Day 140 - How to deal with Flashes of Anger Sober v Drunk

What happens when someone pisses you off? What do you do about it? Does it happen often? Is it a problem to you? Do you respond or let it all wash over you?


It just happened to me. Not anything big or major. But I asked someone I work with a reasonable question and was met with a predictable 'fuck off' type response. As predicted. I didn't want to ask but needed to.


It wasn't the answer I wanted. The answer I wanted is for my way of course. For things to be as I want in the way that I want them. The reply was  dismissive and really pissed me off.


So what do I do? I got angry but instead I said 'thank you very much' and walked away. Fuming. A few swear words to myself, a few volley's of abuse to nobody in particular and then it died down.


It's interesting. I could see what was at work there. My intolerance, impatience and need to get my own way. It was in my head, not the public domain. I was careful to present a friendly face, it didn't match my insides of course and I asked a fair question.


The trouble was the reply. The person I asked may have been having a bad day, they maybe busy, they maybe stroppy or unhelpful. It's not the point is it. The point is my reaction. Why get pissed off? I may as well just let it go and find another route. But I am a human being and if someone is unhelpful we tend to get angry right?


That's what happens when you get an immovable object v immovable object. Stalemate. In the past I would still be spitting blood and heading to the local pub to vent my spleen, criticise at the injustice of it all and drink 12 pints of strong lager.


However, really at the end of the day who gives a fuck? It's not really Sky News. Instead Rolf Harris, yet another 70's super nonce has got that one stitched up today.


I'm going to have a quiet word to ensure there is no bad blood, after all, people have to get along at work don't they and I like my job.


I think that's a better way of dealing with it. My anger has subsided, writing it takes the power out of it. I can see how insignificant these feelings of indignant anger really are. You can't at the time of course, but gain a little perspective and suddenly it's a whole different ball game. You can see the truth and even laugh at your own absurdity.


It makes me remember a job I had 14 years ago at the end of my drinking. I had been out on yet another fake appointment and spent the past few hours sleeping off a hangover in my car and eating corned beef sandwiches.


I got back to the office slightly weary and waking up, only for my boss to hold up a handwritten fax I had done as a cover to a client which was illegible and badly spelt.


"What's this?" She angrily demanded
"A cover note" I yawned
"It's awful. So unprofessional. Never Ever send out something like that again" She hissed.
You can tell what's going to happen here right?
"What?" I was slowly waking up to this onslaught
"You type a fax. Not hand write. It's not what we do here" (baring in mind the place was the most unprofessional Football Club I had ever seen)
"I'm not a secretary" I shrugged. This seemed to make her angry.
"I am your boss and I'm telling you what do to. You do not do this"
"I don't care if you are my boss, I'm a salesman, not a fucking secretary. You want a fax typed then hire a PA. That fax was for a deal for £20k. Who else is doing that?"
"I don't care, that looks awful. You do as you are told"
"I couldn't give a fuck. In fact Fuck this. Fuck you. You and you're stupid fucking rules. You can fuck your job. Stick it up your arse. I quit."
"What?"
"I quit. This is a shithole and so are you. Fuck this. I'm keeping the car for a week. Bye"


And with that I stormed off, quit the job, kept the Ford Focus for a week and crawled into a bottle for 2 months.


I'm so pleased I deal with things differently now, but you know the interesting thing about sobriety? The pilot light is still lit inside and on a bad day my reaction to things is not great. The ego still burns. That's why we must be constantly vigilant and why I'm always banging on about recovering alkies being raging lunatics inside. Get the picture now?


Together We Are Stronger


Nichols E Evans

Day 139 - Lets Get Right Under That Bonnet

Evening troops. How was your weekend? Has anyone else got that Sunday feeling? It's A summer's weekend, it's light, it's mild, it's 10pm yet feels like 5. Glastonbury's on the box, Kasabian are headlining and it's Monday morning soon. You want to keep hold of the weekend feeling a little longer yet the creeping dread of Monday gnaws away at you. That Sunday feeling is so unsettling sometimes.


I'm refreshed after my wobble yesterday. I literally had 4 messages of support to keep this blog going. Not quite the 10,000 my ego wanted but i'll take 4 non the less. I wasn't looking for support/attention by the way, I seriously doubted what this was all about and if it was worth doing.


I got a serious case of the doubts. Too public. Too much information. Too little 'under the bonnet' stuff about my journey within, and too much concentrating on outside issues. People, places and things.


This blog and sharing in meetings is the only time I can really share my own truth. There are no restrictions or barriers. Trouble is with the blog is that it is public. There is danger in exposing oneself (ooer missus) publicly only to regret it later I suppose.


But you know what, fuck it. You only life once and if there's nothing else I can hold my hat on then at least being true to oneself is something I can feel good about (I've written about that before I'm sure). I feel credible as a person and writer then.


One thing someone said yesterday, is that I say things people are thinking but would never dream to say. I like that. It's been said before. It's a risk, it's a danger but someone's got to say it right?


That's good because I don't feel alone then. Sometimes in meetings or conversation I feel like I'm the only one struggling with patience, tolerance, ego, head, pride. It's almost as if people do a giant swerve like there's something wrong with me. Either they think I'm sick and still in it or they feel threatened. It happened tonight at a meeting.


I shared about the past 10 days being a tolerance test, how I have fought every day to keep a lid on my anger and intolerance, how my alcoholism is on me at all times to try and get me to blow up. How keeping your temper when faced with total incompetence, denial, pride or fuckwadism is tough. I have been low on meetings, my replacement for booze, so the pressure has been building every day. It helps to share open and honestly. Relieves the pressure valve.


I have to look at my role too. If I fall out with everyone. If every person, place or situation is unacceptable then I have to see the common denominator in all of it. Me. So I can only change myself not the world right?


I had a problem with this before, because I thought if you just accept everything then nothing would have happened in the world. What about the protest marches In the 60's? Gay rights, female equality, anti-war? What about the Arab uprising in the middle east?


Sometimes challenging the natural order is a good thing. It is action. It is standing up for what you believe in. It is fighting a cause. It is passion, emotion and freedom.


My problem is knowing when it is right to challenge and when I am being self centred and intolerant and want things all my own way.


I of course have never channelled my feelings into any worthy cause. Instead it is into people who put 8 items in the 5 items or less aisle in Sainsbury's. It is usually against small minded insignificant things that have no baring on the world other than this little freedom fighter's crusade for right things. The world according to the Great Nick is a small place sometimes.


Sometimes I want the world and people to be exactly the way I want them to be. Say the things I want. Act the way I want and do things the way I want them. Of course then I'm on collision course with them because this simply will not happen.


There are a lot of balloon heads out there. There are sick people, annoying people and people in rock solid denial there is anything wrong with them. They infuriate me. But what can I do about them? Shout at all of them to see the error of their ways and force them to get help? Argue, criticise? Point out their faults? I'll be forever getting into barny's if that's the case. Is it my job to heal the world? And who am I to know they need healing in the first place? And how is my life running before I try and point out other people's failings?


Lord knows I have done it on many occasions. Usually with ex-girlfriends. It doesn't make for a pleasant relationship. It is one of my main defects. The inability to accept people for what they are and to be tolerant.


I find that so hard. Time and again I have let myself down by blowing up and tearing people apart. I may make great progress over a period of weeks only to wreck it with a short burst of barbed anger and belligerence. The pressure builds up until I snap.


So why does this happen? Have I been born that way? Should I just shrug my shoulders and accept it's part of me? Is it acceptable? Am I right in what I am saying? Have I the right to say anything? Why does it continue?


Well, I think there are many things operating for people who have anger and tolerance issues. Firstly lets deal with relationships. If you're unhappy it's usually because of something inside not in the person you are with.


For instance in my own relationships. I can make long lists of things I find wrong with them. So what do I do about them?. Do I batter them over the head and continually point out the changes they need to make. Is that the best way? Do I really think they're going to say, "Thank you so much for pointing out all my dysfunctions, you're such a hero I will immediately go away and sort them all out. You're so insightful. Thank you." So why do I keep going back to the well only to be poisoned? That's just giving my power way. Concentrating it in the wrong areas instead of making myself better.


Should I instead wait patiently for them to figure them out? Do I offer patience, love and support like a partner in a loving relationship should do? Well, in theory yes. In reality - how long will that take?


I was accused of being childish and selfish yesterday for ending what was seemingly a great relationship with a girl people thought was so right for me. Well, maybe on the surface. But what about under the bonnet? How many of us really understand what happens in people's relationships and lives? Do you know what happens in your closest friends? Do you know the full extent of people's lives.


