Mileage 0 - Weekly Mileage 12
After what i can only describe as a creative rush of writing over the past week. Today i seem to have hit a wall, however It maybe more to do with the enormous chocolate binge i had late last night which rendered me totally useless today. Hoovered up the Easter overspill. Dog
Did a decent days work but my intention to train this evening was somewhat overtaken by a massive urge to do fuck all. I'd like to say it was tapering, or the new buzz phrase of 'active rest'. Whatever the hell that is. But in truth it was good old fashioned naff all.
Well, when i say naff all i did a meeting, saw a load of pals who are successful actors jetting off to do a film in LA, not that it made me jealous, want their life or made me feeling less than of course. I'm clearly much stronger than that. Bastards!
Broke in my new cowboy boots tonight which I've decided i hate and are ultra gay. My old ones are fucked, have holes in them, no heel but i truly love them. i have worn them non stop for 4 years. Everyone comments on them, many people even say 'i bet those can tell a few tales'. Though it Says something when people think your footwear can tell a better tale than you.
The new ones are gleaming, bigger and have a chunky heel. I personally think it makes me look camper than Graham Norton in drag. I am yet to be convinced.
On the plus side, i got some top comments from people over yesterday's blog. Particularly liking the bits about the Bikram Yoga teacher with deep resentments. Now, I'm an alcoholic, it's in my job description to harbour deep resentments and be a touchy bastard. Just ask my ex girlfriend. i am a nightmare to live with. Don't get me wrong, I'm charming, I'm funny, I'm pretty much house trained and i fuck like the shit house door when the plagues in town (sorry Nan)
But i am touchy, moody, incredibly insecure, messy, have a habit of walking round with my nuts hanging through my pants and i love buttered meat. I think it's habits that come from my Dad, as i remember him to be a dirty bastard when i was a kid. Corn beef hash, cheap meat, killer skid marked pants and bad wind. Usually together.
Anyway, my point is, i'm a raging lunatic underneath this rather camp exterior. But Bikram yoga teachers? Well are they not extolling the virtues of yoga teachings? Not letting the external world ruin your inner peace? Clearly that wasn't happening yesterday. My inner peace was disturbed by that balloon head.
But hang on before i take the moral high ground, let me say I'm certainly not anti Bikram. I've been doing it for 5 years. I like it. I believe in it. I find it relaxing, a good discipline and most of the teachers are splendid. i was in love with one for goodness sakes. But I'm not a disciple to his philosophy. I mean i hate bullshitters, ego maniacs and fake spiritual gurus. I'm sorry but as soon as you introduce money, franchises, wealth and ego into the mix it no longer becomes spiritual.
It's just a business, and all those teachers all hanging off his every word and pedaling his philosophy need to get a fucking grip. And please do not wax lyrical about him in a class when I'm sweating my tits off, packed into a pair of gay speedos with nowhere to run. Gruesome
Now teachers are human and have bad days. They all suffer from resentments like us. They are people for goodness sake. I like the teachers who are just themselves. Some are dynamic. Some are chilled. Some are spiritual meditators and some are strict order givers. They just represent themselves. But the worst ones? Well the ones who believe because they have spent 8k on a 12 week training course by a bigger ego maniac than George Bush (all of them) they are now gurus on everything and are happy to treat a class like their own personal domain, kind of miss the point as to why we are all there. Not to be dictated too, talked down too, treated like a fucking child. We are there to follow. You are the teacher, i trust you. Inspire me. Lead me. Make me want to do the class. For me, for you. For whatever. And if you happen to do it in a pair of hot pants even better. But please Just don't stand there, believe your own hype, be a fake spiritualist, rapped in ego.
As you may have guessed i fucking hate it.
Now in my 12 step recovery programme we are taught not to be judgmental, take moral high ground or feed resentment. We are all equal, we all have flaws and i have certainly done plenty of harm in the past. So who am i to judge? Right? Right Nick. I have done plenty of work to relent from the anger and craziness i had in the past. i have matured. i have moved on. What is the point in getting het up and angry about someone or something so trivial?
Well, that's great in theory but who the fuck does that jumped up little bitch think she is. Fucking arrogant little fuck face. Jumped up teacher full of self importance, seething resentment and ego. (ringing any bells Nick. eek) Ginger haired, long nosed Grand National looking twat. She needs lithium or some kind of mood altering drugs and whilst she's at it why not a personality transplant, like a lobotomy.
Ego and Resentment. The two things i have in bundles, but do i go around extolling the virtues of peace and inner calm? Do i fuck. Do i pretend to be anything other than i am? I am what i am. I am on a journey. i am up for change. I try and fail. I am human. I show my weakness.
I'm banned from the Richmond Bikram Yoga studio. How can i be barred from Yoga for Christ sakes? Man i need to address these anger issues. Is anyone else in the world barred from Yoga. If you hear of anyone please let me know. Please let me not be the only one in the world. A select group of one. Not proud.
Jesus, i lost it there, Let off a bit of steam. I feel awful now. Guilty. What if her Mum read it? What if she read it? That's not cool Nick. I should apologise, Be bigger than I've been. It's unfair, I've gone over the top, Make amends.
Yes, that's what to do make amends, take the spiritual path, i'll make amends to that little jumped up arrogant bitch....whoa there, steady. There i go again. Dam, it's like a resentment tourtettes. My best intentions are scuppered by that inner 'WANKER' tourettes in my head. I think I'll have to sleep and pray on it. Pray for her happiness, see if the resentment lifts. And if that fails, well there's always plan B. Yes that's right I'll set him on her.
Nite
x
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Day 101 - Weds 11th April - Having a Bad Day?
Mileage 6; Time - 50 Minutes; Weekly Miles - 12
OK readers. I'm going to warn you, Today is grim reading. Not a great head space. One of my old really negative head days. Really washing machine head. Like my Brain has turned into a shit factory. One half producing it, the other buying it. Dark.
Started off badly. Alarm didn't go off at 5.15am and i missed my 6am training session with my one and only client (no point in dressing it up to make me look like trainer to The Stars). I woke up at 7.36am to a text basically saying. Not acceptable. Not working out. Finished. Nice. 1st 6am i have missed in 8 months, but fair enough she's the client and it was my fault. Plus if I'm being honest i did not push her enough or provide enough dynamic training programmes. In hindsight i should have made it work better, so that sent me into a self hatred tailspin and it was only 7.45AM. Oh christ it's going to be a long day. Good job I'm not too hard on myself.
Then i got out in Richmond Park and churned out 6 mile run. I am still infected with Candida. so the energy is low but i got round OK, i am a little concerned about not being in tip top shape for the little run on the 22nd. Time will tell.
To make me feel better i went to my Bank for a meeting with my rather too friendly and chirpy Business Manager. I had yet to meet him and his manner to me was slightly over familiar i thought. I am pleased he has just had a 7 month year old daughter and supports Liverpool and thinks they should play 4-3-3 formation, but if I'm being brutally honest i don't give a fuck. Just extend my Overdraft and reduce my rather too large loan repayments. Upshot of the meeting was not enough coming in and too much going out. Did i need a Business Manager to tell me that?
Obviously this then induced tremendous financial fear in me and doubled with my low self esteem and negative washing machine brain, sent my Head into overdrive. All three were having a party up there. Like some kind of Negative Rave. Felt like i had an annoying bee buzzing in my brain. A bee that had shit stained wings too. Grim
My head was telling me encouraging statements like, 'you're useless', 'you should be sorted now at 40', 'you're going nowhere'. 'you've missed the boat'. It was like observing an Alf Garnett Convention. 'And i tell you another thing that's wrong'. Jesus, spare me this shit.
I headed to Richmond, obviously putting off the endless raft of things i could do to try and speculate some kind of extra living and income. (i did phone 2 potential personal training clients but predictably they didn't answer or call me back) in order to drink tea and feel overwhelmed.
Then i had a bizarre experience in Waitrose. Just after getting a call from a delighted 73 year old about her HD TV i got for her on Good Friday, i passed a couple in the supermarket i recognised. It was the Bikram Yoga owners and teachers from Richmond. Now to give you a little background, i was actually barred from the studio 4 years ago for having an argument with the owner in class and telling him to stick his fucking yoga up his arse as i stormed out. I had anger issues back then.
In mitigation i believed the man to be a Nazi. Not only did he never smile, blink or come across as remotely human. He also installed lots of ridiculous rules into the studio like it was some kind of ultra serious Pro Retreat. In truth it was a studio in Richmond that i paid £14 for the pleasure of being bossed around by a Yogi on the far right of Colonel Gadaffi. I had a resentment.
'Don't drink water', 'Shoes off', 'Don't do this', 'No smiling' 'Don't enjoy' were the endless barking orders. I didn't like the whole vibe and attitude. Who's the punter here?
Anyway one Saturday afternoon 4 years ago, i was recovering from a nasty bout of Man flu, and had spent the week in an incubator in intensive care bravely battling a blocked nose and chesty cough. I was brave. I thought a relaxed chilled Saturday afternoon Bikram class would help, to sweat it out. I was obviously as weak as Stephen Hawkins handshake, so i would take it easy.
Needless to say Johnny the owner and teacher constantly picked on me. And after a 4th time of him telling me to do a posture a certain way, i asked him to ignore me, leave me be and get on with the class. I wasn't rude i just wanted to chill, hide away and sweat, No biggy.
Anyway, he wouldn't leave me be, so i thought fuck him, i dug in and refused to do them on purpose, he had pissed me off. This annoyed him even more and he finally said 'if you're not going to do it properly then there is no point in doing it at all'.
