Day 180 - Friday 29th June - The Funeral

I know i shouldn't say this about funerals but what a beautiful day. A fantastic send off to a very special person. Not just because she was my Nan, but because of who she was. It was a fitting send off. Very Nan. Very family. Full of love, honour, dignity, respect and Welshness.

In the morning It was raining hard & very windy. We hoped the weather would clear. The beach was gloomy, heavy rain came off the estuary and i didn't have time, nor if i'm honest the energy to run. I had things to do.

First on the list was getting my haircut. I thought in honour of me Nan i would go for short back and sides. Remembering how my Grandfather used to love Ken Appleyards Barbers. (Where he had loads of pictures of different hairstyles on the wall, but only did 1 - clipper back, sides and top), I went to an old school barbers on Station Road. I asked for a Beckham, (grade 3 on sides and back minus the ridiculous moustache) I gave him £20 expecting a tenner change, and back came £16. He charged me £4 for a haircut. Four quid!!!!!! Four f****g quid. Incredible

I printed out my Eulogy. Ran through it. Checked my ultra short hair. Put on my suit with new shiny shoes. (all the men will have shiny shoes today #oldschool. I was ready. Smart and polished. Just how she would have liked it.

I said my goodbyes to her, on my own in the front room. Praying for her spirit, her peace and to help guide me to be more grateful, honourable, dignified, fearless and for the 3.30 at Chepstow to come in at 40-1.

All the immediate family gathered at 2pm for a private service in the living room with the family vicar. It was brief and moving. The living room was the central point. The Mecca and to honour her with the priest was very special. I held my Mum's hand as she cried. It felt good to be close. To be of service.

It was then time for us Pall Bearers to take her out of Bymoor Road. As per her request she was actually taken out feet first, placed into the beautiful Jaguar herse, with 2 other stretch Jags behind for family and Pallbearers (me, my Brother Rob, My cousins husband Christian and My Uncles best friend Phil) In a beautuful old fashioned touch, the chief mourner walked infront of her coffin with his hat off down Brymoor Road. Her street of 73 years and she left it with honour and respect. It was lovely

Then to Dafen Church, and rather disapointingly we had to wheel her on a trolley. I personally think coffins should be placed on shoulders and carried high, but who am i to question funeral etiquitte in Wales? It;s not as if i'm an expert but then again when has that ever stopped my from forming an opinion that i usually think is 100% right.

As we entered into the Church, it was packed and the hymn Myfanwe was being played. That is when it hit me and i got goose pimples and welled up. Emotional.

It was totally packed with people and so good to see so many come to pay their respects. It was the mark of her standing in the community and what people thought of her.

The Vicar said some beautiful words. There were 2 Readings about being guided and lots of talk about her being in a good place. There were 3 hymns i had no idea how to sing but gave it a go and then my Eulogy. I read it with pride and passion. People laughed and i felt so good doing it. Bringing her to life at her funeral. As if you could picture her there. I got right to the end, before addressing her and that is when i went, choking tears, i managed to finish just as i blubbed and wailed. I was so pleased to get those words out. They meant an awful lot to me.

Then after we led her out, took her to the Grave she will share with her husband, the weather had cleared. It was bright and she was finally laid to rest. She was at Peace, but i felt her spirit all around, I felt her in everyone. I knew she was looking on us. I knew she was there. It was then time for the classic Welsh send off of which she would have so approved. The Welsh Buffet in the Parish Hall.

There was a beautiful spread, scotch eggs, sausage rolls from Jenkins the Baker, sandwiches from Morrison, Victoria sponge from cafe in town and home made rock cakes. It was perfect. Busty old Welsh women from the Church served tea and people sat around and chatted whilst noshing on homemade cakes and drinking litres of tea with shiny shoes in immaculate rigouts. It was so Nan. So Welsh.

Lots of people were very kind and shook my hand about the Eulogy, Uncle Ken and those kept telling everyone i was starring in a Tesco advert, like i was Richard Burton and an older gentleman came up to shake my hand, obviously he'd been piling into the buffet, because when he got to the bit where he said the speech was 'excellent', a massive piece of pastie flew out of his mouth and hit me on the head.

It was an awkward moment. To someone you know well you both make light and a joke of it. but seeing as i didn't know him, he was being kind and clearly either didn't realise or was to proud to admit, he carried on talking with such old school dignity i didn't have the heart to make a joke. I was having this whole inner dialogue until he finshed and left. I was just pleased he didn't eat the scotch eggs, would have been like dodging bullets.

I then talked to a distant relavitve about shaminism and spirituality. Just an ordinary Welsh funeral conversation in between bites of mini pasties.

Most of the family came back to Brymoor Road, for tea and more cake and for me it was one of the sweetest moments. The house was full again, everyone fussing round her, like in the past. It was full of welsh girls induging in Nanversation, about how they like their tea etc, it was loving warm and made me smile. I find Welsh girls endlessly talking about not much ultra comforting and relaxing. It's what Nan would have wanted because thats what she did

My lovely cousins Alison and Andrea stayed for ages and it was so nice to feel reconnected with such classic, friendly, loving and warm Welsh girls. It made my day. Mum sat in Nan's chair and like it or not has assumed the role of Matriarch now. It fits her well.

Then as people drifted off, it was left with just 8 of us. There was only one thing for it, a curry. Yes to go to place Nan had never eaten in her life. We all needed a Curry. The only thing for a long day, half rice, half chips (Watch Twin Town for the reference) Perfect.

And so we went, to round off the day. We chatted, we laughed, there were different generations and it was special. She would have so loved all this, even ordering 'Nan' bread felt appriate. She was never happier than when people were happy, eating and families being together naturally. It was so perfect.