I think I was hurt by the criticism. Why? Well pride for one. I want to be seen to be a top bloke and people to like me. My image is too important to me. I am after all a chronic people pleaser. Despite going to great lengths to cover it up because people pleasing is simply 'not cool' is it?Plus I want to be seen to be right. I want people to understand why the situation is what it is. I feel I have done the right thing for so long and now I'm seen as the bad guy. It makes me angry.


I know a friend of mine felt exactly the same. His missus cheated on him, yet nobody in their industry knew and he felt so angry she seemingly got off with it and he was seen as the bad one for ending things. His male pride and anger was extraordinary. Yesterday I understood and felt the same.


In reality who cares what people think. What matters is what you do deep down. Only we know what's right for us. The problem is not having the courage to face up to it. That's where my anger comes out because I have entered, stayed in bad relationships or endured pain because of my own fears, insecurities or needs. Ultimately my responsibility but boy have I not wanted to face it.


Therefore the anger at the world. The intolerance and belligerent impatience is really against myself for not being true to myself or for living in fear.


I naturally find it easier to rage against someone or something than look within and confront the really messy inner workings of oneself. It's a comfortable place to be for me and sometimes very hard to eradicate or alter old patterns of behaviour.


It's like viewing how you would like to be through a window. The trick is getting rid of the window and living it. That's the key I think to all this. The knowing is great it's the stopping onself from doing it that kills me.


It wouldn't change the pain of living though. PC World will still be shit, people will still piss you off. Life will continue to happen on life terms but by jove it would be a lot easier.


That's the journey right there. Maybe all those people sharing in meetings that they used to be a certain way but don't have those feelings now have crossed through the window. Maybe it's just me behind the pain.


Having said that the parting shot a bloke at the meeting tonight said to me as I left made me feel better, he said, "Nice to hear you tonight. You're not alone"


He had no idea how good that was to hear.


Loud exhale of breath, this blog tonight was like a share for me. I prefer to get this shit out of my head than keep it in. If it offended anyone I'm sorry, if you identified then that's great. Whatever it is don't take it too seriously because you can bet come 6am tomorrow morning I would have forgotten about this and moved on to something new to get worried/fearful/angry/intolerant/egotistical about. Standard day in the mind of an alcoholic. Best to concentrate on me and my journey I think. Thanks for the person who messaged me that last night, good advice. You know who you are.


Together We Are Stronger


Nicholas E Evans

Day 138 - Adrian Chiles' Came Toe and Am I Too Public?

Short blog today.


Colombia v Uruguay is on in 14 minutes. I'm currently reeling at the site of Adrian Chiles in shorts and flip flops on my TV at the moment. What on earth are ITV up to? 4 middle aged men in ill fitting beach wear presenting a World Cup finals match on prime time Terrestrial TV. Have they gone mad? I can see Chiles' camel toe as he sits down, legs open facing the camera. It's offensive.


We all know that British just don't do beachwear. It doesn't look right on us. Loose fitting baggy shorts, deck shoes and pastel coloured polo shirts that show off the man tits nicely. No, No, No.


British guys tend to look lost on the beach. Especially in Brazil where everyone is just horny in their beachwear. Even the fatties. It's a different mentality and feel to the place. You place a 40 something British tourist in that and they look like extras from a Primark advert.


So what on earth have ITV done in placing Chiles' camel toe live on air? Jokers.


Anyway my quick blog entry is 'am I giving away too much on this blog?' - I've had pelters from people close to me and members of my own family about 'washing my dirty linen in public'. Makes me think. I talked about my relationship, my own problems, my head and personal circumstances. Is it too much? Should I actually be doing it at all?


I get the whole modern culture of sharing everything on social media. It's pretty grim when people do that. No privacy, intrigue and lots of narcissism. Look at me. Look at me!!!


So am I just following this mass exodus into public sharing of personal lives for my own esteem, ego and narcissism? Is it OK to share your life on a blog?


I guess talking about others is off limits. Save for brief mentions about circumstances. But really it's about me, my head, my alcoholism, my daily observations on my ego and how it affects my life.


So I guess I'm doing the blog for a reason. Not just because I want to share every area of my life, because I don't. There's a lot more I could say and I'd really like to but I hold back for respect of other's in my life.


I suppose sometimes I forget this isn't a share in a meeting, which is what I intended when I started. A meeting is anonymous and left in the room when you share. I forget people read this blog and then make up their own minds about my life, me, people they may know or the topics I cover.


So it has made me think, do I continue to do it? Has it lost it's legs? Is it honest? Is it credible? Am I exploring the topics I set out to?


It's made me question a lot today and if I'm honest, the game is starting, you're probably wanting to watch that or Glastonbury and i'll be fucked if I got any answers to these questions. If you do feel free to share with me. After all, we're all in it together


Nicholas E Evans

Day 137 - Keeping the ego in check, saying Thank You and Glastonbury

It's 10.30pm and I'm just back after another long day travelling. Work has been insane this week, but I'm not complaining. The busier I am the less time I get to think. Sometimes that's a good thing.


If I'm honest I'm a little short of meetings this week and I can feel that inner turmoil, panic, worry, fear, intolerance, ego welling up inside. It hasn't yet spilled over, thank God. Despite the tests of PC World, WH Smith and Virgin Trains to Glasgow I've managed to keep the carnage firmly locked inside my head.


Sometimes it's tough to keep it in at work. It usually spills out somewhere and when you get involved and wrapped up in a job you care about you can get drawn into things that you shouldn't. That's when it is exceptionally wise to keep a lid on it, step back. Ask yourself, "Does this really matter?" and let it go.


That's the bit I've always struggled with. The step back bit. The let it go. One of my strengths is my ability to get wrapped up in something and to make things happen by force of energy, enthusiasm and I would hope a little skill. It's also my weakness. When meetings are low and the ego takes off I become intolerant, impatient and angry when things don't go the way I think they should. I have a great ability to win people over and then piss them off in a nano-second. I really have to watch myself.


I think my 40's should be my 'learning to step back years'. Perhaps I can be more effective that way? Would certainly beat my 20's which were my learning to black out years. I'm in a better place now.


I was called Beckham 4 times in Glasgow and once at Richmond Station when I got back last night. That never happened in my 20's. I was more used to being called 'fat wanker'.


Thank You


I'm sat in my kitchen and I have just emailed the team from work who really looked after me and my guests today. It's not something I do often but I remembered someone saying it's important to recognise good work and show appreciation where it is due. It's rare for me to email thanks. We're all so busy aren't we? I did though  tonight and you know what? it feels good. I like that feeling. Not always but I have the mental space tonight to say thank you.


It hasn't been like that all week when I've been super busy and locked in me. Getting impatient and uptight wanting things on my terms. Thanks goes right out of the window then. It's more a case of 'when'.and 'for fucks sake'


A simple shift from a demand with a frown to a thanks with a smile seems a million miles sometimes but in reality it's not. The results are hugely different.


Glastonbury


I'm sat here in my kitchen, the window is open, it's a calm, light summer's evening and the neighbour has Glastonbury on really loud next door. I like it. Saves me using my tellie but it's Glastonbury time again isn't it?


Every year I forget then when it creeps up I always say to myself, "next year you must go". I've never been. I was never much of a festival goer. Of course I like to think of myself as a travelled man of the world. A bit of a hippy at heart but I'm not really. More of a credit card Holiday Express Hippy in truth. It's nothing shirt of a disgrace I've never been.


All my mates have and love it, I'm not really sure why I never have. I suppose getting sober 12 years ago had an impact, I always associate Glastonbury and festivals with getting fucked out of your head for 48 hours and drifting around like a hallucinogenic breeze.


Still, why should sobriety stop you going? It's a bridge to normal living and it should be experienced. The music, the people, the size, the spirituality, the mud, the khazi's and the skinny festival chicks in hot pants and wellies. It's got to be worth a go.


I'll make a commitment to you readers. If I'm writing a blog this time next year saying, 'I must go to Glastonbury next year", I will walk down Oxford Street in hot pants and wellies with a sign saying 'Glastonbury made me do this."


This time next year Rodney, I WILL be at Glastonbury. Who's coming?


Together We Are Stronger


Nicholas E Evans

Day 136 - Sobriety Tester 2 - Virgin Trains & WH Smith

Just back from a two day business trip to Glasgow. I'm not going to lie the experience was painful.


It's a well know fact that retail service in this country is shit. We all know it. Especially train companies right? They charge an arm and a leg for what is effectively rubbish service and then spend fortunes on advertising saying 'we care about you'. That's generally the deal and we all know it.


It's also a well known fact that technology has made huge advances to this world. The internet, medicine, prosthetic limbs, social media, X Factor voting. Our lives and society have been revolutionised.


