Day 230 - Thurs 30th August - Day 4 Hol Blog

Day 4 is absolutely crucial for the holiday tan. It's imperative you get it right. Get it wrong and you'll look like the Singing Detective. Get it right and you'll be doing David Dickinson proud. It's crucial.

It's the day that separates the men from the boys. When high factor suntan cream is discarded, in fact all sun tan cream, i mean that's for pussies right? What do doctors know anyway. Slowly boil in the sun, before turning 50 shades of pink, then have a lovely relaxing scrub massage in the evening to chill. AAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHHH!!

No, after a short while on the factor 10, it will soon be time for tanning oil on day 5, before rubbing in lard and goose fat on day 6 and 7. Professional tanners will of course have their own techniques, but mine is neither tried or trusted. The aim is of course to look like you blend into your brown leather jacket. A tan so deep that people expect you to sing Julio Inglesias numbers & do Bargain Hunt. My favourite thing about Dickinson is he tends to wear beige suits, so he just blends into one colour. If you face is the colour of your belt then you've achieved your goal.

It's sodding hot today. 36 degrees. The plan is to do.........nowt. Suits me. Young un has injured her knee, so instead of running and writing, my morning was spent taking her to the local hospital. It was amazing. 3 minute wait for x ray, 5 min wait for doctor. The whole thing took 1 hour, luckily no damage, just a sprain. But a painless hospital experience none, the less.

I enjoyed my broken English conversation with Semet, the lunatic taxi driver. He totally forgot or didn't care he had a little girl in the back with her foot up and an injured knee, weaving in and out of traffic, liberally using the horn and constantly pointing out where members of his family lived without looking at the road. Thankfully We got back unscathed.

Whilst the girls hit the pool, i went out for my now daily run along the mountain road. It;s around 3-4km into Fetiyhe, a few hills and stunning coastline. Piece of piss. Well not really, it was 1pm and 37 degrees. I sweated like Gary Glitter at a Scouts convention. Hot. Felt good though, if a little trundly but i always feel better after a run and pleased it's out of the way.

Being away from home does odd things, gives you a sense of perspective. I'm reading a book about a marathon addict (it's a little dull if I'm honest) - but it made me think my 40th year is coming up rapidly and i want to do something special. So, after a while i hatched my triple header plan. My endurance trilogy for my 40th year.

First Dubai marathon in January, then London in April, then Ironman Wales in September and then round off the year with an Ultramarathon (50 miler). Sounds intense and hardcore but piss easy when you're laying on a sunlounger by the sea. I want to tear the arse out of being 40 and train properly, however as someone pointed out to me, what about the attention i need to give work, comedychops. personal training, writing and oh yes, life? Bugger - i hadn't thought of that. More planning needed.

I'm thinking of the discipline that comes with training may help with other areas, and with eating right and being healthy, but i guess why do i need to do extreme events to do that. Isn't that avoidance and replacing in itself? Being happy with oneself is something that would probably make me feel better in the long run, but now is not the time for these questions. I'm on me holidays.

The rest of the day was spent lazing by the original pool. Reading, sleeping, sweating. The Russians have taken over now. Scores of moody looking young women ignoring their children, or older less stern couples but with tremendous amount of fat. Now I'm accused of being fattest. I'm not, as i used to be a big lad and at heart i am. I love cakes, burgers, lager, chocolate, conrned beef sandwiches, biscuits, ice cream, chips. I would merrily eat that all day long but it makes me lardy and i really don't like to be lardy.

I guess people have the right to be whatever size they want, and it's not for me to judge, but these Russians were literally at it all day long. At an all inclusive (although this is a really cute bespoke one) - you can eat 24 hours a day and boy did they give it a good go.

Up early for the buffet breakfast which includes just about everything. Mid morning snack from the late breakfast buffet, lunch in the main restaurants opens from 12pm for more buffet options, there is a constant queue for fresh donuts, burgers and chips from 3pm, then at 5pm they wheel out the Turkish cakes, biscuits and tea. Then it's time for a quick waddle to the room for brush up, then it's dinner from 7pm with yet more buffet. They are huge and varied. Then from 11pm the snack bar is open all night for pizza and pasta and there are sandwiches and rolls dotted around various bars and cafes on the way back to room, in case you wake up hungry.

It's insane and there is something about All inclusive that is codeword for greed. Got to get you're monies worth and i swear to god there are legions of people walking around in a carb induced trance. Existing meal to meal. Most of which in sportswear which is pretty ironic.

Anyway, the day  was a lovely one. I glanced at the Elvis lyrics to songs I've got to learn. Eek. Caught up on emails for Comedy Chops a week today. EEk. (Really must try and write some material), did a reasonably hardass gym session - 50 box jumps, 30 burpees, 20 deadlifts, 30 bicep curls, 50 press ups in 25 Min's, then more endless meat and salad for dinner.

i ducked out of the evenings entertainment, which to be fair was a pretty decent Michael Jackson tribute, but i just wasn't feeling it. Preferring instead to place myself on the main square and people watch for 90 Min's whilst smoking and drinking mint tea. Hugely enjoyable as it's fascinating to see holiday people of all nationalities.

Bored couples rarely talking, massive families where dad is Mr Fun, moody Russian chicks looking like plastic models, fat Eastern Europeans munching and munching, British having a great time, kids running around, basically life. I love it and i love everyone, they are proper great.

The evening was spent watching episode 5 of Friday Night Lights in bed. I was knackered and didn't want to start as i knew 1 wasn't enough. Once you start you just can't stop and before you know it, it's 5am and you're on Episode 14. As soon as the 1st one started i was already thinking about the next. Can i fit it in? Will i be too tired? Oh god i love it so much. Does that make me sad?

Basically it's exactly like drinking, or muffins. But you know, it's absolutely ace and i urge anyone reading to get it. Proper ace drama.

So day 4 closes, tomorrow is going to be restful as mini needs to rest the knee, but it's a day for full floral speedos and tanning oil, it's where the tan will move into a different gear and I'm looking forward to basting ever so slightly and of course inevitably drifting off to sleep and getting sunstroke rendering me ill for the rest of the trip. I maybe fit and healthy but i am most definately what you would term as stupid

Roll on the Paralympics. Team GB and transfer deadline day

xx

Day 229 - Weds 29th Aug - Day 3 Hol Blog

Woke up after dreaming of my grandfather. Strange as i haven't ever dreamt of him & he’s been dead 21 years, but there he was, Gramps, clear as a bell. We were sitting on the kerb opposite the All England Tennis Championships (naturally it was a dream after all) talking man to man.

 

Odd really as all the male role models in my life i’ve never been able to talk to as a grown up. I’m not one for dreaming, but i remembered it. Crystal clear. Unusual for me yet Comforting, though my recently departed Nan was nowhere to be seen. I’m pretty sure they are together now. #soulmates.

 

Feeling better today, though took me ages to wake up. I think the non diet coke is helping and certainly the lingering mutant man cold is abating. I’m starting to crack ridiculous jokes again so i must be feeling better.

 

Woke to sad news my ex girlfriends grandmother had passed away. God bless her, a lovely lady and had the St Francis of Assisi prayer on her wall, which was a big favourite of mine. God bless you Connie. Another of the old school gone, it is my generation's responsibility to maintain their values i reckon, with a few of our own chucked in of course.

 

Wrote my blog (took me ages) and then embarked on a 10k run at 11am in fierce heat. I sweated more than Russel Brand at a Spice Girls party, but i felt OK, pretty strong and was delighted to be out. I listened to Elvis all the way and shuddered that i have put myself up to sing 3 of his songs with a live band at my impending 40^th birthday party. Ever had a thought that sounds great in your head? Only to discover reality is something different?

 

During my run i also decided to do the Dubai Marathon in January. I’m always better when disciplined by something to work for, Dubai is easy entrance, hot, just after new year, so will give me a good training incentive over the Autumn and winter, plus i want to see if i can get near 3 hours 30. It was the reason for starting this blog and i know i didn’t train smart so consequently missed the time on the London. This gives another chance and i’m hoping it may rub off in other areas of my life. Plus of course if gives me an opportunity to nonce around in my speedos on a beach again.

 

Then it was time to catch some serious rays again, this time by a different pool. The resort has 4 pools and is bigger than Simon Cowell’s ego. It’s dam hot today, weighing in at a hefty 35 degrees, so i was moist all day.

 

This pool had far more English, you could tell because every man was wearing Velcro sandals. Only really popular with English. Eastern European men like to go for the tight budgie smuggler no matter how fat and the Lebanese favour a pair of shorts but pulled up really high over their large hairy bellies. Obviously the middle eastern are very hairy. Maybe that's why the women cover up, though they would have had a field day in Jazz mags from the 70’s, when it was a thrill to see a bush that went all the way to the belly button. How times have changed, if you saw one of those now you would either run a mile or b)report them for steroid abuse. A Brazilian or clean as a whistle is all the rage now.