This was like a red rag to a bull and i snapped. I can't remember exactly the exchange, bit it was something along the lines of 'what's your problem. I've been ill, I'm here to chill, just leave me be and all will be kushty'.
He didn't like it and came back at me with more controlling phrases (power mad ego maniac underneath anyone?), then i really lost my temper and pointed out i 'hadn't paid £15 to be talked too like a child and i had brought several people as customers and that i was the client and he was out of order. More exchanges, which i finally brought to a close when he asked me to leave the studio and i replied with that well worn yogic phrase. 'You can stick you're fucking yoga up your fucking arse you cunt'.
People had been holding the tree pose for a few minutes during this Bikram showdown. I wasn't invited back.
So that was 4 years ago, when i have seen him in Richmond we have largely ignored each other, until today. He and his horrific girlfriend (an even bigger ego maniac with an annoying American whiny voice, suitably massive ego and nose to match - meow) walked past me at the Meat counter, isaid 'Hi Johnny' and smiled, to which he looked down and totally blanked me. It was a little bit like the Luis Suarez not shaking Patrice Eva's hand, except this was by the Meat Counter in a supermarket. Instead of being annoyed, i just laughed, to which his horrific bitch of a bird, spun round and said 'What. What's your problem'. Not sure if i was on Acid or totally insane. but hadn't i just been friendly and was the one who had been blanked? apparently i was the problem. I just laughed, shrugged and walked on. I needed Turkey Ham after all.
I then queued up at the express aisle (looked to be anything but judging by the fact they only had 2 teenagers on the tills) , when i looked up a few minutes later, there she was, minus her warlord boyfriend behind me. I'm not exactly sure who started talking 1st, bit it wasn't a particularly friendly exchange. It was along the lines that she blamed me for being an arsehole and swearing at her boyfriend 4 years ago, when i pointed out she wasn't there and it was not actually any of her business, she got upset and started telling me i was an arsehole. She then accused me of saying 'hi' sarcastically, and why would i expect her boyfriend to say 'hi' back. I pointed out it was 4 years ago and hardly the sort of Feud of Israel and Palestine proportions. I said i had never been aware that saying 'hi' was such a terrible thing to do. I suggested she relaxed and moved on (OK i was enjoying winding her up), at this point she said 'You're such a cunt' and stormed off to the other side of the store where the queues were massive. It had truly turned full circle. Instead of me storming off, it was someone else. Progress!!!!
Clearly Bikram Yoga is working for her in a sort of rude, arrogant, angry egotistical resentment filled kind of way. I better watch who i say 'Hi' to in future, Is there anyway you can say 'hi' in a threatening way? A sort of ironic sarcastic 'hi', with eyebrow raised. I can't raise an eyebrow so I'm not sure how it can be sarcastic. Maybe i should have played the blanking game. Nice to know that the resentment still burns brightly though after 4 years. I'll stick with my Higher Power i think, At least i don't go calling people a cunt now and storming off. Well not today anyhow.
So that really brightened my day up. I was puzzled after. Obviously i thought 'what the fuck is going on today' . Is this all me? So i hit the gym, did a session, that didn't help, still felt bad and thought I'm going to need a double bubble meeting to sort this dodgy head out. It was either that or Brandy and i know which is better for me.
So off to the meeting i toddled, locked in self, feeling down, not wanting to talk to anyone. You know, sociable. First person i met was a lovely woman who is ultra positive, friendly, open and lovely. The opposite to the monstrosity of a person i had encountered in Waitrose. She told me she reads this blog (i was surprised) and commented how much she liked my entry on Good Friday and Saturday about my Father and the words i wrote about the funeral and how it was about forgiveness, love and he had become more human in death if that makes any sense. She had experienced similar pain with the death of her father a while ago, and was only starting to open up about it and talk about after years of pain.
And then it struck me. That is the reason for this blog. That is the reason for this writing. I cannot heal. I am not a guru, a life coach, a counsellor, a professional. I am not a leader or some kind of self confessed self help teacher (though i do fancy myself as some kind of guru of course) - i write how i think. My experience, and sometimes it helps others to think ' i feel that', or 'i'm not alone', or 'thats what happened to me', or just helps to open up and feel things they may have buried for years.
In short, it helps me and if it enables people to feel things, even if it is just for one moment than thats a result. The fact we were able to talk about our father's even for just 5 minutes because of the topic of my blog was good enough for me, and whilst it didn't raise me out of my self piteous fearful mood, it helped me feel alot better. Thanks madame. You know who you are!
The feelings of i am not where i want to be, what do i do with my life? what creative route should i follow? what can i do for a living i really enjoy? Too much for this little head today that's for sure.
I'll just settle for the memory of that conversation in the meeting over the one in Waitrose as confirmation we are all looking for at the end of the day.which is 'you're doing OK Nick. Chill'.
I think i shall go to bed on a famous phrase, no not the 'you can shove your yoga one. Instead it's one which i pretty much forgot all day long. That phrase? It's 'Don't take yourself so goddamn seriously'.
If only i could remember that in my misery. Still at least I'm not that devil Bikram woman. God bless you, you need it
xx
OK readers. I'm going to warn you, Today is grim reading. Not a great head space. One of my old really negative head days. Really washing machine head. Like my Brain has turned into a shit factory. One half producing it, the other buying it. Dark.
Started off badly. Alarm didn't go off at 5.15am and i missed my 6am training session with my one and only client (no point in dressing it up to make me look like trainer to The Stars). I woke up at 7.36am to a text basically saying. Not acceptable. Not working out. Finished. Nice. 1st 6am i have missed in 8 months, but fair enough she's the client and it was my fault. Plus if I'm being honest i did not push her enough or provide enough dynamic training programmes. In hindsight i should have made it work better, so that sent me into a self hatred tailspin and it was only 7.45AM. Oh christ it's going to be a long day. Good job I'm not too hard on myself.
Then i got out in Richmond Park and churned out 6 mile run. I am still infected with Candida. so the energy is low but i got round OK, i am a little concerned about not being in tip top shape for the little run on the 22nd. Time will tell.
To make me feel better i went to my Bank for a meeting with my rather too friendly and chirpy Business Manager. I had yet to meet him and his manner to me was slightly over familiar i thought. I am pleased he has just had a 7 month year old daughter and supports Liverpool and thinks they should play 4-3-3 formation, but if I'm being brutally honest i don't give a fuck. Just extend my Overdraft and reduce my rather too large loan repayments. Upshot of the meeting was not enough coming in and too much going out. Did i need a Business Manager to tell me that?
Obviously this then induced tremendous financial fear in me and doubled with my low self esteem and negative washing machine brain, sent my Head into overdrive. All three were having a party up there. Like some kind of Negative Rave. Felt like i had an annoying bee buzzing in my brain. A bee that had shit stained wings too. Grim
My head was telling me encouraging statements like, 'you're useless', 'you should be sorted now at 40', 'you're going nowhere'. 'you've missed the boat'. It was like observing an Alf Garnett Convention. 'And i tell you another thing that's wrong'. Jesus, spare me this shit.
I headed to Richmond, obviously putting off the endless raft of things i could do to try and speculate some kind of extra living and income. (i did phone 2 potential personal training clients but predictably they didn't answer or call me back) in order to drink tea and feel overwhelmed.
Then i had a bizarre experience in Waitrose. Just after getting a call from a delighted 73 year old about her HD TV i got for her on Good Friday, i passed a couple in the supermarket i recognised. It was the Bikram Yoga owners and teachers from Richmond. Now to give you a little background, i was actually barred from the studio 4 years ago for having an argument with the owner in class and telling him to stick his fucking yoga up his arse as i stormed out. I had anger issues back then.
In mitigation i believed the man to be a Nazi. Not only did he never smile, blink or come across as remotely human. He also installed lots of ridiculous rules into the studio like it was some kind of ultra serious Pro Retreat. In truth it was a studio in Richmond that i paid £14 for the pleasure of being bossed around by a Yogi on the far right of Colonel Gadaffi. I had a resentment.
'Don't drink water', 'Shoes off', 'Don't do this', 'No smiling' 'Don't enjoy' were the endless barking orders. I didn't like the whole vibe and attitude. Who's the punter here?
Anyway one Saturday afternoon 4 years ago, i was recovering from a nasty bout of Man flu, and had spent the week in an incubator in intensive care bravely battling a blocked nose and chesty cough. I was brave. I thought a relaxed chilled Saturday afternoon Bikram class would help, to sweat it out. I was obviously as weak as Stephen Hawkins handshake, so i would take it easy.
Needless to say Johnny the owner and teacher constantly picked on me. And after a 4th time of him telling me to do a posture a certain way, i asked him to ignore me, leave me be and get on with the class. I wasn't rude i just wanted to chill, hide away and sweat, No biggy.
Anyway, he wouldn't leave me be, so i thought fuck him, i dug in and refused to do them on purpose, he had pissed me off. This annoyed him even more and he finally said 'if you're not going to do it properly then there is no point in doing it at all'.
This was like a red rag to a bull and i snapped. I can't remember exactly the exchange, bit it was something along the lines of 'what's your problem. I've been ill, I'm here to chill, just leave me be and all will be kushty'.
He didn't like it and came back at me with more controlling phrases (power mad ego maniac underneath anyone?), then i really lost my temper and pointed out i 'hadn't paid £15 to be talked too like a child and i had brought several people as customers and that i was the client and he was out of order. More exchanges, which i finally brought to a close when he asked me to leave the studio and i replied with that well worn yogic phrase. 'You can stick you're fucking yoga up your fucking arse you cunt'.
