I appear to have woken up with someone Else's head. I went to bed feeling pretty peaceful, calm and serene. Then I woke up in a world of pain.
Fear, worry, sense of impending doom ,anxiety, fatigue. Jack-fucking-pot. What the hell happened in the night? Was i visited by a mad scientist who performed a frontal lobotomy? I was a different person. Sadly the old me and one I have become depressingly familiar throughout my life emerged in the morning. My magic monkey mind was in full play mode.
It didn't help that the dreaded candida is back, so physically I felt pretty rough. Resulting this had a knock on effect to my mental state.
I have banged on far too much this year about it, so I will spare boring the arse off you again. Suffice to say that today felt like walking through quicksand whilst carrying a large sack of rocks whilst having several people hurl abuse in my ear. Radio shit Nick FM was playing loudly on loop all day.
Even the simplest tasks were a drama. Making a call. Doing an email. The whole 'can't be arsed' thing was loud and far too clear.
So what did I do to make myself feel better? I isolated of course. All day long. I spoke to absolutely no-one and shut myself away getting more miserable by the hour. What a pointless weird exercise. If I know something will make myself feel shit why do do it? Am i addicted to misery and self pity? It's a familiar place to bathe in and sometimes I submerge. Knobhead.
At heart I know I should be doing certain things, living life in a better way, treating people better and it gnaws away at me until I combust. I have no-one else to blame but myself. i am my own worst enemy.
I didn't want to write this blog, as i also get an attack of sad and pathetic man syndrome. Here is what my head was saying to me;
"What a pointless pathetic dull little blog you're writing Nick . As if anyone is interested. You're a joke. Pack it in. You're spouting all this shit about sharing and caring blah blah blah and look at what you're doing. You're the ultimate hypocrite egotistical arrogant twat. Sitting in your ivory tower talking shit and not living what you preach. You're a preacher. You're a talker not a walker. You're a lonely pathetic sad womanising flirt. Desperately craving attention why else would you write such an open blog? How sad are you that you need to put things out so publicly. Nauseating. Do you need attention Nick? Is it because you're not good enough? You have to resort to writing about your dull life and chasing people to 'like' your piece. How desperate. Twat."
I swear to god that was what the monkey was chattering away all day. Nice huh. That is what I contend with quite alot of the time and if I don't treat people right. If I know I'm not doing the right thing it gets louder and I get more withdrawn. The depressing thing is that there is an element of truth to some of it.
I thought long and hard about cancelling the blog. I wanted to get rid of it today. I thought I need to get my head down and get on with things. Stop uploading stuff so publicly like a puppy looking for a pat on the head. In all honesty I was embarrassed by my candour and my preaching how to live, how to pray, how to share. I made myself cringe with what I have been talking about. I hated the blog and me. The worst kind of 'do as I say not as i do'. It hung heavy on me today.
However, I made this commitment through sickness and health to write every day through good times and bad. I am terrible at perspective. Things are never quite as bad as I make them out to be, nor quite as good. I'm just in a dodgy head space. No dramas. Lots of people are going through worse and dealing with it but this little drama queen spat out his dummy today and sulked at himself about himself all day long.
Time to see how the rest of the world are doing me thinks Nicholas before you disappear up your own arsehole. But before I do that I must eat a Wispa bar, box of biscuits, a Caramac and some more biscuits. It's bound to make me feel much better in the morning that. Double twat
xx
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Day 289 - Monday 29th Oct - Trinity Road & The Human Condition
I was struggling for a subject today. The day passed in a kind of detached drift. Don't get me wrong I did actually do things. Dentist, Killer 400 m sprints in the park, some work, cycle, phoned people. Yet I felt a little detached from the world. Then I went to Trinity Road, my Home meeting at night and it all changed round.
I'm not really supposed to talk about the fellowship I attend. After all it is anonymous. One of the traditions is 'attraction rather than promotion', so it's not really for me to bang the drum. There are more non alcoholics than alcoholics in the world and there is nothing worse than someone banging on about how marvelous recovery is etc. Blah blah blah. It puts people right off. Everyone has problems and sometimes it is galling for people to hear addicts or alcoholics try to claim all the problems in their life for themselves. Bare with me here, there is a point to this. Trust me.
I arrived at the meeting with my head racing in fear, worry, anxiety, detachment and generally iffy 'meism'. Probably because I spent all day on my own in my own head. Maybe I was suffering a post Mans retreat hangover (Thanks for all the lovely feedback about the weekend's blogs by the way)
I got the customary warm welcome reserved for Trinity Road and sat down and for the next 90 minutes listened to genuine people share their experience and desire to change. It made me realise how utterly fortunate I am to have a place to come where it seems to wash my brain and churn me out the other side a reasonably normal and balanced person. It really is Nurofen for my soul. It makes me connect, I understand what people are saying and it gives me hope and inspiration. Makes me feel really good inside.
Trouble is it seems to wear off by the time I get home and then it's back to me again. For 90 minutes I totally forgot about myself, my fear about comedy on Thursday, my worries on work, money, family. All i did was listen and identify. Such a relief.
It made me think about recent conversations with people who suffer from depression or who are having relationship, money, work, family or health problems. Humans struggle. Everyone has problems to some lesser or greater degree. It's called Life and sometimes it's a bastard. There is so much suffering in the world. In people I know.
Most people struggle on their own. Getting by the best they can. Some people I speak to are in trouble but they seem to pull themselves up by their bootstraps and keep going. I have such admiration for them.
Tonight I realised how lucky I am. For the first time I felt a peace and calm come over me. I felt grateful and I'm going to sound like one of those wankers I used to hear ages ago and want to machine gun. I'm going to use a phrase I hate but tonight I felt 'right sized'. There said it. Yuk, can't believe I did. It's like therapy speak, but I genuinely felt OK. Not too big, not too small. Not rich, skint really but I felt OK inside. I was calm and I liked it.
Most people do not have groups or people in the same position. Life is uncompromising, scary and difficult sometimes. I personally think it's more difficult when you plough on alone, not sharing, telling or seeking help. I've seen members of my own family do it and they are blind to it, blaming everything else and wondering why life treats them shit. It's painful to watch someone too proud, too stubborn and too independent seek help and just give in the fight a little. It causes me pain but there is nothing I can do.
My crusade in this blog has been in encouraging people to be honest with themselves and open up. If nothing else I hope some people who have read it throughout the year will understand the underlying theme, I cannot help anyone and it would be egotistical to claim my writing is serious or like some kind of prophecy.
But it is serious about asking, pleading, imploring people to stop suffering in silence. They say that pride kills. I agree. It just does it slowly and silently. Why should we have all the answers? Why should we know what to do? Why feel the need to fix it yourself. This only creates barriers to relationships and the world and keeps people in everlasting sickness. A deep sickness of the soul that only very few people can detect. But it's there. I have no doubts.
I look at people who seem to sail through life and think, "How the f***k did you do that?" Maybe they really are very good at life or don't think about it. Maybe they are bluffing or maybe they'll get a shit storm in the next life.
One things for sure. You bottle it up readers and there's going to be tears before bedtime. Keep sharing and caring. I'm just lucky I have a place to heal my messy head. I know many have nowhere. Now that is a truly lonely place to be. Risk it. Take the plunge. Open up to someone and give it to them straight. It may change your life.
Not a funny blog today but it was on mind tonight. Seems like the human condition is a little more serious then I first thought
xx
I'm not really supposed to talk about the fellowship I attend. After all it is anonymous. One of the traditions is 'attraction rather than promotion', so it's not really for me to bang the drum. There are more non alcoholics than alcoholics in the world and there is nothing worse than someone banging on about how marvelous recovery is etc. Blah blah blah. It puts people right off. Everyone has problems and sometimes it is galling for people to hear addicts or alcoholics try to claim all the problems in their life for themselves. Bare with me here, there is a point to this. Trust me.
I arrived at the meeting with my head racing in fear, worry, anxiety, detachment and generally iffy 'meism'. Probably because I spent all day on my own in my own head. Maybe I was suffering a post Mans retreat hangover (Thanks for all the lovely feedback about the weekend's blogs by the way)
I got the customary warm welcome reserved for Trinity Road and sat down and for the next 90 minutes listened to genuine people share their experience and desire to change. It made me realise how utterly fortunate I am to have a place to come where it seems to wash my brain and churn me out the other side a reasonably normal and balanced person. It really is Nurofen for my soul. It makes me connect, I understand what people are saying and it gives me hope and inspiration. Makes me feel really good inside.
Trouble is it seems to wear off by the time I get home and then it's back to me again. For 90 minutes I totally forgot about myself, my fear about comedy on Thursday, my worries on work, money, family. All i did was listen and identify. Such a relief.
It made me think about recent conversations with people who suffer from depression or who are having relationship, money, work, family or health problems. Humans struggle. Everyone has problems to some lesser or greater degree. It's called Life and sometimes it's a bastard. There is so much suffering in the world. In people I know.
Most people struggle on their own. Getting by the best they can. Some people I speak to are in trouble but they seem to pull themselves up by their bootstraps and keep going. I have such admiration for them.
Tonight I realised how lucky I am. For the first time I felt a peace and calm come over me. I felt grateful and I'm going to sound like one of those wankers I used to hear ages ago and want to machine gun. I'm going to use a phrase I hate but tonight I felt 'right sized'. There said it. Yuk, can't believe I did. It's like therapy speak, but I genuinely felt OK. Not too big, not too small. Not rich, skint really but I felt OK inside. I was calm and I liked it.
Most people do not have groups or people in the same position. Life is uncompromising, scary and difficult sometimes. I personally think it's more difficult when you plough on alone, not sharing, telling or seeking help. I've seen members of my own family do it and they are blind to it, blaming everything else and wondering why life treats them shit. It's painful to watch someone too proud, too stubborn and too independent seek help and just give in the fight a little. It causes me pain but there is nothing I can do.
My crusade in this blog has been in encouraging people to be honest with themselves and open up. If nothing else I hope some people who have read it throughout the year will understand the underlying theme, I cannot help anyone and it would be egotistical to claim my writing is serious or like some kind of prophecy.
But it is serious about asking, pleading, imploring people to stop suffering in silence. They say that pride kills. I agree. It just does it slowly and silently. Why should we have all the answers? Why should we know what to do? Why feel the need to fix it yourself. This only creates barriers to relationships and the world and keeps people in everlasting sickness. A deep sickness of the soul that only very few people can detect. But it's there. I have no doubts.
I look at people who seem to sail through life and think, "How the f***k did you do that?" Maybe they really are very good at life or don't think about it. Maybe they are bluffing or maybe they'll get a shit storm in the next life.
One things for sure. You bottle it up readers and there's going to be tears before bedtime. Keep sharing and caring. I'm just lucky I have a place to heal my messy head. I know many have nowhere. Now that is a truly lonely place to be. Risk it. Take the plunge. Open up to someone and give it to them straight. It may change your life.
Not a funny blog today but it was on mind tonight. Seems like the human condition is a little more serious then I first thought
xx
Monday, October 29, 2012
Day 288 - Sun 28th October - Man Retreat Sunday - What do Men talk about when they're together
The last day of 'Man Retreat'. I like the concept. It's like 'Fight Club'. A society for men to be part of. To recharge, take a break, be with other men. Reclaim lost youth. Cry over missed opportunities, talk inane nonsense and generally be hairy and naked together. Once you cross the caravan line you adhere to all rules of Man Retreat. It could be a thriving business if only I didn't suffer from such chronic procrastination and could be arsed.
This Man Retreat was testing the water and in all honesty a well earned and needed break for married man. What goes on Man Retreat Stays on Man retreat, though really sod all happened. You can add all kinds of strains of Man Retreat. Depression, addiction, relationships, career, hopes and dreams. You could introduce workshops like 'how to change spark plugs'. If like me you get to 40 and have no idea, it goes to the heart of your masculinity.
What is Mans Retreat? Well at 40 we are 5 years away from the mid life crisis where you buy a motor bike, clothes that are too young for you and generally lose it for a little while. Also my pals are now married with young children so their lives are very different than before. Modern man has little in the way of release, expression of emotion and Man time. This is the whole concept of mans retreat. To reconnect and to reaffirm, talk and feel connected with other men again. Sometimes there are things you just cannot discuss with your woman and other men/good friends is a place to air it. It is good to share. Mans retreat follows the same basic code of all other forms of therapy. Sharing, identification and cooked breakfasts.
Trouble is, it's impossible to do it all in a weekend. You arrive late Friday night, Saturday is relaxing and doing nothing and then it's time to leave on Sunday. Lessons to be learnt from Man retreat is that another 2 or 3 days are needed, although you may need to revisit accommodation. The Van this morning smelt like a Rugby changing room. There is little relaxing about the odour. Three Large men in a confined 2 bedroom caravan is recipe for disaster. Although I love my friends dearly Man needs space sometimes.
