Friday 31 December 2010

and he resolved to do different

Resolutions for the coming year

1) Continue to not smoke tobacco

2) Stop swearing at the boxes of stuff I have to move in a couple of weeks, it really isn't the boxes fault.

3) Mudpuddlers world tour 2011 is game on

4) Write a pissyourpants funny stand up routine and perform it at an open mic session

5) Finish the following things
a) The Pete and Lizzie novel
b) The short stories I have mapped in my noggin
c) The campaign for the restoration of the first floor caning team

6) Activate Fitness Dave '11!

7) Grow a set and tell 'someone' if it transpires I am crazy about them

8) Further demolition of depression and coping with OCD admirably

9) Laugh, regularly, and in a contagious fashion

10) Stop doing lists of 10 things which we all know is because the OCD hates irregular numbers

11) ha! Up yours, mental illness

Thursday 30 December 2010

For her

Lovely, in such a way only true beauty can be,
As if she were a daisy in a fairy glade
Caressed by the breeze to catch my eye.
How I would wish for no love-me-not,
Wandering, lost, within a dream.
The star that shone so bright,
It pierced the curtain above and
Bathed me in the softening light of our beginnings,
Calling me back, back to the start,
There to wonder at the fabric of her creation.
Of the many times she smiled for me,
I treasure each and consider, wistfully,
If there is any way such an earthen soul
Could match her simple grace.

Monday 27 December 2010

Chance encounters

Just for a little light relief this festive season, I have been giving some thought to those odd moments in life when you are reminded of, jogged by or face to face with an ex. Depending on the nature of the break up and any subsequent maintenenace of cordiality/friendship this can range from a pleasant distraction to one of those past-invading-present mind bombs that throw you out of step for a period.

For today however, I am concentrating solely on those realtionships which ended abruptly and that you have lingering issues over. These are the most terrifying of exes to come into contact with, sometimes with an almost supernatural ability to put you off your Whisky Mac. Encounters of this type need to be classified, so that you can tell exactly what manner of encounter you may have had.

Chance encounter of the first kind
The least frightening and most common of encounters with this particular class of Ex, first kinds are much more widespread than you might think. They involve the past ex being brought into the present via the grapevine. You will not experience the Ex directly in these encounters, but will learn of them by word of mouth. An example would be a friend telling you they saw your ex (who for the purposes of this entry will hereafter be known as Psycho) at their Salsa class, or that they have started working at the local supermarket/school/etc. First kinds are largely harmless and nearly always brushed under the carpet after a few wistful memories and (perhaps) a glance at old photographs.

Chance encounter of the second kind
Rather less common than first kinds, second kinds involve a sighting of Psycho without any direct contact being initiated or made. Examples might include seeing them in a shop or the street, or perhaps coming into or out of a pub or club. The degree of effect a second kind will have will depend on the precise nature of the sighting. A sighting of them in the street, alone and with several shopping bags, might have no more effect than a first kind as above. However, seeing Psycho with someone else can lead to unecessary periods of reflection into the nature of this relationship - is this the new girlfriend/boyfriend/significant other. Did they look happy? Even more damaging is this sort of encounter in a place you associate with Psycho - your pub, your club and such like - this can lead to inward turmoil at the audacity of such actions and anger overflowing. On the other hand, a second kind involving Pyscho looking slightly haggard, slightly unhappy or rather fatter than you remember can initiate a mood bounce due to the righteousness of Karma. Second kinds can bring out the worst in all of us ;)

Chance encounter of the third kind
We are really starting to find ourselves through the looking glass here. Third kinds are much rarer, but much more significant than the previous types discussed. They involve a face to face encounter and actual verbal contact with Psycho. They are also the hardest to determine the effect of, as this will depend entirely upon the content of the conversation. However, at minimum, it will involve the necessity of phoining a close friend to tell them all about it, require the opinion of several friends and possibly family members and need to be risk assessed against future plans - will you need to amend your routine to avoid any chance of a repitition, did you tell them anything slightly untrue which needs covering up via the friend network, how current and accurate is your assessment of being 'well over Psycho'? Maintenance of diginity is the trickiest stunt to pull in the hardest and deepest third kinds. However, there are worse things....