People had been holding the tree pose for a few minutes during this Bikram showdown. I wasn't invited back.
So that was 4 years ago, when i have seen him in Richmond we have largely ignored each other, until today. He and his horrific girlfriend (an even bigger ego maniac with an annoying American whiny voice, suitably massive ego and nose to match - meow) walked past me at the Meat counter, isaid 'Hi Johnny' and smiled, to which he looked down and totally blanked me. It was a little bit like the Luis Suarez not shaking Patrice Eva's hand, except this was by the Meat Counter in a supermarket. Instead of being annoyed, i just laughed, to which his horrific bitch of a bird, spun round and said 'What. What's your problem'. Not sure if i was on Acid or totally insane. but hadn't i just been friendly and was the one who had been blanked? apparently i was the problem. I just laughed, shrugged and walked on. I needed Turkey Ham after all.
I then queued up at the express aisle (looked to be anything but judging by the fact they only had 2 teenagers on the tills) , when i looked up a few minutes later, there she was, minus her warlord boyfriend behind me. I'm not exactly sure who started talking 1st, bit it wasn't a particularly friendly exchange. It was along the lines that she blamed me for being an arsehole and swearing at her boyfriend 4 years ago, when i pointed out she wasn't there and it was not actually any of her business, she got upset and started telling me i was an arsehole. She then accused me of saying 'hi' sarcastically, and why would i expect her boyfriend to say 'hi' back. I pointed out it was 4 years ago and hardly the sort of Feud of Israel and Palestine proportions. I said i had never been aware that saying 'hi' was such a terrible thing to do. I suggested she relaxed and moved on (OK i was enjoying winding her up), at this point she said 'You're such a cunt' and stormed off to the other side of the store where the queues were massive. It had truly turned full circle. Instead of me storming off, it was someone else. Progress!!!!
Clearly Bikram Yoga is working for her in a sort of rude, arrogant, angry egotistical resentment filled kind of way. I better watch who i say 'Hi' to in future, Is there anyway you can say 'hi' in a threatening way? A sort of ironic sarcastic 'hi', with eyebrow raised. I can't raise an eyebrow so I'm not sure how it can be sarcastic. Maybe i should have played the blanking game. Nice to know that the resentment still burns brightly though after 4 years. I'll stick with my Higher Power i think, At least i don't go calling people a cunt now and storming off. Well not today anyhow.
So that really brightened my day up. I was puzzled after. Obviously i thought 'what the fuck is going on today' . Is this all me? So i hit the gym, did a session, that didn't help, still felt bad and thought I'm going to need a double bubble meeting to sort this dodgy head out. It was either that or Brandy and i know which is better for me.
So off to the meeting i toddled, locked in self, feeling down, not wanting to talk to anyone. You know, sociable. First person i met was a lovely woman who is ultra positive, friendly, open and lovely. The opposite to the monstrosity of a person i had encountered in Waitrose. She told me she reads this blog (i was surprised) and commented how much she liked my entry on Good Friday and Saturday about my Father and the words i wrote about the funeral and how it was about forgiveness, love and he had become more human in death if that makes any sense. She had experienced similar pain with the death of her father a while ago, and was only starting to open up about it and talk about after years of pain.
And then it struck me. That is the reason for this blog. That is the reason for this writing. I cannot heal. I am not a guru, a life coach, a counsellor, a professional. I am not a leader or some kind of self confessed self help teacher (though i do fancy myself as some kind of guru of course) - i write how i think. My experience, and sometimes it helps others to think ' i feel that', or 'i'm not alone', or 'thats what happened to me', or just helps to open up and feel things they may have buried for years.
In short, it helps me and if it enables people to feel things, even if it is just for one moment than thats a result. The fact we were able to talk about our father's even for just 5 minutes because of the topic of my blog was good enough for me, and whilst it didn't raise me out of my self piteous fearful mood, it helped me feel alot better. Thanks madame. You know who you are!
The feelings of i am not where i want to be, what do i do with my life? what creative route should i follow? what can i do for a living i really enjoy? Too much for this little head today that's for sure.
I'll just settle for the memory of that conversation in the meeting over the one in Waitrose as confirmation we are all looking for at the end of the day.which is 'you're doing OK Nick. Chill'.
I think i shall go to bed on a famous phrase, no not the 'you can shove your yoga one. Instead it's one which i pretty much forgot all day long. That phrase? It's 'Don't take yourself so goddamn seriously'.
If only i could remember that in my misery. Still at least I'm not that devil Bikram woman. God bless you, you need it
xx
Day 100 - Tuesday 10th April
Mileage 0 - Weekly Mileage 6 miles
Blimey. The 100 is up. A century. A ton. A oner. One hundred days writing this blog. Three and a bit months. What is 100 days? It's a prison sentence for fraud, drunken driving or exposing yourself in a cinema, repeatedly. It's a commitment to AA (90 days but who's counting) It's a Dukan Diet, It's the time it feels watching 'Titanic'. It's quite a long time.
I'm pleased to have kept it up. Usually in cricket when you reach one hundred there is a loud round of applause then you buy a jug of strong lager and everyone gets pissed. Today i celebrated my century with a loud round of yawns and a jug of strong coffee and everyone talked of getting pissed. it was an AA meeting.
I am well chuffed i have kept up the blog, OK i haven't achieved some of my training goals and a sub 3 hour 30 marathon is looking unlikely, but i have enjoyed the process and discipline, freedom and cathartic experience of writing. I have had some really nice comments too, so that is a bonus.
Today was back to work after Easter, the South West Line was looking like one massive sugar hangover, as people squeezed into their suits and work clobber after indulging in a mass choc binge. I relented all weekend until i collapsed and ate 3 Easter Eggs last night. Shame they weren't the size of Dolly parton's knockers and if I'm being honest Thornton's eggs were average. I think Thornton's is a little like Keane. Popular, well known but massively overrated. Doesn't quite cut it for me.
Still, i wolfed down the egg in around 8 seconds. I eat like a dog. It's horrific. Especially when you live on your own. Going out for dinner with a human being is tough as you have to relearn everything. I mean a first date, somewhere classy and romantic, you know like a Harvester. It's not a good look to start licking the bowl is it? Behave Evans.
I'm also a total animal when it comes to Ice Cream. I literally cannot wait to get home after buying Haagen Dazs and start licking the top of it in the street like I'm chowing down on someone. It;s disgusting and i get so many strange looks off people. Especially as i have white ice cream dabbed all over my nose and face like I've just been Maid of Honour at Gay Pride. It's not a look FHM will be pushing this summer.
Wasn't feeling the training tonight, so hit a meeting instead. I think day on, day off will be sufficient with a longish run this weekend. Eat well next week and rest and then it will soon be the big day.
But what then? Shall i stop writing? Well i have thought about it and i reckon I'm going to continue the blog, maybe change the name, put it on it's own domain, not Google, to make it easier to comment. I think it will be a good discipline for me and if i aim to do it for the whole of 2012 it will be great as it will take in my whole 40th year, Olympics and provide a snap shop of a year in my life. Who knows i may even bag an article or column somewhere. Preferably in 40 +. (for those of you who don't know what sort of publication it is, you don't want to know. Put it this way, it's not Bible esque
Until tomorrow Peoples
xx
Blimey. The 100 is up. A century. A ton. A oner. One hundred days writing this blog. Three and a bit months. What is 100 days? It's a prison sentence for fraud, drunken driving or exposing yourself in a cinema, repeatedly. It's a commitment to AA (90 days but who's counting) It's a Dukan Diet, It's the time it feels watching 'Titanic'. It's quite a long time.
I'm pleased to have kept it up. Usually in cricket when you reach one hundred there is a loud round of applause then you buy a jug of strong lager and everyone gets pissed. Today i celebrated my century with a loud round of yawns and a jug of strong coffee and everyone talked of getting pissed. it was an AA meeting.
I am well chuffed i have kept up the blog, OK i haven't achieved some of my training goals and a sub 3 hour 30 marathon is looking unlikely, but i have enjoyed the process and discipline, freedom and cathartic experience of writing. I have had some really nice comments too, so that is a bonus.
Today was back to work after Easter, the South West Line was looking like one massive sugar hangover, as people squeezed into their suits and work clobber after indulging in a mass choc binge. I relented all weekend until i collapsed and ate 3 Easter Eggs last night. Shame they weren't the size of Dolly parton's knockers and if I'm being honest Thornton's eggs were average. I think Thornton's is a little like Keane. Popular, well known but massively overrated. Doesn't quite cut it for me.
Still, i wolfed down the egg in around 8 seconds. I eat like a dog. It's horrific. Especially when you live on your own. Going out for dinner with a human being is tough as you have to relearn everything. I mean a first date, somewhere classy and romantic, you know like a Harvester. It's not a good look to start licking the bowl is it? Behave Evans.
I'm also a total animal when it comes to Ice Cream. I literally cannot wait to get home after buying Haagen Dazs and start licking the top of it in the street like I'm chowing down on someone. It;s disgusting and i get so many strange looks off people. Especially as i have white ice cream dabbed all over my nose and face like I've just been Maid of Honour at Gay Pride. It's not a look FHM will be pushing this summer.
Wasn't feeling the training tonight, so hit a meeting instead. I think day on, day off will be sufficient with a longish run this weekend. Eat well next week and rest and then it will soon be the big day.