The clocks went back overnight. This meant another valuable hour of watching 'DIY Power Tool special' and more sleep. It also signifies the beginning of winter. Always a stark time of the year and also makes you wonder 'Why put clocks back and foward'? Whats the point? Now you have to wait 6 months for the clock in your car to tell the right time again. Pointless.
After taking 2 hours to write my blog I went out for a run along the Pembrokshire coast. This is where I'm at my happiest. It is my favourite scenery in the world. I truly love it. I urge anyone to go. The space, the landscape, the rocks, the cliffs, the horizon, the beach, the whole coastline is healing. I saw 30 fishermen, 2 winkle pickers (workers not shoes), cockle pickers and numerous locals walking. It is a special place. If I had a little money i would definitely get a little caravan or place down here to retreat for rest, thinking and peaceful time. It has healing properties.
Then after the final mans retreat breakfast of sausage sandwiches the married boys were effectively summoned home. Not specifically of course, just the subtle innocent question wives say 'so what time are you home, the kids are missing you'. This effectively is code for 'Don't you dare go to the pub and watch football all afternoon and have Sunday lunch and then get back at 11pm'. We left soon after.
It is one of the age old questions women ask. What did you do? What do men talk about? Similarly for men wondering what women talk about when they get together. Personally i imagine you girls talk about shoes, bags, sex, relationships, children, men, feelings, emotions, ridiculous male cum faces and Jason Statham. Am I right girls?
For men it's different. It depends who you are spending time with of course. Generally men don't really talk. We don't like chatting on the phone. There needs to be a purpose to the conversation and it has to be brief. When men are together they are masters of banter, taking the piss and talking about nothing. Hours can go by without anything meaningful and this is just the way they like it.
But when you hang with recovery men, this all changes. Then it is easier to be open and honest about inner thoughts, feelings ,fears and worries. In no particular order these were the subjects covered during the journey back. Kids, Marriage, sex life, depression, meetings, god, Premier league football, 4-4-2 or 3-5-2 formation, getting drunk in the old days, personality, the problem with you is....... , skodas, blogging, writing, business ideas.
So there you have it readers. I can't really disclose too much about what was spoken as that is personal to other people, suffice to say that what pleased me most about man Retreat was that there was some kind of purpose and success to it from the journey in terms of identification and helping a mate along the way. We talked out a number of really personal issues and were all able to make good suggestions. It was out in the open and a good means of communication. We even did that instead of listening to Liverpool v Everton on the radio so that tells you something about the level were were operating on.
Obviously it was great to spend time with old friends, I am very fortunate to have such good people in my life. It was great to reconnect with South West Wales and memories from childhood. It was lovely to see such wide open space, smell fresh sea air and enjoy simple pleasures. But most of all it felt good for Man Retreat to help just a teeny bit, a kick start to a better way of life. To throw away the layers of suppression and doing it solo, to open up and share.
The ultimate courage from Man Retreat is for Man to dare to be vulnerable. Now that requires tremendous strength and to all you girls reading it is probably one of the things that terrifies men more than anything else. Though we're dammed if we'd admit it to you.
We got back to Burges and his kids gave him a huge daddy welcome (touching moment) and I hung around for a while having a cup of tea, sitting with his kids whilst they ate tea. I even got to feed the 8 month old boy who spent most of his time throwing it away. Then the 18 month year old who is being potty trained peed all over the floor after telling me she caught her finger in the door and likes green cheese and the 3 year old spent most of the time trying to get spinach and ricotta pasta around her mouth rather than in it.
It was my cue to leave.
I am happy for my friends. They have lovely children, Life partners. A home. A life they are sharing. A family. Their perspective has changed. They have responsibilities which I see is a heavy burden sometimes but one I hugely admire.
I know that we are really on this planet to procreate. To nurture and grow. To pass on our experience. To be there. To be solid. I like the concept of marriage. Of sharing. Of building a life together. Of being there for someone through good times and bad. Of love. Of Live. I'm on board with that one.
Just not quite yet.
Man Retreat closes. I liked it & I love my friends
xx
This Man Retreat was testing the water and in all honesty a well earned and needed break for married man. What goes on Man Retreat Stays on Man retreat, though really sod all happened. You can add all kinds of strains of Man Retreat. Depression, addiction, relationships, career, hopes and dreams. You could introduce workshops like 'how to change spark plugs'. If like me you get to 40 and have no idea, it goes to the heart of your masculinity.
What is Mans Retreat? Well at 40 we are 5 years away from the mid life crisis where you buy a motor bike, clothes that are too young for you and generally lose it for a little while. Also my pals are now married with young children so their lives are very different than before. Modern man has little in the way of release, expression of emotion and Man time. This is the whole concept of mans retreat. To reconnect and to reaffirm, talk and feel connected with other men again. Sometimes there are things you just cannot discuss with your woman and other men/good friends is a place to air it. It is good to share. Mans retreat follows the same basic code of all other forms of therapy. Sharing, identification and cooked breakfasts.
It's for man to think and mediate whilst looking out to sea;
Or Just to act like you're 12 years old again
Trouble is, it's impossible to do it all in a weekend. You arrive late Friday night, Saturday is relaxing and doing nothing and then it's time to leave on Sunday. Lessons to be learnt from Man retreat is that another 2 or 3 days are needed, although you may need to revisit accommodation. The Van this morning smelt like a Rugby changing room. There is little relaxing about the odour. Three Large men in a confined 2 bedroom caravan is recipe for disaster. Although I love my friends dearly Man needs space sometimes.
The clocks went back overnight. This meant another valuable hour of watching 'DIY Power Tool special' and more sleep. It also signifies the beginning of winter. Always a stark time of the year and also makes you wonder 'Why put clocks back and foward'? Whats the point? Now you have to wait 6 months for the clock in your car to tell the right time again. Pointless.
After taking 2 hours to write my blog I went out for a run along the Pembrokshire coast. This is where I'm at my happiest. It is my favourite scenery in the world. I truly love it. I urge anyone to go. The space, the landscape, the rocks, the cliffs, the horizon, the beach, the whole coastline is healing. I saw 30 fishermen, 2 winkle pickers (workers not shoes), cockle pickers and numerous locals walking. It is a special place. If I had a little money i would definitely get a little caravan or place down here to retreat for rest, thinking and peaceful time. It has healing properties.
Then after the final mans retreat breakfast of sausage sandwiches the married boys were effectively summoned home. Not specifically of course, just the subtle innocent question wives say 'so what time are you home, the kids are missing you'. This effectively is code for 'Don't you dare go to the pub and watch football all afternoon and have Sunday lunch and then get back at 11pm'. We left soon after.
It is one of the age old questions women ask. What did you do? What do men talk about? Similarly for men wondering what women talk about when they get together. Personally i imagine you girls talk about shoes, bags, sex, relationships, children, men, feelings, emotions, ridiculous male cum faces and Jason Statham. Am I right girls?
For men it's different. It depends who you are spending time with of course. Generally men don't really talk. We don't like chatting on the phone. There needs to be a purpose to the conversation and it has to be brief. When men are together they are masters of banter, taking the piss and talking about nothing. Hours can go by without anything meaningful and this is just the way they like it.
But when you hang with recovery men, this all changes. Then it is easier to be open and honest about inner thoughts, feelings ,fears and worries. In no particular order these were the subjects covered during the journey back. Kids, Marriage, sex life, depression, meetings, god, Premier league football, 4-4-2 or 3-5-2 formation, getting drunk in the old days, personality, the problem with you is....... , skodas, blogging, writing, business ideas.
So there you have it readers. I can't really disclose too much about what was spoken as that is personal to other people, suffice to say that what pleased me most about man Retreat was that there was some kind of purpose and success to it from the journey in terms of identification and helping a mate along the way. We talked out a number of really personal issues and were all able to make good suggestions. It was out in the open and a good means of communication. We even did that instead of listening to Liverpool v Everton on the radio so that tells you something about the level were were operating on.
Obviously it was great to spend time with old friends, I am very fortunate to have such good people in my life. It was great to reconnect with South West Wales and memories from childhood. It was lovely to see such wide open space, smell fresh sea air and enjoy simple pleasures. But most of all it felt good for Man Retreat to help just a teeny bit, a kick start to a better way of life. To throw away the layers of suppression and doing it solo, to open up and share.
The ultimate courage from Man Retreat is for Man to dare to be vulnerable. Now that requires tremendous strength and to all you girls reading it is probably one of the things that terrifies men more than anything else. Though we're dammed if we'd admit it to you.
We got back to Burges and his kids gave him a huge daddy welcome (touching moment) and I hung around for a while having a cup of tea, sitting with his kids whilst they ate tea. I even got to feed the 8 month old boy who spent most of his time throwing it away. Then the 18 month year old who is being potty trained peed all over the floor after telling me she caught her finger in the door and likes green cheese and the 3 year old spent most of the time trying to get spinach and ricotta pasta around her mouth rather than in it.
It was my cue to leave.
I am happy for my friends. They have lovely children, Life partners. A home. A life they are sharing. A family. Their perspective has changed. They have responsibilities which I see is a heavy burden sometimes but one I hugely admire.
I know that we are really on this planet to procreate. To nurture and grow. To pass on our experience. To be there. To be solid. I like the concept of marriage. Of sharing. Of building a life together. Of being there for someone through good times and bad. Of love. Of Live. I'm on board with that one.
Just not quite yet.
Man Retreat closes. I liked it & I love my friends
xx
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Day 287 - Sat 27th Oct - Fishing, football and feelings
Mans Retreat Saturday
Mans retreat Saturday is the guts of the retreat. The engine room. It has to start off with a lie in. Especially in your cramped caravan bed with your legs hanging over the end. The night must be interrupted by intermittent waking up due to hypothermia in the freezing conditions. Double socks are a must.
A lie in is essential for fathers on Mans retreat. It is a rare treat and one to be savoured. Not having young children climbing all over you at 6.30am is essential to reclaim your masculinity.
Dress Code
1st rule of Mans retreat Saturday is dress code. Eclectic mix of pants, outwear and boots is essential for outside smoking, visits to shower block and on site shop along with hanging in the 'lounge' area of caravan. **Please note lounge area just an area of the van not a separate room **
Mans retreat Saturday is the guts of the retreat. The engine room. It has to start off with a lie in. Especially in your cramped caravan bed with your legs hanging over the end. The night must be interrupted by intermittent waking up due to hypothermia in the freezing conditions. Double socks are a must.
A lie in is essential for fathers on Mans retreat. It is a rare treat and one to be savoured. Not having young children climbing all over you at 6.30am is essential to reclaim your masculinity.
Dress Code
1st rule of Mans retreat Saturday is dress code. Eclectic mix of pants, outwear and boots is essential for outside smoking, visits to shower block and on site shop along with hanging in the 'lounge' area of caravan. **Please note lounge area just an area of the van not a separate room **
Training Regime
Exercise is important on Mans Retreat. To keep physically fit helps to balance the undoubted eating of shit throughout the weekend. A run along the Pembrokhire coast is not only good for the guilt but the gut. This is most likely to be indulged by single men on Mans Retreat. Married ones with children opt for lie in over a run 9 times out of 10. Married mens training regime includes downtime and this downtime is spent on men's retreat horizontally and asleep.
Nature & Reconnect with Childhood
Mans Retreat encourages Man to visit places he went in childhood to reconnect with being a youngster and recall positive memories from the past. I did this morning during my run. Reminded me of when I was young and we would walk from Wisemans Bridge into Saundersfoot. Me, my Mum, My brother and the dog, Buffy. The famous 4. It made me appreciate how much she did for us when the alcoholic husband and father had gone berserk and left a trail of destruction. She held it together and gave us holidays like this. My admiration is total the older I get. mans retreat encourages man to see things from woman's and mothers perspective and to add a little gratitude.
Mans retreat also encourages Man to get out on the beach and take in the stunning scenery and nature to get a sense of perspective and space. Pembrokshire has some of the most stunning scenery in the world.
Breakfast
Mans retreat shuns healthy breakfasts like yogurt in favour of full cooked breakfast. Man is encouraged to go out into the wild (well the local Spar) and hunt, gather and forage his own food, or put them on his credit card. Eggs, Bacon, Sausage, beans, mushrooms & bread. Man must cook his own breakfast, reclaiming his Independence in unhealthy fried cooking and then sit in a cramped kitchenette and squeeze himself into the caravan 'social zone' to eat at a table and indulge in Man conversation. Topics such as 'Whats on TV?' and 'Who's playing football today' are covered thoroughly. Endless tea is drunk eschewing all modern advice to hydrate with water. Mans retreat encourages you to get into double figures by midday. Mans retreat rules include getting every Saturday paper to lazily flick through including Tabloids which include headlines such as "I took coke up my bum by Rod Stewart" - Perfect fodder for Man over breakfast.