Chance encounter of the fourth kind
Truly terrifying, the prospect of a fourth kind has been known to turn the knees of bold men to jelly. Fourth kinds are extremely rare, extremely turbulent and always bizarre. They involve unresolved issues from the relationship being inserted, by you or by Psycho, into a third kind. This can involve any of the following; arguing loudly in a pub in front of friends/new partners/family/amused onlookers, slanging matches in the street, post-argument collapses in the arms of a caring friend, weeks of torturous self-doubt, massive bouts of anger at how unfair the world is or a visit from Psycho's new partner to 'have a chat'. Fourth kinds have the disconcerting effect of bringing out everything you hate about yourself and everything that blights the memory of your time with Psycho. They are almost the worst of a bad set of circumstances, however....

Chance encounter of the fifth kind
You wake, hungover, with only the vaguest memory of last night. From the bathroom comes an unexpected noise of 'someone else', and then into the bedroom comes Psycho, looking immaculate to your rough-as-Beardsley and demanding you immediately discuss how you both ended up here...
My friend, you are on your own on this one!

Take care out there.

Wednesday 22 December 2010

Beautiful Places

Thought I might dedicate a post today to those places in the world which have made (or still make) my heart melt when I have been there. Some places will just pass me by barely making an impression on me, but just occasionally I will stop and feel my heart pound at just how beautiful a sight I have stumbled upon. So, here they are, in no particular order!

1) Loch Ness.
I have been to the Loch Ness area several times, and intend to go there many times more in my life. The entire loch has an enchanting beauty about it, and it looks as good on it looking out as it does on the edges looking in. Maybe it is the legends associated with it, maybe it is fondness for time spent there, but driving the A82 alongside it makes me very content, and there is always an air of magic about it. The very first view I had of the Loch was on a crystal clear and hot July day some years ago, it was utterly still and reflecting the white clouds above and the hills flanking it on the far side. My jaw actually dropped. Short of adequate words, this is a picture I took at the time and was my very first view of the Loch.

2) Milford Sound, South Island, New Zealand
Milford sound is not easy to get to - we took a long drive from Te Anau where we were staying, over the mountains, where we climbed to the snowline, before going through a hand hewn (by convicts) tunnel to the Sound itself. Mitre Peak pokes out of the fjord and looks thoroughly majestic, but even better when you follow the wooden path and trail and come out to view the most magnificent waterfall. I remember running towards it and feeling the spray and it's raw power. Simply a lovely place, so isolated and yet so interesting. You have to go out of your way to see Milford Sound, you don't get there otherwise, and it was worth it. I left a little bit of my soul there that day so that one day I would have to return to collect it again.

3) New York
New York has so many different monuments, buildings and sights, it would be hard to pick one of them. Fortunately, I do not need to. When I flew to New York for the first time, I was flabbdergasted at the sheer size and majesty of it when the plane was approaching to land. I am no fan of cities in particular, but there is something about the sheer expanse you see twinkling in lights below you that is astonishing. I suppose it is perhaps a visualisation of what Man has achieved in terms of civilisation. Another jaw dropping moment for me.

4) Dublin
I said above, I am no fan of cities, but were I to pick a capital city I had to live in, I would plump for Dublin. Dublin has charm in buckets, from the statues on O'Connell Street to the fun and adventure of Temple Bar I loved my time working there. There is a sense of history about Dublin without it feeling too cheesey (for want of a better word). Twas a good craic.

5) Kaiteriteri and Abel Tasman National Park, New Zealand
Joint award here as I saw them both at the same time. I loved them both for different reasons. Tasman because it had a really stark beauty about it, If I were to discover a new continent (yes yes, not likely I know), Abel Tasman national park is how I imagine it would look - unspoilt, slightly dangerous and stretching on forever. Kaiteriteri on the other hand, is simoply the best beach I have ever been to - quiet, hot, golden with yachts moored out in the bay. Caves and rockpools to investigate further along, and no screaming, shouting, commericalisation or hassle. Yeah, that worked for me.

6) A887/A87
Perhaps a little odd to pick a road as a beautiful place, but the road running from Invermoriston on Loch Ness to the Kyle of Lochalsh and the bridge to Skye is, without exception, the most beautiful drive I have ever taken. It runs through Glen Shiel and beneath the Five Sisters which often seem to hang with mist and cloud - the lochs look cold but inviting and there are a myriad of little and bigger waterfalls cascading down the mountainsides. I imagine I could spend years investigating just the countryside along that route. One time I saw a house being built along the road with no other houses for what seemed miles either side and a direct cview of a triplet of waterfalls running down the rock face opposite. If I could pick any house to live in, that's it!