But what then? Shall i stop writing? Well i have thought about it and i reckon I'm going to continue the blog, maybe change the name, put it on it's own domain, not Google, to make it easier to comment. I think it will be a good discipline for me and if i aim to do it for the whole of 2012 it will be great as it will take in my whole 40th year, Olympics and provide a snap shop of a year in my life. Who knows i may even bag an article or column somewhere. Preferably in 40 +. (for those of you who don't know what sort of publication it is, you don't want to know. Put it this way, it's not Bible esque
Until tomorrow Peoples
xx
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Day 99 - Monday 9th April
Mileage 6 - Weekly Mileage 6 miles
Not alot today folks, ran in gym after long drive back from Wales. Had to stop after 2 miles for massive farts, chronic wind sp i had to hide away for 20 minutes. Completed the rest of the 4 miles basically clenching harder than a drug mule through Bangkok. Ooof, it was uncomfortable.
Not going to write today, so instead, thought i would upload a short video from one of the classic moments of The Only Way is Llanelli. Enjoy
Not alot today folks, ran in gym after long drive back from Wales. Had to stop after 2 miles for massive farts, chronic wind sp i had to hide away for 20 minutes. Completed the rest of the 4 miles basically clenching harder than a drug mule through Bangkok. Ooof, it was uncomfortable.
Not going to write today, so instead, thought i would upload a short video from one of the classic moments of The Only Way is Llanelli. Enjoy
Monday, April 9, 2012
Day 98 - Sunday 8th April - A Classic Welsh Easter Day
Mileage 0 - Weekly Mileage 18 miles
Shock Horror. No long run. Not even a taper run. No gym, no jog. Nada. Nothing. In fact no running this weekend. Is that wise 2 weeks out from the marathon? Well maybe, maybe not, i was due to run 13 miles today, but got so busy doing the classic Welsh Easter day i couldn't fit it in. Even bigger shock horror i didn't eat my own and families body weight in chocolate. Unbelievable
So, instead today of talking about training and running, i shall talk about my classic Welsh Easter day. I got down to Wales last night to be greeted by My Nan and Mum. Nan looking amazing. Big hair and clear face. Like Miss Ellie from Dallas. There is a grace and peace about her, even though she is ill. Jesus she looked better than me!
My mother has been looking after her 24 hours a day, my Nan is pretty ill, the Marie Curie nurses are amazing. All fair enough, but i still had to wait over 2 minutes for my cup of tea and over 50 minutes for dinner. Clearly standards are slipping at Brymoor Road. In the past you couldn't get over the doormat before having a cup of tea and bowl of Cwyl shoved in your face. Hospitality at it's finest and fiercest.
Coming down here is like a trip back in time. Tonight i am sleeping in the front room, in the single bed, the room i used to sleep in as a kid. I'll have to see if i can dig out the old Roy of the Rovers and Shoot annuals.
Being the youngest of 3 boys means that i was of course spoilt and have indulged this when coming down and letting my nan and Mum cluck and fuss around me, not having to lift a finger. It's great. Today i will make allowances though for illness. I'll get my own milk from the fridge.
So, today is classic. Easter Day. Llanelli. The town is full of churches, synagogues. Pentecostals, evangelical, catholic, christian, Greek orthodox churches. The population is either Old Welsh Sunday best or young Welsh unemployed binge drinkers, with Polish and Romanian immigrants thrown into the mix. It is an important day on the religious calendar, though 30% of the towns population will be in Church. Some will be in bed, others in Police cells. Town was heaving last night full of binge drinking bedlam.
After writing my blog, i decided to head to Dafen church for Easter service. Classic Llanelli 1- My Nan cannot make it, it is her Parish and my Aunt Gwynie will be there. It is the church my Nan was married in, my Grandfather was buried in. It is as close to family church you can get. It is a church that is definitely 'old', twin set and pearls, blue rinse hair, sunday best. The men in blazers, v neck jumpers and ties. The women in fuscia pink and twin sets. I brought the age down considerably, even at 40!!
As I've said before, they love a bit of misery in Llanelli. A good funeral or two. The service was interesting and a celebration of life. Whilst i don't follow an organised religion or Jesus Christ, i certainly liked the family, love, re-birth, connection and faith part of what was being spoken. I also turned up the chance of communion. Fucked if I'm going to relapse on the blood of Christ!
I gave me Auntie a kiss. Said a prayer on my Grandfather's grave and headed off for phase 2 of the Easter Sunday, a sunbed in town.
Now you cannot visit LLanelli without a sunbed. Because everyone lives on a diet of Corned Beef pasties and rothmans, to mask this and look healthy everyone under the age of 45 is deeply sun tanned. Bronze. Orange. Mahogany. The sunbed place, is unregulated and you can go on for up to 3 months and come out looking like Sol Campbell. It's mental
Great sight when i walked in. Old girl out the front, obviously 'supervising'. She was round like a weeble, bandage on the ankle, obviously from Diabetes, she had shaved hair, looked as rough as anything, deeply tanned, smoking a fag, under the poster of 'Look Healthy'. Superb. She could have been a poster girl for Cancer Research. Triple whammy, sunbed, smoking and obesity. Classic Llanelli 2
Then after the 2p a minute sunbed, i headed to phase 3 of classic Welsh Sunday. Get the car washed. Now this is another crucial part of a Mans Weekend duties in Llanelli. After visiting family, attending church, overeating and watching sport, it is important to have your car sparkling. Mine is a total shit hole and is piled up with diet coke bottles and Yogurt pots and old copies of '50 Plus'. It needed doing. It is like a right of passage for Llanelli men. Sparkling 4 door cars with sparkling anoraks with sparkling beards and sparkling gardens. Therewarthen.
Subsequently there are a disproportionate amount of Hand car washes in Llanelli. Obviously Polish and Romanian. Local people call them 'scum', but are perfectly happy to get car valeted for a tenner. i did. it rocks. And brilliantly i got talking to a couple in the cafe by the hand car wash, mobility scooter parked up, waiting there turn to get in the cafe for their £4 Sunday Roast. They bemoaned the state of Llanelli, the immigrants, the work shy youth. Everything. When i asked them what they did - "oh been on the sick for ages, it's my back you see'. Classic Llanelli 3.
Then it was time for lunch. Pick up Aunt Gwynie and then go to Golf Club. Not quite classic Llanelli, as the golf club is lovely, with lovely food, space and view. Usually it's to a carvery in a pub with paper napkins, huge portions and £3.99. I did pass classic Llanelli Number 4 though.
Sarah's snack bar, in a car park, near Dyfed Steel. A cafe that sold 'chips n things', that was a static caravan. yes really., The sort of restaurant where the only thing Michelin about it is in the tyres that hold it up. It really took my breath away. Nearly as good as the old ice cream van i saw last time i was down converted into a mobile Barbers. Only in Llanelli. Classic. "99 and a wedge cut please"
So after the huge lunch, it was time to settle down on the Sofa and read the paper. Classic Llanelli Number 5. The Lanelli Star. Local Newspaper. Absolutely riveting read. Full of Nonversation. It reflects people's gossip which is effectively reporting news that isn't important. My favourite story? A woman arrested Last week for stealing 2 bottles of £1 Umbro aftershave from Poundland after drinking Cider, was prosecuted and fined £150, ordered to pay Poundland costs of £2. Fucking classic!!! The whole story is classic Llanelli. Insane. Poundland, Umbro aftershave. Cider, Court. I mean you wouldn't get that in Chelsea would you?
How much would that have cost in Police, Court, solicitors to prosecute? £30-40k? and for what 2 bottles of Umbro aftershave nicked because she was pissed and sold them on for £2 profit. Only in Llanelli. Classic. The only way is Llanelli.
And then classic Llanelli 6. Nonversation. My Aunt Gwynie is absolutely world class at it. Put her in a room with my nan and whoosh, she is off. Covering a wide range of subjects like. Catherine Cookson, Welsh Opera on Channel 4, Mr Jenkins from the Church, Hanging Basket that was put up by Michael next Door on Thursday. it is relentless and if it was an Olympic event, i would bet my entire life on her winning gold. This town is full of them. Classic.
Classic Llanelli 7 - Uncle Ken nipped over, 'and those on it there'. I counted he said that phrase 34 times in a 12 minute conversation. Quite a spectacular achievement. In that 12 minutes he gave me the coach potato run down on the Welsh Grand Slam, Scarlets patchy form and the future of Welsh Rugby. Never played the game, or coached or attended a live match but he seemed to know everything about the game, and those on it then. I am enlightened, and sleepy.
Finally Classic Llanelli 8 - Sunday night. Town. I went to a meeting, strangely in the Church where my mother and Father first met. Meetings in Llanelli are grinding and tough. If you can get sober here you can get sober anywhere. Tough. But i like it that way. When venturing into town, Sunday night, nothing else to do, town was stuffed full of People on the piss. Bing drinking everywhere. Girls dressed in tiny skirts and the highest heels. The slut look was king or is that Queen?. Young or Old it made no difference. orange, deeply tanned, caked in make up, pinched perm, high heels. orange legs, tiny skirt and the latest top from New Look, washed down with cheap Primark silver jewelry that causes a rash, drinking Wicked, stumbling around gobbing off everywhere. Fuck me, i love it, where do i sign up.
So, that my friends was my classic Welsh Easter. 11 years ago today i woke up, on the sofa of my girlfriends house, out of blackout, in a piss stained suit, with an empty bottle of Lanson next to me, thinking 'uh oh, i have a problem with alcohol'. It was the very first time i rang AA and went to a meeting.