Today was a beautiful day. The family came together. It was dignified and classy. My eulogy brought her to life and made people smile and laugh and cry. Women told me it reminded them of their mother or Grandmother. The food was great, the atmosphere just right. One old girl said it was the best funeral she'd been too. Which is itself is such a welsh thing to say. I told you they love a good funeral down here.

Her force of personality was well remembered today and it made me feel proud to be part of it and to have had her in my Life. She would have approved. Even the spitting Parish warden is OK in my book. It was just such a beautuful Welsh funeral and the ideal way to say goodbye for now to Nan. It celebrated everytinh she loved and stood for

Cariad Mamgi Pob Bendith E Cwi (Love you Nan, May you rest in Peace)

God bless you

x

Day 179 - Thursday 28th June - My Nan's Eulogy for funeral tomorrow

Went to wales today, funeral tomorrow. Here is what i've wrtten to say at the sevice romorrow

EULOGY TO NAN – HER FUNERAL – FRIDAY 29^th JUNE 2012.

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 Brymoor 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 infront 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

Day 178 - Weds 27th June - How to eat a Kit Kat

It's actually 1.40am on Thursday morning as i write this. Yet again i've arsed about, stayed up way later than i should and i'm up early doors tomorrow to drive to Wales. Will i ever learn?

That means whilst i sit here it's Thursday, yet i'm writing about Weds (yesterday) as though it's today (Weds). So if i was in Yesterday (Weds) it would mean that i'm writing about the present when it has alreadcy happened today (Thursday). Confused? Join the f****g club. Clearly i need bed.

Still feeling OK today, though a lack of sleep meant i felt slightly jaded this afternoon. Nothing that a few bottles of diet coke 6 litres of tea & a sturdy wank wouldn't sort. On the whole i felt pretty perky though and even managed to get some work done. I am doing a day a week for a firm over in Essex and i have to say, i don't go anywhere near stationary and i'm actually supported in decisions. What a refreshing change. Though they havent found out i'm uselss yet, still at least i look great in a suit and like i know what i'm doing.

On the plus side i was invited to the British Grand Prix next weekend as a guest. (F1) So i will look forward to seeing fast cars going round and round and round and round. Should i be more excited?

I thought about yesterdays blog, particulary about Kit Kats and after an in depth and long discussion with a pal, it was decided the best and only way to eat them which i think is very important to share.

Apparently there are some weirdos out there who eat one finger slowly in 3-4 bites and leave the rest for later. Whilst others chew the fingers and then go along their merry way. What the fuck? There is clearly only one way to eat a Kit Kat.

Break off one finger and slowly nibble around the edges, scraping the cholocate off with your mouth like your chewing on a clit (or small cock ladies), (sorry Nan) you are then left with the main baulk of the finger less chocolate on sides and length (Note there is always one side that has thicker chocolate than the other side. Be careful or you could end up snapping the wafer and this of course is disasterous.

Then you set about scraping the chocolate off the top using teeth as graters. This is followed by nibbling the very top wafer off, leaving a thin film of chocolately buttercream type shit. Clearly this has about as much nutritional value as a pair of loafers, but fuck it, it tastes good. You then repeat the process 2 times until you are left with the bottom wafer, which is now soggier than an Incontinents pants. This is definately the worst moment and the least satisfying bit. It's just wafer now and who the fuck likes wafer?? It's OK when you are crunching it to get to the good stuff, but when it's just wafer, it's just like the last one to be picked in games. A neccessary evil.

You then proceed to end (finishing it) and nipping to the 24 hour garage to play the charade of making the dude walk around endlessley searching for meaningless things. Affordable fucking petrol wouldn't go amiss. You secure the 56 chocolate bars and settle in for an evening of honing your technique..

That is all i've got today. It's late and i'm tring plus my left nut has fallen out of my dressing gown. Anyone reading this at breakfast i apologize, my ball retention was about as good as England's midefield in Euro 2012.

A gag, not a great one, but technically a gag to end it on today

Nite
x

Day 177 - Tuesday 26th June - Back to Me plus Kit Kat's Rule

I'm human again! The Head is clearing, health healing, the mind less foggy.

I think I'm getting back on track. It won't be long until I'm powering on all cylinders again, losing my temper, getting annoyed, ranting at injustices and staying up late to view dubious websites. I Can't wait. Normal service is about to be restored. Hooray!

Grief is a strange thing. Don't get me wrong it is awful of course. You don't really know what to do. I often get a misshapen feeling. Like i take it all on my own, invert into myself, walk around feeling the saddest of all the human race. It's peculiar, but i have always done it. The only time i didn't was when my Father died. It seems to be my natural instinct.

Well today I'm human again, i can see the world as it is. I can appreciate my place, that i was only a grandson, that my Mother has lost her mother and all the family have lost someone special. I'm looking forward to being of some kind of use in Llanelli. I'm also looking forward to trying to emulate my Nan and offer any visitor to Brymoor road an endless offering of tea, twix's, Kit Kat's, cake, Breakaways and Drifters. I will not allow anyone to leave without some kind of intense sugar rush and a St Pancreas full to burst from several litres of tea. You've got to really haven't you?

A Kit Kat is a sort of right of passage in Brymoor Road. You must eat one if you visit. Does'nt matter if you're an anorexix bullimic with a lactose intolerance, you must stuff one down you're neck.

It's like a ritual that you would get in a small Colombian settlement and turn down the village pipe. It offends. My Nan even used to save the foil for the blind. How many do that now?