7) Blakeney/Morston in North Norfolk.
The North Norfolk coastline is lovely. I am biased because I am a Norfolk lad through and through, but Blakeney and Morston are my favourite places to go in the summer and autumn - there are so many walks to take and inlets to look over. The walk from Blakeney to Cley is really bracing when the wind comes in off the sea and everything seems so much smaller there - small, comfortable and unthreatening. There is wildlife aplenty to look at and space to find to look out over the salt marshes and dream. If anyone I speak to is in Norfolk for the first time, or for a short time, it is Blakeney and Morston I would classify as the must see places. The epitomy of gentle.

So, there we have it. An eclectic mix, but those are the seven places I have been which I treasure the most.

Monday 20 December 2010

Life at the margins

He stares through the satin blackness,
Straining at each deceit playing with his eyes.
Minutes, or hours, perhaps, have passed
Since her departure forced this armistice.
Such warcraft in brokering uneasy peace,
So many hours lost to rack and ruin
For such an innocent little lie.
They are fated to live at the margins of sanity,
Forever tearing at the hearts which bind them,
Hate wearing the seductive cloak of lust
And professing itself the very yardstick of love.
The silence is unbearable;
Alone in the darkness he cannot reason,
Reality warped in cruel mockery
Without her rage to bring focus,
Clarity and a moment’s loving rest.
She will come, she must come,
And in the fire that consumes them,
His heart will beat again.

Sunday 19 December 2010

Christmas, the joys, shames and traditions thereof

One thing I will happily admit to is being a Christmasaholic. Can't get enough of the seasonal joys, absolutely love the feast from start to finish. Basically, I am a big kid at heart and Christmas is the best time for that little trait to burst forth and assert itself. With that in mind, I have been thinking about Christmas and it occurs to me that there are things that my Christmas would not be complete without, but also the way my 'traditions' of Christmas have shifted over the years.

Being preoccupied with my stomach, and keeping it full, Christmas is a very important part of this. I need to lay down some good fat for the coming winter lest I shiver and wither in the cold. I have favourites that stretch from Christmas Eve to Boxing Day and would feel hard done by were I to miss out on any of them. Christmas Eve supper has to be sea food, although the precise nature of it is negotiable. Often however, I will prepare moules and devour them with some crusty bread to mop up the juices. Marinere with an extra hit of chilli works very nicely, but I have also had Scallops or Bass for my big day Eve supper. Christmas Day itself is very easy - it has to start with one of Mum's fry ups and a vat of tea, the fry up must have the works with it too as it has to stretch the barren seas of 8am till Christmas Lunch. Lunch was always at my maternal grandparents, but since they passed away, we spend it at my Aunt's usually and dinner is as you would expect - Turkey and the trimmings, although I would happily swap for Goose! Cold cuts, pickles and salad for Christmas tea and back to the parents for a good hit of the ginger lady (single malt) and a bit of Five Live for the MCG Boxing Day test match - even better in an Ashes year such as this. Boxing Day isn't Boxing Day without another fry up (including fried slices of Christmas Pudding!), cold meats and pickles and bubble and squeak. The rest of the holiday I like to have some particular breakfast favourites - smoked haddock and crusty bread, a gammon based breakfast and of course smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, the breakfast of champions!

I mentioned the single malt above, this is usually the first drink I get to have on Christmas Day as I usually drive, but a good drink is another essential part of the whole period! In the days when we went to my grandparents, and I did not tend to drive, we always used to go for a Christmas Day lunchtime drink at the Volunteer, a pub my Grandfather drank in his whole life, and which has sadly now closed down and been converted into houses (which it ironically was originally, him being born in one of them). Its something we seldom do now, but I do miss it - a stomach stretching drink or two before a stiff walk back to find lunch being served.... what could be finer?!

Another tradition that has lapsed is Christmas Eve drinkies. For the most part, my peers have married and have children of their own, so it is not appropriate anymore, but it was always fun nonetheless. In the days before employers got ridiculously squinky about lunchtime beverages, I used to enjoy working Christmas Eve. We would do an hour or so's work before breaking out the homemade mince pies, sausage rolls and such and head for the pub at approximately 11.01 (pub opening hours were 11am-11pm) where a 'few' pints would whet the appetite. Back to the office for a temporary giggle before management would send everyone home at 2ish. That would give a chance for a snooze on the bus home or at home before getting ready for the night out. Of course, before 24 hour licensing, Christmas Eve was one of those special nights that pubs could get an extension to midnight to see Christmas in. Over the years, the Roundwell (now a medical centre), the Reindeer, the Ten Bells and the Belle Vue have played host. After a good drink, back home on the late bus or a sneakily arranged taxi to stay over at Mum and Dad's (or, at the time, lived there anyway!) to raid Mum's selection of sausage rolls and other treats. Important to soak up that excess alcohol! Oh the Christmas Day's I spent hungover like a dog, desperate for the hair of the same dog at lunchtime to get me through. The things we do for fun!