So, Easter Sunday is life for me. The whole weekend is significant. From Death to life. I seem to take the piss out of Llanelli but only because i love it and it has character. 'The only way is Hounslow' just doesn't have the same ring to it. I love Lanelli.
Hopefully run tomorrow, but if I'm being honest I'm pretty relaxed about the next 2 weeks, as i've done my mileage i just need to tick over now. not beat myself up.
Hope everyone had a great Easter. Remarkably i didn't eat any Chocolate but i certainly hope you did and enjoyed this weekend's blog. Thank you so much for reading it. Big love to all
xx
Shock Horror. No long run. Not even a taper run. No gym, no jog. Nada. Nothing. In fact no running this weekend. Is that wise 2 weeks out from the marathon? Well maybe, maybe not, i was due to run 13 miles today, but got so busy doing the classic Welsh Easter day i couldn't fit it in. Even bigger shock horror i didn't eat my own and families body weight in chocolate. Unbelievable
So, instead today of talking about training and running, i shall talk about my classic Welsh Easter day. I got down to Wales last night to be greeted by My Nan and Mum. Nan looking amazing. Big hair and clear face. Like Miss Ellie from Dallas. There is a grace and peace about her, even though she is ill. Jesus she looked better than me!
My mother has been looking after her 24 hours a day, my Nan is pretty ill, the Marie Curie nurses are amazing. All fair enough, but i still had to wait over 2 minutes for my cup of tea and over 50 minutes for dinner. Clearly standards are slipping at Brymoor Road. In the past you couldn't get over the doormat before having a cup of tea and bowl of Cwyl shoved in your face. Hospitality at it's finest and fiercest.
Coming down here is like a trip back in time. Tonight i am sleeping in the front room, in the single bed, the room i used to sleep in as a kid. I'll have to see if i can dig out the old Roy of the Rovers and Shoot annuals.
Being the youngest of 3 boys means that i was of course spoilt and have indulged this when coming down and letting my nan and Mum cluck and fuss around me, not having to lift a finger. It's great. Today i will make allowances though for illness. I'll get my own milk from the fridge.
So, today is classic. Easter Day. Llanelli. The town is full of churches, synagogues. Pentecostals, evangelical, catholic, christian, Greek orthodox churches. The population is either Old Welsh Sunday best or young Welsh unemployed binge drinkers, with Polish and Romanian immigrants thrown into the mix. It is an important day on the religious calendar, though 30% of the towns population will be in Church. Some will be in bed, others in Police cells. Town was heaving last night full of binge drinking bedlam.
After writing my blog, i decided to head to Dafen church for Easter service. Classic Llanelli 1- My Nan cannot make it, it is her Parish and my Aunt Gwynie will be there. It is the church my Nan was married in, my Grandfather was buried in. It is as close to family church you can get. It is a church that is definitely 'old', twin set and pearls, blue rinse hair, sunday best. The men in blazers, v neck jumpers and ties. The women in fuscia pink and twin sets. I brought the age down considerably, even at 40!!
As I've said before, they love a bit of misery in Llanelli. A good funeral or two. The service was interesting and a celebration of life. Whilst i don't follow an organised religion or Jesus Christ, i certainly liked the family, love, re-birth, connection and faith part of what was being spoken. I also turned up the chance of communion. Fucked if I'm going to relapse on the blood of Christ!
I gave me Auntie a kiss. Said a prayer on my Grandfather's grave and headed off for phase 2 of the Easter Sunday, a sunbed in town.
Now you cannot visit LLanelli without a sunbed. Because everyone lives on a diet of Corned Beef pasties and rothmans, to mask this and look healthy everyone under the age of 45 is deeply sun tanned. Bronze. Orange. Mahogany. The sunbed place, is unregulated and you can go on for up to 3 months and come out looking like Sol Campbell. It's mental
Great sight when i walked in. Old girl out the front, obviously 'supervising'. She was round like a weeble, bandage on the ankle, obviously from Diabetes, she had shaved hair, looked as rough as anything, deeply tanned, smoking a fag, under the poster of 'Look Healthy'. Superb. She could have been a poster girl for Cancer Research. Triple whammy, sunbed, smoking and obesity. Classic Llanelli 2
Then after the 2p a minute sunbed, i headed to phase 3 of classic Welsh Sunday. Get the car washed. Now this is another crucial part of a Mans Weekend duties in Llanelli. After visiting family, attending church, overeating and watching sport, it is important to have your car sparkling. Mine is a total shit hole and is piled up with diet coke bottles and Yogurt pots and old copies of '50 Plus'. It needed doing. It is like a right of passage for Llanelli men. Sparkling 4 door cars with sparkling anoraks with sparkling beards and sparkling gardens. Therewarthen.
Subsequently there are a disproportionate amount of Hand car washes in Llanelli. Obviously Polish and Romanian. Local people call them 'scum', but are perfectly happy to get car valeted for a tenner. i did. it rocks. And brilliantly i got talking to a couple in the cafe by the hand car wash, mobility scooter parked up, waiting there turn to get in the cafe for their £4 Sunday Roast. They bemoaned the state of Llanelli, the immigrants, the work shy youth. Everything. When i asked them what they did - "oh been on the sick for ages, it's my back you see'. Classic Llanelli 3.
Then it was time for lunch. Pick up Aunt Gwynie and then go to Golf Club. Not quite classic Llanelli, as the golf club is lovely, with lovely food, space and view. Usually it's to a carvery in a pub with paper napkins, huge portions and £3.99. I did pass classic Llanelli Number 4 though.
Sarah's snack bar, in a car park, near Dyfed Steel. A cafe that sold 'chips n things', that was a static caravan. yes really., The sort of restaurant where the only thing Michelin about it is in the tyres that hold it up. It really took my breath away. Nearly as good as the old ice cream van i saw last time i was down converted into a mobile Barbers. Only in Llanelli. Classic. "99 and a wedge cut please"
So after the huge lunch, it was time to settle down on the Sofa and read the paper. Classic Llanelli Number 5. The Lanelli Star. Local Newspaper. Absolutely riveting read. Full of Nonversation. It reflects people's gossip which is effectively reporting news that isn't important. My favourite story? A woman arrested Last week for stealing 2 bottles of £1 Umbro aftershave from Poundland after drinking Cider, was prosecuted and fined £150, ordered to pay Poundland costs of £2. Fucking classic!!! The whole story is classic Llanelli. Insane. Poundland, Umbro aftershave. Cider, Court. I mean you wouldn't get that in Chelsea would you?
How much would that have cost in Police, Court, solicitors to prosecute? £30-40k? and for what 2 bottles of Umbro aftershave nicked because she was pissed and sold them on for £2 profit. Only in Llanelli. Classic. The only way is Llanelli.
And then classic Llanelli 6. Nonversation. My Aunt Gwynie is absolutely world class at it. Put her in a room with my nan and whoosh, she is off. Covering a wide range of subjects like. Catherine Cookson, Welsh Opera on Channel 4, Mr Jenkins from the Church, Hanging Basket that was put up by Michael next Door on Thursday. it is relentless and if it was an Olympic event, i would bet my entire life on her winning gold. This town is full of them. Classic.
Classic Llanelli 7 - Uncle Ken nipped over, 'and those on it there'. I counted he said that phrase 34 times in a 12 minute conversation. Quite a spectacular achievement. In that 12 minutes he gave me the coach potato run down on the Welsh Grand Slam, Scarlets patchy form and the future of Welsh Rugby. Never played the game, or coached or attended a live match but he seemed to know everything about the game, and those on it then. I am enlightened, and sleepy.
Finally Classic Llanelli 8 - Sunday night. Town. I went to a meeting, strangely in the Church where my mother and Father first met. Meetings in Llanelli are grinding and tough. If you can get sober here you can get sober anywhere. Tough. But i like it that way. When venturing into town, Sunday night, nothing else to do, town was stuffed full of People on the piss. Bing drinking everywhere. Girls dressed in tiny skirts and the highest heels. The slut look was king or is that Queen?. Young or Old it made no difference. orange, deeply tanned, caked in make up, pinched perm, high heels. orange legs, tiny skirt and the latest top from New Look, washed down with cheap Primark silver jewelry that causes a rash, drinking Wicked, stumbling around gobbing off everywhere. Fuck me, i love it, where do i sign up.
So, that my friends was my classic Welsh Easter. 11 years ago today i woke up, on the sofa of my girlfriends house, out of blackout, in a piss stained suit, with an empty bottle of Lanson next to me, thinking 'uh oh, i have a problem with alcohol'. It was the very first time i rang AA and went to a meeting.
So, Easter Sunday is life for me. The whole weekend is significant. From Death to life. I seem to take the piss out of Llanelli but only because i love it and it has character. 'The only way is Hounslow' just doesn't have the same ring to it. I love Lanelli.
Hopefully run tomorrow, but if I'm being honest I'm pretty relaxed about the next 2 weeks, as i've done my mileage i just need to tick over now. not beat myself up.
Hope everyone had a great Easter. Remarkably i didn't eat any Chocolate but i certainly hope you did and enjoyed this weekend's blog. Thank you so much for reading it. Big love to all
xx
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Day 97 - Saturday 7th April
Mileage 0 - Weekly Mileage 18; (40 min cycle and cross training in gym)
No running today, legs felt a little heavy and i thought a slight rest would do me better than a short run, so i hit the gym, did a leisure cycle whilst reading the paper and watching Saturday Kitchen. There is something genuinely wonderful about exercising in the gym whilst watching James Martin making a massively calorific Easter Chocolate Pavlova. Certainly the big girl on the bike next to me was drooling. Not sure if that was due to interval training or when he spooned the Chocolate cream onto the Pavlova.
