feel love and warmth in the way that most people do, that he will always live on the edge of society, will never fully integrate with the world or be able to live without stereotypical ignorance's but, I am also filled with such admiration, such complete awe of the person he is growing up to be and will become because of who he is.
J doesn't need to change, 'fit in' or live his life to suit the prejudices of others, he may never truly feel the love that people have for him, never be able to reach out and hold someone but he can, does and will make a huge difference to peoples lives and he is and will always be treasured for just being him.
My role, is to guide him, support him, comfort him, to hold his dreams safe and show him a world in which he can safely be himself, some days, I'm not sure that world exists, but I will fight to the death to preserve the parts of it that are, I just wish Avril Lavigne wasn't in his bed at night, he can do better ;)
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2010-04-14T10:49:15
For a few days, I held on to the anger at the failings of the education system, went in to 'papertrail' mode and started building his case for inclusion but behind the scenes, I totally lost grip on our world.
I've always known, right from the rusk days of his life, but when someone else saw it too, I broke and while I can now say - I have two autistic children, I haven't dealt with the fact very well
Truth is, I've avoided the things I should be doing about it.
Every time I look at him, I mourn the unbearably painful loss of his future. Its easy to think, oh well, **insert celebrity, scientist, uncle bobs 2nd cousin** had autism and they did alright ... did they? truly ... guess what, no they didn't - they were granted a fame because of one part of their brain that functions at a higher level, but try and imagine for one moment what chaos lurks in the other parts of that brain
Try living a life where you cannot reach out to another human being because you cannot relate to them, try living in a world that you cannot fully explore, a world that sees you as perfectly able, is so ignorant to the truths behind the smile that it forces demands on you that you are unable to grasp.
Try living a life in which you will never feel love.
And that is what I mourn, he is the most beautiful boy, I'm biased but he truly is. I look at him and feel such fear, such unbearable grief, because that innocent sparkle in his eye will soon fade.
I have already let him down, because I could not bring myself to admit it for years, I'm not even sure I should now, because doing so ends such hope, such promise. I watch him in the playground before the first bell at school and weep, I cannot sit through assemblies and productions, because I sob, uncontrollably, watching him and feeling his life's injustice.
He's 7 in a few weeks, he's in his own little world and from the outside it looks a fun place to be but as he grows he will come to learn how cruel the world can be, discover outrageous ignorance's and be required to learn to live with other peoples archaic and humiliating perceptions.
And I have failed him, I've known and yet I have already pushed him in to an out dated, borderline abusive system which will fail him, which will kill his self esteem and will leave him looking back on his academic career and hate where it leads him.
The alternative, well the reality that will take over once I start the fight against the system, is residential care, secretly disguised as a school and that is why I failed him, because I'm not quite ready to let him go, having already lost one child to this evil, soul destroying 'condition', I'm not quite ready to go through that process again and it hurts, more than any other pain I've known
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2010-04-14T10:13:18
that was supposed to be where my next blog went, I can't do it though, I need a self reference point here, for me, so please, if you read this, don't make comment, just pass it over because there is little to say.
the daffodils are still in bloom and every single one represents an end/ a passing - I fucking hate this time of year, so many wasted opportunities, lives, experiences, so many hearses, so many goodbyes, so many conversations in my head with people I can no longer reach out and touch ... I'm not spiritual in the sense that I believe in an afterlife, big pearly gates and st peter with a clipboard, I do believe there is something more, a spirit does not die just because the carcass can no longer act as host - but where it goes, what it becomes, that ... is unknown to me and that makes me a hypocrite, because I've sat there, holding a hand, listening to choked out gasps for a last breath and smiled, talked of a 'better place', cried tears of sadness and joy at the life before me, kissed a final goodbye and yet ... I don't believe, or at least, I am unsure of what I believe
and up pops this horny, drunken Welshman, "I've just blown £87 on a 3 month trial on some random dating site and instead of being happy for him, wishing him well, I want to reach down the phone and bitch slap the fucker... I can't go through this again with him, it hurts too much, knowing the roller coaster ride of manic depression will, derail again at any moment and it will be me listening to him sob, curse the unfairness of the world and talk of exhaust pipes and cliffs ... its a cycle with him .. join a site/ a walk/ a group, meet someone, fall hopelessly in love, find out the situation is unviable, fall apart, talk of suicide, hit the drink, jump on a plane, come back, join another site....