Happy times, but I thought I'd wrap up (see what I did there? wrap?!) with a few potted memories I treasure, or where the record needs setting straight. There was the night over Christmas I walked through the snow and cold to meet friends Suzanne and Heather for drinks. This was back in the days I had a full on quiff up top - a quiff which froze in the frigid Norfolk air. Hairspray? pah! Then there was the year of the adopted pussy cat. Having got totally plastered and walking back through the 'nest' we came upon a friendly cat. Unfortunately, so friendly was he, he decided to follow us all the way home (ahem, with some drunken coaxing) and we had to explain to Simon's father why he had to go out at 1am on Christmas Morning to put a cat back where we first found it. Of less note was the dodgy taxi the same Simon and I managed to hail late one Christmas Eve/Morning who turned out to be totally incapable of driving, including a bizarre reversing manouvere back along a dual carriageway as he had missed the right turn before it. To say I was glad to get out is an understatement. Finally though, I need to set a record straight here. Edinburghgate. We were all going to go to Edinburgh for New Year and Christmas Eve (or perhaps it was the eve of the Eve), I cooked a roast for everyone. Now, completely coincidentally, after Christmas everyone who was at the meal got sick (except me!) and we had to call off the Edinburgh plans. Indeed, only I made it out New Year's Eve. The facts here are that no-one got ill until 5 days after the meal, the symptoms everyone had were flu-like and I did not get ill although I ate the same food. However, I have ever since been blamed for poisoning everyone. Therefore, I am taking this opportunity to refute these scurrilous lies. The food was good, the grubby diners just needed to stop getting off with each other/living together down Cardiff Road. And with that, the little episode is hereby closed!

Friday 17 December 2010

A good airing

I had intended to write the short story today that I have mentioned in a previous post (the excellent idea), however as on so many other days, time has slipped through my fingers and I have found myself completely preoccupied with other thoughts.

'Preoccupied with other thoughts' is, as you might guess reading my earlier entries, my euphemism for depression. Depression is a rotten, sneaky and thoroughly wicked disease. I hate it as a whole, I loathe every aspect of it, but one of the things that most angers and upsets me is the way depression makes me feel, the havoc it wreaks on my emotions.

Sometimes I can stand looking at a winter wonderland and feel snowflakes gently land on my skin and slowly melt and I, in turn, will melt at the sheer beauty of the world even in the depths of winter; at how the snowy landscape, in it's own way, is every bit as beautiful as a cornfield playfully kissed by summer breezes on a sun-drenched July afternoon. Then there are depression days and I look at the same scenery and there is nothing, nothing but a yawning chasm where joy should be and a lingering and inescapable feeling of sadness for myself that I cannot feel as I should feel.

The sadness that depression imparts is not like the feelings one gets at the end of a tear-jerker, or watching the news show the world finding another thousand ways to let itself down. Depression sadness is destructive and long-lasting (indeed in the depths of it, it feels perennial), it absorbs anything positive around it and turns it into emptiness. When I am like this, I yearn to feel something, anything, to break the hold sadness has over me, but everything that would normally work will not - it either has no effect, or depression turns it negative, I become even sadder that something I love has not made me better, hasn't seen off the demons.

Then there is the guilt, the awful self-loathing and guilt that I cannot respond appropriately to loved ones or friends. Guilt that I don't speak up or cry for help and guilt when I do, burdening a happy spirit with my decline. This is all depression's doing too, a further twist of the knife and a tightening of it's hold on me. An ever-decreasing circle of sadness and guilt, a maelstrom in the water of life dragging me down and down and down. I would find it hard, perhaps impossible, to describe the blackness of the furthest depths or the bleakness of being there.