Did a cross train circuit, working on the legs, core and of course, crucially for any marathon running man planning on wearing a sleeveless vest for the marathon. The guns or to give them their correct name biceps. A common feature of most gym sessions for guys is working on the show pony muscle groups, chest and arms. Sod the fitness and legs, it's all about how you look. There was a guy in the gym who was trying to lift heavy weights, grunting and basically swinging his arms and body around like a fucking monkey. it was like a nature programme example on male pride. I could almost hear David Attenboro doing a running commentary on him.
I do it rather differently these days. Training my legs and body in short circuits, i also do tons of pull ups and use natural body weight. It has Made me much stronger but time will tell if it helps on the marathon.
I have talked alot about the marathon, about the mental side of it. About the philospohy, about what it does for the soul. About Nutrition, rest, stretching, miles in the legs, the long runs, working on speed, endurance, cardiovascular fitness. All of these are important elements. Preparation is key.
But one component that is hugely important for any self confessed self obsessed vain ego maniac is how you will look in the official marathon photos on mile 6, 13, 18 and finish line.
Don't get me wrong, after mile 20 you really don't care if you look like a cross between Frankenstein and Aretha Franklin. You are knackered. Image goes out of the window. You are covered in spit, sweat, salt and lucozade. Your hair is matted, nipples maybe bleeding, skid marks are deeper than Jordan's cleavage. The look on your face wincing is similar to the one Elvis had when he died on the toilet. You basically look constipated and that you are trying to shit out a small animal. You are not looking your best. Image is out of the window.
But mile 6, 12 and 18? Christ you need to look the part for the pics. Don't want to show the grand kids when you're older, 'That was Grandaddy in the 2012 marathon' and the Grand kids saying 'But Grandad, you look like you should be selling the big issue on The Biggest Loser'.
Now for a vain bastard like me who sets massive importance (too much) in how i look. it's crucial. What to wear on marathon day is one of the biggest preparation issues. Regulation charity running vest with shorts or ultra tight fitting triathlon suit that shows of the guns impressively but looks like i should be in The Pet Shop Boys?
I got my Action on Addiction vest through the post, it has the charity and my name printed on the front - all i need for marathon day, but is it going to show my guns off? No. That is a dilemma. The triathlon suit will undoubtedly get me some stick from some of the male side of the crowd 'ponce' 'gayboy' or 'twat' are just some of the encouraging things shouted at me in training when i have worn it. Usually from men who are chronically obese and have bigger tits than Jordan. Ironic.
But to be fair, I've put hours into the gym to get a muscly body, especially as i used to have a body i was ashamed of and hid away under baggy clothes.I have gone the other way entirely and it gets me some comments from women. Like 'oooohhhhhhhh' 'check him out' and 'nice'. Though I'm still yet to have any phone numbers or knickers thrown at me. Maybe i should do it as Tom Jones.
The standard issue running wear is Non egotistical. It Says what it does on the tin. But it Covers up the guns and is basically then all about the running and time. The tri suit? Well undoubtedly camper than a row of tents but Creates a reaction and feeds my need for outside affirmation approval and to be noticed, and boy there is no better place to be noticed than for 4 hours throughout London by 500,000 people. I'm torn between the two. As i said dilemma!
Today I'm off to Wales for Easter, to see my Nan and Mum. She is out of hospital and eating Kit Kat's, so things are on the up. It will be a nice break, as long as i can relent from the onslaught of chocolate biscuits.
I was proud of my blog yesterday and it certainly provoked quite a strong reaction from people. Some of which who had experience of alcoholism, and some from people who hadn't. Great. The reason i wrote it so graphically was to show it as an example of alcoholism and what it does. if nothing else it helped me and if it helps to raise awareness then even better. Also it may help people to comment, share and express themselves. There is alot of pain in the world and it helps to share it, express it and feel connected to people.
I hadn't even really got into it properly. There is a limited amount you can write in a blog.
There were many things i remember from that time.
Speaking to the warden and piecing his life in the last few years. Hostel to hostel. Hospital to hospital. Health failing, Slowly dying. Alcohol counselling appointments made and missed. All of these from the papers i found in his flat.
Statements of his last few cash withdrawals. The personal effects from the funeral director that was on him. A cheap watch and and a couple of artifacts.
And what did i choose to take from his flat? There really wasn't anything much to want to keep as a memento. His acoustic guitar, couple of books, some paperwork and the freedom pass wallet. He had £1300 in the bank (accumulated from benefits as he was hospitalised for weeks before and couldn't spend anything) Which ended up paying for the funeral.
And the funeral? Well Mortlake Crematorium. 8 people. Me, My Mum, Girlfriend Elizabeth, My sponsor Andy, Brother Robin and his old friend Patrick who remembered my Dad from being a kid, Mike Thomas a guy he worked with in the 60's an old family friend and my Niece Nadia. All of us represented some kind of his life or a link to him. But a small turn out, as i said his life ceased in 1987. There was no-one after that. Where were his drinking buddies now? Probably in the same place.
The funeral director said something telling. He said my Dad was lucky we did this for him. He said most alcoholics are buried alone without anyone. An anonymous death. It felt right with who was there.
My brother Rob buckled and got very upset as he hero worshipped his Dad and when he left, he was so hurt and buried it and effectively ruled him dead. I think it hit him hard. Mike Thomas spoke about their time together in the 60's and what kind of man he was back then (in my opinion he did about 6 minutes too long, it was like listening to an overlong share in AA)
Then i headlined , sorry, i spoke last, and i nailed it. Granted it was a willing audience, but it was best gig yet, i even got a couple of laughs. Dad would have been proud. Of course, i put up in the blog what i said yesterday, so no need to repeat but it was about forgiveness and love and to send him off to be cremated with peace, love and dignity. We did that and especially genius to the them tune from Minder. That was an inspirational idea from my eldest brother Mark. Genius.
And then it was over. Breakfast together afterwards and on with our days. I got the ashes a couple of days later, which was odd the thought of him in the urn, in my car, in my house. Felt peculiar. i even stopped tossing off for a few days. Guilty. I wanted them to be gone asap, so i organised a small ceremony in Wales for his family, His sisters, nephews and friends i hadn't seen in years. We organised it in the church where his mother and father were buried and where my Grandfather (his dad) Idwell Isaac Evans was Vicar for many years.
There were 14 of us there for that, in the Graveyard, an old friend, Sue spoke about him from the 60's, how everyone wanted to remember him. we stood in a circle, i spoke some words and then we spread the ashes on his parents grave, said a prayer and then went to a llanelli style pub for a Sunday lunch carvery. A classic Welsh send off. Brains Bitter was only £1.50 a pint so my Dad really would have approved. Tidy.
The interesting point about bringing him back 'home' to Wales, was how everyone remembered Mike Evans from when he was a young man, before he left Wales at the age of 27 in 1972 (i was 6 months old) with my Mum to set up home in Berkshire and work in London. They all saw him as the golden boy. A man of brilliance, charm, charisma, presence, humour. How he was going to make it big. How he could do anything. It was great to hear stories about him like that. he was my Father. (Ok bit of self obsessed thinking, god i wonder if people think of me like that?)
They were shocked to see his demise when he returned to Llanelli as a full blown alcoholic in 1987 when he was kicked out and left our lives. That was the start of his descent into hopeless alcoholism. They remembered that time too, him stealing money, drinking. He eventually ran out of people and returned to London in 1988 and stayed in the black hole of hostels and life of full blown drunk until his death in 2009. 21 year suicide.
I spoke with his Eldest sister, Joan. Auntie Joan, who i hadn';t seen since i was a kid. I visited her and we talked about him. She said how he would phone every Christmas, crying that he couldn't see his kids, and then laughing 5 minutes later. Classic alcoholism, he had told people he didn't have kids. Self pity anyone?
He would occasionally turn up in Llanelli looking like a tramp, get fed, cleaned up, new clothes and head back to London. He would threaten to come and visit and then not show up. He didn't like small talk on the phone, he was a clever man, but he was totally lost to alcoholism.
It was healing and invaluable for me to hear from all these people about him. It helped me create a whole picture and break down his life, piece together a timeline (oh god maybe the new Facebook has got it right after all) and it helped me get to know him better. It felt good. Closer. Like he was no longer a stranger. it gave him a humanity, when the flat and his last few years were anything but.
What it also gave me was a strong feeling about the various stages of alcoholism. His life seemed to be a textbook case of the disease. More so than anything else. Fuck leaving Las Vegas, his life was true dedication to alcoholism.
From being young man with big dreams. Bullshit and bravado showing massive promise. Job, marriage 3 kids early. Jacked in job after 20 years as they were all 'wankers'. Resentments. Welsh strong wife to prop him up. Secret drinking, lose house, violence. Police, court orders, turning up at school drunk. Violence.
Kicked out of home, go back to Wales full blown drunk, kicked out of llanelli, London, Park bench, street drunk, hostels, hospitals, health fade, liver failure, hospitalisation, let home, drunk, die, alone, funeral, 8 people, estranged kids. Alcoholism.
So that folks just about sums it up. I have covered the whole process and that is the closer. Easter weekend is about death, re-birth. Life. It is a celebration of life and for me, although it is a harrowing account of the process and death of an alcoholic. It is life affirming as it brought family closer together, it re-introduced people estranged for years. It gave an alcoholic peace and dignity and stopped the pain of living, it became full of love and healing. That to me signifies life, not death and for that i am happy.