Itinerary
It is crucial for Mans Retreat not to have any plans or itinerary throughout the day. The day must include essentially nothing. Pressures and responsibilities of every day life mean that Mans Retreat provides a healing balance to this by asking you to do absolutely nothing apart form drift along the day. Mans retreat encourages sitting around in the cramped caravan after breakfast in your pants, reading papers until one or all of you starts getting on each others tits & annoyed. It is THEN time to go out.
Afternoon
Mans retreat encourages a walk along the beach looking at rockpools discussing the new Testament, God and tadpoles. It also encourages scrambling across rocks looking for crabs. Reclaiming childhood memories once again. Mans retreat then encourages all 3 to walk to a small seaside town (Saundersfoot) & visit an amusement arcade. Once you get over the feelings over slight awkwardness, especially in modern Jimmy Saville times, when 3 grown men walking around an amusement arcade full of teenagers could arise suspicion. Mans retreat should consider Official badges, so people are in full knowledge why grown man is there.
It is crucial for grown man to squeeze themselves into various driving games and test each other, pumping endless £1 coins into the machine to drive quickly and sharpen their competitive skills. Esteem is retained through winning and enough money is wasted to give man enough wins to fill up the male pride and esteem so badly reduced during everyday life. This is a crucial part of Mans retreat and also looks hilarious from behind to see a grown man on a tiny driving game.
In order to counter balance this and get back to more humble and simple times man needs to hang out by the harbour and take in the simple environment. Eating shellfish in plastic tubs with heavy doses of vinegar is important and a traditional British seaside experience. Luckily Clive's Seafood Bar was open and ready for business.
Cockles, Muscles & Whelks - Guess who's who?
Then to help man reconnect with true life, childhood and simpler times before Wii, X Box, social media, Facebook, man needs to fish. To go fishing in the harbour with lines bought for £1.20 in the £1.20 shop. A competition is set as to which bait will prove most popular. Whelks, Muscles or Cockles. Then man sits on harbour wall in freezing cold, slowly losing the feeling in his hands and feet dangling a line into the harbour in the vain hope of catching a crab. It is a refreshing way for modern man to catch crabs in a way that is somewhat healthier than the more traditional way in the City.
Unfortunately on this retreat none of the 3 men caught anything apart from a cold. The other unfortunate thing is that we ate all our bait.
To warm up, man needed to go to local small pub covered in Halloween decorations and advertising 'Hugh Evans Halloween Disco tonight' to warm up in front of a real log fire and then discuss other man topics such as women, relationships, sex and something that is always risky on a mans retreat, 'feelings'. Fishing always does that and helps man loosen up. Though 3 or 4 pints of Brains Bitter also has this effect.
The afternoon is then brought to a close by the mandatory purchase of a team lottery ticket. After all ye olde South Wales is one of the luckiest places in the world and Man Plan B for success lies solely on an enormous win.
Birthday
One of the men on this Mans retreat celebrated his 39 birthday in the week, though modern man with children gets shunted down the order in terms of fuss or attention. Receiving gifts like a stapler. Modern man's friends also rarely remember their birthday making them feel more isolated, forgotten and miserable. Mans retreat is therefore important in finding a small welsh cake shop with a plump welsh Mum, say it's his birthday and get her to make a little bit of Welsh fuss & attention. The purchase of Welsh Cakes, Rock cakes, Cheese scones & Victoria sandwich with birthday candle is crucial along with a flashing 'party animal' badge and 'Birthday boy' to make Man feel semi human and spoilt again.
Birthday boy and as Mans retreat notes how utterly tired Man with young children looks.
Evening & Diet
By the evening on Mans retreat, a long walk, noshing on seafood, fishing and the energy expelled in the arcade means that Men are knackered. Even man without kids is exhausted and the plans to go out for a curry, ACDC tribute band or Sands Nightclub are rejected in favour of not moving from our respective positions. Burge assumed the laying down on sofa position, Cooper the feet up on stool and I was relegated to laying on the floor. Ironic really seeing as that was the position i remember my father assuming for the last few years before he buggered off. It all comes full circle. Hopefully i won't descend into heavy alcoholism and shit my pants regularly like him.
Diet is crucial on mans retreat. Fruit and vegetables are banned. Therefore the only Saturday evening choice is fish and chips. This is bolstered with Scampi fries, making your fingers smell rather suspicious, bacon fries, Dime Bars, snickers, whelks and cockles. This of course makes staying in a small confined caravan for a number of hours extremely volatile and smelly. Men's Retreat encourages breaking wind as a means of men letting it all out. It is one of the ethos of Mans retreat Not to hold anything back and relax. So much so There is a severe danger of man shitting himself mid gust. Burge suffered a scare during 'The Sweeney' but luckily it was a false alarm.
The evening was spent watching 2 movies. A coming of age comedy and a sports film and then Men fall asleep to 'The Big Match Revisited- A replay of the 1979 League Cup Final Between Notts Forest and Southampton. Perfect men's retreat viewing.
All in all it was a classic Men's Retreat day. Go out, do nothing, come back talk about doing something and end up doing nothing. Big plans, Big talk but little delivery. A classic mans trait and one we promote heavily on Mans Retreat
Evans
xx
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Day 286 - Fri 26th Oct - Three Man and a Caravan
On The Road......to Wisemans Bridge
The day of the road trip. It conjured up images of Jack Kerouac On the Road, Alan Ginsberg, the beat poets, road trips, where man finds himself. We're off to a static caravan in south west Wales.
For us It is where three 40 year old men venture to ye olde Welshy Wales for a spa retreat in a static caravan. It is where Wisemans Bridge, Saundersfoot, South Wales will restore 2 jaded 40 year old fathers and 1 jaded 40 year old narcissist back to former glories. Where they will reconnect with being a man in 10 square metres of beige trimming. The air fresheners are packed. We are ready to rock and Sausage roll. I wanted an Ipad for my birthday but got Burge and Cooper instead.
They are my best pals. We have known each other for 17 years. We work well as a three. Cooper is technically the funniest. Burge a great gag man and me, well I'm somewhere in between. Like the hermaphrodite of the group. We make each other laugh about absolutely nothing, used to live together and havent' spent time together in years. We all have our 'issues' and insecurities and aren't afraid to show them. Refreshing qualities in men I find. Cooper has been married for 6 years and has 2 young kids. Burge for a similar amount of time and has 3 young uns. They've been placed on weekend release for my 40th birthday for us to spend time together, though I suspect they will just want to sleep and do nothing all weekend. We shall see.
We met at Burges at 1pm. I received a call at 12.30pm instructing me to stop and bring bacon rolls. I was told if I didn't to turn back round and fuck off home. The banter had begun. I like this 40th birthday present. It's Unique. I get to pay for the accommodation, drive and bring breakfast. Can't wait for my 50th.
When we got to Burge's we discussed 2 things;
1 - His new sofa. Expensive but small and uncomfortable. He was fretting if he'd spent too much money and if it was suitable. Me and Coops were sympathetic and decided to put his mind at ease by telling him it was too expensive, too small, too uncomfortable and made his kitchen look like a waiting room. Not sure we helped.
2 - Who should drive. I wanted to so I could smoke and be in control. Burge wanted to because he likes a purpose and has an estate car. Cooper wanted to just to go against us. We took a democratic vote. I voted for myself. Burge voted for himself and Cooper abstained. After Burge agreed I could smoke out of the window. He became the designated driver, which was ironic as he's the only one who can drink. Superb.
It was 246 miles, 4 hours and included a 12 pack of diet coke, 4 apples, Monster Munch, Skips, Discos, a packet of chocolate eclairs for the travel sweet of choice and a vast range of conversation topics including Jimmy Saville, family life, the old days, mid life crisis, when a snooze (under 30 mins) becomes a nap (under 1 hour) becomes a kip (over an hour), Lance Arsmstrong, transsexuals and an argument about racism.
I was losing the argument badly with Burge and Cooper ahead on points. They were ganging up on me & I was in danger of getting into a strop & storming off when I pulled a beauty out of the bag, changing the whole nature of my point and equalising in injury time. They thought they had won but we all know deep down the honours were even. It felt good.
We stopped at a grim services at Cardiff Gate, noting the hotel we would end our life in if it came to that. Comfort Inn. (For American readers it is a hotel equivalent of terminal cancer) We also tried to purchase a scotch egg each and was horrified that Ginsters have fucked with the formula and created a new 'Scotch Egg Bar'. A fucking disgrace.
It's like X factor covering an old classic. They've bastardised something that has been working well for 100's of years and made it into an easier to eat modern version. It's a fucking disgrace and Ginsters need answering for that. C*nts. How dare they. And it was £2.35. Robbing C*nts. (sorry misplaced anger against something that doesn't really matter in the scheme of things but I see as a metaphor of trying to convenience and package everything these days)
We finally arrived at our destination at 7.30pm. It was pitch black, bible black (for all you Dylan Thomas fans) got the keys to our static caravan. The Golden Rio Tide Reach 1. I've been to Rio and this place certainly didn't remind me of it.
In we walked and you immediately got the classic static caravan smell. It was great. A haven of beige. All mod cons and heating. A real treat and such a memory jogger as a kid. I was here with my Mum 26 years ago. We used to come down every summer and now I'm here 26 years later and equally as excited. Does that make me a sad man?
We nested (Put bacon and eggs in the Fridge and silk cut on the table) hung out, laughed. The married boys said how nice it was to have some down time for the first time in 5 years and not have to be so alert and constantly 'on' with the kids. I looked at them in horror, 5 f****g years? We settled into just being blokes for the evening. I think our preparation could have been better though. Cooper bought some loo roll (well 12 sheets so we may struggle in the morning) I bought a towel between us and Burge a sleeping bag. Ray Mears we are not.
It was 9pm and Men were hungry so we drove into nearby Tenby for a meal. I haven't been down here for years and my experience of South Wales is Llanelli. Working class. Cheap and funny. Tenby is 'Posh' Wales. Cornwall of Wales. A pretty seaside town. To give you an idea of how posh it is even the 'Everything for a pound' shops take into consideration VAT and inflation
The day of the road trip. It conjured up images of Jack Kerouac On the Road, Alan Ginsberg, the beat poets, road trips, where man finds himself. We're off to a static caravan in south west Wales.
For us It is where three 40 year old men venture to ye olde Welshy Wales for a spa retreat in a static caravan. It is where Wisemans Bridge, Saundersfoot, South Wales will restore 2 jaded 40 year old fathers and 1 jaded 40 year old narcissist back to former glories. Where they will reconnect with being a man in 10 square metres of beige trimming. The air fresheners are packed. We are ready to rock and Sausage roll. I wanted an Ipad for my birthday but got Burge and Cooper instead.
They are my best pals. We have known each other for 17 years. We work well as a three. Cooper is technically the funniest. Burge a great gag man and me, well I'm somewhere in between. Like the hermaphrodite of the group. We make each other laugh about absolutely nothing, used to live together and havent' spent time together in years. We all have our 'issues' and insecurities and aren't afraid to show them. Refreshing qualities in men I find. Cooper has been married for 6 years and has 2 young kids. Burge for a similar amount of time and has 3 young uns. They've been placed on weekend release for my 40th birthday for us to spend time together, though I suspect they will just want to sleep and do nothing all weekend. We shall see.
We met at Burges at 1pm. I received a call at 12.30pm instructing me to stop and bring bacon rolls. I was told if I didn't to turn back round and fuck off home. The banter had begun. I like this 40th birthday present. It's Unique. I get to pay for the accommodation, drive and bring breakfast. Can't wait for my 50th.
When we got to Burge's we discussed 2 things;
1 - His new sofa. Expensive but small and uncomfortable. He was fretting if he'd spent too much money and if it was suitable. Me and Coops were sympathetic and decided to put his mind at ease by telling him it was too expensive, too small, too uncomfortable and made his kitchen look like a waiting room. Not sure we helped.
2 - Who should drive. I wanted to so I could smoke and be in control. Burge wanted to because he likes a purpose and has an estate car. Cooper wanted to just to go against us. We took a democratic vote. I voted for myself. Burge voted for himself and Cooper abstained. After Burge agreed I could smoke out of the window. He became the designated driver, which was ironic as he's the only one who can drink. Superb.
It was 246 miles, 4 hours and included a 12 pack of diet coke, 4 apples, Monster Munch, Skips, Discos, a packet of chocolate eclairs for the travel sweet of choice and a vast range of conversation topics including Jimmy Saville, family life, the old days, mid life crisis, when a snooze (under 30 mins) becomes a nap (under 1 hour) becomes a kip (over an hour), Lance Arsmstrong, transsexuals and an argument about racism.