So on the day that Rowntrees celebrate 150 years, the Kit Kat takes on a mythical status. Have one on me tonight. (though unfortunately due to my addictive nature i'll have to eat around 46 of them) We salute you Kitkat. Untrendy, solid, functional chocolate. Not flashy but gets the job done. It's not the sort of chocolate to check into rehab with 'exhaustion', or be photographed coming out of Chinawhite at 3am. No, thats for the poncey up it's own arse Green & Blacks. Sodding pretentious motherfucker of a bar that is. Granted it's quality but boy does it know. No, fuck that, Kit Kats out sell that little ponce 4 to 1. It's been there and done it, seen off all pretenders. Wispas, Twirls, Lion Bars, Yorkies, Boosts, Starbars. Fuck em all, Kit Kat is the Don, The Matriach. It is the Nan of chocolate bars and i salute it. Or is it a biscuit? Fuck me i better not start that debate, that will be raging forever.

I definately think there is an unspoken pecking order of grief. A Grandparent is expected. It is natural order. They have been there all your life and you have a deep love. But it is not expected to floor you. You are expected to carry on. You can never tell how you will react. Some people handle death really well. Other cultures celebrate life. 'Just passing through', is their attitude and there is an appreciation and gratitude for their life and time with them. It's an exceptionally admirable state of mind.

Me, i veer to the miserable, depressed, wallowing in sadness and can't accept she's gone kind of thinking. I go into negativity almost naturally and it comes out in grief and death. I can't seem to help myself and this is what has happened in the last few days. I think i max out on sadness and almost get a sick pleasure from wallowing in it. I am sad, but that's human. Fuck me, it;'s not like an addict to get addicted to sadness is it? Madness.

I think i can recognise today that you can be sad, but also celebrate, remember with fondness of all the good things that she brought to my life and others. To remember the love, the false teeth in the Stork SB pot, the Nivea cream, watching 'Loose Women' and talking endlessly about the weather. These are the things that are important. People live in us. In our heart. In our minds. She is a powerful example to me to live with spirit, dignity and honour. To be positive, to be up, to be grateful, to be happy. I know i can get there, it just takes me a little time i guess.

I thought you had to look sad to be sad. That you had to be in the pits of misery to feel pain. That was appropriate i thought. To listen endlessly to sad songs. I couldn't understand laughter or lightness. But is that not as valid way of grieving as crying? It's all the same thing. It;s called emotion and that's what makes us humans unique i suppose. Life without emotion is bland & mechanical. You may aswell be German.

(I like that line by the way)

I had a nice moment today after a particularly dull day at work, walking home, waiting for the lights to turn green on the A316, i suddenly felt ever so calm. Looked at the Sky, smiled. Said 'I love you Nan' and moved on. I knew she was still around. I knew she was OK and peaceful and i felt that peace. I knew she was looking on, though to be fair i wouldn't mind if she turned a blind eye to some of my more nocturnal hobbies.

So as she would say 'therewarthen'. It's all OK really. It feels good to be human sometimes. No matter how bad a job is, how many money worries there are, no matter how difficult life is sometimes, it is always a pleasure to find a treasured moment when you feel calm, peaceful and content. Fuck me, i had one of those tonight and there wasn't a drink, drug, strip club, Haagen Daazs pot, dodgy website or 3 sum in sight. I think that's what they call 'a moment'. It's a good job I'm not greedy, i mean it's not as if i want that moment to last for around, oh i don't know 45 years is it?

xx

Day 176 - Monday 25th June - Tell me why i don't like Mondays?

A brooding start to the day/week. The sun had made a guest appearance for one of the few times this Summer (is it really summer?) However it failed to lift my rather sullen mood. I still feel that I'm kind of trapped behind a dark cloak. Life goes on around me but I'm not fully engaged. I'm sure it will improve when i get stuck into to the stationary later.

It's going to be a big week. Lots to do, if I'm honest I'd rather be in Wales, at Brymoor Road, just observing the South Wales mourning. My Nan will be brought back to her home of 73 years today. Placed in the front room (Parlour) until the funeral on Friday.

It will almost be rather like lying in state for assorted family, neighbours and local people to come to the house and pay their respects and say goodbye. It's pretty normal custom in Llanelli and the family, my Grandfather spent several days in the same position and it fits with my Nan's desire to 'come home'. To many it may sound macabre but it's normal service in Llanelli. As I've said this is where the parlour comes into it;s own. Almost as if Welsh houses were built with the front room specifically for this purpose. Icy cold, immaculate and almost stately. The perfect place for The Matriarch.

She is in her favourite lilac dress and heels. People always remarked she looked wonderful in that colour. The cross from Vicar David when she was blessed has been put with her, along with a beautiful picture of her and Mum. She is ready.

I have 3 days  work to do before heading down on Thursday. I have the eulogy to write, and whilst i haven't thought about it much yet, I'm sure the words will come. I want it to be a belter, though Welsh funerals are very sombre traditional affairs so i may have to keep the HIV/HGV joke up my sleeve. Though I'm pretty keen on the 'Nanversation' theme. I'll think on.

I really want to be there, but needs must, i have already taken time off and if i take anymore, I'll have to clear up a stationary shit storm. I mean, Jesus it could be carnage. What the fuck will people put with their letters? No compliment slips could potentially bankrupt the company. Fuck the financial crisis, that's what brought down Lehman Brothers back in 2008. Not toxic debt, irrational spending and terrible greed. They ran out of comp slips and business cards. Fucked the whole outfit.

After a morning that was slower than Elvis' colon, i got round to ticking things off the list i wrote this morning. Apparently lists are where it's at. I'm going to give it a go every day. 75% was completed. 9 out of 12 things. Result. Though that mathematical percentage is rather dubious.