So what have WH Smith done to embrace Modern technology? Well, at Euston station they appear to have done away with humans and replaced them all with self service tills that don't work. Genius.


Not only do you have to contend with being bombarded with offers for coupons, vouchers, Galaxy bars for £1 and 5p off your next purchase for £25 and over. Now you have to contend with the painful process of working the self service demons that are clearly set up to make your day as painful as possible.


I wanted to buy a paper. Pretty simple transaction really. £1.20 to read about the charade that was/is the Hacking trial. (if ever there was a flex of power and money and immorality on a large scale that was it) - but all I needed was to pay for the newspaper (Guardian if you must know)


Queue for self service till
Long wait as lots of frustrated commuters in front of me swearing at self service til
Get to till
Scan paper, wait. Nothing.
Scan again, wait. Nothing.
repeat process 8 times.
Finally a bleep.
Till asks - Cash or card, press cash
Till says - card only
Press card
Till asks - Coupon? Press No.
Till asks - Galaxy Bar £1? Press No
Till asks - 2p bag? For fucks sake it's a paper what do I need a bag for? I'm already screwing up the environment with a fucking newspaper, why do I need to screw it up more with plastic bags? Press No.
Nothing
Press again
Nothing
Loud deep sigh, swear under breath
Repeat process all over again
This happens 3 times before I explode, grab one of the several small little chaps stocking up the Discos tray.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm a massive fan of Discos. They are a quality crisp. They deserve respect. But do you really need to stock up on them at 7.30am when there's a massive queue of people? What is there a Golden ticket in them? Are they being discontinued? Are they extinct.
"LEAVE THE FUCKING DISCOS AND HELP US!"
Us commuters were like pathetic battery chickens rendered useless by these evil machines. "Help us please Mr Disco filler"
Finally the paper went through, the card was fed and I paid.
Such a painful process to pay for a sodding Newspaper.


I think that policy decision by the suits at WH Smith was a belter. They obviously had a meeting and asked, "how can we make it as painful and difficult for our customers?" "I know........."


They rival PC World as Nazi retailers. Until I got on the Virgin Train.........Wow.


It's been ages since I took a long train journey. Luckily work paid for it but the £150 return to Glasgow surprised me. That's a lot of Tunnocks Tea cakes that.


The journey up was pretty painless. I sat next to the buffet car trying to get Wi Fi to work. A fruitless effort. I would have had more hope getting it to work on Mars.


I had a nice chat to the friendly Scouse woman who ran the buffet car. She loved a chat. In fact she loved a chat so much I got really bored after 30 minutes. I come from London I'm not used to speaking to humans on a train, save for berating them for being in the way.


I enjoyed our chat, but after a few minutes I noticed she had had her eyes done which gave her that permanent surprised look. It gnawed away at me. My mind was churning as we spoke, until it was screaming in my head. "Please blink for fucks sake." It was doing my head in. She didn't blink once in 30 mins and I had to break of the conversation before I said what was in my head.


The stay was brief but just long enough to marvel at the local fashion. Tatoo's and bouffants. and that was the girls. I ate my own bodyweight in shortbread, tablet and Tunnocks Tea-cakes and it was time to come back.


I arrived at Glasgow station at 2.20pm for my 2.40pm. Delayed. No reason just delayed. and so we waited, waited and waited.


Finally we were let on and the train crawled its way towards London. 6 hours it took. I was climbing the walls after 4.


Luckily Ollie the buffet guard kept us amused by drawing a raffle for a bottle of wine at Preston. I have never heard anything more insane. A raffle for booze on a train that he got a 10 year old boy to draw out on the tannoy. it was like a Sketch I swear to God. Broad accent drawing it out like something from Pheonix Nights.


The bloke opposite me won it and I had to stare at this bottle of wine all the way back to London. I have been sober for 12 years but I swear to God after the 8th delay I nearly necked it.


He drew one again at Milton Keynes. Mind you if you lived there what else is there to do? He got another young kid to draw it. Nothing like encouraging underage responsible binge drinking is there Virgin Trains.


We finally got back to London 7 hours later and I departed home knackered and bewildered.


If anyone suffers from bi polar manic depression and is contemplating suicide, my advice is book yourself on a Virgin train to Glasgow, especially when Ollie is running the show. It's nailed on to help you finish the job


Together We Are Stronger


Nicholas E Evans

Day 135 - The Sobriety Tester - PC World

There are many tests you face in sobriety.


Bereavements, relationship break ups, job losses, temporary homelessness, financial worries, humiliations, embarrassments and countless bouts of white hot anger.


There are many frustrations. The sort where the temptation to go, 'fuck it' is so strong. You get so close to the edge the only thing that will satisfy is the decision to say 'FUCK IT' and tear the arse out of everything you have worked for. In that moment you couldn't give a toss.


All of these can be negotiated sober. They may smart a little but you do not have to pick up a drink. You can face anything sober.


Well, almost anything. Anything other than PC World. No amount of meetings, faith, God, sponsee's, prayer, meditation or steps can prepare your sobriety for those bunch of moronic twats. It is the ultimate Sobriety tester. I think even the Dalia Lama may struggle to hold it together.


PC World is one of the most aptly named companies around. It's not Personal Computer World, more like Professional C***t World. It's an electrical playground of half witted knob-heads masquerading as 'Retail Professionals', who's sole job it seems is to wind up members of the public in a pair of slip on's and badly cut half mo-hawked hair.


Do they round up people deemed beyond a lost cause in Care in the Community and house them in PC World?


"Go on son, there's your uniform of ill fitting black slacks halfway round the arse, slightly too tight shirt that barely covers the hairy chest. Get yourself a trendy haircut that was trendy 6 years ago and make sure you ignore people, talk over them when they are trying to spend money then proceed to bullshit them about when you're item that will invariably go wrong be ready".


"Once you have mastered these skills, got tested to have an IQ in single figures, you are now ready to serve the public. Do you worst and fuck them up!"


I'm sure that's in their company manual. It must be. I spent 2 hours of my life in one today. 2 hours. I could have done absolutely anything else that would have been more productive and fun. Like kill myself. Fuck me, I've been in mental hospitals and felt more uplifted.


I know, it was my fault, I should have gone down another avenue to get a laptop, but it's by my house, it's easy, I could get it on finance until I win the Euro Lottery, so I figured I would just nip in, get a cheap laptop and crack on. Wrong. It would have been easier trying to uncover Fifa's accounts than buy a  laptop and get Microsoft Office Installed. Fuck me I may have been asking for the code to Facebook , Google, Twitter and The White House for all the time it took.


Once I had completed the initial painful 80 minutes of organising payment and finding an 'in stock' machine. I was told it would take 2 hours to install the software that had been over complicatedly explained to me, to see if I wanted to spend an extra £50 or £7.95 per month. "No fuck off. I just want you to make it work and take my money for fucks sake. It's like the WH Smith of technology,. Flogging cyber Galaxy bars at the till for a quid.


So, off I toddled to my AA meeting, (which was totally insane and made me even more twitchy) and returned back to PC World 2 hours later to pick up my new machine.


"Not ready mate"
"OK, when will it be ready then?"
"Don't know" he said, distractedly talking to his mate over the other side of the store


At this point the 90 mins of lunacy in the meeting, all day rage pent up and the safe knowledge I had just spunked £500 on this machine with these morons raced through my mind. I wasn't happy.


"Look, I've just done £500 and this is shit customer service. 1 - address me when you are talking not your dippy mate. 2 - Do not address me as 'mate' and 3 - fuck off over to your manager and find out when it will be ready as you shut in 10 minutes and I need this stupid thing by the morning for my job. Which I already told your mate about 2 hours ago."


He looked a bit taken aback, but fair play to him. Off he totted.


The manager came over;


"So sorry Sir, we've installed 1 software, but the others will take time. Can you pick it up tomorrow?"
"NO, that's why I did it today, I have to be at work tomorrow, then I'm travelling and I need it by tomorrow. Hence why I told the bloke when I bought it. I need it tonight to have tomorrow. Not sure how clearer I could have been"
"Oh"
"So what are we going to do?"
"We can offer you a £5 discount?"


At this point I toyed with the idea of chopping his head clean off his shoulders with the electric carving knives on offer, placing it in one of the washing machines, capturing it on video and displaying it on all the flat screens around the store. I decided against it.


"I want it done tonight" I decided to stand my ground. "Otherwise just cancel the sale"
"OK, I will see what we can do"


1 hour later, me, the fat controller and sales assistant were still stood there in an empty store. It was like they were uploading the entire Nassa programme onto this thing.


Finally at 9pm it was done. I thanked them, shook their hand, accepted their apologies and went home to try not to scream too loudly to relieve the pressure.