Why am I writing about this today? Last night I went out for Christmas dinner with my friends. It was a fabulous night, I thoroughly enjoyed it and it is always wonderful to have reason to remember why you love the friends you love. At one point I talked, very briefly, about being ill this year and I caught my hand shaking. My hand has never been a shaker, not even when I was a heavy drinker in my youth. It scared me a little to be honest, especially as I had left my medication at home and knew I had missed taking it and would not take any until today. In and of itself neither I suppose are terribly dramatic, but the seed of doubt had been planted in my head, and that is all depression needs sometimes.

Today I have been fretting about it, thinking about it, obsessing over it. I have already gone through a cycle of terrible guilt. I had a great night last night with 5 wonderful people and I hate that I have spent today musing on my illness. I hate the amount of medication I take and I hate how long I have been on it and will remain on it. Of course, when Bagpuss goes to sleep, all his friends go to sleep too, and Professor Yaffle, my OCD, has taken the oppurtunity to seize on my weakened resolve and state and I have found myself stuck in some weird little routines today. All part of the spiral.

I know it, I name it, I can write about it and I can hold on to yesterday and tomorrow as places where it has no hold. Right now though, in this moment, here, its not where I wanted to be today. It never is.

Tuesday 14 December 2010

Last Christmas - a musical mystery

Something troubles me, Mudpuddlees. Given that its the time of year VH1 have their annual 'play Christmas music until you vomit' 2 month extravaganza, I have had plenty of opportunity to revisit that Eighties chestnut of note, Last Christmas. The remarkable thing about this video and song is just how many things about it bother me. Bother me enough to write some nonsense in my blog. A notable irritation.

Let's ignore, for the sake of my sanity, the elephant in the room. That being, George's later coming out. Even without this monstrous pachyderm trumpeting it's presence, the damn song has no end of things wrong with it.

Firstly, when George and friends arrive in their 4x4s at the cable car, some of their group are already present and waiting. They all wave at each other like imbeciles (except George who looks casually cool throughout). Nobody in the wide wide world of sports waves like that at people they already know in greeting. You might, if a little bit simple, wave like that in parting, but not when meeting up. Especially when there is no-one else there that you need to distinguish yourself from in identification of travelling companions.

George has a new girlfriend this Christmas - a sultry blonde vixen who gets far too little camera time herself in the video. Why, therefore, is he singing about a woman he was with the year before? Is he not satisfied with the blonde? If not, he should let her go, for to do otherwise is ignoble of the Whamster. I know her not, but I deem she deserves better.

As for this temptress of the previous Noel, it occurs to me that George only gave her his heart on Christmas Day, and she gave it away the very next day. Is a year not long enough to get over this intense 24 hour relationship? You gotta let it go buddy, she has moved on.

Talking of which, she is with Andrew Ridgley - you know, the talented one from Wham - not only are you moping after a girl who had your heart for 24 hours a year ago George, she is now with your musical partner. There is something seemy, borderline incestuous and not a little creepy about this whole arrangement.

Now, the gang of winter cabin holidaymakers all go outside for a snowball fight. George is shown standing aside from the action looking wisftful and afraid. He looks, in fact, like a small boy who's mother has told him he is not to play in the snow with the other boys. What the hell?! Get a grip man, you are not alone with your former one day love out there, indeed your new girlfriend might appreicate your company. What is so terrible about larking in the snow that wasn't a factor five minutes ago when you were laughing and joking with Pepsi and Shirley?

Then we have the whole incident with the brooch - the video intimates that George gave his ex-lover a brooch the previous Christmas and her hand is seen stroking it this year. But, wait a moment, the glittery brooch is on Andrew Ridgley's jacket!?!! So, she not only has with her the brooch given to her by her ex-lover, she gives this (rather effeminate) brooch to his musical partner and her current beau to wear to a dinner they are all attending.

On top of all this, there is the whole issue of timescales. From what I can gather a large group of people meet, get a cable car into the mountains to a cabin they have rented. They decorate the cabin, including a Christmas tree, have a snowball fight and then dinner and having kipped overnight, go back down the mountain the next day! Frivolous wasting of money and a rather poor holiday if you ask me.

So, there we have it. Last Christmas irks me. It makes no sense and is more replete with plot holes than the Bobby in the shower Dallas episode.

Discuss! ;p

Monday 13 December 2010

Ten things

Having spent much the last year feeling like the sword of Damocles is not only hanging, but actively fraying it's support, above my head, I decided today was a day for fututre ponderage. What, however, can a little numpkin so rooted in the now find in the as-yet-undone to excite and entrance?