I was losing the argument badly with Burge and Cooper ahead on points. They were ganging up on me & I was in danger of getting into a strop & storming off when I pulled a beauty out of the bag, changing the whole nature of my point and equalising in injury time. They thought they had won but we all know deep down the honours were even. It felt good.
We stopped at a grim services at Cardiff Gate, noting the hotel we would end our life in if it came to that. Comfort Inn. (For American readers it is a hotel equivalent of terminal cancer) We also tried to purchase a scotch egg each and was horrified that Ginsters have fucked with the formula and created a new 'Scotch Egg Bar'. A fucking disgrace.
It's like X factor covering an old classic. They've bastardised something that has been working well for 100's of years and made it into an easier to eat modern version. It's a fucking disgrace and Ginsters need answering for that. C*nts. How dare they. And it was £2.35. Robbing C*nts. (sorry misplaced anger against something that doesn't really matter in the scheme of things but I see as a metaphor of trying to convenience and package everything these days)
We finally arrived at our destination at 7.30pm. It was pitch black, bible black (for all you Dylan Thomas fans) got the keys to our static caravan. The Golden Rio Tide Reach 1. I've been to Rio and this place certainly didn't remind me of it.
In we walked and you immediately got the classic static caravan smell. It was great. A haven of beige. All mod cons and heating. A real treat and such a memory jogger as a kid. I was here with my Mum 26 years ago. We used to come down every summer and now I'm here 26 years later and equally as excited. Does that make me a sad man?
Burge in Beige
We nested (Put bacon and eggs in the Fridge and silk cut on the table) hung out, laughed. The married boys said how nice it was to have some down time for the first time in 5 years and not have to be so alert and constantly 'on' with the kids. I looked at them in horror, 5 f****g years? We settled into just being blokes for the evening. I think our preparation could have been better though. Cooper bought some loo roll (well 12 sheets so we may struggle in the morning) I bought a towel between us and Burge a sleeping bag. Ray Mears we are not.
It was 9pm and Men were hungry so we drove into nearby Tenby for a meal. I haven't been down here for years and my experience of South Wales is Llanelli. Working class. Cheap and funny. Tenby is 'Posh' Wales. Cornwall of Wales. A pretty seaside town. To give you an idea of how posh it is even the 'Everything for a pound' shops take into consideration VAT and inflation
(For USA readers we have cheapo shops called 'everything for a pound' in the UK and VAT is 20% - Looks like they've factored everything into the equation in Tenby)
We searched for a place to eat, rejecting the curry house and decided Friday night is Fish night, we saw a cute pub called the Pentagion down a little alleyway with a massive chalkboard outside saying 'FRESH FISH'. In we went.
It was a peculiar place, all stonework and candlelight. It was a proper expensive fish restaurant. Not like the South Wales I'm used to. Nothing was breaded, fried or included a dollop sperm like sauce. It was the sort of place you'd take your bird to. Perfect for 3 lads with a Tesco carrier bag full of loo roll and Tenants Extra (for Burge not me I hasten to add, I'm not planning on a secret relapse this weekend. Even if I was it certainly wouldn't be on Tenants Extra)
The owner sat us down and then immediately set the world record name dropping record. He has been manager for 38 years and Jimmy Carter, Reiph Fiennes, Richard Harris, Peter O'Toole, Christian Slater have all eaten here. When we looked non plussed he continued. Even when walking away, desperate to impress us he said 'Colin Jackson' over his shoulder. Let it go man. 6 Names in 2 minutes. Impressive. Now he can add Burge, Cooper and Evans to that list.
From an over friendly manager who wouldn't leave us alone to an under friendly waiter who looked like lurch and hardly spoke or smiled at all. This was a peculiar place. I couldn't believe the prices. £25 for a main course! It wasn't the Wales I was used to. I want Charlotte Church to be serving me Halibut and Tom Jones singing in the corner for that money.
The food came out and it was delicious, lovingly prepared, stylish and fresh. We loved it. Though the manager kept on coming up to us and insisting on us seeing his 40 foot working chimney. He mentioned it 6 times, even interrupting us in mid conversation. 'Would you shut the fuck up about your fucking chimney. It may work on all those famous American visitors but we're not fucking interested'. We thought. But actually said, 'yes we'd love too but after we've eaten'.
I think he was sad, like Swiss Tony. He looked on the edge. Like if you asked him if he was OK he would collapse in tears. Maybe I'll go back tomorrow. His Chimney is important. We'll go after eating. Like an Aunt you don't want to visit but know it will make their day.
We copped a quick glance of said chimney on the way out. Just to appease him. I'm not going to lie I don't know a whole lot about chimneys and haven't really seen that many. This one was very tall and you could go inside and look up but if you really want me to make a judgment on it. It's shit and certainly not worth being pestered 5 times about it. I've seen better. Though we didn't tell the manager that, any criticism may well result in his depression coming back and induce suicide in the Comfort Inn Cardiff Gate. We smiled sweetly and said 'Lovely chimney'. I wonder if Jimmy Carter & Christian Slater had to do the same.
Back to the Static we went and stayed up in our pants laughing, joking & breaking wind. It was Men's Retreat after all. The alkies tried to get the drinker vicariously drunk but he wasn't playing ball and we hit the hay at around 3am. I bagsied the living room because it had a fire, reasoning it was my birthday and I'm the latest to bed and earliest to rise (morning glory). Cooper got the double bedroom and Burge was left with the small room with single beds.
What I love about the caravan is that when someone is in another room it shakes like it's got Parkinson's or a small earthquake. Plus the walls are as thick as paper so you can hear everything. The married boys were genuinely excited at the prospect of a lie in. Their last words to me before saying goodnight were, 'don't get married and have children. Night'. Food for thought indeed.
A great start to the Mens Retreat.
xx
Friday, October 26, 2012
Day 285 - Thurs 25th Oct - All nighter & Mens Static Caravan Retreat
Spent today in sleep deprivation. I got back at 8am this morning and decided to plough on with the day. I hate going to bed in the daytime. I feel like I'm missing out, so i decided to carry on.
It did remind me of the old days. You know when you viewed staying up all night as an achievement. How fucked up is that? You actually placed value and pride on depriving your body of sleep and staying awake partying. The buzz of dawn and seeing light. The birds singing and then the ultimate thrill? Seeing people go to work as you remained off your head. The nervous walk to the office licence at 8am in order to get your provisions to get through the day. "12 cans of red stripe, a yorkie bar , 20 Marlboro reds and a packet of Rizlas please". Breakfast of Kings.
Perhaps that is why there is such an unemployment problem with 16-21 year olds in this country. When you go for an interview or apply for a job and they ask, "What are your greatest achievements?" and you reply, "Staying up all night". Enough said.
I remember those days. You thought you would remain that way and age forever. The whole world was a big laugh without any cares & your whole life stretched out in front of you. Then I became a sales executive. Where did it all go wrong? Sometimes I wonder to myself, 'How did those days go by so quickly?' Why did I piss about so much? Why did i never listen. What is it about humans that when they get between the ages of 16 and 21 you turn into some kind of tosser and never listen, always know best and usually make the worst decisions in the world. Right of passage I guess.
They say look at the past don't stare. I genuinely prefer who I am now to the person I was back then, though I had proper good fun. All of us were in the same boat. We were all young and liked getting on it. The best feeling was when you were with your mates, you'd got 3 pints inside of you and whole evening, day stretched out in front of you. It was the feeling of conviviality or companionship of safety of fun and with all your friends together you never wanted it to end. I liked those times. I like having good friends you banter and click with.
As you get older and everyone (else) seems to grow up. To get serious jobs, careers, wives, mortgages, kids or alcohol dependency issues those times change. Friendships change. You don't spend much time together and you have to turn into a 'grown up', which is hard. There is no rule book. Most people to me look like they do it seamlessly. But I know under the surface people find it hard. We haven't got all the answers and we are all doing the best we can.
It is a shame though as to some extent your fiends know you the best. Obviously your family Know and love you so well. They're front row in the wedding, but your friends know you really well. Your devil side, your social side, your naughty side. And friendships are important. They are your blue print and DNA of your life. A life without friends is a lonely joyless existence.
I am lucky I have many old friends I have known for a long time. What If you move to a new area, to a new place, get divorced? What if you lose your friends, making new ones in London is difficult. You cannot build up a history in a week. You need friendships to mature and grow. You need proper people around you, not mentalist shallow people but genuine people who you click with. You only really need 2 or 3 good ones. Particularly ones who don't judge you. These are the best.
I rarely see my pals anymore as they are all busy having kids and families. Obviously I'm not part of that scene (yet) and thus our lives are different. I do miss Man time with my old mates though. When the banter just flows and you can shed all layers and be yourself. Sometimes being an adult is too serious. Sometimes responsibility is hard to keep up. Obviously I've avoided it all my life so I'm OK but I see my friends and I admire them, though selfishly I think, 'I wish i could win the lottery so I could get you Nannies and we could hang out more'.
So with this in mind, for my 40th birthday present. My 2 oldest mates gave me a rather unique present. They gave me themselves for the weekend. They had secured time off for good behaviour from their wives and kids for a Man weekend. We were to go away to a static caravan somewhere in South Wales and do a road trip, just the 3 of us. That day is tomorrow and I can't wait.
For any readers who don't know what a static caravan is, effectively it's exactly like your house but much smaller and placed on a holiday park near the seaside. Brits love all home comforts and a static caravan is anything but comfortable. chemical khazi, tiny beds and cramped living enviroment that makers arguments so easy, but there is something so classic, so British about them.I love them.
We are going to where i used to go as a kid. Wisemans Bridge Caravan Park, Saundersfoot, South Wales. To a 3 bedroom static caravan, Tide Reach 1, for a Mans weekend of bonding and being a man. It's our 40 year old road trip and I love it. That's our home for the weekend above.
Static caravans are awesome. British seaside towns out of season are superb, South Wales is just class and hilarious so I'm really looking forward to it.
We are using it as a Welsh Men's Retreat for burnt out 40 year old to get their masculinity back after emasculation of modern life. Kids, families, Boy Bands and exfoliation creams. Metro sexual man has ruined us. We need out identity back. Men have lost their way and a static caravan is a perfect place to reclaim it. We can sit in our pants, leave scotch egg crumbs all down our fronts. we can leave things laying around, we can sit with other men in silence and not talk about anything at all. We can be men.
We can use one of the rooms as a chill out room. A chance for man to go and watch endless repeats of sport from the 80's to reclaim that spirit of youth. We can chant into the howling wind on the seafront and look out to sea and ponder some of Mans greatest questions like 'Who scored the own goal in the 1987 FA cup final' and the meaning of life and stuff.
South Wales is wonderful and it will be fun and I am looking forward to it so much. 2 recovering alkies and a depressive in an out of season welsh static caravan park at 40 years old. Sounds like a sit com to me
xx
It did remind me of the old days. You know when you viewed staying up all night as an achievement. How fucked up is that? You actually placed value and pride on depriving your body of sleep and staying awake partying. The buzz of dawn and seeing light. The birds singing and then the ultimate thrill? Seeing people go to work as you remained off your head. The nervous walk to the office licence at 8am in order to get your provisions to get through the day. "12 cans of red stripe, a yorkie bar , 20 Marlboro reds and a packet of Rizlas please". Breakfast of Kings.
Perhaps that is why there is such an unemployment problem with 16-21 year olds in this country. When you go for an interview or apply for a job and they ask, "What are your greatest achievements?" and you reply, "Staying up all night". Enough said.
I remember those days. You thought you would remain that way and age forever. The whole world was a big laugh without any cares & your whole life stretched out in front of you. Then I became a sales executive. Where did it all go wrong? Sometimes I wonder to myself, 'How did those days go by so quickly?' Why did I piss about so much? Why did i never listen. What is it about humans that when they get between the ages of 16 and 21 you turn into some kind of tosser and never listen, always know best and usually make the worst decisions in the world. Right of passage I guess.
They say look at the past don't stare. I genuinely prefer who I am now to the person I was back then, though I had proper good fun. All of us were in the same boat. We were all young and liked getting on it. The best feeling was when you were with your mates, you'd got 3 pints inside of you and whole evening, day stretched out in front of you. It was the feeling of conviviality or companionship of safety of fun and with all your friends together you never wanted it to end. I liked those times. I like having good friends you banter and click with.
As you get older and everyone (else) seems to grow up. To get serious jobs, careers, wives, mortgages, kids or alcohol dependency issues those times change. Friendships change. You don't spend much time together and you have to turn into a 'grown up', which is hard. There is no rule book. Most people to me look like they do it seamlessly. But I know under the surface people find it hard. We haven't got all the answers and we are all doing the best we can.