I opened up the gleaming new white laptop, switched it on and the wireless didn't work. Try as I might it remained resolutely offline. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck fucking fuck. PC fucking cunting world. PC wank. PC wankers. PC fucking fuckity fucking fucks. Fucking fucks. Cunting wanking fuck fucks. 3 fucking hours in PC wanks. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fucking fucks.


And on it went.


So I'm writing this blog on my old borrowed work laptop. 3 hours for nothing. 3 hours of pain, torture, frustration, pain, bewilderment. Do they do it on purpose?


Is the CEO of PC World a lapsed alcoholic? Is he drinking again after a long period of sobriety? is he so bitter towards sobriety he makes his company full of awkward bullshitting knob heads flogging equipment that doesn't work just to send you to distraction in order to say. 'Fuck it' and drink?


It was a test of sobriety. No doubt about that. But no fear, I haven't and will not drink. I may even push myself to the limit and head to Ikea tomorrow night in rush hour. That's the ultimate test right there. Then it's straight past the alcohol and right into the Crack. Do not even pass go. If you can negotiate your way through PC World and Ikea in one week, it's pretty safe to say you may never drink again.


Together We Are Stronger (just, today)


Nicholas E Evans

Day 134 - Eulogy to Nan - Passed away on this day in 2012

It is two years ago to the day when on the longest day of mid summer, my beautiful Nan passed away aged 97. Here was the eulogy I wrote for her funeral.


EULOGY TO NAN
I have been asked to say some words about Nan. Or to others here Mum, Lil, Lillian, Auntie Lil, Nan Lil or Mrs Probert.

She lived such a long life, and was so well loved by so many. Her Daughter Jan and Son Ken, Her 3 Grandsons& 1 Grandaughter, Her 2 Great grandsons and 2 Great grand daughters, her sister, her nephews, her nieces and so many friends from the town and community who loved and respected her. We are all here today to pay our respects

We are here to share memories of Nan. To honour her, her life, her spirit. To remember what made her so special to us. They are not just my memories but all of ours. I speak for everyone who loved her.

Margaret Lillian Daniels was Born 13th April 1915. On the Bryn. The 5^th of 10 children. Her father, or Daki, David Daniels was a chauffeur and her mother, or Mamgi, Mary Jane Daniels a maid. She spoke so fondly of her childhood and how it shaped her attitude to life. She would remember how her mother would cook fresh bread, cakes and suppers, clean, keep the house and bring up the children. Big boiling pots, cakes left out to cool. Her father reading the paper. Learning respect, family love and honour. It shaped her life. She was a happy from a young age.

She was a tough character. Angelic but strong.

She packed off to work at 14!!!!, (told you she was strong) becoming a housemaid for a Bank Manager in Park Howard, She cried herself to sleep every night but worked there for 6 years. She was a grafter.

She then met Edwin Vernon Probert. She was Not keen at 1^st. One night he walked her home and bought every Chocolate Bar in the sweet shop to win her heart. She always had a sweet tooth.

Later He chose a weekend riding a Norton motorbike over meeting her. She wrote him a letter saying it’s me or the motorbike. They were married for 51 years! He chose well.

They were married in this church 26^th March 1940, Easter Saturday. Their wedding present a joint of welsh lamb! They moved into Brynmoor Road and so started a beautiful 51 year marriage and a 72 year stay at Brynmoor Road. She was the oldest member of Dafen church, the longest serving resident of Brymoor Road. She was quite simply the best.

She lived in Brynmoor Road for 72 years and in that time has cooked 296,567 Sunday Roast dinners, 600,966 Rock Cakes and said 'Therewarthen' 3.4million times. She is a star. Everyone loved her.

You couldn’t leave the house without a straining stomach or 7 litres of tea inside you. I never met anyone who loved ‘a nice cup of tea’ as much as her. I think she was responsible for 50% of PG tips sales in Wales.

She was an avid watcher of the news & weather. Lunchtime, early evening and News at ten. Forget BBC news Just ask Nan. I will miss my weather reports

She Loved to talk. Sometimes barely drawing breath. But she did get the occasional thing wrong. For instance she felt sorry for those long distance HIV drivers. Would occasionally like a cubicle of chocolate and liked Michael Portaloo on BBC.

Her house was immaculate as was she. Neighbours remembered her for having the shiniest door knocker in Brynmoor Rd. She was always cleaning the front. Standards you see.  Even the parlour (or front room) looked like a showroom, though it was rarely used. I think she was saving it for Terry Griffiths, the home town boy. Or as Nan used to call him ‘Terry’. She had a soft spot

She used to lower her voice when she talked about neighbours,  like they were listening. Her memory was incredible and she could bamboozle with her complex knowledge of what was happening in Llanelli.

She always stuffed money in my hand when i visited, she was a total giver and carer. Hard working, humble and loving, but would never say it. She liked to send cards with footballs or trains on the front even when i was into my 30's,

She would hum and sing when she was going up the stairs in key. She was always so happy.

She answered the phone in a posh phone voice ‘Heelllooo’ – oh it’s you Rob

She loved boiled mints and always had a bigger supply than Rowntrees.

Coining the immortal phrase "Do you want a mint in your mouth?" - AS opposed to where Nan?

Her cooking was legendary. Victoria Sandwich sponge, Christmas cake, Bread and Butter Pudding, Ham and Parsley Sauce, Rice Pudding, Welsh Cakes and homemade Chips. Bread and Butter was placed on the table at every meal time. Butter melted in front of the fire. Old school.

Like most Welsh women She was a feeder. A way of expressing love. 

"Want a sandwich?"
"No thanks Nan, I'm OK"
"Rock Cake?"
"No Nan, I'm stuffed after the Roast Dinner at 11am"
"Have a Breakaway"
"No thanks"
"Blue Ribband?"
"No"
"Have a Kit Kat"
"No Nan, I'm full"
"Biscuit?"
"No"
"Rich Tea, that doesn't count?"
"No thanks Nan"
"Digestive?"
"No"
"Fig roll?"
"No"
"Garibaldi?"
"No Nan, I'm stuffed"
"OK then, if you're sure"..............
,.......................................
"Crisps then" and so on



I can still see her false teeth in the old Stork Margarine tub by the sink,

I can see her in The kitchen rubbing Nivea cream at bed time. I can picture her old shopping trolley in the conservatory, I can see her in her housecoat, going to the shops on a Friday and getting her hair ‘set’.

I can see her sitting in her chair watching Emmerdale

I can see her Drinking a cup of tea and eating a kit Kat

I can see her immaculately turned out in what she like to call a new ‘rig out’

I can see her Popping into a room you were in and saying 'therewarthen', like a Welsh gap filler. It was a word that meant absolutely nothing but said so much.

In short she was adorable. The last week has seen a steady flow of visitors, paying respects and wishes. The Kate and William commemorative plate had to be moved from the mantelpiece to accommodate the cards. She is well loved.

I suppose that's what happens when you have been so respectful and lovely to people throughout your life. It is given back.

She was so active, It must have been be hard to lose her fierce independence. She was a proud woman. And despite everything she Never complained. Never showed pain. ‘No one likes a moaner’ she used to tell me. She was always so ‘up’. Everyone who cared for her said how much of a model patient she was.

We know there are many special carers here today who made her life more comfortable. You know who you are but Nan and we are so grateful to you.

Something that sums up her spirit – About 5 years ago she fell over and broke her leg. Ken arrived to pick her up and put her in her chair. He said he will call an ambulance and the doctor. She said ‘No fuss, just wanted to go to bed and have a cup of tea’. She was so tough.

It was nice to listen and spend time with her, respect. Learn from. She comes from an era where life was simple. Family was key. You didn't moan, complain and were grateful for your lot. She was a Grafter and humble, No ego. No resentment. She didn't talk about emotions but showed love.

So Nan. We salute you. We salute your attitude, your spirit, your gratitude. We salute you’re life. When you were asked about the secret to your long life, you pointed to you’re legs and said ‘these are my transport’ .

Your legacy is a message of hope, of positivity, of activity, to get on with life, to be grateful for your lot, to be happy. We celebrate your life.

It’s hard to think she is no longer here, because she has always been here. Death is sad. Loss is hard. But she is not lost. She will never go. Because she lives on in our hearts & our souls.

We love you Nan. May you rest in peace

xx


Together We Are Stronger


Nicholas E Evans

day 133 - Mutton Dressed as Lamb - How women dress these days

Yes, it really did happen. I may not have woken up in a skip out of blackout with a crushing hangover and dream England got knocked out of The World Cup in crushing disappointment. But they really did get knocked out of The World Cup in crushing disappointment. I wish I would have been in blackout now. I remember everything last night.