I have given it plenty of thought and the key is in the words as-yet-undone. Yes, it's time for the ocassionally flabtastic, always magnificent Mudpuddler to set out his dreams unfulfilled. The following ten things are things I want to do with a certain degree of urgency. In other words, the sooner, the better.

1) The sporting grand slam. I have score goals in football, I have kicked conversions and scored tries in Rugby, cleared from the break in Pool, bagged many five-fors and even managed a half-century in the noble game of cricket. So what is left? A 180 in darts and a 50 break at snooker - notch off those two and I will content myself that I have at least temporarily excelled in all Britain's favourite sports. I would go for a sub-80 round of golf, but I am a golfing spanner and therefore I am ruling it out as a sport of note.

2) Climb Ben Nevis. Stop turning round half way up! In my regular sojourns in the Highlands, I have often started up Ben Nevis, but time, lack of fitness or arsingly inappropriate conditions have conspired against me. I even once pledged to get the whole way with a kiwi I fell in with - however I was unwell that day (! no, really) and he left me halfway up with the immortal phrase 'Shit Dave, you're not very fit are you?'. Man will return to the mountain.

3) Move to the Highlands. There is nowhere that makes me happier (with the possible exception of the North Norfolk coast) - the move after this one is likely to be there. I cannot imagine ever being unhappy waking up to the stunning vistas on offer.

4) Take up mountain biking. I really am a lazy little ratkin at times, and yet I have always fancied a bit of rough track riding on a decent bike. the aim is to kill two birds with one stone - something to do and getting fitter.

5) Finish the bloody novels and short stories I have half-written, noted down, stored in my head etc. Updating this blog is all well and good, but the whole idea was to unblock the writer's block, keep my hand in and help me move all those little projects forward. I have a little folder now though, so surely thingsmust be on the up?!

6) Do a night of stand up somewhere. Speaks for itself - I'm quick enough when out and about, let's see what it tastes like when the pressure is on. I'll feel less guilty about my rapier wit (lollers) once I have fronted up to a crowd of unknowns. Besides, I did it when off my head at the Stoneham talent show many years ago!

7) Return to New Zealand. I had a fantastic month there in 1996 after my friends Dom and Jenny emigrated and I have wanted to go back ever since. In addition to seeing them again, my old drinking buddy of University legend fame Lee is there as is first floor caning teamer Shads. Therefore I am called, and must adhere.

8) Bag the Munroes. Unrealistic, long term aim. However, I want to at least make a dent in the Munroes of Scotland (all peaks over 3000 feet) - its another of those things I love doing (walking/climbing etc) but need to have some focus on to keep me doing it!

9) Learn to paint. I have always painted with words. Whilst I live writing poetry and prose, I would love to be able to draw and paint. Have always been rubbish at it, but as time to myself grows and work becomes less of an issue, I'd like to at least be able to capture an interpretation of my own of some of the beautiful places I hang out in.

10) Fall in love again. Been too long. Nuff said ;)

Sunday 12 December 2010

The Muse

She glides with grace, this uncommon beauty,
From whom I cannot avert my gaze.
Each step she makes seems choreographed
As a tantalising dance takes shape.
In my mind I am Astaire,
Ready to whisk her round the room,
Light-footed, light-hearted,
A whimsical coupling free from care.
Each hair behaves to perfection,
Waving and wafting, on day release,
Framing a whole new study in wonderment.
Her eyes sparkle when they set upon me,
As if interacting with the joy such attentions bring.
They draw my glance to her mouth,
Quickly upturned in a reassuring grin,
Before I retreat back to drown in those eyes
Joyous, sad, deep, flirtacious all at once.
I should content myself with that smile,
But as she turns to the pressing matters of the day;
A cup of coffee, or passing friend,
I am wracked in grief that I know not how
To tell her I am in love.
She is as beautiful to me
As words can convey,
And yet I cannot bring myself to speak,
Lest my love be spurned and a veil be ever drawn
Between me and my matchless joy.

Saturday 11 December 2010

That all important letter to Santa Claus

Dear Sir,
I write with reference to the upcoming appraisal of my behaviour over the last twelve months. I hope that you will find time to consider the following points before assigning me my final grading for the year. I must also reiterate the concerns I raised last year over the rather arbitary nature of only having two grades for which I can be considered, these being Naughty and Nice.

I would like to say, firstly, that incidents within the car should not be considered. With all due respect to your good self , you are able to travel around unburdened by other sleigh-riders, and cannot possibly understand the hurt and upset caused by the thoughtless actions of other drivers. Additionally, due to the sound-dampening effects of the metal casing, hand gestures are the only right and proper means of communication with other motorists.