I try and laugh it off ... uh oh, here we go again .. because if I actually stop and think about it for too long, I have to face a reality that is obscene, some days ... I actually wish he'd go over the edge, end it, find that final peace because watching him is like watching a car crash, you know its coming, you can smell the burning rubber, hear the brakes tearing themselves to pieces on the tarmac and stand there, helpless to do anything more than watch as the whole world stops.
There is a silence before an impact, its erie, the final moments are played out over an unimaginable delay of time and you don't actually 'feel' anything, just a sense of - oh shit, this is going to hurt
Losing him all over again would and will hurt, but holding his pain, listening to him howl, waiting in the wings for him to crash again ... I've had enough.
Of course I want him to be happy, Of course I want him to grow old disgracefully but I can't bear his loneliness, I can't cope with knowing for the most part, he is absolutely miserable and I'm so tired of trying to.
So in a season in which so many people have died, both this year and in years gone by, how is it I can sit here and wish such a vile thought on my own blood .. I guess it's because of this, while I may not believe in white doves, find funeral protocols absurd and would rather have my ashes packed in a firework and go out with one final bloody good bang, I do believe in a life without pain, be it physical or mental, I do believe that we have a choice, that those around us who proclaim to love .. are selfishly clinging hold of people a little too tightly because of their own morbid fears of life after death, and that we have the right to decide when enough is enough
I do not wish he finds love, but I wish he finds an inner peace, to be able to live happily, safely, securely and if that means he has to leave his physical form, then that is his choice and I respect it
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2010-04-10T08:06:02
So there I am, dropping J off for a respite weekend and my mother, bless her, chirps up with the news that she has a lodger of the rodent kind and would I mind awfully going to take a look in her shed because she can't go in there alone
"You're sure it's a rat" I ask ....
I love garden sheds, there's something about the smell, the boxes of junk, the interesting bits of rope and implements of horticultural torture that make me smile, ok ok, so I'm a B&Q whore too and not because I like paint charts and bathroom displays .. anyway, there we are, my mother standing at the edge of the door with an expression that suggests she thinks this rat has mutated in to a life sized Rod Hull with his hand up the ass of a real emu
"I saw it's tail," she said, "It was like a licorice stick" ...
Now it's a gloriously sunny day, the kids are exploring the garden, B is trying to climb the apple tree, O has discovered 'spring' and his latest obsession is counting new buds on plants, thank gawd he's not as finickity about order as J or mums garden would have soon become chaos, J on the other hand is eyeing up the spade on his ever long quest for new pottery, stones, pebbles, rocks ... I love him to pieces, but he makes Tony Robinson and the Time-Team look sane and some days, I'd quite like not to have to make sure not one of the pieces in his monumental collection gets nudged out of place. He's been an avid collector of stone since he was 18 months old and as he's now 13, you can imagine the size of his horde, in years to come, archaeologists are going to mark it as one of the natural wonders of the new world and J will go down in history as the child who saved the world from flood by building a whole new planet in his back yard, complete with zoned areas, ordered groups of fossils, numbered, alphabetised and carefully placed landmarks and the odd bit of 2010 broken bowl reservoir.
"Do you think he heard us coming" she says ...
Now bear in mind, at this point, she's reached in very carefully and taken hold of a broomstick and in her marigold and heavy duty builders glove covered hand and has been knocking on the shed wall, chances of ratty being deaf and still sleeping in his garden netted, bit of carrier bagged, grass seeded paint pot nest are slim.
So we, ok, I start clearing said shed out, its a trip down memory lane for me, the boys old trikes are in there along with a load of stuff mum salvaged from the grandparentals home, there are hose attachments, random sized pots, seed packets and kitchen items that are broken but she can't bear to part with, there are even a few of mine and my brother's old toys all crammed in to the wooden crates my grandfather used to transport stuff from base to base when he was in the army and J's first bike, along with all the other odds and ends you'd expect to find in a garden shed.
"It's crapped under my cold-frame" she cries ...
And then starts banging louder with the broomstick, she starts doing this semi demonic, tribal dance, thrusting this shaft of wood in to corners, hitting any surface she can reach from the safety of outside the shed and acting like a woman possessed.
"Its gotta crap somewhere, would you rather it was behind the ... what are you doing with a bottle of calor gas in your shed mum!" ...