 

My main task of the day was to blow up a beach ball for the kids. This proved to be quite an effort. With the smallest nozzle in the world my mouth and face felt like i’d been chowing down on someone for an hour. I swear my mouth froze and i had locked jaw. I kept thinking ‘would Jason Bourne have this problem’. The resounding answer was no, as x5 10 year olds looked on at me like i was some kind of failure of a man. Thank god i did it eventually, rewarding myself with a 4 hour lie down in the sun. I am turning the colour of a coffee table so i’m heading in the right direction.

 

A tan covers a multitude of things/ailments. You maybe the most unhealthy person in the world, but if you have a deep tan, everyone says ‘don’t you look well and healthy’. What like i looked like shit before? I'm turning into the kind of deep tan only the South Welsh can do. My aim is to look like Tom Jones in his pomp.

 

Actually one of the funniest things I've seen was a picture from his autobiography, from the 70's. It was a pic of him and all his old welsh grannies and family, all dressed old school welsh, apart from Tom, it was by his pool in Bell end, sorry Bel Air and he was dressed in a pair of pink hot pants, hairy chest, medallion, holding a massive steak for the BBQ. Yes. No better exponent of the the 'man camp' look, sported by blokes in the 70's.

 

Another fine exponent of this from that era was the Roger Mooreosaraus, from Live and Let die. A safari suit with a polo neck a particular favourite. Also Lewis Collins from the Professionals.

 

All of these had a certain amount of machismo, faint ridiculousness and a hint of bender. 'Man Camp', it clearly left a mark and i try so desperately hard to uphold that tradition every day. I guess that's why i get called 'queer' quite alot, usually from massive breasted men with short hair, earrings and in the company of other men. Mmmm, ironic huh?

 

A man must be totally comfortable with his masculinity and sexual prowess in order to like just a little queer. I reckon I'm down with that.

 

Rest of day was spent munching on vast amounts of grilled meat, fish, the most mazing salads. That is one thing i love about Turkey, the colour. From the salads, blue sky, green mountains, turquoise sea, flowers in bloom the south coast is a spectacularly colourful environment. I think it's good for the soul.

 

The young un injured her knee today so the evening was spent at one of the resorts 7 restaurants. The main buffet one is immense.

 

I enjoyed watching a Lebanese family on the next table and the father, who was an enormous man, munched his way through x8 courses. Bread 1st, then fish and salad, then grilled meat (all piled up like a small volcano), then it was meat,veg,potatoes, then pasta, then pizza, then massive pile of Turkish pastries and finally just to top it off a nice and light creme caramel. Perfect.

 

He didn't talk to his family, his commitment to the grub was impressive. His pants were hanging out of his shorts, hairy fat back poking through the sides of his vest. He was an impressive beast. The sort of man my Nan would have described him as 'enjoying his food'. Good on him, i liked him.

 

Then Dr Evans prescribed lots of icing to young un's injury and Friday Night Lights, my lovely friend Fleur gave me the box set to make up for my Post Olympic gloom. I hadn't watched it until now, but fuck my old boots. How good is it? The Pilot immediately drew me in, the characters were crystal clear and it was high quality drama. Fabulous.

 

Trouble is my addictive nature took over and i just wanted more and more. There are 22 episodes and i was already what i would do after these had finished? What if i finish them before the holiday's over? How can i get hold of series 2?

 

i did 4 episodes back to back until 3 in the morning and had to physically stop myself from watching more. Highly addictive viewing and pure class.

 

So that's day 3 over. Nice to be away, I'm aware some people are having a tough time back home. So reading someones holiday blog just makes you hate me. It's that old thing of getting a text message from a friend of them on a lovely beach and you just think 'c**t', What are they trying to do to me? rub it in? bastard, i hope it rains'. At least that's what i think when i get one anyway.

 

I know Paralympics starts and I'm missing the whole Olympic buzz, not much of it in Letoonia resort, however one thing's for certain it does bring the whole nationality thing together. The Olympics and paralympics makes you feel like one world but one thing will always remain constant. Russian women are total miserable horrible fucking bitches and i hate them. Sorry world but thems the facts.

 

Oh and PS, full moon. I stared out late at night, looked up and thought of the recently departed Neil; Armstrong. What must he have done on nights like these? Sat on his porch, stared up and said 'i've been there'. Incredible really.

 

bye for now readers

 

xx

 

 

Day 228 - Tues 28th Aug - Day 2 of Hols

Holiday Day 2 – Tuesday 28^th Aug

 

Awake on day 2 at 9am after my longest sleep in years. God I did 9 hours, which for a caffeine/diet coke addict who rarely sleeps more than 5 or 6 hours is remarkable. I clearly need it and if I’m honest another 10 of those should sort me out.

 

Sleep is so much underrated as a form of healing, certainly by me anyway. It takes me to illness and mental/physical shut down to sleep properly and it looks like this holiday will hopefully provide that.

 

So lovely to wake up to bright sunshine, tweeting birds (real ones, not birds sending tweets though who knows in the future) and the whole holiday doing bugger all stretched out in front of you. Bliss.

 

After around 2 hours of waking up properly, it was like trying to stir an 85 year old’s cock from years of slumber. Several cups of tea and stretches to make this aching body work, I attempted my first run in days. I felt some kind of energy returning, so off I went for a 25 min trot, top off, along gorgeous mountainous coastline, turquoise sea below me, along the mountain path. I loved it. The only downside was my chronic aching back (is that diet coke withdrawal, new bed or do I have cancer of the spine?) But I loved it enough to have a good sweat and felt a little better. I am a terrible hyperchondriatic and catastrophiser. The merest hint of something and i'm convinced it's awful. Apologies to anyone who actually has a proper illness i don't mean to cause offence, just my ridiculous inner make up.

 

Then it was time for an afternoon of professional sunbathing. The 10 year old has found a playmate, so that takes the pressure off. I only had to spend 45 mins in the pool teaching her how to dive & having an Olympic tournament. Only trouble was I went for the European style floral Speedos today and they kept coming off every time I dived, still I got away with it undetected (or so I hope – please god)

 

I did find the joy in being an adult though, in the sense i could authoratively speak like i actually knew what i was talking about in diving terms. Legs bent, jump high, aim for little splash and legs together, as you can see from the pic i talk an excellent game, but certainly don't play one #manfact1

 

 

 

Then it was time to really get stuck into pro sunbathing for the afternoon. This includes a hat, preferably an oversize baseball cap that makes you look like a sick kid being taken to Disneyland for a last hurrah, suntan cream (factor 30 for start and then bronzing oil for the end – in fact you may as well just spread olive oil on you really), you require a blow up pillow, 2 books (mine are ‘Money’ by Martin Aimless, a cracking novel and a lighter easier read, ‘diary of a marathon addict’ by some bloke who nobody has ever heard of) You also need a bottle of water, cigarettes, gum, mobile phone preferably to take pics of ur legs and kegs on the sun lounger with pool or beach in background so you can post ultra annoying and self obsessed updates on Facebook of you on a sun lounger, (as if anyone really cares)

 

That’s the bad thing about Facebook, I mean it was so dull in the past when people said ‘oh you must look at my holiday snaps. Yeah, like you were interested unless you were in them. Inside you’re thinking “I’d really rather look at pictures of naked women’ – but Facebook doesn’t give you the choice. There they are. Those annoying c**s taking pictures of themselves on a sun lounger with their feet dangling on the end. So i  took my picture of me on my sun lounger with my feet dangling on the end. Hypocrite? Mois? Absolutely.

 

Now most people who say when you go away ‘oh you are lucky, wish I was going’, but holidays are anything but stress free. I mean there are so many decisions to make. Beach or pool? Sun lounger on flat or raised – what’s the optimum angle? Trashy novel or weighty book? Run or rest? Shorts or budgie smugglers? I mean the list is endless. I should go to the beach, its holiday after all, but the pool is so close and easy. But that’s not adventurous. What will people think? It’s just so hard being on holiday.

 

Decided on the pool of course. Which is like a little theatre for free. All the characters are set. We are new additions, so are yet to be recognised in the ‘gang’ and pecking order.

 

The pool is an odd place, where people form their habits early, Bagging the same spot day in day out, marking their territory. There’s the Lebanese family, the women wrapped up, constantly feeding their chunky children, the sturdy Turkish bloke reading fitness mags and completely ignoring his little boy, the English foursome built as an eight some constantly topping up lagers from the bar, kids of course endlessly playing in the pool, such a treat when you’re young you never get bored of it. The Middle Eastern woman reading 50 shades of grey, Christ knows what’s going through her head, and then yours truly. Striding round the pool like a poor man’s Beckham in Speedos and no shame. I should be ashamed but I’m not. I mean I’m on me holidays.

 

The afternoon passed off wonderfully. I tanned up nicely, forming a constant sweat all day. Then I managed a late afternoon run around the resort and it is huge and classy and pretty, lots of nooks and crannies and not at all like you would expect of an all exclusive. Mostly populated by Lebanese and Russians. It is not a place to rock the boat.

 

I did some sprints in the basketball court, hit the gym for a mini session, and then we went to dinner at the Lyki restaurant again. The buffet is truly overwhelming, but I managed to follow my Paleo with loads of fish, meat and the most wonderful salads. That’s what I love about Turkey, the food here is fab.