It is a shame though as to some extent your fiends know you the best. Obviously your family Know and love you so well. They're front row in the wedding, but your friends know you really well. Your devil side, your social side, your naughty side. And friendships are important. They are your blue print and DNA of your life. A life without friends is a lonely joyless existence.
I am lucky I have many old friends I have known for a long time. What If you move to a new area, to a new place, get divorced? What if you lose your friends, making new ones in London is difficult. You cannot build up a history in a week. You need friendships to mature and grow. You need proper people around you, not mentalist shallow people but genuine people who you click with. You only really need 2 or 3 good ones. Particularly ones who don't judge you. These are the best.
I rarely see my pals anymore as they are all busy having kids and families. Obviously I'm not part of that scene (yet) and thus our lives are different. I do miss Man time with my old mates though. When the banter just flows and you can shed all layers and be yourself. Sometimes being an adult is too serious. Sometimes responsibility is hard to keep up. Obviously I've avoided it all my life so I'm OK but I see my friends and I admire them, though selfishly I think, 'I wish i could win the lottery so I could get you Nannies and we could hang out more'.
So with this in mind, for my 40th birthday present. My 2 oldest mates gave me a rather unique present. They gave me themselves for the weekend. They had secured time off for good behaviour from their wives and kids for a Man weekend. We were to go away to a static caravan somewhere in South Wales and do a road trip, just the 3 of us. That day is tomorrow and I can't wait.
For any readers who don't know what a static caravan is, effectively it's exactly like your house but much smaller and placed on a holiday park near the seaside. Brits love all home comforts and a static caravan is anything but comfortable. chemical khazi, tiny beds and cramped living enviroment that makers arguments so easy, but there is something so classic, so British about them.I love them.
We are going to where i used to go as a kid. Wisemans Bridge Caravan Park, Saundersfoot, South Wales. To a 3 bedroom static caravan, Tide Reach 1, for a Mans weekend of bonding and being a man. It's our 40 year old road trip and I love it. That's our home for the weekend above.
Static caravans are awesome. British seaside towns out of season are superb, South Wales is just class and hilarious so I'm really looking forward to it.
We are using it as a Welsh Men's Retreat for burnt out 40 year old to get their masculinity back after emasculation of modern life. Kids, families, Boy Bands and exfoliation creams. Metro sexual man has ruined us. We need out identity back. Men have lost their way and a static caravan is a perfect place to reclaim it. We can sit in our pants, leave scotch egg crumbs all down our fronts. we can leave things laying around, we can sit with other men in silence and not talk about anything at all. We can be men.
We can use one of the rooms as a chill out room. A chance for man to go and watch endless repeats of sport from the 80's to reclaim that spirit of youth. We can chant into the howling wind on the seafront and look out to sea and ponder some of Mans greatest questions like 'Who scored the own goal in the 1987 FA cup final' and the meaning of life and stuff.
South Wales is wonderful and it will be fun and I am looking forward to it so much. 2 recovering alkies and a depressive in an out of season welsh static caravan park at 40 years old. Sounds like a sit com to me
xx
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Day 284 - Weds 24th Oct - EasyJet W*nkers : The Journey from Hell (well Gibraltar)
**Warning
this blog contains foul language so look away if you are easily
offended**
At least
that’s what I thought was going to happen. I’m currently writing this on a word
document in the departure lounge of Gibraltar airport because not only is there
no Wi Fi connection, but the fucking c*nting airport is shut due to it pissing
down and all flights have been diverted to fucking Malaga in Spain. I’m
positive this shit hole place doesn’t want me to leave. I reckon God is a
Gibraltarian and is laughing at me.
It’s hard
enough to land apparently due the wind from the rock and the runway is like a
dance with the deep blue sea. Apparently our easyjet pilot tried to land but
overshot the runway due to poor visibility. Was that his or the weather? How the fuck can he do that? It’s
long, got lights on it and flashes as well. In today’s modern age how can an
aircraft miss a runway?
He’s a right
pussy, instead of trying again and hoping for the best he’s fucked off to
Malaga, 3 hours away leaving us all up shit street. EasyJet wanker. Ryan air
would have landed on the top of the fucking rock in a hurricane to get people on board. They
don’t give a fuck. Mind you there's not a lot of choice between Easyjet and Ryanair. They are much of the same. It's like trying to choose between Chlamydia and Gonorrhea
So now we
sit here waiting with fuck all refreshment stalls, shops or anything for a bus
replacement service to take us to Malaga to get a flight home.
Wanker. I bet the captains sucking on a Cuban Cigar and getting a neck massage with 'extras' in his
club lounge whilst I sit here freezing my ass off with the rest of the Plankton.
All i see is hundreds of miserable faces squeezed into to miserable polysester tracksuits. Thank god for comfort clothing hay travellers?
Still, at
least Easyjet provided refreshment vouchers for passengers which resulted in a
stampede to gate 3, an enormous queue all to get a voucher for a sausage roll
that looked like a wrinkled cock and a lager top. People are
genuinely stupid queuing up for that. And who the fuck drinks lager top these
days? If you’re looking at a 8 hour delay the only thing on your mind at the
bar is dark spirits. Either that or tequila. The ultimate pain remover. And of
course liberty too. Lager Top won't touch the sides.
We waited in the departure lounge for 3 hours which felt like 3 weeks. Luckily all the smokers huddled on the balcony and we observed the EasyJet staff amble around doing nothing. We are connected in one human moan. I swear to god you'd be able to see the negativity on Google earth from space. I actually don't join in. What can we do apart form accept our fate.
Finally they scrambled 4 buses to take us to Malaga. I'm used to Bus replacement service on the south west train lines from putney but from different countries? That's taking the piss.
We mounted the buses and were given a sandwich which looked like a manky old snatch and a bottle of water for the 3 hour drive in pissing rain. Great I've been in Gibraltar for 36 hours and already I've seen a monsoon and the slow coach to Malaga.
Finally we reached Malaga airport in the middle of the night, it was deserted but the geniuses at EasyJet had planned ahead for 500 tired passengers by opening 1 check in desk. 2 hours it took to get through and at this point people were losing the will to live. Luckily I'd bought 600 snouts at Duty Free so i spent the time working my way through those.
Then we finally took off and got back to London gatwick at 7am. A 12 hour round trip and 14 hours door to door by the time i get home. Fuck me i could have done Thailand/Rio/Goa/USA/Caribbean in that time. An Ironman or the 3rd series of Friday Night Live. All i got was a massive Waste of time and a cough.
I got home at 8am whilst Britain got to work. Thank god I'm unemployed and only in part time employment that's all i can say. Someone commented if i went to Gibraltar because i was a male escort. Er No, trust me i would have charged a shed load more than i did for talking marketing bollocks. Maybe i should consider that as a career option? I'll ask next time I'm in Hounslow Job Centre. Though I won't do a discount for Mobility scooters. I have standards.
I picked up my voice messages one of which was from H&M Revenue & Customs asking me to call them. Maybe it's because I bought back 600 snouts instead of 200. The milk was off and i had a tax bill. I thought Fuck it I'm going back to Gibraltar.
It was too late or early to sleep so I pulled out an all nighter. Keep going throughout the day. I hadn't done that since days of class A's and Red Stripe. I looked like shit, felt like shit but at least I was home.
I learnt 3 valuable lessons today;
1 - Don't go to Gibraltar
2 - Don't use EasyJet
3 - Don't use EasyJet in Gibraltar
PS - I also respect the history of the island, there are some fabulous parts and the people were ultra friendly. I'm only talking it down for the narrative of the blog. However there are too many scummy bits where all the mobility scooters hang out. Makes you proud to be British.
xx
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Day 284 - Tuesday 23rd Oct - Gibraltar
Off to Gibraltar today. I’m not going to lie; I really don’t want to go. I don’t mind working but I’m basically going to be accompanying someone around, staying at their place so I will have no time to myself, can’t do what I please or have any alone time. I’m a little funny like that. I don’t mind if I’m staying in a hotel as I can excuse myself and have a bit of privacy. Guess I’m a bit of a loner and like my own space. Good job it’s only for 36 hours otherwise I’ll be clucking.
It was a
10am flight so I left loads of time to get to Gatwick through the M25 rush hour
traffic. 35 minutes. (Should have been 2 hours.) The traffic parted like Moses
and I got there in time. Obviously my cunning plan to sabotage the journey & miss
the plane backfired. I got through check in with handbags of time to spare and
had just enough time to get an overpriced tea in the Red Lion pub. What a
great experience. Celtic FC were playing Barcelona in the evening so the pub was
packed full of Celtic fans slamming down the beers & getting right on it. Good lads. 9am and everyone at the
bar was ordering ‘Full cooked breakfast and 4 pints of lager please wee man’.
The Breakfast of Champions.
It was great
as literally everyone was dressed in a tracksuit. I felt the odd one out in a suit. As Martin Aimless once said,
‘dressed for the track built for the pub’. Never have I seen a finer example of
that than the Red Lion Pub, Gatwick Airport Departure Lounge at 9am. It was
like the Olympic Games opening ceremony but with fat Scotsmen holding pints of
lager instead of the Olympic Torch.
It reminded
me of the excitement of holidays in my early drinking days when the only place
to drink in the morning that was socially acceptable was at an Airport Pub.
It’s almost as part of the ritual of holidays as spending a fortune on shit you
don’t need as you wait for your flight. Luckily I had no time to drain my cash in the House of
fun called ‘The departure lounge’ the Jobs Seekers Allowance doesn’t stretch to
that much anyway.
It felt
totally wrong to be going away in a suit with no luggage for an overnight stay.
I’m not much of a business traveller so Airports to me are for holidays. To be
in surfer shorts and flip flops hell bent on buying as many Haribo sweets as
you can for the long journey to your beach destination. Being one of ‘those
people’ in a slick suit and mini man bag felt alien. I felt an imposter. Like
the sort of person I would look down on if I was a holiday maker. Gutted.
The Flight
was OK, though when we came to land in Gibraltar it looked pretty much that he
was going to land in the Sea. All you could see was water until it touched down
on land at the last minute. It was so scary that I actually touched down 1st,
in my pants. It was only getting off the plane I saw that the runway was
actually out in the sea right next to the rock. Then I was told it is the 5th
most dangerous runway in the world. I’m so pleased I found that out after
landing, not that I’m a nervous flyer.
I was met by my boss, who's a lovely man. A proper man who looks after people and is proper old school. A handshake means someting and he does what he says. I admire that in people very much. We had a pleasant lunch, I ordered spinach and prawn salad and Jesus
Christ I’ve never eaten anything with so much Garlic in my life. They actually
think whole cloves are a garnish. I'm pretty sure the garlic outweighed the prawns 3:1. Grim.
Then it was
a tour of the island. Which took 3 silk cuts and a snickers. 20 minutes. Done. It’s only 5km. There’s a big rock.
There’s an old fort. There’s the Atlantic. There’s the North Africa coast.
There’s the Spanish border. There’s an English pub, fish and chip shop etc and
there’s a mobility scooter. It’s a British colony, so of course there are loads
of mobility scooters. Strangely you don’t see any on the Spanish side.
Then it was
out to dinner at a highly recommended Italian restaurant in a British colony in
the Atlantic on the Mediterranean. Weird. If you’re American that whole
sentence would have passed you by. Let’s just say it’s all near Moscow. The
dinner was delicious. Fresh prawns, whitebait, sea bream & of course garlic, although there was
slight confusion with the waitress when I asked for a toothpick and pointed to
my mouth. I think she thought I was asking to be sucked off such was the horror
on her face. Good job I was dining with a Spanish speaking friend who smoothed
over the potentially awkward situation. (See there I go again talking about
getting sucked off or wanking. Humblest apologies for being so utterly base and
one dimensional)
Then it was
back to my friends' gorgeous apartment overlooking the sea and an early night. I’m not a big fan of kipping in other
people’s beds. You feel a certain obligation to be on best
behaviour. Not like a hotel room which you can utterly trash. It's nervy. You do your best of course to sleep without messing the covers up, you daren't do anything you may do at home and it's inhibiting having a shit as you're scared of leaving militant skids. I find the whole thing uncomfortable. Even if he's the best host. It's just funny old me.
Instead of ferociously masturbating (there i go again, i can feel some of the more prim female readers wincing - can i not go 1 day without mentioning this?) I caught up
on my blog comments. Two people commented on my double cardigan from yesterday
and one person left a comment about why I’m always talking about wanking. They
asked me if I’ve ever had a girlfriend. They clearly don’t know me at all. If
they only knew the truth! Plus in answer to the question why do I mention it so
much. Err, it’s because I’m a man. All I’m doing is saying what’s in the head
of most men. I’ll leave out the XXX stuff in the name of taste though.