I love my mum, she's strong, independent, makes the best Yorkshire puds and although I've cussed her many a time over for her 'input' in my life, she has always been there for me, no matter what I've done, she's always been there and I couldn't think of any other I'd like to call me their little boomerang - but, insert one small, furry, defenseless rodent in to her life and the woman becomes psychotic.
OK, rambling here ... so an hour later and the shed is empty bar one box and she's off chasing the neighbours cat up the path, trying to coerce it in to becoming rattys executioner and this poor cat is looking at her with a look that says "scuzi, wtf are you doing, you put this funny smelling stuffs down so I don't poo in your veggie patch, you throw pegs at me and you makes hissy noises which amuse me but make me feel unwanted and noaw you wants mah helps yus? you is having da lol"
And out of the corner of my eye I see this flash of shiny blackness, its tiny, but it definitely moved and on closer inspection, this bead of black is part of this beautiful, very tiny, field mouse, its sitting in the corner of a CD rack my brother once made me and its looking terrified, you can't blame it really, there's been this batty old woman doing a war dance in its private chamber doing it gross indignity by calling it a rat
"Found it" I yell ...
and she screams, she's nowhere near the shed at this point and you'd think the blood curdling noise that comes forth from this tiny lady meant it had run up her leg, so I pick up the case it's in, walk over and say look ... ok so it amused me greatly watching her go from pure terror to absolute embarrassment that all this fuss, all this chaos had been caused by a tiny little mousie.
Mousie is taken to a secluded spot, released without harm and not in line of sight of the cat who is perched on the nearby wall mocking my mother who is now reading the instructions for laying the rat bait... because apparently there could be another one coming and she wants to be prepared.
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it's a funny thing, getting older, I feel as if I've now become my parents parent - dad, well he's on a different planet most of the time and if I blogged about him, I could possibly win an award for the best comedy ever written, think steptoe and son meets victor meldrew and I'm on to a winner! I might do it one day, write his story because seriously, its going to cost an absolute bloody fortune finding a nursing home with enough trained staff to cope with either of them and I could do with the money.
mum .. well, she's my mum and I'll be back there on Monday removing a large canister of gas from her property before Rod Hull comes back and she has barbecued emu for supper
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2010-03-27T18:58
I wasn't going to blog about this, when I first took up the challenge and agreed to it, dusted off traktor, blew my budget at trackitdown and started cutting up tunes, I thought I had a clear cut reason for doing it.
I listen to and play a variety of genres, from retro 50s,60s, 80s and 90s through to Gothic Rock and the odd bit of what I call 'pop dance' - so deciding to go way out of my comfort zone and mix trance - I must have been mad.
And yeah, there was this huge part of me that saw it as a 'throw your motherfucking pixel middle finger in the air' to all those people who thought drag n drop wasn't recognised in 'real' DJ circles, I openly relished the chance to say fuck you.
What I didn't expect was what I feel tonight.
I finally get it.
5 years of living with synthetic and I never understood it, it was just duff duff duff - but it did something to him, he came alive in the most incredible, most mesmerising way. Sitting here tonight, I finally get it, I finally understand what it is, what it does and I wish I could tell him.
But I can't and I won't - because he'd more than likely laugh, make that smug grin I told you face and I'd feel like a twat.
Music is powerful, there is a set of lyrics for every single situation and emotion, the chords of a riff tie you intrinsically to memories, E G B D F A C - be they sharp, flat, major or minor - touch your soul, key notes relating to time and place of every day of your life.
So here I am, it's 2.56am, ok, I think it might be 3.56am if the clocks have gone forward but its time and time doesn't stop, it's the bass line of the world. Fuck I wish I could share this one moment with him, this final realisation of just what it's all about, I am a little disappointed that I didn't get the trippy lights and nausea I was expecting, but then I didn't do pills to get here so I'm guessing that's the reason why, but yeah, I really wish he could be a part of this tonight.
"I finally feel it, it's so intensely beautiful I will not even try to put it in to words because that would detract from how utterly, overwhelmingly powerful it is, I'd never do it justice, but I finally feel it, I feel me, I feel the world, I feel life - wherever you are, whatever you're doing, I pray to God you find it in you again, this is what I saw in your eyes the day we met"
In 8 days time, for one, very special night only I'm going to break another year open with an everyone and anyone is invited to share in a celebration of who I am and a celebration of everyone who has touched my life along this journey party, I give thanks to each and every one of them be they cohort, confidant or cunt for without them, the colours of my life would be black.