I have enjoyed writing about it. It fires me up. Makes me passionate about alcoholism. I keep thinking of how can i make a difference. How can i use it as a positive life experience for people? Write a book about it? Write a biography of him "Loneliness of the Long Distance Alcoholic". Or write a play, do a comedy show for Edinburgh about it? Do talks? What to do? I'd like to do something as it feels right. I guess i need a little direction. A little guidance. Any suggestions readers?
It's at times like this, even at 39 years old, sometimes, just sometimes I'd like a Dad. To talk to, to discuss things with and most crucially right now, this week to borrow £8k off for an unexpected tax bill. Ooof. Now where is that number for Ladbrokes? May put a fiver on some activist jumping into the Thames and disrupting the Boat Race. I mean, as if..............
Nicholas Edward Evans
xx
So that folks just about sums it up. I have covered the whole process and that is the closer. Easter weekend is about death, re-birth. Life. It is a celebration of life and for me, although it is a harrowing account of the process and death of an alcoholic. It is life affirming as it brought family closer together, it re-introduced people estranged for years. It gave an alcoholic peace and dignity and stopped the pain of living, it became full of love and healing. That to me signifies life, not death and for that i am happy.
I have enjoyed writing about it. It fires me up. Makes me passionate about alcoholism. I keep thinking of how can i make a difference. How can i use it as a positive life experience for people? Write a book about it? Write a biography of him "Loneliness of the Long Distance Alcoholic". Or write a play, do a comedy show for Edinburgh about it? Do talks? What to do? I'd like to do something as it feels right. I guess i need a little direction. A little guidance. Any suggestions readers?
It's at times like this, even at 39 years old, sometimes, just sometimes I'd like a Dad. To talk to, to discuss things with and most crucially right now, this week to borrow £8k off for an unexpected tax bill. Ooof. Now where is that number for Ladbrokes? May put a fiver on some activist jumping into the Thames and disrupting the Boat Race. I mean, as if..............
Nicholas Edward Evans
xx
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Day 96 - Friday 6th April - Good Friday
Mileage 6; Time - 50 mins; Weekly Mileage 18 miles.
Good Friday. A Public holiday. The day Jesus was crucified. I personally don't follow any particular religion, though i consider myself spiritual of sorts. I believe in a god, not sure what it is but i know I'm not it.
Good Friday does mean something to me. I know people in my family who are deeply religious so i respect the day and the beliefs though I'm not quite sure why people eat hot cross buns to mark the day, isn't that a little like eating a cake made to look like the Twin Towers on September 11th? It's a bit macabre and in bad taste to me, particularly if they are the cheap ones from Lidel that taste like Cat Litter.
Lets face it, most people don't attend church. The people who are religious are in a minority. The vast amount of this country follow the religion of spending, eating, money, job, booze, drugs and Ipad. Whilst Jesus maybe the most iconic figure ever, more people post the words of Steve Jobs lectures than the Bible. How can this be? Well for me it's marketing.
If you think about it, Jesus looks way cooler than Steve Jobs did, long hair, beard, thin. A bit like a biblical Jim Morrison. Jesus nailed that Rock star look long before God made amplifiers. And Steve Job, specy & nerdy
Jesus didn't sell much other than a bit of woodwork. He was humble. Good. He thought he didn't need to sell anything, He was The son of God after all. Jesus Christ. Steve Jobs? He sold an idea. a cool gadget, a philosophy, a need. He made the world little followers of a cool gadget thing. He made the world think they need one, then the second, then the third and so on.
In short the Ipad is packaged so much better than religion. It's probably even got a Jesus App. I bet he doesn't get the royalties off that.Apple products are endorsed by people such as Obama, George Clooney and Angelina Jolie. Jesus is endorsed by Cliff Richard, my old RE teacher Ms Brown and that bloke on Oxford Street who marches up and down with a loud haler quoting the bible. Kind of puts you off?
The trouble with Jesus is that he has been packaged into being just too Songs of Praise. This is a shame, as Jesus was hardcore. That is forgotten. He didn't moan about being nailed to a cross when most kids these days moan about having to eat broccoli. Lazy little cunts.
And whilst I'm at it, since when did Steve Jobs perform any miracles? Other than wearing the same outfit for 20 years? Say what you like about God, but he certainly does a good sunset, and rise, and of course everything in between. He just needs to have a bit of slicker advertising and marketing, seeing that's what sells these days. Miracles? Nah fuck it, unless they are put in a 20 second clip on You Tube not interested. God clearly has to modernise to reach full impact, or then again maybe he'll wipe us all out (Japanese Tsunami anyone?) and start again as he's got just too pissed off by how out of control we are with capitalism? Basically what I'm saying is that I'm on board with God. I have more faith in God than an Ipod.
So, why am a talking about God, Jesus, Easter, Death and of course in the end rebirth. Well don't worry i'm not going to turn all born again Christian on you, as some people are so anti god and religion they will stop reading now. But this is not a religious blog, nor do i know enough about it. No today's blog is because as many of you may know, 3 years to roughly the day since my father died. 3 years ago he was found dead alone in his warden controlled flat in Fulham. (death) and also 11 years on Easter Sunday when i first walked into AA and said 'i have a problem with booze. I think I'm an alcoholic'. (rebirth)
It seems a little tright and simple. A little on the yucky side, but those are the facts. I can't ignore them. It has just seemed to turn out that way and as they seem to have fallen on these incredible religious and spiritual days, they are kind of really hard to ignore.
Good Friday. A Public holiday. The day Jesus was crucified. I personally don't follow any particular religion, though i consider myself spiritual of sorts. I believe in a god, not sure what it is but i know I'm not it.
Good Friday does mean something to me. I know people in my family who are deeply religious so i respect the day and the beliefs though I'm not quite sure why people eat hot cross buns to mark the day, isn't that a little like eating a cake made to look like the Twin Towers on September 11th? It's a bit macabre and in bad taste to me, particularly if they are the cheap ones from Lidel that taste like Cat Litter.
Lets face it, most people don't attend church. The people who are religious are in a minority. The vast amount of this country follow the religion of spending, eating, money, job, booze, drugs and Ipad. Whilst Jesus maybe the most iconic figure ever, more people post the words of Steve Jobs lectures than the Bible. How can this be? Well for me it's marketing.
If you think about it, Jesus looks way cooler than Steve Jobs did, long hair, beard, thin. A bit like a biblical Jim Morrison. Jesus nailed that Rock star look long before God made amplifiers. And Steve Job, specy & nerdy
Jesus didn't sell much other than a bit of woodwork. He was humble. Good. He thought he didn't need to sell anything, He was The son of God after all. Jesus Christ. Steve Jobs? He sold an idea. a cool gadget, a philosophy, a need. He made the world little followers of a cool gadget thing. He made the world think they need one, then the second, then the third and so on.
In short the Ipad is packaged so much better than religion. It's probably even got a Jesus App. I bet he doesn't get the royalties off that.Apple products are endorsed by people such as Obama, George Clooney and Angelina Jolie. Jesus is endorsed by Cliff Richard, my old RE teacher Ms Brown and that bloke on Oxford Street who marches up and down with a loud haler quoting the bible. Kind of puts you off?
The trouble with Jesus is that he has been packaged into being just too Songs of Praise. This is a shame, as Jesus was hardcore. That is forgotten. He didn't moan about being nailed to a cross when most kids these days moan about having to eat broccoli. Lazy little cunts.
And whilst I'm at it, since when did Steve Jobs perform any miracles? Other than wearing the same outfit for 20 years? Say what you like about God, but he certainly does a good sunset, and rise, and of course everything in between. He just needs to have a bit of slicker advertising and marketing, seeing that's what sells these days. Miracles? Nah fuck it, unless they are put in a 20 second clip on You Tube not interested. God clearly has to modernise to reach full impact, or then again maybe he'll wipe us all out (Japanese Tsunami anyone?) and start again as he's got just too pissed off by how out of control we are with capitalism? Basically what I'm saying is that I'm on board with God. I have more faith in God than an Ipod.
So, why am a talking about God, Jesus, Easter, Death and of course in the end rebirth. Well don't worry i'm not going to turn all born again Christian on you, as some people are so anti god and religion they will stop reading now. But this is not a religious blog, nor do i know enough about it. No today's blog is because as many of you may know, 3 years to roughly the day since my father died. 3 years ago he was found dead alone in his warden controlled flat in Fulham. (death) and also 11 years on Easter Sunday when i first walked into AA and said 'i have a problem with booze. I think I'm an alcoholic'. (rebirth)
It seems a little tright and simple. A little on the yucky side, but those are the facts. I can't ignore them. It has just seemed to turn out that way and as they seem to have fallen on these incredible religious and spiritual days, they are kind of really hard to ignore.
Three years ago after Easter, I was sat in my office (portacabin) at London Scottish FC, when I received a call from my Cousin, who I hadn’t spoken to, or seen since I was a kid. My father had 3 sisters and it was his eldest Sister’s son. He told me the news that my father had been found dead, in a flat in London and he couldn’t do anything, the welsh family were all old and infirm ed and could I sort out the details. I hadn’t seen my Father properly since I was 13. He had been lost to alcoholism since 1987. He had caused destruction and had relegated from normal life, too a life a life of hostels, doss houses, streets, park benches. We never knew where he was. He was a full blown alcoholic.
i'm honest it felt good to do it.