I did my work, went to the Gym briefly, felt grim, then immediately went to a meeting in rooting Tooting. I wanted to hate it. I was tired, hungry and i sat there like a seething teenager. Moody, mean and angry. However it thawed me out and by the end i felt a little lighter (again). Another plus for AA me thinks.

I've found last few days a real struggle to write. Without humour or interest in life it's really hard to write about the day, Also I'm mindful of people reading this thinking, 'come on get on with it'. I can't keep harping on about the same thing. When someone is in self pity and low mood, it's tough to be around them, talk to them, let alone read it too.

So tomorrow i am going to attempt to change my attitude. It's OK to be sad of course, as I've stated. But i feel guilty to laugh or engage in life. Like i should be sullen. Almost as if I'm willing myself. So I'm going to try and lighten up a bit, get some of the matriarch's spirit and crack on. And if that doesn't work, all i need to do is watch England's penalty shoot out. As no matter how bad it gets, at least I'm not Ashley Cole

xx

Day 175 - Sunday 24th June - Euro 2012

Putting aside recent problems, i thought i would settle down this evening for the big match. England v Italy in the quarter final of Euro 2012.

Big matches like this always help you to leave your problems aside. The hope, the euphoria, the expectation. You know you shouldn't but you can't help but think England may just surprise you and produce a performance of such skill and power it makes the whole country happy. Could it be this year? A semi final versus Germany awaits. Could they do it? Can we dream?

Can we fuck.

What transpired was the most inept, dispiriting gritty performance with the obligatory elimination in a penalty shoot out. They hung in there in the same way as someone who falls out of a boat and clutches a life raft. Words such as 'character', 'courage' & 'spirit' were thrown around, which are just euphemisms for 'shit', 'limited' and 'dull'. #standard

The commentators sounded like Manic depressives who had mislaid their Anti Psychotic drugs and were on an ultra low. They clearly need to up the Prozac levels at the BBC.

England teased for a while, they even forced the Italians to miss a penalty and get into a winning position, making everyone believe fate was on their side. They soon managed to put that one to bed though and fuck up the next two penalties resulting in defeat. Normal service was resumed. Everyone was starting to get far too optimistic.

Still at least it's not a Sunday night and work tomorrow.......f**k, oh and at least i havent got an appointment with a psychiatric unit, Nan's funeral and Pall bearing this week. Triple f*kity f**k f**k.

See i told you all i want to do is swear at the moment. That Gordan Ramsay can go and f*** himself right off.

x

Day 174 - Saturday 23rd June - Coiled Spring

The title for today's blog is 'tightly coiled spring'. No it's not a blog about a contraceptive method, or indeed about my bed. It basically describes how i feel at the moment.

I don't mean to go blathering on about stuff, after all i am a grown man. Death is as much part of life as anything else. However the way i feel at the moment is part to do with my Nan's death. ( empty and gnawing sense of loss that is constantly with you) but also the whole family trauma over past couple of weeks.

OK Dr Evans here being brutally honest. Headline symptoms;

Hero worship father. Father buggers off. Hero worship older brother. Older brother buggers off. Feelings of not being good enough or matching these two fixed in mind from early age and constantly stay with me deep down from childhood. Attempt to drink this away, succeed in turning into fat, drunk, paranoid, obnoxious sod. Stop drinking, learn about alcoholism, learn about alcoholism in family. Work a 12 step programme, work on self esteem, succeed to large degree, feelings of low self esteem and not being good enough remain deep down. Place faith in elder brother, elder brother not well. Elder brother constantly says hurtful things. Always go back for more. Reach end of line at 33 and say 'no more'. Content myself with getting into amazing shape and nailing as many women as possible to make myself feel better. Works...for around 6 months. Still left with my head though.

Do good things, start comedy club, run marathons, raise money for charity, be good family member. Some things work, some things don't. Still can't shake this sodding esteem.

Nan gets ill, start building bridges again. Turn up, show up, be loving son, grandson, brother. let down at end. Hurtful things said again. This time around my Nan's death. And this time they really grate deep down and stick with me.

I can't seem to shake those words off. I feel like a little boy at the moment. Looking for love, in fact crying out for a big old hug but too proud and scared to ask for one. Embarrassing. Confused.

The flip side of feeling like that? Well of course the anger, the intensity, the frustration builds inside. Constant caffeine, diet coke, smoking, gum and tension builds. I'm like a tightly coiled spring. Ready to snap at any given opportunity.

I want to chain smoke, to swear almost all the time. I better watch out in the Eulogy. Not sure Dafen Church or God ready for an industrial peppered Eulogy.

So that's where I'm at really. Not terrible, not great. Queues seem to be longer, red lights take ages to change, conversations not as quick as i want them. Pedestrians walk too fucking slow. Shares at meetings go on and on, people talk shit. Tolerance is at a low and work? Well that just doesn't seem to be on the agenda.

Humour? Lightness? Not much of a sprinkling of that on me at the moment.

If i want to sum up how I'm feeling. Basically I'm England at Euro 2012. Solid, functioning, no flair, panache or creativity. I get the job done but it's not pretty. over inflamed sense of ego sometimes, but ultimately inferiority complex. But then again at least i can pronounce my 'R's' and i don't have shit hair like Rooney, or is it really hair? maybe Coleen has just shaved her minge and glued it on his head?

Oh, and i think too much. But then again those of you reading my blog will not exactly be shocked about that statement. I've always done it. Makes life too painful sometimes, it must be painful to watch, see or hear.

Time for a meeting Nicholas. Who knows i may even lighten the fuck up tomorrow. Here's hoping

Grrrr

x

Day 173 - Friday 22nd June - Grief, Loss & Escape to The Country

I've got to admit, i wasn't really up for today. I woke up and immediately thought 'Nah'.