 

Then I did what all parents have been used to doing for centuries, but is totaly new to me, I went to the ‘entertainment’ show for an hour, because the children love it, and sat through and hour of what constitutes as a poor man’s Crackerjack, in the amphitheatre. The best thing about it was the MC’s broken English when he said phrases like ‘and now for the children’s’ and ‘those Childs are very sweets’. It’s extremely endearing when English is spoken ever so slightly wrong. Still his English is far better than my Turkish, Russian, Palestinian and Lebanese, so I shouldn’t criticise.

 

Was in bed by midnight and soon in the land of the nod. Lurgy not quite gone and energy still a problem, but definitely getting better and day 2 without diet coke. 1^st time on months/years. Strange really as I haven’t had too many withdrawal symptoms, yet. Not even getting arrested by reception for losing my temper. Let’s hope that one doesn’t happen this week. Not a good look or example to a 10 year old that one.

 

Xx

Day 227 Mon 27th Aug - Off on hols and apparently i'm famous

Today is the day of the holiday. Flying off to Turkey for a week. My 6^th time in Turkey and the south coast is one of my favourite places. Gorgeous coastline, turquoise waters, great weather and endless grilled meat n veg. You can be sure of it. Everyone has thick taches, even the women. I love it.

I so love the whole holiday experience. Getting your local currency changed. Informing your bank and Mobile Phone Company. Buying toiletries and creams you probably won’t need, Packing tea bags in case they haven’t got the right ones. Trying to guess what clothes you need. ‘Shall I take a jumper? What if it’s chilly at night? The excitement, the preparation, as if you are leaving for a remote island that has no humanity. Forgetting it’s only Turkey for a week.

 

It reminds me of one of the first holidays i went on years ago with my 1st proper girlfriend. We went to marmaris on some dreadful cheap package deal. One couple were moaning how they didn't know how they would get through a whole week wothout KFC. "Will they have water? Do you think think they'll have TV?" were some of the questions the oversized travel rep had to contend with. No matter, we are going solo having booked it individually, so it should all be cool.

The only trouble is a 6am flight, which means leaving at 3am, which means 2 hours sleep, on top of my endless lurgy and chronic fatigue. Now I don’t operate very well on a little sleep and if you double it up with feeling rank that equals grumpy sod. Tolerance and patience are two commodities I rarely deal in & we are flying Monarch which in my experience is like Primark with wings, it will be a test.

 

Managed to get up at said time. Alarm at 2am is just wrong. Rounded up the girls, get the obvious too much luggage into the small car. Why do most women pack as if they are going away for a 3 month break? It was also nice to see the difference between men and women. My case was effectively like the inside of an Eton Mess, thrown together, the woman’s case was neatly prepared and organised. Nice.

The bonus at travelling that time of the night is no traffic; the downside is falling asleep at the wheel. You have to balance these things out.

Then there was the whole classic airport departure experience. I love it

I had warned my travel companions, who I’m sure won’t mind me saying have been used to a more luxurious style of travel and holidays of the Monarch experience and also of the room in the all inclusive place in Fetithyre. My plan was play down expectations.

 

So their expectations were of a sort of battery farm chicken pen of a journey and a hotel similar to that of a Syrian POW camp. It could only get better.

 

In a fit of untypical organisation I had pre booked the car park, which enabled me to do the man thing and struggle with 3 massive cases whilst the girls took the hand luggage. There was the queue for the long stay bus to the terminal but finally we got to the Monarch check in, which really was exactly the same as the queue for the till in Primark. Amazing.

 

The thing I love about Monarch is they give the option to purchase another 6 inches of leg room for £40. Now most guys would jump at the offer of another 6 inches, but for me I refused. It’s ludicrous.

 

I was fascinated by the travel fashion. It seems the brands of choice were Umbro & Lonsdale. Sports Direct must have done a roaring trade. There is the occasional couple who were over dressed; obviously feeling above the rest of the plankton on the plane, but for most it’s definitely ‘leisurewear’ as the outfit of choice. It’s rather like people dress in JD wetherspoons for an all day session.

 

Then, after check in and going through security, you are through to the Promised Land. The big playground of fun. Duty Free. Departure lounge. Oh my god it’s amazing. Here you’re holiday starts and all I want to do is buy loads of shit I don’t need, won’t use or wear but feel good getting it anyway.

 

Obviously you start with 200 snouts,then aftershave. do I need new sunglasses? How about a DVD box set? Got to get a massive Toblerone, new swimming trunks, let’s get some breakfast and a coffee. Magazines. I’ve only got 4 books; let’s get another 10 after all we are going for a week. Oh look All Saints, my favourite shop, some t-shirts; oh I like that leather jacket. I mean its ridiculous – all you’re shopping greed into 1 frenzied hour. You lose control of your senses. And of course you always end up nearly missing your flight.

 

Last ones on, always. It was just that final tour around WH Smith & large baqg of M&M's that did it.

 

Then the plane, luckily we had 3 seats in a row and it wasn’t too bad. I didn’t stay awake long enough to check out the food or TV as I immediately feel asleep. Usually I can’t kip on planes, but I passed out immediately, waking up an hour or two later with a stiff neck and drool hanging from my mouth. Attractive. Then every time I tried to read I drifted off.

 

I was pleased it was only 4 hours as I have done a 12 hour on Monarch. Usually you get to the 8 hour mark before you want to kill yourself. This one was extremely painless.

 

Get to Dalaman airport, Easy access, quick pick up, into waiting private transfer car (I was expecting the wagon coach to tour around all hotel before getting to ours so I was nicely surprised at this air-conditioned taxi)

 

Then after 1 hour of beautiful rolling mountains and coastline we got to the hotel, which was stunning, beautiful, sweet and really hot. Bonus!

 

I tried my best to charm the Russian receptionist, throwing out loads of lies that it’s birthdays, special occasions and I am a triathlete and need lots of room so can we have an upgrade please.

 

I was expecting the room to be like my Aunties’ from 1956, but it was actually really lovely, modern, big and clean. Get in; the final obstacle had been cleared. Everything was groovy.

 

Clearly my hours of research on Trip adviser had paid off. We had chosen well. Everything was cushty.All that was needed now was me to get well as I felt like shit warmed up.

 

The Day was spent lazing by the pool, eating at the buffet restaurant which was an experience, as there was so much food on offer, there were massive people dotted around the restaurant shovelling in food whilst blankly looking into the distance. It’s an overeater’s paradise or is that hell?

 

Still I’m going Paleo diet this week (caveman), perfect place for grilled meat, fish and veg. Fuck the carbs and sugar. I’m going to try and get healthy this week. Sick of feeling like shit. I’ve even gone 24 hours without diet coke so I’m aching everywhere. Mind you I’m still smoking like a trouper, even though I’ve got a sore throat and flu like symptoms. One thing at a time huh,

 

Crashed out at 5pm in bed, and then was spark asleep by 11pm. Wow what I riot I am. Outlasted by a 10 year old. Rock and roll. But today was a total triumph. I didn’t lose my temper. I didn’t criticise, I wasn’t awful to anyone. I didn’t get arrested, airport and hotel security were not needed to be called, and I just quietly got on with it, like a little lamb. A brave little soldier. Let’s hope I feel human tomorrow, as I’m desperate to get out and run on that coastline. It truly is stunning and I’m happy to be ‘on me holidays’

 

Oh and PS – I got so many messages from people today, as the Tesco mobile advert I filmed a few months ago came out and I was in it! Very funny people going ‘fuck me, is that Nick’. Well yes it was me, mincing about in red Speedos in Kew Gardens pretending to be an arrogant yoga teacher. I didn’t actually tell the film people I hadn’t done yoga for 6 months or that I was banned from Richmond studio for arguing with the owner, in class, but hey fuck it; at least I looked the part. I'd just like to state on record THEY gave me those budgie smugglers to wear in the advert, though i am actually a great big tart and love them.

 

It was so easy and funny that my 5 seconds of fame was on a Tesco advert. I just wish it was Waitrose, would have got more money, however at least it wasn’t Lidel. I would have been fucked then. Still everyone’s got to start somewhere. Who knows next year I may even be advertising David Beckham Pants in H&M.

 

xx

Day 226 - Sun 26th Aug - Summer Holidays

Tomorrow I'm off my summer holidays. Yes that's right folks the cock jocks, budgie smugglers, speedos are packed. flip flops are on, trashy novels stuffed in the bag and I'm ready for some serious sunburn in southern Turkey. Even a red eye 6am flight isn't stopping me looking forward to it.

It's been a pretty harsh year, lots going on. Lots of physical and mental strain. Alcoholism, family problems, my poor Nan's death, grief, job problems etc etc. I'm physically and mentally fucked so I can't wait.

I remember when i was a kid and summer holidays were just totally ace. All the summer special comics, going to me Nan's for a month on the train. Heading off to the coast. It was all so exciting.

I'm not sure i have the same level of enthusiasm as i had when i was a kid but I'm looking forward to it.