I remember the build up, the optimism, the hope, the frustration, the anger, the rage, the pessimism, the short bout of joy when they scored, the optimism they would go on to win and then the familiar crushing disappointment at a soft as shite late goal to get knocked out.


I remember everything. Just to top it off the Italians played like a load of pissed women on Ladies day at Ascot and lost to Costa Rica. England out. End Of Game.


Speaking of Royal Ascot, I got absolute pellets on Facebook yesterday when after passing Waterloo in the morning on the way to work I observed a raft of women togged up to the nines in their New Look finest, clipping along in high heels, hat and tiny jumpsuits ready for a day on the piss at Ladies Day. I posted "At Waterloo - lots of Mutton dressed as Lamb."


I got pellets by women standing up for their New Look sisters for the right for women to wear what they want and not get judged by men. I think they missed the point.


I wasn't criticising them for it. I was celebrating it. There's not much mutton around down in London. Plenty in regional towns around the country but sadly London girls consider themselves too cool to doll themselves up. I love it. I love women dressing up. I notice young girls now not dressing feminine. Instead it's all ugg boots, tracksuit bottoms and shapeless wear. Walk down the Kings Road at a weekend and sadly you wont see anymore Leopard Print jumpsuits as you did in the 70's when I was growing up. (though to be fair there wasn't too many of those around Cox Green in Maidenhead)


Of course everyone has the right to wear what they want but I grew up in the 70's when it was celebrated for women to look sexy and celebrate their femininity.


In fact it's funny as most guys like it and the most critical people of what women wear is other women. "Look at her dress. She looks like a slut." I've heard women tear others to shreds. Not a lot of sisterhood going in there is there?


Let's not fuck around in PC liberalism here. Some women dress like shit. Some look awful and some don't even try at all. I find that a shame. Dull, bland, boring. Women are great. They are women. Godesses. In All shapes and sizes why not celebrate their sexuality, femininity and bodies. I actually encourage the mutton look. I encourage all looks.


And whilst I'm at it, I better not be sexist or unfair here. Some men dress shit too. In fact, lots of them. Uniform bland boring and no effort at all. Most blokes aren't into their togs. Fair play to them, Most couldn't give a toss. They'd wander about in their dressing gowns if they had their way. Nuts out and all. I'm into mine though. I love clothes. I like dressing up. I like getting compliments. Yes I'm a total peacock but fuck it. It's all good fun.


I appreciate someones style whether they be men or women, but when you have been fed a diet of Escort, Razzle and Club International as a kid and forever watching Live and Let Die just for Jayne Seymour or Solitaire then you kind of develop certain likes. Even punk was an extension of burlesque. Just fucked up a bit. Bondage trousers, fishnets, PVC. It all goes back to female sexuality. Lets call it right people. That's why it's so disappointing that women's lib kind of decried the sexy look. Made it shameful to dress sexily. Sexual equality has got fuck all do to with dress, clothes, look or anything else. It's about attitude.


Plus I cant be a hypocrite. I walk around in tight ladies jeans with cowboy boots and an 80's pop star hairdo. I take loads of shit every day from blokes about how I look but that doesn't bother me. In fact if you dress weirdly you have to almost expect abuse. It comes with the territory in this country. People tend not to like individuals or anyone outside the norm. Unless you're wearing a fleece, t-shirt or Ben Sherman lime coloured shirt you can fuck off.


No, sorry, I'm old school. Yes there's a bit of 70's sexism in me, but if you cut most blokes open we all have. What's wrong in liking women to dress as women? What's wrong with sexiness? What's wrong with celebrating their bodies? What's wrong with blotchy fake tan, 6 inch heels and hats that look like paper plates? I loved it. Bring on the mutton I say. What I found really amusing is all the classy women I saw at 9am, the 'lambs' all looked like 'mutton' when I returned to Waterloo on the way home at 6pm after a long day on the Pinot Grigio.


What goes around comes around. I'm male mutton anyway so who gives a toss


Together We Are Stronger


Nicholas E Evans

Day 132 - Watching England is Insane

Disillusioned. Disappointed. Dissatisfied. Disastrous. It can mean only one thing. Yep, another England World Cup exit.


I'm not really sure why we all put ourselves through it. One glimmer of hope against Italy and the belief, the if only, the optimism returns. "If only they can get 3 points we may go on a run to the semis, you never know!"


In this World Cup expectations have been lower. It's been more low key. Not in the media and advertisers of course, but in public there have been less flags, less morons and less hysteria.


BUT, when it comes to match day all of that which has gone before goes out of the window and you still hope. Despite all the evidence of the shit that has gone before you forget and the optimism grows. It's like being in a dysfunctional relationship. You know it doesn't work, you know it makes you unhappy, but you hold on just for those few times when it is good, no matter how many times you are left hurting and disappointed you go back for more, and more, and more again.


The same things keep happening but you forget with time and think it will be different this time. The definition of insanity - doing the same things again and expecting different results. That means the whole country is insane when it comes to Football. We are like alcoholics promising to give up the booze only to return to it a little while later. England Football at The World Cup is like drinking. Extreme hope, bouts of joy, but ultimately general misery and disappointment.


England disappoint time and again. It is the country's national sport but one we have become second rate at. That's a tricky one because England has the wealthiest league, the most watched and the wealthiest Football Association in the world. So why are England so shit? And more to the point why do we get so wrapped up in it?




Trouble is England aren't very good. When you go abroad and watch the football and see about how many people are playing the game, England are mid-table when it comes to participation. That puts it into perspective really. We don't matter too much on a world stage, yet because we live here, because we are fed the bullshit by newspapers, rolling news channels most of us in this country seem to think England matter. In truth we don't on a World stage.


Cue the usual national disappointment. The negativity. The 'told you so'. The press rinsing the players and manager. The endless pundits on TV telling them where they went wrong (even though they did exactly the same 10 years before) The headline news, the TV shots of people in pubs cheering when they score and groaning when they lose.


It's insanity on a National level. Incredible really and I'm as guilty as the next person. I know I'm Welsh but being brought up in England I support them at World Cups. I so want them to do well. When the national teams do well it does make the population happier. Remember Italia 90, Euro 96, The Olympics London 2012. When athletes and sportspeople do well it cuts through the shit and provides you with the tingle, with the raw emotion, with pride. We connect with sportspeople more than any other. Not with public figures, royalty, pop stars, actors, writers, musicians. When national teams do well it provides joy and energy to the nation.


That's why I suppose when England football do shit it just re-enforces the national pessimism. We love to moan and complain (well I do) - but remember 2012? After a few days when Team GB started winning Gold medals the country got the buzz. It became wrong to be negative, pessimistic or critical. You were rinsed on social media if you dared be negative. It was extra-ordinary. A complete national role reversal.


The country is as far away from that tonight, normal service has been resumed. Hope crushed.
I was going to watch it in a pub, just to see as a sober man if I was missing out on anything. I chose not to and watched it home in my pants. I'm glad I did, 500 people all moaning about how shit England are whilst heavily drinking Tequila to kill the pain is not my idea of fun anymore. If I learnt one thing tonight it wasn't that England are indeed not very good, it's that I'm really not missing out on anything with drinking. Trouble is, I'll wake up in the morning and remember the whole game tonight. That's one bonus about a blackout, the entire previous evening is erased from reality. On second thoughts what time does the Crown shut......


Enjoy your insanity Nation it's here to stay. See you in Russia 2018


Together We Are Stronger


Nicholas E Evans

Day 131 - Frustration : King Baby : The Fuck It Button

OK sod it, I'll watch the second half of Russia V South Korea. It's worth watching just for the commentary of the players names. I wasn't going to write today because I'm grumpy and a bit off key.


It's been A frustrating day. Not helped by staying up until 2.22am last night. Sodding World Cup. Those late night games are a killer. Plus, now I've gone back to solo living the temptation to not cook, look after oneself or sleep at a sociable hour is far too tempting. I love a bit of self sabotage me.


Clearly I was knackered. Clearly being tired doesn't help with intolerance. And clearly it was my 4th week waiting on a deal at work to be done that's been batted back between lawyers like Murray v Nadal. Frustrating.


Today was the day it was to be done and guess what? Silence. Total silence. No amount of emails, calls and gentle stalking worked. Instead my intolerance slowly rose throughout the day until I nearly emailed and called the whole thing off. What a massive baby  I am sometimes. 3 months of careful discussions, negotiation, skillful manouvering and I was prepared to press the 'fuck it' button because it wasn't going my way.


Story of my ego that. The fuck it button is so tempting sometimes. Problems at work? Fuck it. Problems with relationship? Fuck it. Problems with anything? Double fuck it. It's just so easy to get in a temper and make the worst rash decision ever in the heat of an intolerable moment. King Baby.