I was stunned at first of course, shocked. I hadn’t thought about him for ages. Got used to not having a father. I remember weirdly Kenny Logan was in the office and he gave me a hug. Then I called my Mum, brothers and girlfriend at the time. Elizabeth, who was amazing and a rock. Then I received a call from someone in AA who talked about themselves for a few minutes before asking me 1 – is it a good time to talk and 2- how am i? Talk about self obsession. They soon received the send off.
Then I started making the calls to the coroner. Try to find out the facts and piece together his life. Basically he lived in a warden controlled flat. On welfare for years. He had apparently been in and out of hospital for years with liver failure and host of other alcohol related problems. He had a hemorrhage in his sleep and was found dead after Easter, he had been laying dead, in his flat for a few days. Last seen before Easter, so i figured a man as egotistical and grandiose as him, born on Christmas Day 1946, probably died on or around Good Friday. Only he could do that!
The coroner was lovely stating that it would have been quick and he wouldn't have suffered. But they were holding the body and had to make funeral arrangements. Jesus, I'd never prepared myself for that.
Anyway, i went to where he lived and spoke to the warden who put some pieces of the jigsaw together and it was then, that the real details of the alcoholics life were brought to life. He lived in flat 3 of an old peoples block for 3 years, looking disheveled and tramp like most of the time. Leaving early to go and drink with his pals on Shepperd's Bush Green and coming back late at night. He said he didn't have kids (3 of us) and had effectively blocked out his past. (I don't blame him or am angry or hurt, it's just the pain of alcoholism - imagine normal people saying how can you do that? Too painful for him i guess so much easier to say you didn't have any)So, i got the keys to his flat. I needed to see where he died. How he lived and get any details, papers and articles. The warden warned it wasn't nice. That he had been dead in bed for days. I was with my Mum and Elizabeth. I wanted to go alone, but they insisted.
Nothing prepared us for that flat. A small place. We opened the door and the stench of death was overwhelming. The heating was on full blast, it was a mild Easter and it was just a horrible smell. Disgusting. On the left was the kitchen. Bare, no cutlery, plates or anything. Just an ironing board with a book on it. A Rebus book from Ealing hospital library and rather ironically a book on health. In the fridge was an old fish and chip dinner out of date by 5 weeks.
Then the living room. Bare. 1 chair. A guitar, Free newspapers. Hospital papers and that was it. Empty. soulless.
Then bathroom. Filthy. Covered in blood on walls and toilet. Like he had been throwing up blood for years. A horrid state,
And finally the worse room. The bedroom. A room on looking that was an utter synopsis of the end of the road for an alcoholic. Fuck Tracey Ermin's Bed installation. If i was to do one entitled alcoholism. i would reproduce the room. It was horrifying, upsetting, shocking, sad. I was used to it through experience of alcoholics, but it hadn't prepared Elizabeth or My Mum for it. They were visibly upset and shaken.
The stench was horrid. There was blood on the empty bed where he had died. There were clothes and knee deep rubbish all around the room. Empty bottles of vodka, cider and High strength lager strewn around. Blood spattered paperwork next to the bed. an umbrella open on bed. Just shit and devastation. Fuck me. It was just grizzly death place.
I had to look around for his wallet. So i found his trousers on floor. And this to me sums up alcoholism for those of you who don't understand it is a mental illness with a massive ego and self esteem divorced from reality. He had a pair of chinos (shit stained) with a dressing gown cord as a belt and in the pocket of these trousers which signified someone who had given up, were 2 combs. 2 combs! Clearly he still thought he 'had it' even at the end. That is the delusion of alcoholism, and always makes me smile when i think about it. Alcoholism is tragic funny. You have to see the humour to feel the sadness.
His wallet was a Freedom Travel pass and i found a cash card, money (fuck me can i have 25 years of child support payments please?) a picture of him, which we didn't recognise, yet did at same time. The arrogant menacing look and the nose broken and face ravaged with booze) and i found a piece of paper with 2 names and numbers. 1 a woman he was with for a while but who left him to go to New Zealand, her number and the other, my name 'Nicki (as he called me) Evans (son) and my number. I think that got me the most. Clearly it was numbers to contact in case someone found him. Like he knew his fate, Prepared for it. He carried me around with him throughout. Makes me cry. As i passed his flat so many times, i lived 2 miles away and i never knew he was there.
I took in the scene. Said a prayer. Talked to him. We took some paperwork and left. We were all stunned. Went for a coffee and sat in stunned silence and shock and sadness. Elizabeth never knew or heard about him, but she was so sad to see someone end up like that. If someone who doesn't know alcoholism or know the person at all, felt a connection and sadness on seeing that - then it can have a profound effect on people's attitudes to alcoholism. My Mum was so upset as she married this charismatic man, full of life and fun and stature. She had 3 children with him, she went through years of horrific alcoholism with him, yet for her to see his final years like this was massively upsetting for her. Tragic. It left a print in time on all of our minds.
And for me? I don't know. He was my father. My hero. I looked up to him, Sought his approval. i was his son. I was upset of course, But i guess 10 years in AA, helping lots of newcomers or low bottom drunks, going to hostels etc - made me sort of used to what i had seen. I was also there to do a job, get my father buried with dignity and organise the details. I was shocked but i think i had better preparation than E and Ma. Having said that, it still shook the fuck out of me. Though if I'm being honest i had buried emotions years ago. and i still suffer from it. A little on the emotionless side. And i was struggling with this conflict. I saw the sadness for all alcoholics and i felt the personal pain of losing my father like this.
So those were the circumstances. A few things that stuck in my mind. The warden said my Dad was funny and joking that he discovered Charlotte Church. I emailed her management team and they had never heard of Mike Evans. I'm not sure she frequented Shepherds Bush Green much, though i admire his Grandiosity.
The other was my brother Rob, organising the funeral dorectors and getting a discount deal. Great businessman, his Dad, a born bullshitting salesman would have been proud.
I want to put what i said at his funeral. 8 of us there. Mortlake Crematorium. No-one there post 1987. Another example of how alcoholism robs you of life. A vivid example. It was a long slow suicide. A living death. A textbook case of alcoholism.
Here are the words i wrote and said at the funeral as we got him cremated to the sound of Welsh Male Voice Choir singing Abide with Me, and also fantastically the Theme Tune to Minder. (idea Mark my eldest brother) The last time we were together as a family. A happy nostalgic memory before the alcoholism took over. Here are the words i shall end this blog with. And if anyone is struggling to accept alcoholism as a disease read on. If anyone wonders why I'm a passionate supporter of AA read on. If anyone wonders why i believe David Michael Evans to be a powerful example in death then read on. He is an inspiration for me. The reason i do marathons and want sobriety and want to do great things. I don't want a long lonely alcoholic death. Sometimes i don't feel good enough. Don't know what it is to be man. But in this time i felt a man Here it is;. I knew what to do. I felt God. I felt compelled. I felt at peace. Here are the words from the funeral. Thank you for reading ;
David Michael Evans – 1944 – 2009 – My Father. Dad
My memories of my father are slightly faded. I last saw him when his Grandaughter, Nadia Eloise was born 18 years ago in 1991, I was 18 myself. I think that is why i have felt so warm and protective of Nadia. He was dressed all in green, though I don’’t think you could call him the green goddess. I saw him for 20 minutes.
Before that, I last saw him when I was 13 years old. Just a boy, all Miami Vice pastel colours and acne.
It seems strange talking about my father – when all my memories I have of him are as a boy. The builders bum, the endless mutterings, the dodgy DIY, the stash of adult mags, the Farah's, the B&H, the Ford Granada's, the beard, the accent, the size of him, the nose, the eyes, the stare.
He was a big man, both in size and character. He was funny – but I used to draw the line at his corned beef hash and marrow fat peas.
He reminded me of a cross between a Welsh Regan and Carter from the Sweeney, all cheap nylon suits and Celtic charisama.
But He was my Dad and I loved him so. When we lost him to the booze, I remember being so sad and asking why?
Me, Rob and Mark (my brothers) went to visit him in the Salvation Army to plead with him to sort himself out, to stop drinking, to be our Dad again. He couldn’t and didn’t – he was ill. I remember feeling so sorry for him and so sad that it was tragic – and now years later that is the overriding feeling I have now. Sad and tragic –
Then my thoughts of my father were as a boy – But Now I am a man, and I still feel that hurt today. To see his last few years and how he lived makes me sad. All that talent, all that love. Such a shame
He missed so much in that last 20 years. His son’s growing up, his granddaughters Nadia and Jade. His Sisters, 3 Welsh grand slams, my 1st comedy gig, my London
In many ways he was a stranger, a distant Dad over the past 20 years. But he was my dad, our Dad. And in his sad death he becomes alive in us all – his family and friends.
Death is so sad. A loss, however it can do good things – and that can happen out of Dad’s death. It has reconnected us with him, with our past, it has put him back with the ones who loved him. Today we are here, together to honour, to remember, to pay our respects even when you didn’t know you had any to give.
He was ill, he was lost, he was alone and now he isn’t. He is here – with us, with his family and friends and will soon be with his father and mother -he is going home, to Llanelli, to Wales
So Dad, it has come full circle, all the things that we didn’t get the chance to say then – we can say now. I forgive you, We forgive you, I love you, We love you - you are my Dad and you will always be so in my heart, in my head and in my life. Stay with us Dad this time and never let go – you are missed even if you never thought you were – We never stopped loving you.
The pain is over for you. It is time to let go. To find peace – we are reunited and I hope and pray that we all pause for 1 moment to think of a good memory of David Michael Evans (or whoever you miss or have lost and loved) , a funny moment that will make you smile………
I love you Dad. Goodbye – May God love you forever
RIP David Michael Evans
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