Going to Fetiyre, Southern Turkey with a dear friend and her 10 year old daughter, so i guess that makes me some kind of parental guardian, which is quite scary. But it does mean that i get to be a total norse for a week and play on water slides, bomb in pools, put on silly voices and generally be used as a climbing frame.

It's an all inclusive resort, so I'm looking forward to the endless buffets, constant entertainment and vast array of Brits sporting Lonsdale beachwear from Sports Direct.

My reading matter is Martin Amis', 'Money', Brad Wiggins biography and a book on mental illness and psychopath's which is apparently a comedy.

I haven't packed yet, even though we fly soon. I'm more of a chuck it in the suitcase kind of guy. Meticulously organised i am not. I have passport, tickets, cigarettes, running trainers, speedos, shorts and vest so I'm good to go. What else do you need?

The last holiday i went on was to Egypt last summer, when i contracted a nasty case of 'brown laser' which lasted for days. I think i ate nuclear waste or something. Hope it doesn't happen this time.

I shall of course be writing my daily blog, dressed in nothing but a pair of speedos and mosquito cream and am back on 3rd September. Day before my 40th, so it's all happening.

We fly with Monarch airlines, which makes EasyJet look like Business Class. It's the airline equivalent of Primark  crossed with JD Wetherspoons, thank god it's only a 4 hour flight.

I hope to get healthy and feel better when I'm back as I've been struggling mentally and physically over the past few weeks. Lets hope the hotel isn't from ITV's Holidays from Hell, it;s got decent write ups on Tripadvisor though those are probably all from the owners Brother in Law.

It never fails to amaze me the people who go to the trouble of writing on tripadvisor. 'had to wait 5 Min's at reception, the bedside plug socket didn't work' etc etc. WTF? Have these people got nothing better to do?

Anyway i look forward to writing my review on the site in 8 days time

aurevoir bloggers, have a tip top and tidy week

xx

Day 225 - Sat 25th August - X Factor, Paralympics and Leather Jackets

Woke feeling slightly chirpy. Checked my bed and Katerine Jenkins was nowhere to be seen. I was alone.

It's quite odd living alone. I like it on the whole, peaceful, but sometimes i admit i do get lonely. Trouble is as a 39 year old man, you get into habits that would drive a partner mad.

Things like staying up late, walking around in baggy pants & bringing transsexual hookers back. You know simple things. (I only do the former BTW)

A few things were on the menu today, but first i ran for 10k. At the moment i am suffering from some kind of chronic fatigue and it was a dragging style run. I was that slow i was overtaken by 3 OAP's, 2 snails and a crisp packet. Dire. The man cold has mutated into pneumonia so i coughed and spluttered my way around Richmond Park.

The run was generally unpleasant, but i bumped into a lovely pal for a good chat, then i was called 'Wolverine' by a small kid. It appears I've gone from Beckham to Wolverine in less than 24 hours. It would be nice to be recognised for being me rather than people saying 'you look like someone who's famous', which to me translates into 'you're a nobody'.

I then hit a painful meeting, helped a friend move house (or at least an unwelcome lodger out) and took her and her 10 year old daughter shopping.

Now there is a point in everyone's life that certain crucial moments are met. Rights of passage. Driving test, losing you're virginity, first girlfriend, things like that.

And today this little 10 year old girl was bought her 1st ever leather jacket. How cool. A groovy little biker jacket from H&M. Bargain and ultra cool. I was wearing mine (All Saints in case you're wondering, with a strange mix of skinny jeans and flip flops)

But we spotted it and had to get it for her, making one little girl very happy and ultra cool. Obviously it's not real leather but as a 'starter' jacket it does the job. Mazing. Everyone remembers their 1st leather jacket. Mine was when i was 13 and bought by my Mum from Turkey. A monstrous 80's brown leather flying jacket type copy which was truly horrific, but i thought was the nuts. Then again everything you wore in the 80's was awful.

The only problem with shopping in H&M at the moment is the huge posters of Beckham in his pants everywhere. No hint of Katherine and i had the 10 year old playing with my quiff saying 'if you do it like that you look just like him'. We left the shop soon after.

The other things that caught my eye today, in no particular order;

1 - Saw the Paralympic advert on C4 for 1st time. My god what a beauty. Superhumans. Proper inspirational. Yes in the past i have been guilty of not giving it any attention, thinking it was more of a PC thing, but having seen how hard they train in Richmond Park in wheelchairs (beats the shit out of me) - it's proper sport. They are every bit as good and as high performance as able bodied Olympians. They are elite sportspeople and even more heroic. Impressed.

2 - X Factor - I'll save the rant for another time but it depresses me. I've got no beef with the performers. Some of them are talented and I'm all for them. Good on them. But it's the whole fucking programme. The packaging, the banality, the mundane, the rampant commercialism. Emotional music to the lead up with the talented ones. Foster care blah blah blah. It makes me sick and depresses me even more it is the most popular programme on TV. Everything is so fucking bland today.

3 - I had an inappropriate hard on in a petrol station in a queue. Not good, especially in skinny jeans. It must have been the heavily tattooed 17 stone cashier. Can't remember her name on her badge but what with the darts shirt and gravel voice, she was well horny.

Anyway I'm off for a lie down. Clearly I'm sick. Not just physically either judging by my BP hard on experience.

x

Day 224 - Fri 24th Aug - Beckham Boom!

Thank god a piece of hard hitting social news has replaced the pics of Prince Harry getting his ginger little todger out. We can rest easy, real news is taking over now. Yes we are braced for days of massive coverage of.......Beckham bending it into Katherine Jenkins (apparently)

Although denied by Jenkins before anyone actually knew about it. She has publicly come out and said "i categorically deny this" - so everyone has gone, "fuck me i didn't know that. Guilty". Kind of backfired.

Cue pics of Posh looking glum, Jenkins and Becks Papped, endless debate, denials 'spokesman for....'. Oh god it's so fucking tedious.

So one of the most famous married men on the planet has allegedly 'had it off' with a less famous woman who happens to be Welsh Opera singer. Just happens everyday doesn't it?

I mean infidelity and affairs have been happening since the beginning of time. If it happens against you it is hurtful and devastating. If it happens to famous people. We're all over it. Loving it.

But Posh v Jenkins? Well you can't blame Beckham can you? I mean if you go on singing ability alone Jenkins pisses all over Posh. Then when it comes to smiling, well again Jenkins scores highly. Welshness and humanity is also in favour of the Jenkins as we rarely hear or see Posh smiling, talking, laughing. In fact it is debatable if she is actually real and human.

But lets not blow this out of all proportion, for the girls you will feel sorry for Posh. her husband has cheated on her and that's not groovy. But lets have this straight - if you build you're life into public property, create yourself as a brand, use that to launch all kind of products and use the fame game. Creating publicists and a machine of commercial and consumerism then fuck it, I've got zero sympathy.

I suspect alot of women Will not feel sorry for her either. Her identity is difficult to feel any kind of warmth or respect for. Is she a good female role model? A mother, a successful pop star,designer, wife. Rarely controversial or bad behaviour ed. Surely she must be a good role model. Well i guess if you like you're role models to be totally bland banal and 'cosmetic' then yes i suppose she is.

Having said all that, she is human, she must hurt, though i'm sure her publicist, manager, nutritionist, trainer, counsellor, PR, PA, cook, nanny, stylist, hairdresser, suregeon, beautician and celebrity friends will rally round her.

And what about him? He can fuck off too. Create a family man image and play on that, whilst in the background fucking his way around the world means he can have it too. I'm not going to morally judge him on cheating, Christ I've been there myself so cannot judge, but then again I've never promoted myself as a family man, a statesman. Or had a massively gay moustache or talk like an Essex girl.

His brand and PR people have created the Beckham brand of family man etc. That's fine but the old cliche of doing it behind closed doors comes out and he becomes no different from a politician. Still, he is so untouchable he could rape the Queen  live on BBC and still the public would say 'gosh isn't he good looking' (did i really say that? Christ George Galloway must be salivating)

Fill yer boots son but don't promote the family image whilst you're at it

Having said which, I've been called Beckham 4 times in the past 10 days. Weirdly by a load of builders the other day. Correct me if I'm wrong but aren't builders supposed to wolf whistle at fit women and hurl sexual innuendo at them. Clearly men have become far to metro sexual these days when builders shout 'oi you look like beckham' at blokes. Next thing they'll be shouting 'oi did you moisturize'. Wrong

I get the Beckham thing alot. It's quite bizarre because i look nothing like him. Yes I've got a wedge haircut and blond barnet but that's about where the resemblance ends, though i continually get it when I'm out and about. But please, readers trust me if i ever end up looking like this.........shoot me.

Shit, that's it, that's where I've been going wrong. Fuck the stationary and marketing, maybe i could be his body double and stand in? If i got a big pair of gay pants and needless tattos, I mean he's got to keep up the pretence that he loves Posh  and be a family man right? Someone's got to keep the Jenkins warm in his absence. Perfect. I mean we're both Welsh right?