Luckily I didn't and let it pass, settled down, told myself not to be so ridiculous and spent the afternoon trying to concentrate on some work whilst feeling the grumpiness in my head rise like a semi hard on.


Don't get me wrong, I didn't do anything wrong, say anything bad, display any rudeness or do anything other than act and behave professionally. But inside the grumpometer was hitting a good 8/10.


I left work and went to my customary favourite rubber necking spot. Outside Costa in Richmond, sat at a pavement table, drinking tea, smoking cigs and hiding behind a pair of dark glasses. It really is world class location. You can really people watch and check out the rush hour crumpet without looking like your doing so. It slightly raised my mood.


I was late for a meeting I really wanted to attend, so instead went to the gym and did some half arsed exercise. I'd still rather work on my guns than spiritual condition if I'm honest. I'm not that advanced on the Inside Job yet.


Then as I left, the tiredness hit me. The grumpiness returned and was instantly replaced with financial fear and insecurity. This is what happens when you are tired, haven't eaten much and defences are down. Ideal scientific conditions for character defects to run amok.


Just to slam a final nail into my grumpy coffin I nipped into Asda which was the ultimate tolerance tester as the girl behind the counter was struggling with the concept of money. She just couldn't seem to count and decided to shut down her till, after I queued for 10 minutes. I held it together and didn't cause a fuss. Nobody likes to see a smartly dressed man kick off in Asda Local.


Finally I got home at 10pm. Door shut. Switch off. Relax.


Remarkable really as no damage was done. Nobody was shouted at. Temper wasn't lost. Things weren't thrown. OK, it wasn't the best of days but they cant all be champagne super nova's can they?


Now back to the footie


Together We Are Stronger


Nicholas E Evans

Day 130 - Co - Dependancy & The World Cup

I couldn't decide what to write about today. It was going to be about co-dependency, but don't worry boys, instead I thought I would be topical after the usual heroic English defeat on Saturday and write about.....


The World Cup and how the country's quad debates about English football is like being stuck in Groundhog day.


The World Cup and how it's pretty depressing how Brazil can spend £13 billion on the tournament yet have a divided country with poverty and people starving


The World Cup and the seemingly endless bribery and corporate greed that feeds this global corrupt fest


The World Cup and how the TV coverage is so utterly banal, stuffed full of middle aged footballers in badly fitted shirts, sitting in a studio with a background of people rioting about them being there speaking blandly about another game they've just 'analysed'.


The World Cup and how in this world we live in 500 people were seemingly executed in Iraq and The Sun chose to go with the headline, "Rooney finally scores" bedding his missus in a marathon sex session. Insane.


The world is genuinely insane and The World Cup is a celebration of everything that's wrong with what it's turned into. A global sport that's become a commercial product prostituted to the highest bidder with global corporate brands spending millions to own it in half empty stadiums without any relation to the country or communities it is held in. Fuck the people lets sell more rights.


And yet more people will watch it than ever before, more people will tweet about it and more people will be employed to write or talk bollocks about it. I know I'm locked in!


Football is now a commodity. No different from sugar, steel, or natural gas. It is a licence to print money except it is dressed up as 'The global game'.


I hate the way football has gone. Most of it bores me these days but it is the number 1 sport in the world and it is the World Cup and man do I love it!!


I remember rushing home from school in 1982 to see Bryan Robson scoring the classic goal v France. I remember the sweatbands, the short shorts, the Panini football albums, the Brazilian team who were from a different planet. Football was rarely on TV back then, players from 'abroad' played 'abroad'. it was all mystical and exciting (or maybe that because I was 10)


Back then of course I was young but there was more romance and glamour about the game. The relentless and remorseless grind if capitalistic revenue generation had still to take hold. My world weary cynism had yet to engulf me.


Italia 90 was the last great tournament. The Tears of Gazza and the sounds of Pavaroti made for a classic tournament for England. They actually had players who could think, control a football, pass and move too. Plus of course I was 17 and getting lashed in the pub with my mates. The whole world in front of me. A golden summer. These days I get more excited by a golden shower but that's another story (just joking Mum, I know you read this)


It created a huge boom in this country that helped feed the creation of the Premier League. It started in 1992 and year on year it has built itself into this commercial beast. Now TV companies pay £1.1 billion to screen the games. The league is seen as a great English export. The interest has created whole industries dedicated to it.


Rent a gob Radio presenters, writers, presenters, merchandise, licensing, agents, players on £300,000 a week. It's insane!


But the greatest scam of all in this game we all love called football is that the quality is mostly shit. Certainly in this country anyway. The top European leagues have embraced the idea of coaching at youth level, getting into kids early and creating a way of playing that is about skill not strength.


Instead in this country the psyche has always seemed to be on endeavour than skill and unfortunately most people that coach it are total morons.


I watched an under 8's game in my local park last week as I was doing circuits (don't worry I was actually exercising, you couldn't get away being a single bloke watching a kids football game these days - funny how times change)


On the touchline were the coaches and parents. All of them decked out like a non league football managers in their t-shirts, socks rolled down and football boots. They had their initials on their T-shirts and clearly loved the whole football look.


They took it all really seriously and spent the entire time shouting total bollocks at these tiny little kids with kits too big for them that made them look about 3 years old. It was sweet, funny and horrifying at the same time.


Un skilled, non qualified fathers thinking they knew what they were talking about living out their football fantasies in these 8 year old boys (again that sounds wrong). The trouble with this country is that most blokes or girls who are football fans honestly haven't got a clue what they're talking about. Add them having a kid into the mix and you are left with whole generations of badly taught, badly trained players who grow up to do exactly the same as their parents.


Now we have phone ins and Twitter for these morons to give their opinions. It's a joke and these are the ones who feed the game by paying £60 a month for Sky Sports.


God knows where it will end up. The worse the game gets, the more corruption at the top (and not just Fifa) the more we watch it and the more phone-ins are created. It's like a weird circle of shit. Morons create it, corrupt demons feed it and the morons buy it. Like a circle of stupidity if you ask me.


I appreciate that I would have lost most girls on paragraph 2. So if you're still reading girls I truly believe that at the heart of most relationships that go wrong lies chronic co-dependency. I am certainly guilty of it over the years which has dogged most if not all of mine. Here's what it means;


Codependency is defined as a psychological condition or a relationship in which a person is controlled or manipulated by another who is affected with a pathological condition, it refers to the dependence on the needs of, or control of, another.^[1] It also often involves placing a lower priority on one's own needs, while being excessively preoccupied with the needs of others.


Codependency can occur in any type of relationship, including family, work, friendship, and also romantic, peer or community relationships.^[2] Codependency may also be characterized by denial, low self-esteem, excessive compliance, or control patterns.


Pretty strong stuff hey. Who really wants to admit to all that let alone do something about it? For a man it's embarrassing. For a girl too painful. So what do most of us do who have it? Leave it alone and hope the next relationship fixes you. Result? Another dysfunctional one.


I have no answers. It takes time to accept, realise and then try to find ways to deal with it. It takes time. So in the meantime the only solution I have is to watch USA v Ghana at 11pm. I appear to have grown chronically co-dependant on the World Cup.


It was the same with The Olympics in 2012. The games, the players, the TV presenters, the morons become your family for a month. Games and sport comes thick and fast. There is always something to watch and take your mind of the fact you need something in your life to make you feel OK. When it was over I felt bereft, lost and in grief. Luckily there is still 3 weeks to go.


Yes I know it is a greedy corrupt capitalistic tournament that sits uneasily with my social equality and conscience but it's the World Cup isn't it? I'm essentially a hypocrite at heart so I'm going to feed my chronic codependency for 90 minutes and watch it. The only problem is that its on ITV. Id rather watch a Brazilian transsexual giving Sep Blatter a true Brazilian for $10million than Adrian Chiles droning on about nonsense. How can 500 Iraqis get shot in one day and Adrian Chiles is still breathing? We live in an unjust world my friends. Really unjust.


Together We Are Stronger


Nicholas E Evans

Day 129 - Relationships Are Pretty Hard

Hello everyone, I'm back. Terribly sorry. I haven't written in a while. It's been quite a turbulent time and my mind's not been on the blog.






Relationships are the hardest thing of all. Especially to alcoholics. After all defective relationships with most human beings is at the heart of alcoholism.




Co-dependency, people pleasing, over reliance, intolerance, impatience and lack of acceptance can all fuck things up. Plus when you carry emotional baggage from past relationships into a current one it can place intolerable pressure. If you add messy life circumstances then it's like trying to have a wank with a boxing glove. Relationships are Hard.


They're harder than watching England lose in the world cup.