Taking the first point then as fully covered off, I turn to the unfortunate incident in the pub. Yes, I did spill his pint and, to be fair, I was also rather transfixed by his wife’s assets (not that he noticed, being preoccupied with the deliquification of his glass). I consider his actions thereafter to be a gross infringement on my liberty from assault, but mostly I am hopeful that whilst he will clearly be rated Naughty, the minor infringements on my part leading up to this will not also penalise me on a knock for knock basis.

I am led to believe that you do not have mind reading powers, or that if you do, you have agreed with my union that these will not be utilised in my appraisal. As such, I would like you to note that all slights, mickey takes and insults thrown on my part are always projected from a position of general affection and fondness and do not reflect negative emotional behaviour by me.

Similarly with what are rather unkindly called ‘lies’ (such an ugly term I think you will agree), I do not have a detailed list to hand, but can assure you that on each of the occasions I appear to have ‘lied’, I either believed what I was saying, felt it was kinder to say what I did than the truth or, frankly, totally got away with it and no harm was done.

I could provide you with thousands of instances of my being Nice this year, but as you know from previous years, I am not good at blowing my own trumpet. I prefer to let the details speak for themselves, but in the interests of even-handedness in the letter I would cite my driving quite slowly near schools and holding doors open sometimes as key examples, and would in fact consider the ‘creative accounting’ of telling some of the girls I know that they look great a kindness, not a naughtiness. I am also a gentle and considerate lover. Or at least I would be, had I anyone to be gentle and considerate to. Most of the time. Probably.

Finally, I would conclude by pointing out I have served no time in prison this year and have no convictions, and no court cases due. I have not caused physical injury to anyone important and I am usually on time for work. I hope you and the delightfully buxom Mrs Claus are well (will she be attending my appraisal too?) and have the seasonal workload planned as ever.

Yours Nicely
Mudpuddlin Man

Thursday 9 December 2010

Blogging the things I find it hard to say

One of the advantages of regularly updating a blog which your loved ones often drop by to read is that it gives me an outlet to say some of the things it is hardest to say. I have never been good at opening up as anyone who knows me well could attest to, and its a trend that has got deeper as life has gone on. It is the price of living alone I guess that I have got used to bottling things up, or dealing with them here where no-one can see.

There are often so many things I want to talk about, but I can't find the right time, or the right words to do it, I am much more comfortable making people laugh and smile than letting them worry about me and how I am. Yet, in the cold light of day, all I am doing is hiding myself and postponing dealing with what troubles me which in itself has led to some of the problems of the last year and a half. Having said that, I don't want anyone to think I am constantly in turmoil, at least 95% of the time when I say I am fine, I really am, but there are always the other times, when I am really not. So, here in the sanctuary of the blog, is a taste of what I sometimes want to say.

Since the meltdown of last year, I have had to get used to some new realities pretty sharpish. For example, it worries me how long I am going to be on medication, I don't like my mental health being dependant on it. The tablets sometimes make me tired, not tired as in having a disturbed night's sleep, but weary, knackered, worn out. It makes me feel older suddenly, not something I enjoy. In fact, it terrifies me; I want to feel young and full of energy, otherwise I am hurtling in the wrong direction. I know the medication is doing a job, I just wish I didn't need it anymore.

Of course, I do need it, and that is why I have had to come to the hardest state of affairs to accept. Emotionally, mentally, I am vulnerable. I suffer from mental illness, I cannot rely on my emotional state to get me through. There were times over the last few months that I wasn't sure I could trust my responses at all. I have spent years building up a hard outer shell, almost impervious to outside influences without realising the real attacks were coming from the inside. There were so many times I could, I should have let people in, and I am so sorry now that I didn't. It has been a tough transition to begin viewing things emotionally through the prism of OCD and depression but perhaps now I can understand better some of the stranger reactions I have had over the years to people, and events.

The biggest mistake I have made was a few years ago accepting it was my lot (and considering it the best option for me) to live alone, that I would make a poor life partner for anyone. If I have a biggest regret in life, this is it. It's not the best option, and as 'easy' as I might find it on a day to day basis, it really isn't. It's not so much that I am currently single, it is that I have somehow deleted the files in my databank that deal with communicating love and romance. Sabotage of the self. It eats at me, it really does. I hate that I have become petrified of confessing to feelings. It annoys me that I just referred to discussing my feelings as 'confessing'. I can write poetry, but I can't tell someone I think they are fantastic and they make my heart skip a beat or ten? I come home at night to darkness and silence. What sort of fool am I to have decided that was best for me?