I could keep her fascinated for hours with my tales of llanelli and how mobility scooters are on the rise. I could even prepare her my speciality. Tin of tuna with salad cream. Yeah, fuck it. Move over Beckham, the Evans is taking over now. I've just got to sign on first and I'll be right there #jobseekersallowancebeckham

xx

Day 233 - Thurs 23rd Aug - Gingerism and Popcorn up my Ass

So the world has gone bananas about Prince Harry playing strip billiards.

Pages and pages of editorial, pics, comment, phone ins, debate, Internet. blah blah blah zzzzzzzz

A privileged 26 year old goes on the piss to Vegas with loads of mates, stacks of cash and the most famous bachelor tag in the world. Errr and that's news?

So he got his ginger little cock out in a game of pool. Is that disgraceful?

The question is not why he got his cock out, but why the fuck was he playing pool. He's British, it should have been snooker man. That's Disgraceful.

We've all been there, playing naked pool whilst off our nuts at 4 in the morning. Try doing that and going straight into work on 2 blue microdots Prince Harry. I tell you it's hard to stock take whilst tripping your nuts off. "Blue Yorkies morphing into a wild American eagle...1,2,3 oh I've lost count. again."

It's a non story, though i think there is something more serious afoot. Clearly there is some kind of ginger conspiracy at play. 1st Greg Rutherford wins gold in the long jump, then Prince Harry does a Prince Albert in Vegas, Nicole Kidman gets her kit off in a photshoot. They;re everywhere. Taking over the airwaves. Gingers are making a play for world domination. What next Ron Howard for US President?

I've spotted it and I'm not having it. I mean don't get me wrong I'm not gingerist. Some of my best mates have got it, but I'm not up for them running the world. Sunbathing will be outlawed and freckles positively encouraged. We are living in dangerous times people.

Went to the cinema for first time in months today. God i love the movies. Large popcorn, half salty half sweet which i manage to polish off in the trailers. I seem to get it everywhere bar my mouth and managed to get one lodged in my arse crack. Made for an uncomfortable opening and looked like i was trying to give myself a prostrate massage. #embarrassing.

Saw the Bourne Legacy, or is it Identity or Ultimatium. Doesn't really matter does it? they're all a pile of shit. Enjoyable, don't get me wrong and i'm well into it, but ultimately totally pointless movie. A good way to spend 2 hours though, even if i did feel like i was sitting on anal beads with the popcorn everywhere. How does it get there? I mean it's not like i'm trying to plug it in my ass? I kinow i'm a filthy bastard but i draw the line at that. Movies are for kicking off your shoes, eating loads and making as much mess as possible. I love them

It does bring back an uncomfortable memory of my temper though. Around 2 years ago i was having an argument with my girl at the time in the cinema and as we were about to go into the film, in my opinion she became a massive pain in the ass. I got so angry i actually drop kicked the popcorn everywhere. I Caught it on the half volley covering the said stunned woman to a speechless silence. Along with around 15 people.

A slightly unconventional way to stop an argument, but successful non the less.

i spent the 1st 30 minutes of the movie sulking. Not so much in the argument but in the fact i had bugger all to munch on. I had to face the humilation of leaving the film to buy popcorn. No doubt the entire audience were thinking 'twat'. And they would have been quite right.

Clearly i have anger issues

xx

Day 232 - Weds 22nd Aug - Rape, Rape light and a little 'Rapey'

I'm still not feeling it bloggers. Life and this blog at the moment is about as popular to me as George Galloway to women's liberation.

What the fuck is George up to? I mean OK fair enough i think it's needed to have a fair and balanced view that Julian Assage may be pursued by Govt because of Wikileaks and to shut him up, but 2 rape allegations in Sweden and Big George is coming out to defend him? Come on George think man,

He even used the term 'insertion' in his Youtube rant. Claiming that Some Rape is not rape and that 'not everybody needs to be asked prior to insertion'. Fuck me George, what are you - creeping up behind people in your Nike Airs and sticking it in without them knowing?

I think there's a difference between knowing you're going to have sex together so you don't really need to ask permission in a way you ask if someone wants anything from the shops. 'I'm just nipping out to Tesco, want anything? Oh and when I'm back is it OK if i insert my penis in your vagina?' - George get real.

Rape is dodgy ground to write about and even do jokes about. Like anything if you are not informed and balanced then it just becomes plain offensive.

That is not to say jokes shouldn't be written about any subject. I personally believe nothing is off limits. It is a joke. It is not real, Jokes are the only real pure artfom. Nothing should be censored.

There are bad jokes that are just offensive and there are good jokes that are offensive but funny. There is a line.

Jimmy Carr's - "What do 9 out of 10 people enjoy? Gang Rape" - is actually a decent gag, unless of course you've been gang raped, then i wouldn't have thought any joke would be funny.

Bad stuff happens in the world. It is a big old horrible place sometimes. There is no sense to it. No order. No justice.

Some people get sick when they shouldn't. Some people die. Some people are bad and do horrible things. Good people get hurt. There is alot of pain and suffering in the world. Should there not be any jokes or fun at anything? What is life without humour? I tell you what it's a fucking nightmare. I should know as I've been about as funny as Ecuador's extradition laws over the past 2 weeks during my illness. Moody.

The cake for total moronic goes to Todd Akin, the Amercian senator, who in his infinite wisdom coined the term 'legitmate rape', rape that happens 'out of wedlock', when interviewed this week. Speaking on an abortion bill that saw women get assistance for abortion if they were subjected to a violent rape, rather than just 'normal rape',

Fucking hell, these people actually exist in our world. So apparently there is Rape. Rape light and a little 'rapey'. Surely rape is rape no matter what. You cannot be a bit pregnant, just like you cannot be a bit raped. These people are just plain fucking idiots.

Yes we can write how up in arms about it we are. I mean lets be honest, the whole PC culture means that we have to be. There is very little you can say now days against a subject that wouldn't upset people. We live in a morally straight jacketed age. You simply cannot question the populists. Rape, War, Murder. How many times does the media run with something and morally bash it to shit until we are burnt out with sympathy? Or how they jump on the back of someone that dares to go the other way,

I have met several women who have rape fantasies. Yes, I've said it. They do. The web is full of couples looking for bull's to fuck their missus in front of them. Women have had fantasies to be used and forcibly made to perform sexual acts for time. But they are generally fantasies and then they are acted out in a controlled environment, so the woman is effectively in control and creating that scenario.

That's a world away from actual legal rape, or as the knob head Amercian senator coined 'legitimate rape'. Balloonhead.

It's clear Galloway is making a political move for the Rapist vote. He was only verbalising what all rapists up and down the country were thinking. It's a strange move he;s made there, but at least he's committed.

I think there really is only one course of action needed for Gorgeous George. He clearly needs to be delivered to several willing guys, like precious meat and then fucked repeatedly, without him asking for 'inserion', tearing him a new arsehole. Lets see what he puts on You Tube then? I suspect his viewpoint may change a little from his current one. Harsh but fair George. He's have to deliver his speech standing up though.

The final thing i have to say on the subject and only thing i can add is on the subject of rape alarms. I used to work with a girl who was awful. Annoying, over interested in anything, clearly socially awkward so made up for it in being ultra loud and interested in your life and had the worst most annoying laugh in the world. A bit like the laugh equivalent of George Galloway. It was grim.

I think if that could be bottled and made into a rape alarm then there would be no more rapes in the world ever. Attackers would run a fucking mile.

Oh and just to minimize rape even more. Young kids have taken to using the word 'rape' to describe something that's bad. In my day things were either 'well skillful (good)' or 'well bad'. Now it seems things are either 'well sick (good)' or 'well rape' (bad)

See nothing is off limits anymore

x

Day 231 - Tuesday 21st August - And acceptance is the answer

"The worst loneliness is to not be comfortable with yourself.”

― Mark Twain

That is all

x

Day 230 - Monday 20th Aug - Help!

I'm not going to lie, not feeling it today bloggers.

I'm a little jaded and if I'm being honest a little bored of myself, the blog and trying to get more than 20 fucking people to read the sodding thing.

I'm having a crisis of confidence about it. I think it's shit now and people are reading it out of pity or fatigue.

It Maybe just the way my head is about it at the moment, but it's a slog.

I'm bored of trying to hash tag it on twitter. I'm bored of writing it in the same way, of not putting hyper fucking links on. Of creating an audience, Of marketing. Of PR. Of 'selling' it.

Isn't writing it in itself enough. Sometimes though when you spend 60-90 Min's on it then 23 people read it you think whats the point?

But then i remember i didn't do it for readership - i did it for me. It's a commitment to read every day too isn't it?. i mean it's a commitment to actually do anything everyday. I struggle. But still. It would be ace to get it out there more.

Am i placing too much on it?

Is it any good people - I'm having a Pendleton moment. Reassure me? Praise me? Give me comments, feedback. Tips. slate it. Anything.