Right thats
me done readers. Only 20 hours to go until I can get out of here. Gibraltar is
not a place I feel much warmth and affinity to i must admit. Although it was lovely to have
lunch outside in the Sun today. Let’s end on a positive note today hey?
Day of work and then fly out at 7pm tomorrow night. I can't wait
Xx
Monday, October 22, 2012
Day 283 - Mon 22nd Oct - Bikram Yoga and Double Cardigans
Hello Bloggers, thank you for reading.
It seems this little blog has had an increase in readership since I posted, 'The day i was barred from Bikram Yoga' on Saturday. It shot straight to the top of my most read blogs for the year with 230 reads. Not bad seeing as my daily average is around the 50 mark. Clearly there are lots of frustrated Bikram Yogies out there, though I'm yet to hear of anyone else who has been ejected from a class.
If you thought it didn't go deep enough, don't worry there will be a sequel on the subject. There is an awful lot more to cover including the ultimate irony of me being picked to play a Yoga teacher in an international TV advert for Tesco mobile. I hope the studio owner saw that and spat out his coconut water in disgust.
I have to admit it's given me a bit of a boost seeing more people reading the blog. Even my rant on Grand Designs and the nouvea rich got 180 views. It occur ed to me the same people I got pissed off with on Grand Designs go to Farmers Markets (If you're reading this abroad a Farmers Market is the British version of Middle class hell. Even the Pork Pies are cased in corduroy.) and I've already done a whole angry blog on those.
I had a few good comments today such as, 'keep writing', 'I enjoy it' and 'well written'. Which give me the spirit to keep going, though also adds pressure to me to make it interesting every day.
The best comment today and one which makes it all worth it was someone saying they sent the blog to a friend and it has spurred them to attend AA and try to do something about their drinking. Result. If it can help 1 person then it's a success. Obviously not a success in terms of what i want (500,000 readers and writing deal with a magazine and a book deal) But a success in terms of what God wants. I usually find my wants are ridiculous and my needs (what God gives me) are better for the soul.
If a guy stops drinking and it helps him not live a life of misery and alcoholic drama then not only will it help him but everyone in his life. Not to mention Police, courts, hospitals and such like. Rough cost of the effects of alcohol abuse to the tax payer is around £5 per person in the UK (60 million people) so that gives you an idea as to the actual scale of the problem.
It's pretty humbling to hear that this little daily musings of my mind can help someone take the plunge into seeking help for their drinking. I hope he makes it and succeeds.
Of course the Government don't really want to do anything about the massive alcohol problem in the UK for many reasons;
1 - Their parties are mostly funded by donations from large drinks companies
2 - The tax and duty generated off alcohol is vast
3 - They are only really interested in popularity not change.
4 - It's better for them to be seen as punishes of alcohol abuse than actually arrest the problem with treatment and education. Treatment of it as a disease is seen as weak.
5 - They have a subsidised bar in the Houses of Parliament
6 - They are all corrupt bastards
Still it was good of the Government to help set up a panel to police the drinks industry. Who is on the panel? Oh yes that's right, the drinks industry. Weird isn't it? A independent body to regulate the drinks industry consisting of...the drinks industry. That's rather like putting Jordan in charge of a Fake Tits panel. Wrong on many levels.
What i love about the drinks industry is their 2 big ideas to help with the drinking problem in this country. 1 - Put 'Drink Responsibly' on the bottles or adverts of any alcoholic drink. Are they taking piss? Like that is going to help? How can putting 'drink responsibly' on the bottom of a bottle of vodka or can of Special Brew have any effect. If you're draining those your sole desire is to drink irresponsibly and head to oblivion. In fact you can't even read at that point. They could print the cure for cancer on the bottle and you would miss it. Pointless.
The other big plan? Raise the price of strong alcoholic drinks to put people off drinking. Ah OK they are effectively taxing alcoholics then. The very people who need the most help they are punishing. A small minority of people who have an alcohol problem who drink the strongest alcohol are being targeted. it makes me sick. it won't stop anyone drinking, just make crime increase. They couldn't have missed the point any more. They really are that stupid in this country. Makes me boil.
I'm off to Gibraltar early in the morning for 2 days of work. So it will be difficult to write the blog Gutted. I actually have to do something. The cheek of it. Can't they just send me the cheque in the post or better still just BACS me the payment so i don't have to move? #Lazy.
Today's highlights?
1 -Guy seeking help for his drinking after reading my blog
2 - Booking a weekend break in a static caravan in Saundersfoot, South Wales with my 2 oldest mates who have been given the weekend off duties from their wives and kids. 2 Non drinking recovering alkies and 1 depressive. Can't wait. It will be like a working class men's retreat for burnt out 40 year old men. Sitting around in a caravan in pants eating scotch eggs and getting crumbs all over your chest whilst harking back to youthful better days by watching repeats of the Embassy Snooker final from 1987. It's an old school men's retreat. Welsh style
3 - Wearing 2 cardigans at the same time. A normal one and then a large winter one over the top. Yes it has come to that stage of my life where I'm now a double cardigan kind of guy.
4 - Learnt to live and let live and let people be themselves instead of forcing them to be what i want them to be.
I'm not massively keen on today's blog. I reckon it's 54% good. Still, it's late and it will have to do. I'm not really sure how to end it either. Usually I like to end on a funny note but it's so late (2am Tues morning) that I feel about as funny as David Walliams. I'm going to have to end it like this. Which feels a little underwhelming. Like premature ejaculation. I got myself all excited about writing today only to leave it so late i just churned it out and aborted early. I effectively shot my load far too early and am now left feeling a little dejected. You also feel a little dirty and used don't you. Expecting more? Disappointed? I don't blame you readers. Nothing worse than a lame blog is there? Still have no fear I'll treat you to a blog equivalent of a candle lit dinner, soft music and relaxing massage and i promise next time I'll stay longer and make you more satisfied.
I've obviously lost it there and ended on a creepy note. but readers. Don't forget. Drink Responsibly.
xx
It seems this little blog has had an increase in readership since I posted, 'The day i was barred from Bikram Yoga' on Saturday. It shot straight to the top of my most read blogs for the year with 230 reads. Not bad seeing as my daily average is around the 50 mark. Clearly there are lots of frustrated Bikram Yogies out there, though I'm yet to hear of anyone else who has been ejected from a class.
If you thought it didn't go deep enough, don't worry there will be a sequel on the subject. There is an awful lot more to cover including the ultimate irony of me being picked to play a Yoga teacher in an international TV advert for Tesco mobile. I hope the studio owner saw that and spat out his coconut water in disgust.
I have to admit it's given me a bit of a boost seeing more people reading the blog. Even my rant on Grand Designs and the nouvea rich got 180 views. It occur ed to me the same people I got pissed off with on Grand Designs go to Farmers Markets (If you're reading this abroad a Farmers Market is the British version of Middle class hell. Even the Pork Pies are cased in corduroy.) and I've already done a whole angry blog on those.
I had a few good comments today such as, 'keep writing', 'I enjoy it' and 'well written'. Which give me the spirit to keep going, though also adds pressure to me to make it interesting every day.
The best comment today and one which makes it all worth it was someone saying they sent the blog to a friend and it has spurred them to attend AA and try to do something about their drinking. Result. If it can help 1 person then it's a success. Obviously not a success in terms of what i want (500,000 readers and writing deal with a magazine and a book deal) But a success in terms of what God wants. I usually find my wants are ridiculous and my needs (what God gives me) are better for the soul.
If a guy stops drinking and it helps him not live a life of misery and alcoholic drama then not only will it help him but everyone in his life. Not to mention Police, courts, hospitals and such like. Rough cost of the effects of alcohol abuse to the tax payer is around £5 per person in the UK (60 million people) so that gives you an idea as to the actual scale of the problem.
It's pretty humbling to hear that this little daily musings of my mind can help someone take the plunge into seeking help for their drinking. I hope he makes it and succeeds.
Of course the Government don't really want to do anything about the massive alcohol problem in the UK for many reasons;
1 - Their parties are mostly funded by donations from large drinks companies
2 - The tax and duty generated off alcohol is vast
3 - They are only really interested in popularity not change.
4 - It's better for them to be seen as punishes of alcohol abuse than actually arrest the problem with treatment and education. Treatment of it as a disease is seen as weak.
5 - They have a subsidised bar in the Houses of Parliament
6 - They are all corrupt bastards
Still it was good of the Government to help set up a panel to police the drinks industry. Who is on the panel? Oh yes that's right, the drinks industry. Weird isn't it? A independent body to regulate the drinks industry consisting of...the drinks industry. That's rather like putting Jordan in charge of a Fake Tits panel. Wrong on many levels.
What i love about the drinks industry is their 2 big ideas to help with the drinking problem in this country. 1 - Put 'Drink Responsibly' on the bottles or adverts of any alcoholic drink. Are they taking piss? Like that is going to help? How can putting 'drink responsibly' on the bottom of a bottle of vodka or can of Special Brew have any effect. If you're draining those your sole desire is to drink irresponsibly and head to oblivion. In fact you can't even read at that point. They could print the cure for cancer on the bottle and you would miss it. Pointless.
The other big plan? Raise the price of strong alcoholic drinks to put people off drinking. Ah OK they are effectively taxing alcoholics then. The very people who need the most help they are punishing. A small minority of people who have an alcohol problem who drink the strongest alcohol are being targeted. it makes me sick. it won't stop anyone drinking, just make crime increase. They couldn't have missed the point any more. They really are that stupid in this country. Makes me boil.
I'm off to Gibraltar early in the morning for 2 days of work. So it will be difficult to write the blog Gutted. I actually have to do something. The cheek of it. Can't they just send me the cheque in the post or better still just BACS me the payment so i don't have to move? #Lazy.
Today's highlights?
1 -Guy seeking help for his drinking after reading my blog
2 - Booking a weekend break in a static caravan in Saundersfoot, South Wales with my 2 oldest mates who have been given the weekend off duties from their wives and kids. 2 Non drinking recovering alkies and 1 depressive. Can't wait. It will be like a working class men's retreat for burnt out 40 year old men. Sitting around in a caravan in pants eating scotch eggs and getting crumbs all over your chest whilst harking back to youthful better days by watching repeats of the Embassy Snooker final from 1987. It's an old school men's retreat. Welsh style
3 - Wearing 2 cardigans at the same time. A normal one and then a large winter one over the top. Yes it has come to that stage of my life where I'm now a double cardigan kind of guy.
4 - Learnt to live and let live and let people be themselves instead of forcing them to be what i want them to be.
I'm not massively keen on today's blog. I reckon it's 54% good. Still, it's late and it will have to do. I'm not really sure how to end it either. Usually I like to end on a funny note but it's so late (2am Tues morning) that I feel about as funny as David Walliams. I'm going to have to end it like this. Which feels a little underwhelming. Like premature ejaculation. I got myself all excited about writing today only to leave it so late i just churned it out and aborted early. I effectively shot my load far too early and am now left feeling a little dejected. You also feel a little dirty and used don't you. Expecting more? Disappointed? I don't blame you readers. Nothing worse than a lame blog is there? Still have no fear I'll treat you to a blog equivalent of a candle lit dinner, soft music and relaxing massage and i promise next time I'll stay longer and make you more satisfied.
I've obviously lost it there and ended on a creepy note. but readers. Don't forget. Drink Responsibly.
xx
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Day 282 - Sun 21st Oct - Cheryl Cole - Can someone tell me why?
Sunday.
A day of rest, roast beef, crumpets and Sunday papers. It's very Autumn now. I love the colours. You can almost sniff winter. Going running this week has been a joy seeing all the colours of the trees, the heavy covering of leaves on the pavement. It's a classic British time of the year and it's great to be able to notice it. The only downside is the hidden dog shit beneath the leaves. I've nearly been caught out twice this week, though in Richmond it's so posh the dogs tend to go in the bushes. Christ I've started off a blog entry on a positive note. Whats wrong with me?
I was stumbling around for a topic today and then I opened the Sunday Times. Always something to pick on in there. Usually in the 'Style' pull out section.
Now for my American readers or people who haven't had the pleasure of reading the 'Style' section the best way to describe it is that it's pretty much the magazine equivalent of business class travel. It's aimed at the higher end of the social demographic. Packed with fashion, models, recipes, clothes & lifestyle products. The feature pieces are usually about middle/upper class fads, fashionable topics like how to go organic or how corduroy yoga is the season's must do exercise. It's a celebration of the 'Haves', rather than the 'have nots'.
Prime example today was a fashion spread called 'cabin class'. A fashion spread about stylish things to wear whilst flying. They had cashmere jumpers and woolen suits, coats and cardigans all weighing in at around £2,000 each. This made me smile, as my experience of cabin class travelling from the UK on airlines like Monarch and Easyjet is more velour leisure suit than cashmere suit. It's usually Like a rally for Sports Direct. All Lonsdale Tracksuits and elasticated waisted trousers. Most certainly the Great British traveller is more used to sporting Primark than Prada in my experience.