I know my Nan was an 'up' person. She wasn't a moaner, naval gazer or  did self pity. She certainly never did depression or wallowed in problems. She was rarely down or talked about 'feelings' .She got up and at em, was grateful for small things and got on with things. That's why in a way from that era she almost seemed superhuman. I think people from that era were proper hardcore.

I on the other hand don't seem to be naturally blessed with these qualities. I have to work hard to get them. So today i woke with a massive black cloud and wanted to spend the entire day isolating, laying on the sofa eating donuts and watching endless reruns of 'Escape to the Country'. Anything mind numbing to mong out with.

I didn't of course (I'd never watch that shit, only Flog it! )

It's been such a harsh 10 days, my head just sort of fell off this morning. First it was the psychotic family member, then the fallout from that, then the whole drama's on Monday and finally my poor Nan's death on Weds night. I'm not sure how the fuck I'm feeling really.

Yes I'm sad. Quite rightly too. I mean a loss of anyone is hard, but obviously me Nan was a biggy. Because she was like that, you almost thought she would never die. That she would go on forever. I almost took it for granted that she was so alert and on the ball. Even up to 2 weeks ago when the illness was ravaging her, i could see her watching and so mentally alert. Remembering details from the past, correcting people. Even last weekend she was so ill and weak, the nurses said she was trying to walk. She just had this incredible fight. I'm not even sure it was a conscious thing with her. i think she just had it.

So of course I'm sad. But also empty, emotionally fucked. I have been so up for the crisis. Being solid, strong and sorting stuff out. I am definately a man for a crisis. I don't seem to have time to think, it comes naturally and i just get on with it. I do what i consider real men should do.

It's the afterwards that floors me. The time when there is quiet. When the storm has calmed. I am then left with me, myself and I. That's the part i find tough. I want to escape, i want to wallow, i want to fight, fuck, eat, isolate, I want to feel the pain and escape it. I find life, work, people hard. I don't know what i want.

Today i wanted to be looked after. To be loved. To be hugged and held. I'd given all i could over the past few days now i wanted my turn. Where's my love? But that's self pity right? Not very strong is it?My head is so full of years of resentments, low self esteem all raked up, and throw grief, sadness and loss into the mix and man, no wonder all i could handle was Cash In The Attic.

The funeral is next Friday and my Mum has asked me say a eulogy at the service. It will be an honour. I'm not sure what to write or say at the moment but I'm sure the right words will come to me. It won't be about me or my thoughts, it will be all of ours. I am merely a channel for everyone's own memories. If i take that attitude it will be easier and a wonderful opportunity to honour her and her life.

I spoke to a friend about his Nan and we agreed that Nan's are the true hardcore. His Nan had a dodgy wrist, which turned out to be broken. She finally admitted she had fallen 2 weeks before but didn't want to make a fuss!!!! Holy fuck yet another IronNan. They really were made of stern stuff.

Like her my Nan was born in 1915. She was raised in a totally different time by strong hard matriarch type Welsh women. Feelings were not discussed, money was sparse and they had to be grateful for what they had. This clearly stood her in good stead.

He generation went through 2 World Wars, depression, austerity, poverty. Proper character building.
They didn't talk about boundaries, or 'feelings', they didn't chase power or possessions, they didn't check into rehab for mild depression or seek counselling for half arsed problems. They didn't call the doctor for a pill or potion, they didn't look for quick fixes. They were hardcore. They were tough.

That's not to say that counselling, or rehab or medication is not a good thing. of course it is for people that really need it, but she belonged to an era where you tried your hardest, didn't try to get things immediately and lived life in the right way, with morality, goodness and gratitude. Fuck me, the opposite to what i am. Maybe i need to think about that?

Today i spoke to my Mum who relayed a weird story about Brymoor Road. She stripped my Nan's bed, folded and placed the bedding and pillows on the bed. She went out of the room and when she came back in all of it was on the floor. Now my Mum is a proper Mum, meaning she meticulously does bedding folding and places on middle of bed, not precariously on the end and folded shit like us blokes (if we would ever bother doing such a thing anyway) - She said out loud 'You're here aren't you Mum', and then she heard the bed sigh.

Sent tingles up my spine, found it comforting. I love that. She had lived in that house for 75 years. She will come back to the house in her coffin next week and be in state for local community to pay their respects (AWelsh thing) before, at her request, she will be taken out of Brymoor Road 'feet first' to the funeral. Why wouldn't her spirit be in the house? I love stories like that. It makes me believe there is a higher spirit, there is more to this planet than the here and now. Higher Power anyone?

In the end i got my arse up & out to a lunchtime meeting, did a bit of work, coffee with a pal, hardcore session in the gym and then spent the night writing, watching footie and rather tragically 'Officer and a Gentleman'. When feeling blue i always seem to watch chick flicks and cry at the most inappropriate films. I remember after my father died i cried at a Meg Ryan film (made me feel dirty) and i even wailed at Rocky II. God help me.

In truth it's OK to be sad. it's OK to be down. It's OK to isolate, or to act out or to do whatever it is you feel. What isn't OK is Escape to the Country. A full day watching that and i reckon I'd be joining my Nan. Love you Cariad

xx

Day 172 - Thursday 21st June - Dealing with Loss

Losing a relative is always hard. There are obviously various degrees of grief. If you lose a parent unexpectedly and quickly when you are young, it leaves a burning loss and deep sense of sadness that can stay with a person forever. People sometimes lose their children which must be devastating. There really isn't anything easy about death at all. Everyone deals with it differently. There is no identikit rulebook to grief.