Together We Are Stronger


Nicholas E Evans

Day 128 - The Ego Bites back

Today I observed my ego (Or Donald as I sometimes call it) in full bloom. It's like watching a slightly mad relative go at life in full throttle. You almost have to watch it through your fingers, so cringe worthy it is sometimes. The difference being it is acting as me, sounds like me and is me, it's a nightmare.


It's rearing it's head in my professional life as I encounter more and more justified resentment and my rights move in. I expect this, I expect that, nobody is moving at my pace etc etc. When left unchecked it ends up racing ahead thinking it runs the gaff. It knows no boundaries.


It can start to criticise. People, procedures, processes. Then it can say none of them apply to me and that's where trouble begins. The ego will stop at nothing to dominate, control, criticise and compare. If it's fed (you know when you gossip or get people on your side) it just becomes ugly. I have to watch this. Keep a good attitude, pray and get out of it's way and let the other side of me move in.


This is a hard task. The same can happen in my relationship. My GF is staying with me and going through a hard time. On a bad day my ego can think, "For fucks sake what about me and my freedom and space." On another day, usually after a meeting and prayer I will think of her needs and difficult situation and want to support and help.


The trouble with being an ego maniac alcoholic is that it's hard to achieve consistency of behaviour. When I am in self centred, self seeking thinking then I am nearly always on a collision course with life. Defective relationships are at the heart of my alcoholism, and not just romantic ones.


It's like cycling with flat tyres. You can move, just not very well and it's bumpy. A Higher power to me is when I am not in self. The tyres pump up and the journey is much smoother.


It's not a great blog tonight. I'm a little disillusioned with my writing at the moment. It's not every day and it's not hitting the spot. I am distracted, my head and life is in another area at the moment and I'm frustrated.


I'm hoping to get the inspiration, drive and energy back to write soon. It's what fills up my soul really and I miss it when I'm not present with it.


On the plus side I managed not to shout at a guy speaking loudly on the train on the way home from work tonight. He got on and was speaking so loudly to his mate about going to the Aquatic Centre on Sunday to jump off the high diving board.


You could hear him down the end of the carriageway. Thank god for a shit signal on the line as it cut his call giving us all some respite. Having said that, it didn't stop him shouting "Hello" 12 times at the dead line in the forlorn hope he hadn't rendered his caller deaf.


For fucks sake, whats up with people. Was he like the Rainman of sound. I understand have special awareness problems and cant judge distances, did that cunt have volume awareness. Did he really not think he was speaking too loudly?


I wouldn't have minded if he would have been interesting or an important call, "What, someones breaking in Mum. OK I'm on my way". Fair enough. We'll let you get away with that loud boy.


But going diving. OK, I was at The Aquatic centre on Sunday. It's a magnificent building and a fine piece of British engineering. But he wasn't talking about that. He wasn't talking about how the seats are shaped like the roof. he wasn't talking about they had to take 14,000 seats out after the Olympics, he didn't say any of that.


he said, "I'll meet you at 11 Dave. Safe mate. Safe."


Fucking moronic loud cunt. All of us on the train had done a hard days work, earning money by doing something we weren't born to do, just to be able to afford a train ticket to travel in. We had been with people all day, being bombarded with noise. We were on the commute now. Going home. Evening Standard and cup of tea. Relax.


But no we couldn't. Instead toss face gets on and was so keen for other people to hear he has a busy social life he had to make banal conversation so loud, it almost woke up the Dead.


Fucking knob head. Doesn't he know we have unspoken rules whilst commuting. You must not laugh, raise a smile, indulge in conversation with others or even move to the inside if a seat comes up. You must be miserable and scan the Standard pretending to read it whilst secretly staring inappropriately at others


He was proper loud. One can only hope the Aquatic centre are ready for him and Dave.


Together We Are Stronger


Nicholas Evans

Day 127 - A Happy Birthday Letter to AA

Dear AA


On behalf of all the raging lunatic alcoholics who no longer drink I'd like to wish you a Happy Birthday. You maybe 79 but you don't look it. All those years of taking a battering from madmen like me don't seem to touch the sides. You seem to get stronger and bigger with age.


I'm not sure if you quite knew what you would grow into when your founders Bill W and Dr Bob met in Akron, Ohio way back in 1935, but it's huge now. There are millions of people in recovery and thousands of meetings all over the world. Even in Hounslow.


Don't worry it's still pretty much the same. Most people who attend gather to smoke, drink tea and talk about themselves. The only real change is the Government have banned us from smoking inside now. We have to go outside to feed one of our secondary addictions. Having said that AA, there are these things called E-cigarettes now, so we're getting around that one.


I guess when you were born you didn't really know what you were doing. I mean you couldn't handle those religious groups, the Oxford Group proved too straight laced for the ego maniac alcoholics. But I see where the seeds of your birth were sown.


I remain rather emotional when I learn about that ego maniac stock broker Bill W, a few weeks sober, in the lobby of the Mayflower Hotel, Akron, busting for a drink, the bar down the lobby full and bustling. The call of the booze loud and romantic. Never mind the fact he had been institutionalised several times for alcoholism and was on a death sentence for his next drink. He was sober, his business deal had gone tits up and he felt the call of the wild.


The fact he chose not to and instead picked up the phone to try and find another drunk in the town to talk to remains a pivotal moment in your history. Perhaps it was God, perhaps it was fate but whatever it was, he was put in touch with Dr Bob and from there you were born.


I understand there were some tricky times as you grew. You had no set formula or guidelines. I know Bill W wanted to sell the franchise and it would have made him a very rich man today. But thanks AA for coming to the rescue and putting the group and AA as a whole in place of the individual. I understand from that the traditions were born.


They say the steps keeps individuals sober and traditions keeps AA sober. I understand that today. If it was left to us there would be nothing left.


I hope you're having a nice day. You have received lots of lovely messages over this thing called 'social media'. In your day there was only letter and telegram. Now people are sharing their sobriety via the internet, email, Twitter, Facebook and social media. It has really changed AA. Sometimes I'm not sure if it's for the best though.


You have helped so many people AA. You still get a bad wrap in some circles though. There are splinter groups forming and the usual critics saying you're a cult, a replacement or religious organisation. I guess you get critics in all walks of life though. It never seems to faze or bother you though does it?


It seems you have enabled lots of other fellowships to grow too. There is a 12 step fellowship for pretty much everything these days. You've even become quite trendy. Making appearances in movies, TV shows, books, chat shows and even in the lyrics to some songs (granted from talentless knob-heads who are so shallow they use your phrases to make themselves sound more interesting and deep)


Are you happy at 79 AA? Are you like you thought you'd be? I must admit there does seem to be rather a lot of treatment centre talk now. It seems the steps and traditions in some parts have become somewhat passé. That's a worry as the endless therapy talk drives me insane and is so self obsessed it never really gets to the point. Plus they never do any service.


That's one thing you are not are you AA? You are relentlessly practical. You really have an answer for everything yet you never display it in a know it all way. Your so bloody humble aren't you? Quietly sitting there, throwing out some nuggets of advice, allowing people to live a decent life.


So I hope you have a great day AA. Thanks for everything you've given me, oh and my family too. Oh and the millions of people who have and continue to take your helping hand. You are pretty much a life saver.


I hope you keep going for another 79 years. We need you. We should cherish you. We love you. Thank you.


Happy Birthday


Together We Are Stronger


Nicholas E Evans

Day 126 - So what is it about AA Conventions?

Yesterday I was asked to do the countdown at the Chelsea AA Convention.


Now I'm usually a bit wary of conventions. It taps into my in built scepticism of being 'too AA'. I like to sit on the outside of the fellowship sometimes and not get too involved. Conventions are full on black belt AA. Speakers all day, hundreds of people.


Don't get me wrong I love AA. It gives me recovery and enables me to live a full sober life in a way I couldn't do on my own. Critics would no doubt seize that statement by saying you have merely replaced one addiction for another and being too dependant on a fellowship and programme is unhealthy and weak.


My reply to the critics is simple. Fuck off. I'd be drinking without it so whatever gets you by. Plus it's statistically proven to be the most effective antidote to alcoholism and addiction, so why wouldn't it be celebrated and promoted? Perhaps the critics are putting it down to mask a fear or problem they have themselves. After all if you spot it you've got it right?


My respect and admiration for the disease and fellowship as recovery from it is not in doubt. When I'm asked to do service I do it. If something gives you a chance to live life and be reasonably 'normal' from a seemingly hopeless condition, it's not much to do a bit of service and give back right?


So why do I still have a deep down hatred and scepticism of conventions and parts of AA? Is it because I'm reluctant to commit myself fully? Is it Ego? Is it my disease? Or is it just not my thing and I take from AA the parts I like and need?