Help!!!!

xx

Oh PS- topics coming back tonight for today's blog;

Deli counters - Since when did Deli counters become so fashionable? Used to be meat counters in my day, suddenly we've become all middle class and got deli's coming out of everywhere. Fucking artichokes in virgin olive oil, sun dried tomatoes, gourmet scotch eggs. Fuck that give me some Gala Pie and 1/2 pound of Haslet. Deli counters. They're like mini fucking farmers markets with glass. Pah

The other one was what drives Tony Scott to jump off a bridge and commit suicide. I'm not sure but the Evening Standard said a Toyota 4 x 4 SUV.

The final one was the death of Phyliss Diller. The original female comic. The trailblazer. 50 years ago she started on radio and inspired generations of female comics to get up and have a good go. Including Victoria Wood. She is to be saluted and 95is a ripe old age. The only thing i have to say about that age, is the picture of Sly Stallone's mum at 90. Words don't describe her. It;s just plain wrong, but it does kind of explain her son's relationship to plastic surgery and how he;s now looking like he's a Madame Tussuad's model who's been left near a radiator. We don't salute you Sly Stallone Mum. It puts me right off my supper from the deli counter.

Blurrgghhhhhhh - 90!!!!!! The world has gone insane. Triple Pah

xx

Day 229 - Sun 19th Aug - Internal dialougue and what is Action?

Day 2 of Heatwave. Day 7 of no Olympics. Day 2 of football season. Day 229 of this blog/year. Day 4036 of sobriety and Day 14,585 of my life.

Good stats huh?

You know the sad thing about the final stat is the amount of time i have spent of the 14,585 days on this planet in fear and negative inner dialogue.

Nobody can tell what goes on inside our heads, not even Darren Brown. Everyone has an inner voice. I don't know what other people's inner voices tell them,  But sometimes mine is so loud i am convinced other people can hear it.

Most of the time my inner voice is of the negative, low self esteem critical nature. It seems the voice latched onto to feelings of worthlessness and not good enough when i was young and have remained the loudest since then. It almost feels natural for it to be self critical.

As i have said before it's like having Alan Hansen inside my head.

Now today's blog is not going to be a moan or a 'poor me' rant. My god there are more important and worse things going on with people and the world than inner voices and low self esteem. But i am interested in how this dominates me and my life and how Action needs to be put in to conquer it.

I am pretty sick of living my life in fear. If I'm honest it has dominated everything. It is at the heart of every decision and pretty much fucks everything up. It;s not blind crippling fear. It's not like a fear of heights or spiders or wide open spaces. It;s not a phobia or a medical condition.

No it's a deep routed fear that lies deep down, undetected by most people but that pangs me every time i act on it.

It helps to know what fear is first.

a. A feeling of agitation and anxiety caused by the presence or imminence of danger.

b. A state or condition marked by this feeling: living in fear.

2. A feeling of disquiet or apprehension: a fear of looking foolish.

3. Extreme reverence or awe, as toward a supreme power.

4. A reason for dread or apprehension: Being alone is my greatest fear.

 

So if i have have dread, apprehension, agitation, anxiety. What am i actually frightened of?

 

Looking foolish. If not getting what i want. Of not being good enough. Of settling down. Of not fulfilling my potential.

 

There are so many fears. The biggest is not being cool. Of not being authentic. I know it's ludicrous, but i never wanted to be the kind of person that people walk across the street to avoid. The embarrassing person who is not 'cool'.

 

What is that? Why did i latch onto that at an early age? And what actually is cool? Surely you can aim higher than that as a human?

 

I became the person who stood by the side of the dance floor and took the piss out of the ones dancing, Happier to feel superior and critical on the outside laughing at the ones who were actually doing it.

 

I can carry this forward into my life as really i was jealous of the people dancing because they had no fear. I was too scared of dancing, of making myself look a tit, i was terrified so i would rather project an image and put on a mask to make myself look better, feel better and act superior, even though inside i knew the truth and felt inferior.

 

An ego maniac with an inferiority complex. Pretty much sums me up.

 

This pretty much carries onto to the rest of my life. Example on Thursday - Criticising Russel Brand for making his documentary about addiction. Thinking i was better than him from my sofa, whilst he does a documentary and sells out theatre tours doing his comedy and generally being an all round mega star. Hint of jealousy Nicholas? No wonder i degenerate my monthly comedy club in my head.

 

It is a mindset i really want to change in myself.

 

He has gone and done it whilst i have retained locked in head, too scared and lazy to try it. Could have, should have, would have. I could have been a contender Mamma!

 

And what exactly is there to be frightened about? What is actually the Worst that can happen? Why do i actually think deep down I'm not good enough? What actually IS good enough?

 

All of these messages deep down are ones that have been grooved over a long period of time. They aren't necessarily true. They are not necessarily real. So why listen to them. Why believe they are the TRUTH?

 

All my life i have lived in the shadow of the 2 main role models in my life. My father and my eldest brother. Both of which were heroes to me. Both of which i felt were superior intellectually, personality, funnier, more Welsh and generally my negative self image was of me as a mummies boy, the youngest of the 3 boys who wasn't quite up to their standard.

 

Both of them were maniac alcoholics. Both of which never showed love. Both of which buggered off at an early age. If I'm being honest this hurt me deeply, made me feel desperately sorry for myself and full of self pity which of course i buried and rarely show but always feel. It is like an Achilles heel.

 

And then starts the internal conflict - Pride in me says - "you are 40, don't be such a sniffling wimp to blame this on how you feel. Man up, grow a pair and get on with things". But on the other side, it is fact and if i accept that, recognise it, say OK, that is what i felt, how can you move on from that, then maybe it doesn't have to define me as a man now?

 

I have a difficult relationship with my eldest brother who bless him is not very well, and over the past few days has attempted to use my insecurities, my negative self image against me, and say hurtful things, trying to be superior and condescending and hurt me.

 

Now on a bad day, they really penetrates. They strike the Truth nerve.

 

You know that deep rooted inner feeling, where 99 people say that's really good, but one says that's shit - and you focus in on the one who says it's shit and believe them. What the fuck is that all about?

 

You know the one where you denigrate something that's good in your life? Where people say 'you are talented at x or y' but you are convinced they are only saying it to be nice to you.

 

Negative low self esteem. What a waste of time. What a disabler in life.

 

Now this can go on forever without anyone ever noticing. You can live an able life and everyone will be none the wiser. But you will. Deep down you will know the truth. I do.

 

How many relationships have i stayed in because I'm too scared to leave them? or because i don't think I'll get any better or because the thought of being on my own is too painful? Or even because i need that love, that need, that thought of being in the centre of someones mind?

 

And that's where unhealthy dependence upon other things to fill me up, make me feel better about myself comes in. That's where the line is crossed between normal every day life (which is hard for everyone lets be honest) and an addictive dependency personality comes in. Thats where the line is.

 

Now i have problems with being an enabler, people pleaser. I have been brought up by alcoholics and have spent my life trying to seek approval. It's a bit like trying to ask a politician to say the truth. I'm desperate for outside affirmation. If i don't feel good enough then please you tell me i'm good enough 50 times a day just so i feel normal.

 

I have been through all kind of 'issues', bulimia, using food, sex, women, love, relationships. companionship, exercise, alcohol, pornography, DVD box sets, Elvis,  pretty much anything to run away from my feelings, from me, from the uncomfortable reality of my inner dialogue.

 

None of it works of course. Some of it has been fun, some of it painful. But mostly all of it temporary.

 

But I'm now getting to the point where i don't want to avoid life anymore. Where i want to embrace it, not keep the rumblings in my mind secret and live at 50% of what i can.

 

It is restrictive. It is dishonest. It is disabling.It is tiring.

 

The only way to change it is in Action. Now what is action? Well it;'s actually doing something not talking about it. Something i have been mystified by for so long. i never realised change can only happen through action.

 

If i i feel shit today, it's because i drink too much diet coke, binged like a wanker on ice cream and didn't live right. Action today will be not drinking diet coke and putting good things in my body. Simple huh? Well sometimes it;s like a fucking mystery to me. For a reasonably intelligent man i'm likea total div sometimes.

 

If you delve deeper It is like self abuse really isn't it? I mean if you don't like yourself too much you don't exactly treat yourself well do you?

 

I am pretty hard on myself, critical, i tell myself awful things about me. Then i abuse myself by smoking loads, drinking fuck loads of diet coke, binging on sugary foods, staying up so late and not sleeping. The list can go on. That's why i love endurance sports and Ironman so i can put my body through punishment.

 

It's not like this all the time. Just sometimes.

 

When you write about it when you're feeling a certain way it can be like a snapshot of time. But it doesn't define how you are all the time. By 5pm i can be fine. By Tuesday i would have forgotten all about it by Friday it maybe back again. Rollercoaster.

 

So today, action is a doing word and just for today no more diet coke, no more lazing around. No more putting off. Action is in doing, Doing makes you feel better. Feeling better makes me happy. Happy makes me smile. Smiling makes others smile too. World is better place.

 

Easy! The only problem now Nicholas i doing it.

 

xx

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Day 228 - Sat 18th August - It's Hot!!!

Guess what? It's hot. Yes that's right it's sunny. The hottest day of the year, but what does that mean?

It can only mean 1 thing. The media will report it.