Losing a Grandparent is strange. Whilst they have not been so close all your life, they have been there throughout. Depending on your relationship whilst not day to day closeness there is undoubtedly a special bond with Grandparents. And there was most definately a very special bond with my Nan.

She was 97 (seems so strange saying Was. In past tense) so she had in cricketing terms a good innings. She had been ill for ages, and it was turning nasty for her, so her death is a blessing and she is in a much better place. Her quality of life has suffered over the years, so now being at peace, in a place wherever that is, is better, more loving and calmer for us to know.

She had been sleeping for 2 days after being given morphine to cut the pain and 'knock her out' and she just stopped breathing whilst my Mum was with her at 1am yesterday. It was a peaceful and dignified end. That is all anyone can ask i suppose.

It's not as if it wasn't expected. In some ways it is a relief (as bad as it is to say that) But we had been waiting for ages. And now finally it had happened.

Now i don't want to own the grief. i don't feel mortified, i don't feel on the floor. I haven't cried. I just feel a little sad today. There is always that gnawing feeling wherever you go, whatever you do that someone who had played such an integral part in your life, who had always been there is no longer. Of course in spirit through memory but not physically. Loss is a strange feeling.

I wrote about her alot over past few months. I wrote about Llanelli and Brymoor Road, about her spirit and energy, about her role on the family, about love, about my past. I really tried to bring her to life in my writing. Why? Well not just because she was my Nan and i loved her, but because she was so quality. Because unbeknown to her she was a real character and just so bloody adorable. If there was  a toy Nan it would be a winner.

She deserves a good send off, she deserves writing and memories and respect. For me, she is forever linked to great nostalgic memories. When life was so shit as a kid, when the father was going insane alcoholic and we would go to Nan's for holidays it was a different world and i suppose that's why the bond and the love was so deep, plus being brought up in Maidenhead going to her and Llanelli was just so bloody funny and full of humour and Welshness that makes me smile.

So today was a sad day with good memories. I worked (a little) did an AA chair (trying desperately not to fall into self doubt and paranoia from all the nice helpful things my Brother pointed out to me on Monday - 'useless, no good, not as good as him etc' ) and fell asleep on the sofa to 'The golden Age of caravaning', after a massive Welsh egg omelet with Llanelli bacon. Nan would have approved, though not of the sofa, as she had one for 40 years and never sat or layed down on it. I know incredible isn't it?

xx

Day 171 - Weds 20th June - NAN - 1915-2012

At 12.45am Thursday morning my beautuful Nan finally passed away. She died peacefully in her sleep, alone with my Mother in a peaceful dignified way.

She fought until the end, an amazing spirit and power that shocked so many, including the Nurses at the end.

Her children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, family, friends, relatives, members of the community will miss her very much and although you readers never met her, knew her or spoke to her, i'm sure through this blog you will feel you know her and come to admire her qualities.

Margaret Lillian Probert - Daniels. 1915-2012. RIP - Hope, spirit and rock cakes. We love you Nan

Day 170 - Tuesday 19th June - Are you listening God?

Dear God

I know you're well busy doing stuff. Maybe you're talking to Morgan Freeman and Jim Carey about a 'Bruce Almighty 2' or even watching Euro 2012. Whatever it is God. I'm well fucked off with you.

Don't get me wrong i believe in you. I mean i didn't create the Sahara and try as i might i have fuck all control over the weather or sunsets. I don't even have control over my mouth half the time, let alone the entire globe. Though i give it a fucking good go sometimes.

Don't take this the wrong way I'm not having a pop at you because I've had a bad day. I'm not looking to blame you for me not getting that job, not winning the Euro lottery or being a world famous actor/comedian. No I'm not that small minded.

I know you have a big job on your hands. Possibly even bigger than proofing business cards for a financial services company in the City. But i need a word God. I'm really not happy.

My Nan has been nothing but a good disciple of yours for ages. 97 years in fact. She has done good, attended you're meetings in these weird places called 'Church' and has been a massively amazing human. She has given her life to the care of others and making Roast Dinners. Granted they were generally mid morning, but no matter they were still technically dinner.

So why are you making her suffer so much/? Why as today when she declined so much and was in pain and hallucinating and everything failing. Why didn't you step in? She is scared and restless, can barely speak, has an infection, thinks shes falling, has to hold onto her children's hands and is in an awful state. How much are you going to throw at her. Can't you take her now?

Is it our choice? Do we humans decide when to go? I thought you were supposed to come for people. If so can't you do it now?

She has been so incredible all her life and so doesn't deserve this long slow death. it is really upsetting her children, particularly mum, as she doesn't want to see you her suffer anymore.

I know you are not supposed to ask for specific selfish things in prayer. Money, power, love eggs. But for fucks sake God please come and sort this. She is the toughest fighter ever. She has a will for life she has no choice in having. it is part of her make up, her DNA and i need you to come and let this loose. i mean Prayer is a petition isn't it? So I'm petitioning you to take her now. Please put everyone out of their suffering.

If you do this i promise not to steal chewing gum, swear and lose my temper at Chuggers. i will never surf the Internet for hours corrupting my laptop. i will never moan about letterheads or compliment slips again. I will never forget my Nan. I will never forget her spirit, her life force, her gratitude. She told me she thanked you every day for her life. She was happy.

But now God this is distressing. She is so ill, so poorly, in such a bad way that it would be really lovely on behalf of the family, but mostly her if you can visit tonight or tomorrow and lead her by the hand and take her back to her husband. She misses him. She's missed him for 21 years. She comes from an age where you got married and stayed with that life partner forever.