I could write a whole piece about 'travel fashion' as it fascinates me but i shall save that for another time.
The real thing that caught my eye was an interview with Cheryl Cole publicising her autobiography. Yes you did read that correctly, her Autobiography? I know it's exactly what I'm thinking too. Why? Anyone buying that needs locking up in the Grand Designs water cooler. Tragic.
The one word that comes to my mind when I see, hear, read or view anything to do with Cheryl Cole is Why?. Why is she in the public eye? Why is she on TV? Why is she a public figure? Why is anyone interested in her? What exactly is the point of her? What is she good at?
I mean I wish her well and good luck to her for making bags of loot and a success of herself, I wish her no harm. But she's made a career out of being a victim who looks like a Tranny in Lauboutins.
Here's her autobiography. Plain, dull, mundane Geordie girl makes it in a a girl band, marries Premier league footballer, gets hair extensions and high heels, gets cheated on, gets massive public support and becomes judge on X factor and then a large contract with L'Oreal to promote beauty products. Is that really worth £16.99 and 300 pages? Jesus Christ pass me the gun. Even Kindels will burn out uploading that shit onto it. It will be death by Kindle trolling through that book.
Since when did mundanity and vacuous ferocious need for attention and public sympathy be a good role model for young girls?
She does what she's told to do, wears what is told, sings what is written and apparently is a good example for women? Are you kidding me. She's typical of 1000's of wannabes who think that sleeping with a Premier league footballer constitutes a success. Depressing. They all look the same. She's captured that Cheryl Cole look. Vampy big hair extensions, massive eye make up to cover a plain face and huge high heels to give her tiny plain shapeless body some femininity.
Why can't role models be more original, creative and actually contribute something positive to the world. What about Jess Ennis? Pendleton? Balding? JK Rowling? Any singer song writer? Someone with creativity, dedication, real ethics, originality who actually says something. That's the kind of role model I would look up to if I was a girl.
Instead we get a banal walking clothes horse with hair extensions giving beauty advice to young girls that involves making yourself look like a tranny on products that cost around £500 a pop. Nice one Cheryl.
To sum her up, she's effectively a human version of Big Brother isn't she?
I wish her no harm and as I say good luck to her. My beef is not with her but what she represents and the system that allows it. She's a pin up for the X factor generation. All style over substance. As long as you consider transvestism stylish.
I saw her interview on Piers Morgan a while ago and I know she cried a lot and played a tremendous victim but it was like a PR junket. I know she's got bulimia problems but after watching her moan and mumble her way through an hour of prime time TV it actually made me throw up. Nauseating
It's another example of how totally dull modern celebrity is. In the good old days when i was growing up. Famous people were famous because they had unique talents and were good at what they did. Actors, musicians, TV presenters who used to be journalists. Comedians. Performers. They all had character, talent and personality. Sure most of them were either drunks, drug addicts, wife beaters or paedophiles but they made good tellie.
Yes I know there's always been a popular culture bubblegum style of personality. Teen idols and such, but even those in the 70's/80's had character and spirit. I mean Keith Chegwin was massive on TV when i was growing up and he loved to be whipped and dominated by a transsexual dominatrix (apparently) I have two words which describe how old school celebs piss on modern day ones. Frank and Bough. He would have probably loved literally pissing on Cheryl Cole.
It's a cheap shot to have a pop at her about her accent, class, look etc as it's unfair. Just another guy slagging off a female celebrity. That's bullying. I just hate everything she represents and the galling thing is that the media, even the supposed intelligent media are happy to pander to it and play the game.
Now if she disclosed that she used to ride Louis Walsh with a massive strap on during the commercial break of the X factor well I may actually change my mind. Give us something interesting Cheryl. Anything please.
xx
A day of rest, roast beef, crumpets and Sunday papers. It's very Autumn now. I love the colours. You can almost sniff winter. Going running this week has been a joy seeing all the colours of the trees, the heavy covering of leaves on the pavement. It's a classic British time of the year and it's great to be able to notice it. The only downside is the hidden dog shit beneath the leaves. I've nearly been caught out twice this week, though in Richmond it's so posh the dogs tend to go in the bushes. Christ I've started off a blog entry on a positive note. Whats wrong with me?
I was stumbling around for a topic today and then I opened the Sunday Times. Always something to pick on in there. Usually in the 'Style' pull out section.
Now for my American readers or people who haven't had the pleasure of reading the 'Style' section the best way to describe it is that it's pretty much the magazine equivalent of business class travel. It's aimed at the higher end of the social demographic. Packed with fashion, models, recipes, clothes & lifestyle products. The feature pieces are usually about middle/upper class fads, fashionable topics like how to go organic or how corduroy yoga is the season's must do exercise. It's a celebration of the 'Haves', rather than the 'have nots'.
Prime example today was a fashion spread called 'cabin class'. A fashion spread about stylish things to wear whilst flying. They had cashmere jumpers and woolen suits, coats and cardigans all weighing in at around £2,000 each. This made me smile, as my experience of cabin class travelling from the UK on airlines like Monarch and Easyjet is more velour leisure suit than cashmere suit. It's usually Like a rally for Sports Direct. All Lonsdale Tracksuits and elasticated waisted trousers. Most certainly the Great British traveller is more used to sporting Primark than Prada in my experience.
I could write a whole piece about 'travel fashion' as it fascinates me but i shall save that for another time.
The real thing that caught my eye was an interview with Cheryl Cole publicising her autobiography. Yes you did read that correctly, her Autobiography? I know it's exactly what I'm thinking too. Why? Anyone buying that needs locking up in the Grand Designs water cooler. Tragic.
The one word that comes to my mind when I see, hear, read or view anything to do with Cheryl Cole is Why?. Why is she in the public eye? Why is she on TV? Why is she a public figure? Why is anyone interested in her? What exactly is the point of her? What is she good at?
I mean I wish her well and good luck to her for making bags of loot and a success of herself, I wish her no harm. But she's made a career out of being a victim who looks like a Tranny in Lauboutins.
Here's her autobiography. Plain, dull, mundane Geordie girl makes it in a a girl band, marries Premier league footballer, gets hair extensions and high heels, gets cheated on, gets massive public support and becomes judge on X factor and then a large contract with L'Oreal to promote beauty products. Is that really worth £16.99 and 300 pages? Jesus Christ pass me the gun. Even Kindels will burn out uploading that shit onto it. It will be death by Kindle trolling through that book.
Since when did mundanity and vacuous ferocious need for attention and public sympathy be a good role model for young girls?
She does what she's told to do, wears what is told, sings what is written and apparently is a good example for women? Are you kidding me. She's typical of 1000's of wannabes who think that sleeping with a Premier league footballer constitutes a success. Depressing. They all look the same. She's captured that Cheryl Cole look. Vampy big hair extensions, massive eye make up to cover a plain face and huge high heels to give her tiny plain shapeless body some femininity.
Why can't role models be more original, creative and actually contribute something positive to the world. What about Jess Ennis? Pendleton? Balding? JK Rowling? Any singer song writer? Someone with creativity, dedication, real ethics, originality who actually says something. That's the kind of role model I would look up to if I was a girl.
Instead we get a banal walking clothes horse with hair extensions giving beauty advice to young girls that involves making yourself look like a tranny on products that cost around £500 a pop. Nice one Cheryl.
To sum her up, she's effectively a human version of Big Brother isn't she?
I wish her no harm and as I say good luck to her. My beef is not with her but what she represents and the system that allows it. She's a pin up for the X factor generation. All style over substance. As long as you consider transvestism stylish.
I saw her interview on Piers Morgan a while ago and I know she cried a lot and played a tremendous victim but it was like a PR junket. I know she's got bulimia problems but after watching her moan and mumble her way through an hour of prime time TV it actually made me throw up. Nauseating
It's another example of how totally dull modern celebrity is. In the good old days when i was growing up. Famous people were famous because they had unique talents and were good at what they did. Actors, musicians, TV presenters who used to be journalists. Comedians. Performers. They all had character, talent and personality. Sure most of them were either drunks, drug addicts, wife beaters or paedophiles but they made good tellie.
Yes I know there's always been a popular culture bubblegum style of personality. Teen idols and such, but even those in the 70's/80's had character and spirit. I mean Keith Chegwin was massive on TV when i was growing up and he loved to be whipped and dominated by a transsexual dominatrix (apparently) I have two words which describe how old school celebs piss on modern day ones. Frank and Bough. He would have probably loved literally pissing on Cheryl Cole.
It's a cheap shot to have a pop at her about her accent, class, look etc as it's unfair. Just another guy slagging off a female celebrity. That's bullying. I just hate everything she represents and the galling thing is that the media, even the supposed intelligent media are happy to pander to it and play the game.
Now if she disclosed that she used to ride Louis Walsh with a massive strap on during the commercial break of the X factor well I may actually change my mind. Give us something interesting Cheryl. Anything please.
xx
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Day 281 - Sat 20th Oct - The day I was barred from Bikram Yoga
After Thursday's rant and display of anger, I thought I would write about anger.
I used to be known as 'Angry Nick'. Never shy of venting my spleen and pointing out the truth. Patience and tolerance have never been my strong point. It's an Evans family gene. My father was never shy in bombarding various DIY projects with several expletives. 'Arseholes' being his favoured term.
He was also very keen on arguing to himself with imaginary enemies which always ended in the term 'fucking wankers'. It's in my genes. That inverted arrogance & confrontation is something that courses through my veins and i have no time for perceived injustices, no matter how small. In fact the smaller and more pathetic the better. Hence Grand Designs on Thursday.
I'm calmer these days. Why? Well sobriety definately helps. In the past I used to get pissed off with something that bothered me and then drink heavily and explode into a frustrated monster at the drop of a hat. Loose canon.
These days I still get pissed off and frustrated and impatient and intolerant about all manner of things but now I have prayer, meetings, sharing with friends, writing it down and a 11 year knowledge that I am the problem not everyone else. Plus I'm older though not necessarily wiser. Yet.
The more sober I get the less angry I get, The more faith I have the less angry I get. When i first stopped drinking I was furious. Christ my 'go to' method of dealing with frustrations had gone so I was left with me. I was fuming.
Over the years I have gradually mellowed though it has taken about 10 years. I was a nightmare and still have my moments.
In early sobriety I was kicked off buses for arguing with the driver for not picking me up from the stop, resulting in me booting the door, pressing the emergency button and getting on the bus when all the passengers were telling me to fuck off.
I was barred from Marks & Spencer for purposefully dropping a yogurt and pint of milk on the foot of a security guard when he refused me service due to not having a top on after running in the sun for an hour, even though I had been queuing for 15 minutes and was next in line to be served. All of this is supposed to happen when drunk not in sobriety.
I trumped all of that in 2007, surpassing all my ridiculous pits of fury when I was barred from Bikram Yoga in Richmond. Show me a man who is barred from yoga for arguing and I'll show you a man who has anger issues. It was my rock bottom in anger.
I had been doing Bikram for a few months and have followed it since. I'm not particularly a Yoga fan. It requires patience and inner peace. Hence why I hate it. But Bikram is heated. You sweat. I love the heat and it's 70% females in skimpy swimwear. I took to it immediately.
It's 90 minutes of 26 postures and a heated room of nearly 100 degrees. It's like a mini holiday and flushes you out. It makes me feel cleaner and purer as i put so much shit in my body. I'm not really sold on the spiritual side of it as it's very expensive and Bikram is an ego maniac multi billionaire. These things don't have any relationship to spirituality in my book. So i took it all with a pinch of salt and just got on with it as a relaxing health flusher. Lots of bullshitters go on like little Bikram disciples but i put them in the same category as born again Christians except these are born again Bikrams.
I practiced at Fulham which is great. Super chilled, really relaxed and you weren't given a hard time by the teachers to get every posture 100% right. it was professional but relaxed. Just how i like it.
So when a studio opened in Richmond near where worked & lived. Nice one. Result.
The only downside was the owner. A militant intense Hitler style teacher. Non smiling, cold, unfriendly and hell bent on rules. He ran the studio like a Yoga equivalent of a prisoner of war camp. No water in class. No shoes. No talking. No smiling, No laughing. No fun. Do all postures properly otherwise you get sent to solitary confinement for 21 days. It was harsh and not really for me.
I dipped in and out and immediately struck up a hatred for the owner. Even his missus was a sort of female version. Except worse because she had a whiny American nasal accent. The sort of voice that made you want to scream. If you could make rape alarms out of that voice there would never be any sex crimes ever again.
On this particular week I'd had man flu. A really nasty bout that in my mind should have been treated with intensive care and 24 hour team of nurses coming up to me rubbing my brow and going 'aaahhhhhhhhhh you poor little thing. Who's a brave little soldier for not complaining.......for 20 minutes'. I was in a bad way.