I never wanted it to define my life. I never wanted it to BE my life.  I saw people years sober who I thought used it to BE something in AA so that it gave them a status and ego that would have meant they were a nobody in real life. Does that make sense?


I was always struck by a quote I heard in my early days from an American Speaker tape, who said;


"Your job is not to be big IN AA. Your job is to be big OUT there (in the world)"


Something I'm still working on if I'm honest. I didn't want to use the programme, recovery and other people's information to use as my own in writing or any other creative or public work. Yes it's a familiar theme in my writing but I would hope I balance it in a way that makes it accessible to no non recovery people.


I had been to a few conventions but usually in a service capacity. Makes me feel better about being there if I'm honest. I know there are people like me who are reluctant AA's. They to find it difficult giving themselves over to the programme. I am amazed I've strung together 12 years sometimes!! But I know deep down I need it and love it so I keep coming back.


And thus to the countdown and this is where my big BUT to cynicism is coming up.


A countdown is the meeting at the end when I (the designated MC) asks who is the newest sober person In the room to stand up and come to the front to huge cheers and applause. Two people who were 24 hours sober got up and the crowd of 800 people raised the roof. Then we continue for 1 week sober, 1 month, 3 months, 6 months, 9 months until we ask if anyone has got a year sober to come up and form the circle around the room.


Everyone who stands up is encouraged by the MC (me) to hoop, holler, cheer and make noise. This continues until we go up in multiple of years and everyone from 1 year to 50 years is asked to get out of their seat and join the circle.


The energy and adrenaline in the room was incredible. If you've seen Wolf of Wall Street where he gets everyone rocking whilst he's high on coke with a microphone, well this was like a sober version of that. 800 screaming and cheering lunatics celebrating their sober lives with a lunatic 80's look-a-like in tight jeans and cowboy boots leading the charge with a microphone and adrenaline in the middle of the room.


We went through the early mad years of 2-5 years, then got to the 6-10 years where you just start to get into other addictions, then to the 11-15 years of deep held pain and misery, then the 16-20 when you start to begin the journey to the HP and then finally 20 years and over which is proper old timer status. They were all there. It was amazing how young the old timers looked. Clealry the no drinking life is a good one.


We were All connected in unity. From 24 hours until we invited the last guy up who was 52 years sober. Amazing. Like Chairman Mau of London AA. He presented a Big Book to the two who were 24 hours sober, who must have been thinking, "what the fuck is going on here" and we closed the convention on a huge high.


I swear to God, the way everyone was feeling we could have marched down the Kings Road and changed the world. Such was the upbeat attitude in the room. The buzz. The energy. Even the most miserable cynical egotistical bastard would have been clapping smiling and laughing. It was spectacular.


Of course it was great because I was at the centre of it. Naturally my ego was chuffed. But it took solace in the fact I was asked to do it and my natural MC skills were perfect for that role. We are all good at different things and all kinds of service is valid and no better or worse than others. All is equal.


It's just great I get to use my skill set in compering and MC'ing in a recovery setting. I'm comfortable with that and really pleased to accept who I am.


In truth a convention is just like any other. Music, TV, film, interests. You get the people on the edge, people with a passing interest, people who are involved in running it, then the real enthusiasts who turn up with badges all over themselves and are slightly odd.


AA and AA conventions follow the same human patterns as human life. It is no different so there is no need for me to be cynical or reluctant. That's just my ego separating me. I turned up expecting the countdown to be shit but as it turned out it was incredible.


The bloke who was 24 hours sober was buzzing. Whooping and hollering punching the air, My only hope was that he didn't leave on such a high that he'd have to go and get pissed up to celebrate. I wouldn't blame him if he did.


I also chatted to another guy, my little new sponsee who is 13 days sober. He was buzzing too, however having said that by his own admission he didn't know if that was down to the convention or his new anti-psychotic drugs. Classic!


I love AA.


Together We Are Stronger


Nicholas E Evans

Day 125 - D-Day

It's been a long day. Up at 5. Work at 6. Organised and hosted a Big event. Long day at another event with 500 pissed people and then a meeting tonight. In at 10.30pm. Pooped.


But you know what, how dare I even make myself out to have a tough long day when today is the anniversary of the D Day Landing. When thousands of troops landed on a French Beach to fight the Germans in World War 2 to secure the freedom of Europe.


To some It's been a little lost in time. Some have diminished it and clichéd the 'during the war' brigade. Writing them off as irrelevant, old and out of touch.


Not me. There is a danger that in modern society with all the technological, medical and economic advances that somehow we think we are better now.


I wonder what those men sitting in a boat for hours, through the sea, crammed in, some of which knew they were heading for certain death, to take to a beach laden with mines, being shot at, would have thought of this generation?


Would they have respected a man writing a blog at 10pm and moaning he's had 'a long day'. Would they have respected Facebook, social media, X Box, obesity and Made In Chelsea?


I know it's a different time and not fair to compare. Time changes, society evolves or revolves. But these men were warriors. True, proper men.


Sometimes I'm ashamed to call myself a man next to those boys. I'm not worthy of my British ancestors with the amount I bitch and moan and avoid responsibility. These boys were true warriors and deserve utmost respect.


We commend those special men. When you read about it, it is mind boggling. Saving Private Ryan doesn't do it justice. What horrors must they have seen and experienced?


Then they went on to build good lives. Honest lives. Good people. Good men. Something for me to learn from. Heroes. Legends.


That is all


PS - I saw a 43 year old man in 3/4 length jeans and white vest today with trainers and socks. Not sure our forefathers would have taken to that look. Mind you, I'm a fine one to talk. Those tough bastards landed on a Normandy beach and secured the freedom of Europe and their future countrymen just so I had the freedom 70 years on to walk around looking like an 80's Bee Gee. Cheers boys. We owe you.


Together We Are Stronger


Nicholas E Evans

Day 124 - Look God No Hands!!!

I spoke to a mate of mine from the firm yesterday (AA). He's a bloke I have a lot of time for. I respect his recovery. Identify with his struggles and he laughs at his madness as I do at mine (mostly) He's a keen student of alcoholism and recovery, has survived 3 bouts of cancer and has the devil about him. I like him. He's my kind of bloke. A right slippery bastard with a heart of gold.


We were talking about the chronic self will and ego and how it smashes us to pieces and yet still we hold on. We were laughing about it.


He told me about his 3rd bout of cancer. It got to stage 4. Everyone including himself had written him off. He's a big man and was down to just over 12 stone, he was gaunt, bald from all the chemo and had the 'death' look. He still came and did a banging chair for me though and I marvelled at the way he handled his seemingly terminal condition. How can people do that? I'd be off to Disney Land in a shot and using it to promote untold amount of self pity and attention seeking on the world.


Well, he wasn't a goner. He fought back (if indeed that's what happens when people recover from cancer) and slowly it went into remission.


That's when he said the real fun started. When he was ill and staring death in the face, he said he had a peace like never before. He had a rock solid faith and relationship with God that made him at total peace. It was easy he said. Then when he got better, it wasn't quite so easy.


His words were;


"It happened almost overnight. I woke up one morning and I was back". Meaning his old self will. The ego. Out of the window went God and he set about making up for lost time. Food, women, sex, the lot. It wasn't long before he was back on his knees racked in emotional pain.


We shared a similar feeling. I've never been through cancer, but I remember on my first healing session I felt a peace and connection with a higher power I have rarely felt (Or God if you like to call it that) and it felt great. Then within 48 hours I woke up and 'I was back'. The head, the emotions, the fear, the need, the thirst for bad shit in my life was back. I was back to self will. Back to Ego.


What is that we asked? Is it self, is it ego, is it alcoholism, is it the human condition, are we just not ready? We didn't have the answers despite being a couple of know it alls.


He shared with me that he was listening to an old timer from America on a speaker tape who was talking about self will. He described it as roaming through life, looking up at the sky and saying, "Look God no hands!!"


I love that. Sums me up perfectly. Thinking I'm doing it all solo and getting away with it whilst he's looking upon me, laughing, shaking his head thinking 'If only you knew son' You massive bell-end."


It's a journey of discovery. Spiritual experience of the educational variety. I'm comfortable with that today. I have a seeming addiction to belle-endery, But that's OK. It all makes for good material when I'm a guru in a few years.


After my second healing on Tuesday I feel good deep down. I have small finger grip on the higher power after Tuesday. I hope to keep trying until I can grasp it fully but I'm sure I'll keep slipping back to no hands at some points. The key point is not to get too serious about it. After all, life is supposed to be enjoyed not endured, right?


Look God, No Hands! Love that. T-shirt slogan anyone?




Together We Are Stronger


Nicholas E Evans