Well now is the time God. I cannot decide. I cannot do anything. i don't even know if you exist for Gods sakes. (sorry) But if you do for Christs sake (sorry again) please do something, and if you don't, well this email is a waste of time. i tell you though if you listen and don't act I'm going to be really fucking angry. I'll let Alan Green loose on you God, i swear it. he's a total negative c**t and even you will want to commit Omnipotent suicide if you have to spend time with him.

So please take her with you tonight God. I will be eternally grateful and i know it will help lots of people, That's you're role right? Well get off the blower about the sequel, leave Morgan to his insurance adverts ( i agree, why the fuck does he need to do those fuckwad adverts) and come and hold her hand goodbye.

Love you Nan and hope he listens to this otherwise the kitty gets it

xx

Monday 169 - Monday 18th June - Mental Ilness and sucking your own cock

It's a killer headline isn't it? 'Mental illness and sucking your own cock' should be the title of a new self help bestseller, or better still health and safety film for schools.

Why the title? Well today was quite possibly one of the worst on record. Back in London, at home, Nan in bad shape and i was on phone all day trying to deal with repercussions of total insanity, manic depression, mental illness and carnage. I can't really give details (even i apparently have to keep things less public sometimes) But it was fucking harsh and totally insane.

Mental illness i have come to accept is a terrible affliction. True manic depression when untreated can result in enormous highs where the sufferer can basically appear real and normal to most people but the damage they can do in fantasy land can really cause harm to everyone. people, families, communities, reputations, bank balances, emotions, the lot.

It's become a little trendy to say  'im a little depressed' or i 'maybe I'm 'bi polar'. Well fuck that. Either you are or you're not. I've seen it as cop out to some people, like they want a label, an excuse. But others i have witnessed for 20 years are truly mentally ill and fuck me man, it's harsh. really harsh and upsetting. A most underrated and devastating illness

I shall investigate more i think this year, as i genuinely believe it is another of those 'sweep under the carpet; destructive illnesses like alcoholism that society struggles to accept.

Today was spent right in the depths of it and it made my head & heart hurt.

Then in the afternoon i went for a costume try out for the Tesco advert I'm filming on Weds (I play a yoga teacher for 4 seconds. I'm big time now) It involved me trying on a series of vests and shorts that made me look in my eyes someone who should be on the sex offenders list. Granted, it's an unusual market Tescos want to aim for, but hey, every little helps. Maybe nonce's have a higher disposable income.

I had my 'call back' last week by Skype with the director in the boardroom at a company i work at. I shut the door for privacy, we Skpyed (love Skype) and he asked me to do a few bendy contortionist postures. I was in my suit, so i took off my jacket and tried a few postures.

I finished by trying to put my leg behind my head whilst sat down. Now for anyone that tries this move. It makes your head lower toward your middle area, and basically makes guys look like they are trying to suck their own cock. I was in this position when someone opened the door, walked in, saw me in position, looked horrified and walked out. The fact that i looked like i was talking to myself didn't help.

I've only worked there 2 weeks and already they think i try to suck myself off in the boardroom. #gotsomeexplainingtodo.

I'm filming on Weds so at least that brought light relief if not self.

it was then to rooting Tooting for my meeting. Caught in heavy traffic on the way i genuinely thought i was going to explode. All kinds of things were rushing through my head. i received an update on the 'situation', the jams got longer and i thought 'fuck this', 'i'm going to bin this commitment', sod AA, sod everything. I was resentful, sorry for myself and angry.

I finally got there with 2 minutes to spare and proceeded to sit through the best meeting ever. I listened intently, it was full of laughter, people laughing at their own insanity, misfortune and pain. It really helped to lighten my load and not take myself too seriously. Gave me perspective, calmed me, made me humble and basically sorted my head out. That is why i still go. That is why it works for me, particularly in Tooting, my home group and a proper AA meeting.

Then it was back home to eat (had nothing all day) and practice some more bendy yoga postures for Weds, or is it really to try and suck my own cock. I swear to god it's just L4 on the vertebrae, if it wasn't for that I'd be noshing off all day.

So the day closed, full on and stressful but survived. I hope that's the worst of it and tomorrow will be back to normal, if indeed you can call life normal. I guess i just got to keep faith, try my best and leave the big stuff up to God. The rest, as they say is all noise

xx

Day 168 - Sunday 17th June - Fathers Day & Insanity

A truly mental day, following on from the weirdest. Unfortunately i cannot really write all that happened publicly however it included illness, mental illness, insanity, alcoholism, family, tears, anger, resentment and roast potatoes. The usual Sunday really.

Today is fathers day, never really meant much to me seeing as mine buggered off when i was 12. If I'm honest it always stoked up that little bit of resentment towards people who had nice normal fathers and celebrated theirs. Not that i have deep rooted anger issues of course, i mean it's not as if I've ever been barred from Yoga is it?

After noticing posts on Facebook about everyone giving shouts out to their fathers. (Strange really isn't it, i mean in the old days a card, a direct call and face to face was the usual mode of communication to a father on Fathers day, so why the fuck post it publicly to hundreds of people not to the one it is aimed at, as if they give a fuck?)

So i decided to join the masses and do my own post to my late but not so great Father, David Michael Evans. In honour of him i decided to do a load of DIY, badly, some dodgy electrics, fart constantly, say 'fucking arseholes' alot, drive a ford cortina and wear my trousers low below my gut and show off 2 inches of arse cleft. Oh and of course slide into full blown alcoholism, drink the family house away, leave, end up a street drunk and die from massive alcoholic hemorrhage. Harsh but true hey.

Didn't see many of those posts on Facebook. But i still olve him. RIP.