I've been disappointed all summer that the newspapers and TV haven't really been able to pull their standard summer cliched story out of the locker.

Front page - IT'S HOT!!!

Followed by a double page spread of stories of various towns around the country where the temperatures are hotter than Malaga or the Equator.

Cut to pictures of traffic jams, a packed beach, people eating ice creams in a deck chair, a bikini beauty in a fountain, some kids making a sandcastle.

They always do an image of a thermometer. A comparison with the Caribbean and Colchester and then a 3 day forecast saying - Heatwave!!!

there will be news reported of BBQ sales going up 20% and a spokesman from Tesco's or some dreadful supermarket saying sales of burgers and cider has hit the roof.

It was last headline news item on the main 10pm news. Just before the end story of a giant panda giving birth to twins.

That's right folks its silly season. Parliament is in recess for the summer, the Olympics is over so basically fuck all is reported other than the weather.

Can't wait until midwinter when headlines will change to - IT'S COLD!!!

My god, does it get more mundane?

An easy day for me today. Ran for an hour in the morning. Beautiful. Top off, listening to music, easy run by the Thames and into Richmond park. I was just thinking how peaceful and good i felt when i realised i lost my keys. Thank god for ramblers i say. I know I've hurled them a bit of abuse in the past, by 3 lovely women ended up finding my keys, so now, in my book, ramblers are fucking ace.

Spent rest of the day lolling around in rather too tight swimmers, sunning myself, making a stab at the world record for the world's sweatiest man. 1 hour run, kettle bell session, 45 minute cycle then lay in sun for 5 hours meant i was sweatier than George Michael at a 'Cottaging' rally.

Football season started today. It was 31 degrees. England were playing a Test Match at Lords, the smells of BBQ's were everywhere, i just wasn't ready for it. Call me old fashioned but i reckon it should start early September.

Having said that i kept an ear on the radio for the scores. The new season is a time for hope, expectation, can they do it? will it be our season? So many hopes, so exciting, will my team have a great season?

They lost 3-0.

Fucking football season, bring back ladies 65KG weightlifting. I'm missing my daily clean and snatch fix

xx

Day 227 - Fri 17th Aug - People who rarely swear sound great

Scorching day, summer is back...for a while.

After a week of feeling ropey and early nights I have a multiple boom. Lingering Man cold. Bad chest, teeth are hurting, post shits lethargy and candida. BINGO!

I can handle anyone of those on their own but bundle them together, add being a man and BOOM. It's Carnage.

It has bent my head out of shape. I feel crap, crabby, sorry for myself, not interested in anything and generally yuk. I can always tell I'm in trouble when i start thinking I'm worse off than people with locked in disease. My self pity knows no boundaries.

I soldiered on though, training my lovely client in the morning. Making a woman sweat gives me joy and i succeeded this morning in a non dodgy sexual way. Just with a kettle bell and a patch of grass. Success.

I then went out for my 1st run in over a week and despite wheezing like an asthmatic beagle, felt OK running in the sun to a bit of Elvis and sweating my knackers off. Chest hurt. lungs burnt. Time to look at smoking maybe?

Then it was an afternoon of listening to Test Match Cricket in the sun. The day was calm. The sun was out. Perfect recipe to relax and rest. There was only one problem. Me. A day spent inside ones own head is sometimes guaranteed to bring misery. Today was no different. It just wouldn't shut up. Radio Nick FM was loud and clear and boy was it busy.

Restless, irritable and discontent i think you can describe it as. Best get my arse to a meeting in the evening. The only thing that tends to cure it. It did.

There were the usual dramas with a member of my family who has a mental illness and alcoholism which resulted in me being threatened to be killed and my Mother receiving yet more abuse. Nice. Police were called and after a 24 hour search, the patient was found but all the rights were with them so case dropped. At least he was safe.

Apparently mentally ill patients have so many laws and human rights and the real sick ones abuse this knowing they cannot be touched. Mental Health care in the UK is appalling but that is for another day.

It did spark something good though.

My Mother is as straight as they come. Lovely, hard working, heartfelt and just a lovely Mum. I don't think anyone says a bad word against her. She is Mini Nan. An ace human being.

She rarely drinks, doesn't smoke, reads the Daily Mail, likes Enya, is hard working, loves to have fun and a chat & rarely uses bad language.

Me? I swear like a trooper but some people just don't do they? So after being terrorised for 20 odd years by this sick member of the family she had enough yesterday and was utterly drained and angry about the latest episode. I received a voicemail message updating me on the latest.

You know when you get a message that is serious but makes you laugh but it shouldn't make you laugh but does. It was one of those.

Without going into details the end of the message (and my Mum sounds like Ruth Madoch on the phone which made it even funnier) turned into a total tirade and rant with her letting off steam.

Now i don't know what it is about mothers but sometimes they leave you a 5 minute long voice message which makes you want to smash the phone up after 2 Min's, but this one was a beauty.

2 Min's of updating of news. 1 minute of saying how disappointed she was, then 30 seconds of glorious letting out of emotion and feelings in the words 'i am so fucking fucked off with this shit. He;s a fucking wanker and I've fucking well had enough of that fucking cunt".

Oh my god it was poetry. Keates, Wordsworth, Shakespeare, you can all fuck off, my Mother is taking over now. So out of character. This language pouring out of a classy mum had such profound effect it made me laugh loudly in the meat isle of Sainsburys. I was actually carrying Turkey Ham at the time. Don't get me wrong i like Turkey Ham, it makes me laugh, a combination of 2 meats that are so far apart from each other, you may aswell do pigeon dog, it's funny but not as much as someone who doesn't swear letting out a tyranny of abuse. Superb.

Swearing is great. It can be effective. Sure sometimes it is used too much and inappropriately, but a well timed delivery of swear words especially from someone unexpectedly is just wonderful.

Posh people saying 'cunt'.

Old people saying 'wanker'

Even my Nan used to drop the occasional 'pissed off' or 'shitty' into a sentence.

It just elevates the sentence to another level and you sit up and take note. Poetry man (said in Geordie accent)

Couldn't get to sleep as i was warmer than the Sun. Tossed and turned, then went to bed (boom boom) - it was steamy, close and humid. Perfect conditions for swing bowling but not sleeping. So i got up, thought about doing something constructive and instead logged onto to 'Czech Girls go crazy'.

Man i really must go to Prague

xx

Day 226 - Thurs 16th Aug - Alcoholism. The Reality.

This is a story about alcoholism. About the effects of it. About the end. About the pursuit of it into insanity and death. After watching Russell Brand's self obsessed documentary about Addiction on BBC3 tonight i thought it was apt to re-issue my blog i wrote about my father's death from alcoholism. It really is rather good people but fair play to the lad Brand for dealing with the issue of addiction, mine is delivered i think in a slightly less cunty fashion. Enjoy x

This is the story of my Fathers death  

Three years ago after Easter,  I received a call from my Cousin who I hadn’t spoken to, or seen since I was a kid. My father had 3 sisters and it was his eldest Sister’s son. He told me the news that my father had been found dead, in a flat in London. The welsh family were all old and infirmed and could I sort out the details.

I hadn’t seen my Father properly since I was 13. (I was 36) He had been lost to alcoholism since 1987. He had caused destruction and had resigned from normal life to a life a life of hostels, doss houses, streets & park benches. We never knew where he was. He was a full blown alcoholic.

I was stunned at first of course, shocked. I hadn’t thought about him for ages. Got used to not having a father. I remember weirdly Kenny Logan was in the office at the time and he gave me a hug. Then I called my Mum, brothers and girlfriend at the time. Elizabeth, who was amazing and a rock. Then I received a call from someone in AA who talked about themselves for a few minutes before asking me 1 – is it a good time to talk and 2- how am i? Talk about self obsession. They soon received the send off.

Then I started making the calls to the coroner. Trying to find out the facts and piece together his life. Basically he lived in a warden controlled flat. On welfare for years. He had apparently been in and out of hospital for years with liver failure and a host of other alcohol related problems. He had a hemorrhage in his sleep and was found dead after Easter, he had been laying dead, in his flat for a few days. Last seen before Easter, so i figured only a man as egotistical and grandiose as him, born on Christmas Day 1946, probably died on or around Good Friday. Only he could do that! Classic alcoholic.

The coroner was lovely stating that it would have been quick and he wouldn't have suffered. But he had been suffering for 27 years. They were holding the body and we had to make funeral arrangements. Jesus, I'd never prepared myself for that. Pun intended.

I had to go to & see where he lived and spoke to the warden of the flats, who put some pieces of the jigsaw together and it was then, that the real details of his alcoholic death were brought to life.

He lived in flat 3 of an old peoples block for 3 years, looking disheveled and tramp like most of the time. Leaving early to go and drink with his pals on Shepherd Bush Green and coming back late at night. He said he didn't have kids (even though he had 3 of us) and had effectively blocked out his past. (I don't blame him or am angry or hurt, it's just the pain of alcoholism - imagine normal people saying how can you do that? Too painful for him i guess so much easier to say you didn't have any)

So, i got the keys to his flat. I needed to see where he died. How he lived and get any details, papers and articles. The warden warned it wasn't nice. That he had been dead in bed for days. I was with my Mum and girlfriend. I wanted to go alone, but they insisted.