I reached Saturday feeling weak, so i thought a nice gentle afternoon sweat in Bikram would aid my recovery. I went with a girl who i was trying to woo into becoming my girlfriend (remarkably she did and became a Bikram teacher) and there were 3 other people in class who I'd recommended to the studio. I thought i was doing my bit for local new business. Being a good citizen.
The class was 3pm and i set up on the 2nd row in my ridiculous Gay speedos and settled behind a big girl so i could hide from the teacher and not be picked on. I wanted a chilled 90 minutes. Maybe even a little snooze in savansanah.
The class was taken by the owner and it went OK for 30 minutes until we got to position number 8 (i forget the name of it) which involved bending forward putting your hands in prayer and extended in front of you touching the floor. In Fulham they weren't fussy about putting your hands in prayer, however in Richmond failure to do so was treated as a flogging offence and more serious than GBH.
I was feeling weak, so I didn't put my hands in prayer and so followed the oddest 5 minutes of my yoga career;
Owner - 'put your hands in prayer Nick'
Me - (Glancing round room to see 50% people didn't have their hands in prayer - Ignored him)
Owner - 'and change - other side'
Me - (didn't put my hands in prayer)
Owner - 'Nick can you please put your hands in prayer'
Me - (Ignored him)
Owner - 'Nick put your hands in prayer please'
Me - (Ignored him)
Owner - 'Nick that is not the correct posture - Put your hands in prayer we do all postures properly in this studio'
Me - (I had my face down in a position at this point - ignored him)
Owner - 'and change 2nd set'
Me - (Fucked if I'm going to put my hands In prayer now just to wind the little Hitler up)
Owner - 'Nick i have told you put your hands I'm prayer and do the posture properly or not at all'
Me (In position) 'J****y (i will not print his name) Leave me alone I'm just here for a relaxing class'
Owner -'It is my class and studio and i ask that everyone does the postures here so put your hand in prayer'
Me (fuming now) 'Listen I've had Flu all week and I've only come here to chill out leave me be'
Owner - 'and change other side'
Me (Yes you've guessed it hands apart definately not in prayer)
Owner - 'Nick if you're not going to do it properly don't do it at all'
Me - 'Can't you pick on someone else'
Owner - 'This is my studio. I am the teacher. If you will not listen to me there is no point in you being here'
Me - 'Listen I haven't paid £16 to be talked to like a kid. I've brought 3 people here and i just want a quiete class (yeah right) and you're picking on me. Just chill and leave it be. Leave me alone i don't appreciate being talked too like that'
Owner - 'Well I'd rather not teach you if you're not going to listen or try to do it.'
Me - 'Are you asking me to leave?'
Owner - 'Yes it's best you are not here'
Me - 'I paid £16 for this shit, who the fuck are you to talk to me like that. You've picked on me all day & half these people are doing it the same as me. You're totally out of order'
Owner - 'I' think you should leave and not come back. This is for true Yogis'
Me - 'Tell you what you stick your fucking yoga up your arse you arrogant cunt'
And that is when i stormed out of class, leaving everyone in the tree position looking embarrassingly at the floor. Not the ideal Yoga class I must admit.Yoga is supposed to make you peaceful, calm, relaxed. I was fuming. Angrily showering, getting changed and then before I left I so needed to have the final word (why do i need the final word. Quit when you're behind idiot!) I poked my head in the studio, however before I could fire off a volley, this girl at the back of the studio who looked close to tears turned around and shrieked 'Just leave'. I left.
I sat down at a cafe had a cup of tea and immediately rang my sponsor (It's through the fellowship - like a more experienced mentor who helps you with your mentalism)
My first words to him were, 'I've just been barred from a yoga class and i don't know why'. It was an awkward conversation. And what of my girl? She's never going to want to go out with me now?
It was all cool afterwards and in time she learnt to laugh about it, though it took her about 2 years. I never went back to the studio and used to see the owner around Richmond. I was always tempted to assume the 'awkward' position but never did. Live and let live is the code I'm supposed to live by, but he was truly a c**t. A Bikram c**t.
I returned back to Fulham studio which I love and the word got round. People laughed but I reckon all the teachers thought 'oh god there's that miserable bastard in my class'. Apparently the owner in Richmond has got a bit of a reputation and I think other owners were secretly glad it happened. It's all Coconut water under the bridge now but it showed me at the time I had anger issues.
I know I'm getting better i haven't been barred from anywhere in a while, even Bikram yoga. And that was the day i got barred from Bikram Yoga. Can you trump that?
xx
I used to be known as 'Angry Nick'. Never shy of venting my spleen and pointing out the truth. Patience and tolerance have never been my strong point. It's an Evans family gene. My father was never shy in bombarding various DIY projects with several expletives. 'Arseholes' being his favoured term.
He was also very keen on arguing to himself with imaginary enemies which always ended in the term 'fucking wankers'. It's in my genes. That inverted arrogance & confrontation is something that courses through my veins and i have no time for perceived injustices, no matter how small. In fact the smaller and more pathetic the better. Hence Grand Designs on Thursday.
I'm calmer these days. Why? Well sobriety definately helps. In the past I used to get pissed off with something that bothered me and then drink heavily and explode into a frustrated monster at the drop of a hat. Loose canon.
These days I still get pissed off and frustrated and impatient and intolerant about all manner of things but now I have prayer, meetings, sharing with friends, writing it down and a 11 year knowledge that I am the problem not everyone else. Plus I'm older though not necessarily wiser. Yet.
The more sober I get the less angry I get, The more faith I have the less angry I get. When i first stopped drinking I was furious. Christ my 'go to' method of dealing with frustrations had gone so I was left with me. I was fuming.
Over the years I have gradually mellowed though it has taken about 10 years. I was a nightmare and still have my moments.
In early sobriety I was kicked off buses for arguing with the driver for not picking me up from the stop, resulting in me booting the door, pressing the emergency button and getting on the bus when all the passengers were telling me to fuck off.
I was barred from Marks & Spencer for purposefully dropping a yogurt and pint of milk on the foot of a security guard when he refused me service due to not having a top on after running in the sun for an hour, even though I had been queuing for 15 minutes and was next in line to be served. All of this is supposed to happen when drunk not in sobriety.
I trumped all of that in 2007, surpassing all my ridiculous pits of fury when I was barred from Bikram Yoga in Richmond. Show me a man who is barred from yoga for arguing and I'll show you a man who has anger issues. It was my rock bottom in anger.
I had been doing Bikram for a few months and have followed it since. I'm not particularly a Yoga fan. It requires patience and inner peace. Hence why I hate it. But Bikram is heated. You sweat. I love the heat and it's 70% females in skimpy swimwear. I took to it immediately.
It's 90 minutes of 26 postures and a heated room of nearly 100 degrees. It's like a mini holiday and flushes you out. It makes me feel cleaner and purer as i put so much shit in my body. I'm not really sold on the spiritual side of it as it's very expensive and Bikram is an ego maniac multi billionaire. These things don't have any relationship to spirituality in my book. So i took it all with a pinch of salt and just got on with it as a relaxing health flusher. Lots of bullshitters go on like little Bikram disciples but i put them in the same category as born again Christians except these are born again Bikrams.
I practiced at Fulham which is great. Super chilled, really relaxed and you weren't given a hard time by the teachers to get every posture 100% right. it was professional but relaxed. Just how i like it.
So when a studio opened in Richmond near where worked & lived. Nice one. Result.
The only downside was the owner. A militant intense Hitler style teacher. Non smiling, cold, unfriendly and hell bent on rules. He ran the studio like a Yoga equivalent of a prisoner of war camp. No water in class. No shoes. No talking. No smiling, No laughing. No fun. Do all postures properly otherwise you get sent to solitary confinement for 21 days. It was harsh and not really for me.
I dipped in and out and immediately struck up a hatred for the owner. Even his missus was a sort of female version. Except worse because she had a whiny American nasal accent. The sort of voice that made you want to scream. If you could make rape alarms out of that voice there would never be any sex crimes ever again.
On this particular week I'd had man flu. A really nasty bout that in my mind should have been treated with intensive care and 24 hour team of nurses coming up to me rubbing my brow and going 'aaahhhhhhhhhh you poor little thing. Who's a brave little soldier for not complaining.......for 20 minutes'. I was in a bad way.
I reached Saturday feeling weak, so i thought a nice gentle afternoon sweat in Bikram would aid my recovery. I went with a girl who i was trying to woo into becoming my girlfriend (remarkably she did and became a Bikram teacher) and there were 3 other people in class who I'd recommended to the studio. I thought i was doing my bit for local new business. Being a good citizen.
The class was 3pm and i set up on the 2nd row in my ridiculous Gay speedos and settled behind a big girl so i could hide from the teacher and not be picked on. I wanted a chilled 90 minutes. Maybe even a little snooze in savansanah.
The class was taken by the owner and it went OK for 30 minutes until we got to position number 8 (i forget the name of it) which involved bending forward putting your hands in prayer and extended in front of you touching the floor. In Fulham they weren't fussy about putting your hands in prayer, however in Richmond failure to do so was treated as a flogging offence and more serious than GBH.
I was feeling weak, so I didn't put my hands in prayer and so followed the oddest 5 minutes of my yoga career;
Owner - 'put your hands in prayer Nick'
Me - (Glancing round room to see 50% people didn't have their hands in prayer - Ignored him)
Owner - 'and change - other side'
Me - (didn't put my hands in prayer)
Owner - 'Nick can you please put your hands in prayer'
Me - (Ignored him)
Owner - 'Nick put your hands in prayer please'
Me - (Ignored him)
Owner - 'Nick that is not the correct posture - Put your hands in prayer we do all postures properly in this studio'
Me - (I had my face down in a position at this point - ignored him)
Owner - 'and change 2nd set'
Me - (Fucked if I'm going to put my hands In prayer now just to wind the little Hitler up)
Owner - 'Nick i have told you put your hands I'm prayer and do the posture properly or not at all'
Me (In position) 'J****y (i will not print his name) Leave me alone I'm just here for a relaxing class'
Owner -'It is my class and studio and i ask that everyone does the postures here so put your hand in prayer'
Me (fuming now) 'Listen I've had Flu all week and I've only come here to chill out leave me be'
Owner - 'and change other side'
Me (Yes you've guessed it hands apart definately not in prayer)
Owner - 'Nick if you're not going to do it properly don't do it at all'
Me - 'Can't you pick on someone else'
Owner - 'This is my studio. I am the teacher. If you will not listen to me there is no point in you being here'
Me - 'Listen I haven't paid £16 to be talked to like a kid. I've brought 3 people here and i just want a quiete class (yeah right) and you're picking on me. Just chill and leave it be. Leave me alone i don't appreciate being talked too like that'
Owner - 'Well I'd rather not teach you if you're not going to listen or try to do it.'
Me - 'Are you asking me to leave?'
Owner - 'Yes it's best you are not here'
Me - 'I paid £16 for this shit, who the fuck are you to talk to me like that. You've picked on me all day & half these people are doing it the same as me. You're totally out of order'
Owner - 'I' think you should leave and not come back. This is for true Yogis'
Me - 'Tell you what you stick your fucking yoga up your arse you arrogant cunt'
And that is when i stormed out of class, leaving everyone in the tree position looking embarrassingly at the floor. Not the ideal Yoga class I must admit.Yoga is supposed to make you peaceful, calm, relaxed. I was fuming. Angrily showering, getting changed and then before I left I so needed to have the final word (why do i need the final word. Quit when you're behind idiot!) I poked my head in the studio, however before I could fire off a volley, this girl at the back of the studio who looked close to tears turned around and shrieked 'Just leave'. I left.
I sat down at a cafe had a cup of tea and immediately rang my sponsor (It's through the fellowship - like a more experienced mentor who helps you with your mentalism)
My first words to him were, 'I've just been barred from a yoga class and i don't know why'. It was an awkward conversation. And what of my girl? She's never going to want to go out with me now?
It was all cool afterwards and in time she learnt to laugh about it, though it took her about 2 years. I never went back to the studio and used to see the owner around Richmond. I was always tempted to assume the 'awkward' position but never did. Live and let live is the code I'm supposed to live by, but he was truly a c**t. A Bikram c**t.
I returned back to Fulham studio which I love and the word got round. People laughed but I reckon all the teachers thought 'oh god there's that miserable bastard in my class'. Apparently the owner in Richmond has got a bit of a reputation and I think other owners were secretly glad it happened. It's all Coconut water under the bridge now but it showed me at the time I had anger issues.
I know I'm getting better i haven't been barred from anywhere in a while, even Bikram yoga. And that was the day i got barred from Bikram Yoga. Can you trump that?
xx
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