"Hear me through the radio, hear me when I say hello."
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2010-03-27T11:07:49
I don't think I have flung my arms so tightly around someone that hard, that fast in my life, for there stood a friend of mine who I hadn't seen in over a year, who stayed away because the synthetic one made him feel unbearably uncomfortable in my home - but there he was and OMFG was it good to be in his arms again !!
We talked, we clung to each other and by god did we laugh - I also had a lesson in bike mechanics and am now a fully competent stripper and re assembler of gears, cogs, brakes and those funny looking nuts.
So we were talking about where our lives had taken us over the missing year, catching up with each other and strengthening those bonds of friendship once again when the subject turned to a mutual friend - who from here on in will be called Mr Flied Lice and a number 46
For it turns out, Mr Flied Lice and a number 46 (and I do apologies for my possibly xenophobic, slightly racist christening of the man) has only gone one step further on the local Chinese take away menu and bought himself an internet bride - is it really bad to name her Tingtong ? (more apologies if the little Britain sketch has this trademarked)
I appreciate loneliness, I understand the internet can be a worldwide social networking opportunity to meet people, possibly find romance and even do the marriage, kids and picket fence thing .... but honestly, how is it right, in this day and age for a 46 year old, fairly affluent albeit it butt ugly man who doesn't know how to use a washing machine BUYS a 26 year old woman off the internet and marries her ??
I don't get it, really I don't - TingTong, still waiting on her 6 month temp visa to get over here is already voicing her concerns and you just know that Mr 46, while rubbing his, badly in need of swarfega hands thinking he has himself a cute little sex slave in the post is really just a stepping stone for TingTing to reach democracy and google uncensored.
I give it 6 months, enough time for her to discover street drugs, get out of her face in order to consummated the licence before admitting the fact that although 'her engerish is velly bad' it can become perfect queens when instructing a solicitor to take Mr 46 for everything he has got.
Its awfully sad, that she needs to take such a drastic measure to escape her country and that he is that deluded in life and needs to swipe the plastic to get a woman.
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2010-03-27T10:23:11
This morning I gave my boys another little push in to the world, you don't own children, they're not yours, despite the hours of pain bringing them in to the world and everything that goes in to being a parent, the fact that it was your body that created them, they are not yours - you borrow them and yeah, its a neat little trick from the hand of mother nature that you literally rip your cunt open delivering them in to this world, they are born of you, made of your genes, blood sweat and tears - but you have no rights over them. I've always believed that childbirth is a death, not only will your pelvic floor curl up and disappear and your perky tits swell up like an enlarged aorta but they will also implode - your body takes on a very violent and dramatic change all in the name of childbirth and in my mind, something has to die before something can be born.
I died 3 times to create 3 amazing, funny, intelligent and loving little boys - I've watched them grow, soak up the world around them and explore it, as I said, you don't own your children, you borrow them, you support them as they become independent people and today was 'the next step' in their orientation
I opened the door - and watched as my two eldest boys trotted off down the road on their first, unsupervised visit in to town.
The reality of being a parent, that little trick from the queen of the cunt rip, miss mother nature - is a message and its this - you think this hurts dear, wait till this fat, screwed up, bald headed bag of skin, organs and bones is in your arms, this pain, this is nothing, because from the moment this child draws his first breath and you look in to his eyes - your heart will feel like its being physically ripped through your chest wall on a minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day basis
Being a parent isn't about bandaging up a grazed knee, filling 30 party bags with jelly tots, watching the angel Gabriel scream she wants a pee while the 3 wise men jump about on stage like they're on acid and the tiny tears Jesus stand in dolls head rolls off, nor is it reading bedtime stories and learning that the cream leather sofa you wanted will not be in your living room until your child is 40 and has their own house....
Its being a guide, educating a small person about the ways of the world, teaching them Independence and morals, of keeping them safe while letting them run free and fucking hell does it hurt like hell when you hit another milestone in that journey
Today I opened my door to let two children take that next step, 56 minutes and half of the woollies pick and mix aisle later - two young men walked back through that door.
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2010-03-25T16:48:30
She sleeps on it
O got up for a sleep pee (that half sleepwalking thing boys do)
*cue rather interesting noise and very pissed off (and on) looking cat
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