Nothing prepared us for that flat. A small place. We opened the door and the stench of death was overwhelming. The heating was on full blast, it was a mild Easter and it was just a horrible smell. Disgusting. On the left was the kitchen. Bare, no cutlery, plates or anything. Just an ironing board with a book on it. A Rebus book from Ealing hospital library and rather ironically a book on health. In the fridge was an old fish and chip dinner out of date by 5 weeks.

Then the living room. Bare. 1 chair. A guitar, Free newspapers. Hospital papers and that was it. Empty. soulless. No sign of human life. No pictures. No humanity. Sad.

The bathroom. Filthy. Covered in blood on walls and toilet. Like he had been throwing up blood for years. A horrid state,

And finally the worst room. The bedroom. A room that was an utter synopsis of the end of the road for an alcoholic. Fuck Tracey Emin's Bed installation. If i was to do one entitled alcoholism i would reproduce this room. It was horrifying, upsetting, shocking, sad. I was used to it through experience of alcoholics, but it hadn't prepared my girlfriend or Mum for it. They were upset and shaken. We all were. Who wouldn't be?

The stench was rancid. There was blood on the empty bed where he had died. There were clothes and knee deep rubbish all around the room. Empty bottles of vodka, cider and High strength lager strewn around. Blood spattered paperwork next to the bed, an umbrella open on bed. Just shit and devastation. Fuck me. It was just the most grizzly death place.

I had to look around for his wallet. So i found his trousers on floor. And this to me sums up alcoholism for those of you who don't understand it is a mental illness with a massive ego and self esteem divorced from reality.

He had a pair of chinos (shit stained) with a dressing gown cord as a belt and in the pocket of these trousers which signified someone who had given up, were 2 combs. 2 combs! Clearly he still thought he 'had it' even at the end. That is the delusion of alcoholism, and always makes me smile when i think about it. Alcoholism is tragic funny. You have to see the humour to feel the sadness. Only an alcoholic can look down on people from the gutter.

His wallet was a Freedom Travel pass and i found a cash card, money (fuck me can i have 25 years of child support back payments please?) a picture of him, which we didn't recognise, yet did at the same time. The arrogant menacing look and the nose broken and face ravaged with booze. Hard living.

Within the wallet i found a piece of paper with 2 names and numbers. The first a woman he was with for a while who left him to go to New Zealand, (they always need to leave the alcoholic in the end or it will destroy them)  and the other, my name 'Nicki (as he called me) Evans  and my number. I think that got me the most. Clearly it was numbers to contact in case someone found him. Like he knew his fate, Prepared for it. He carried me around with him throughout. Makes me cry. As i passed his flat so many times, i lived 2 miles away and i never knew he was there. I used to pass that flat for AA meetings.

I took in the scene. Said a prayer. Talked to him. We took some paperwork and left. We were all stunned. Went for a coffee and sat in stunned silence and shock and sadness. My girlfriend never knew or heard about him, but she was so sad to see someone end up like that. If someone who doesn't know alcoholism or know the person at all, felt a connection and sadness on seeing that - then it can have a profound effect on people's attitudes to alcoholism. My Mum was so upset as she married this charismatic man, full of life and fun and stature. She had 3 children with him, she went through years of horrific alcoholism with him, yet for her to see his final years like this was massively upsetting for her. Tragic. It left a print in time on all of our minds.

And for me? I don't know. He was my father. My hero. I looked up to him, Sought his approval. I was his son. I was upset of course, But i guess 10 years in AA, helping lots of newcomers or low bottom drunks, going to hostels etc - made me sort of used to what i had seen. I was also there to do a job, get my father buried with dignity and organise the details. I was shocked but i think i had better preparation than E and Ma. Having said that, it still shook the fuck out of me. Though if I'm being honest i had buried emotions years ago & i still suffer from it.

A little on the emotionless side. And i was struggling with this conflict. I saw the sadness for all alcoholics and i felt the personal pain of losing my father like this.

So those were the circumstances. A few things that stuck in my mind. The warden said my Dad was funny and joking that he discovered Charlotte Church. I emailed her management team and they had never heard of Mike Evans. I'm not sure she frequented Shepherds Bush Green much, though i admire his Grandiosity.

The other was my brother  organising the funeral directors and getting a discount deal. Great businessman, his Dad, a born bullshitting salesman would have been proud.

I want to put what i said at his funeral. 8 of us were there. Mortlake Crematorium. No-one from post 1987. Another example of how alcoholism robs you of life. A vivid example. It was a long slow suicide. A living death. A textbook case of alcoholism. The long slow suicide.

Here are the words i wrote and said at the funeral as we got him cremated to the sound of Welsh Male Voice Choir singing Abide with Me, and also the Theme Tune to Minder, signifying The last time we were together as a family. A happy nostalgic memory before the alcoholism took over.

 Here are the words i shall end this blog with. And if anyone is struggling to accept alcoholism as a disease read on. If anyone wonders why I'm a passionate supporter of AA read on. If anyone wonders why i believe David Michael Evans to be a powerful example in death then read on. He is an inspiration for me. The reason i do marathons for Action on Addiction and want sobriety and want to do great things. I don't want a long lonely alcoholic death. Sometimes i don't feel good enough. Don't know what it is to be man. But in this time i felt a man

Here it is;. I knew what to do. I felt God. I felt compelled. I felt at peace. Here are the words from the funeral. Thank you for reading ;

David Michael Evans – 1944 – 2009 – My Father.

My memories of my father are slightly faded. I last saw him when his Grandaughter was born 18 years ago in 1991, I was 18 myself. I think that is why i have felt so warm and protective of my neice. He was dressed all in green, though I don’’t think you could call him the green goddess. I saw him for 20 minutes. Before that, I last saw him when I was 14 years old.

It seems strange talking about my father – when all my memories I have of him are as a kid. The builders bum, the endless mutterings, the dodgy DIY, the stash of adult mags, the Farah's, the B&H, the Ford Granada's, the beard, the accent, the size of him, the nose, the eyes, the stare.

He was a big man, both in size and character. He was funny – swore like a trooper, was terrible at DIY and heavily skidded his pants. But I used to draw the line at his corned beef hash and marrow fat peas.

He reminded me of a cross between a Welsh Jack Regan from the Sweeney, all cheap nylon suits and Celtic charisma.

But then there was the drinking, Secret. Progressively worse. Violent. Horrible. Scary. He was my Dad and I loved him but we lost him to the booze. King alcohol. John Barleycorn himself took him.

My brothers and i went to visit him in the Salvation Army to plead with him to sort himself out, to stop drinking, to be our Dad again. He couldn’t and didn’t – he was ill. I remember feeling so sorry for him and so sad that it was tragic – and now years later that is the overriding feeling I have now. Sad and tragic .

Then my thoughts of my father were as a boy – But Now I am a man, and I still feel that hurt today, it's just duller. To see his last few years and how he lived makes me sad. All that talent, all that love. Such a shame. That is the tragedy of alcoholism. A wasted life.

He missed so much in that last 20 years. His son’s growing up, his granddaughters. His Sisters, 4 Welsh grand slams, my 1^st comedy gig, my London marathons and all the little life events that make it so special to share with the ones you love.

In many ways he was a stranger, a distant Dad over the past 25 years. But he was my dad, our Dad. And in his sad death he becomes alive in us all – his family and friends.

Death is sad. A loss, however it can do good things – and that can happen out of his death. It has reconnected us with him, with our past, it has put him back with the ones who loved him. Today we are here, together to honour, to remember, to pay our respects even when you didn’t know you had any to give. To complete the circle. To close it.

He is an example. An ambassador for alcoholism like millions more who have fallen or will fall just like him. It ripples out and affects so many. But in his death can come life. Of recovery. Of sobriety. Of a reason to live.

He was ill, he was lost, he was alone and now he isn’t. He is here – with us, with his family and friends - he is going home, to Llanelli, to Wales to be at peace.

So Dad, it has come full circle, all the things that we didn’t get the chance to say then – we can say now. I forgive you, We forgive you, I love you, We love you - you are my Dad and you will always be so in my heart, in my head and in my life. Stay with us Dad this time and never let go – you are missed even if you never thought you were – We never stopped loving you.

The pain is over for you. It is time to let go. To find peace – we are reunited and I hope and pray that we all pause for 1 moment to think of a good memory of David Michael Evans & all the fallen soldiers of alcoholism (or whoever you miss or have lost and loved) , a funny moment that will make you smile……Mine is him trying to fix a bulb with his arse crack showing, getting it wrong and shouting 'fucking arseholes' repeatedly.

I love you Dad. Goodbye – May God love you forever and Rest in peace now and for fucks sake ask the good lord upstairs for an orange juice and leave the Tenants alone

 

xx

 

For more information contact www.actiononaddiction.org or email me at itsevo@hotmail.com for a natter if you have similar experiences.