So, there we have it. Some of the things I wish I had said years ago, months ago or weeks ago on those occasions when 'I'm fine' is a bare-faced lie. I really should have said more, more often. I am sorry I was too foolish to do so. Love you all.

Wednesday 8 December 2010

The day before you left

I didn't spend a moment yesterday indulging
In the haven we set against the gathering gloom.
Not for a single one of your flowers did I stop and take
Glory in it's heady scent, nor spend a solitary moment
Before that crazy painting you bought from an unknown
A lifetime and more ago.
You fell for it's simple charm and I loved you
For such a wonderful, and gentle appreciation.
Our song played on the lunchtime hour, I meant
To call you through so we could smile and
Remember just how it became ours, but
Something held me back.
Perhaps it was weariness, perhaps complacency,
And maybe it was these twins that for too long
Have kept me silent on the matter of my
Adoration of you.
Now though we stand upon the further shore,
Yesterday evening a fact, and not a looming
Cloud on our horizon.
Now it is too late for me
To smell your flowers, and our song is dischordant.
My eyes and ears are full of all the places
You are not, and yet should be.
A cruel epiphany, but well earned.

Monday 6 December 2010

Inspiration

I had the most entertaining idea for a short story yesterday, one which fermented overnight in between bouts of waking up and hitting 5live for the cricket update and strange dreams which seemed to involve me wagering large sums of money which were supposed to be for cat food (don't ask!)
By the time I got up this morning I was fairly excited by the whole prospect, and it is not something I have seen done before in the way I intend to. I would be drawing on various other styles and blending them somewhat but essentially, a top drawer idea which I think will fly. So far, so good and then it hit me....

I cannot for the life of me work out the mechanics of writing this down. I know the plot, I know the subtle twist/theme I am working in as the story proceeds, I know the hook that gets the reader intrigued and I know how it ends (or rather doesn't, but that is for another time!). However, I am really struggling to comprehend how I tie it all together.

This is an immensely frustrating situation, and one I am finding even worse than the complete writer's logjam I suffered from earlier in the year. It is all there for the taking, the entire thing is clear in my head and yet I can't work out how to get it on paper. I don't know if it is actually feasible to do what I want to do in words. I am going to be so angry if I can't pull this one off, it really is a doozy!

I though blogging about it might provide the spark of inspiration, but alas, answers, as yet, come there none. A case of watch this space. I do hope I haven't just massively overhyped this ;)

Sunday 5 December 2010

The Trap

Trapped, he cannot escape memories caught
In endless loop. The relentless drumming of
Shame, regret and agony pounding a beat
In the otherwise still and frozen night
Accompany his memorial dirge.
A baleful tribute to everything that
Has ripped him apart and left him
Ragged, defenceless and bereft of hope.
His clenched fist taps along in rhythm to
This torture, hammering on his temple,
As if pleading for rage to be let inside
To decimate and desecrate his broken mind.
He long since lost the sense of pain from nails
Dug into his palms, fists now combing hair
He would rip from his scalp if only he could
Unclench. What began as tears has become
A torrent, glottal fire at the back of his throat
As he fights for every breath, taking in the raw
Untrustworthy air.
So often he has been here, the past played
On loop, constant variations on a theme,
All roads leading to ruin.
As he rocks and feels himself subside,
Shattered, he is taken by the fear that
This time he may not make it back.

Friday 3 December 2010

Descent

In the heat of our dance we are aflame,
Blazing trail crackling as we descend,
Two voices sing of one insanity.
You refute the man I am,
Tethered by the memory of yesterday‘s rage.
For my part, I cannot contain your passion,
Which sends me reeling against the wall,
Lustful for the exquisite pain you deliver.
We boil with hate and love, despair and desire.
And can never give enough, one to the other.
I want to wear all of you, but you just don’t fit,
You want to make me new,
But my rot is set too deep.
We burn in the heat of our dance,
Smouldering in the night.
I can no more quench this inferno than rip
Out my racing heart and feed your ravenous hunger.
I bear your brand and bear the pain for
I am nothing without you, and you are
Everywhere without me, exposed and alone.
We are each other’s last hope,
We are the coming storm.