The day was spent with my Nan at the hospice. She is bad today after a surprising rally yesterday. She is failing fast. God bless her. My lovely neice visited from London and my Nan was able to see her engagement ring. One life ending and new one beginning, that was human nature and life right there in that moment, i was so pleased to witness it and write it. These small moments are missed so often and to me it seemed symbolic.

What was funny is all 3 females nurses were on duty, Got on their good books by buying them quality street yesterday. They all think i look like Beckham so i get an easy ride and they have been amazing with Nan. Anyway i introduced them to my Neice and said she's just got engaged. Queue in unison a collective high pitched 'ooohhhhhh' from the trio, Like some Welsh maternal choir. Therewarthen lovely.

We went out for lunch, at the golf club and caught up. Then it was back to Brymoor Road for a family meeting. No more to be said on that subject, suffice to say yesterdays international news was high on the agenda and then back up to the hospice to see Nan.

She was sleeping mostly and speaking very quietly when she could muster the energy. 7 days without food and hardly any water. The Nurses said she is still trying to walk and fight, but we tried to tell her to stop fighting and give up. It's not in her DNA though. She is super tough and spirited.

My Uncle Ken (and those on it there, indeed yes yes indeed) told me my new favourite story about Nan. It was 4 years ago, when she fell after trying to rush to get the phone. She broke her tibula and lay on the floor for around an hour before my Uncle showed up. He picked her up, put her in the chair, could see she had broken a bone and said i'll phone the doctor and ambulance. To which she replied "No, don't fuss. Get me a cup of tea and put me to bed." Fuck me, how tough!!!!!

SAS and special forces are not as tough as her. Stuart 'psycho' Pearce once tried to play on with a broken leg but he's got fuck all on me Nan. Cup of tea and bed. My god i can only dream of such a high pain threshold. I get a pain in my gonad and I've got Cancer of the nuts. #hardcorenan.

I sat with her for a while, along with my Uncle and Mum. Shame i didn't sit on my own with her quietly. But i kissed her, told her i loved her and then left. I wondered if it was the last time i would see her and left to go back to London with a heavy heart and memories running through my mind.

I was reluctant to leave, but those business cards aren't going to proof themselves are they.

I've got real mans work to do.

PS - Dear Dad, you are not forgotten, i know you;re dead and everything and ghosts or spirits don't do blogs and Facebook. I know that i am now posting a generic message through social media and it is totally pointless but i don't have Gods twitter or email. I just wanted to say you never liked fathers day as all you got was a shit pair of socks, when all you really wanted was Whisky. I forgive and remember you. Always. And there are millions of kids down here on earth remembering their fathers today who are not with them. You were only human like the rest of us but please Dad, if you do come back to life as something else, try not to leave such heavy skids in your underpants. They were fucking militant

xx

Day 167 - Saturday 16th June - The Worlds weirdest Day

Woke at 7am, 4 hours kip. Both my Mum and i were knackered. It was going to be a long day.

We took the usual barrage of calls from relatives and people wondering how Nan was. In Llanelli you have to spend hours keeping everyone in the loop, they pass that on to their network and the news then gets spread around the town, region and that is how a small community works. Effectively you repeat yourself to several people, who then repeat themselves to several more people, who repeat themselves etc. Get the gist?

We then went to the hospice and Nan was incredibly bright and much better than i was expecting. Yes of course she;s tiny, weak, in bed, but she was bright, speaking, listening and if I'm honest, although you can see she is at advanced stage of cancer, she didn't look like she was about to go into a coma imminently. She had improved again since yesterday. She keeps bouncing back.

We sat and chatted a little, but mostly just sat. The chaplain, a rather camp Welsh priest called Iryll, and we sat around eating Quality Street whilst my Mum disclosed that she pretended i was a girl for the first 2 days of my life. A real Welsh classic moment.

I was then tasked to nip into Town to buy some things. That is where i experienced the full force of Lanelli town centre on a Saturday unleashed. It was truly remarkable. I've never seen anything like it.

Within 5 minutes i had counted 6 mobility scooters. A man going into Asda with 2 diet cokes in the drinks holders, man going into the market with Welsh flag on the back (customised), man waiting outside the butchers whilst the lady got his Lamb Chops ready (drive through), man who looked totally fit and able bodied with a walking stick as prop (clearly for the DSS benefit) 

Then the final classic shot of old girl parking outside Asda whilst gossiping 'nonversation' to another old girl in front of Argos surrounded by old tarts in leggings and teenage mothers pushing around suspiciously older kids in buggies. Does anyone fucking walk in this town?!!

It was amazing. Like a sort of Mobility Scooter rally. it is incredible the least mobile town centre I've seen. Like one big doctors waiting room. People hobbling around on sticks, wheelchairs, massive obese people waddling around eating pasties, massive steroid muscle bound boys with tattoos everywhere, old people in the macs and beige 'rigouts', young teenage mothers in leggings and UG boots screaming at their kids running amok, old tarts in leopard print leggings, gossip, packs of mobility scooters like a 'ride out' for Hells Angels. it was incredible.

I went into Llanelli market, a great place full of really cheap stalls and a hub of nonversation, i saw Barry Lewis an old friend of the family and all the chat was about Taff Daniels.

Then it was back to hospice for more Quality Street and sitting. She is OK Nan I'd say. Peaceful. There is love so i relaxed.

This was all played out to the background of a mental and dramatic family row, which i became the central peacemaker, referee and middle man. No change there. It was then back to Brymoor Road at 6pm for Tea and Rissoles. Knackered.

I popped into to get my laptop from a great Indian Welsh guy called Ruby who sported a superb medallion, must be the Tom Jones influence on The Voice and after having to wipe the whole machine which had the computer equivalent of chlamydia, manic depression, mrsa and bird flu (basically it was fucked) - i was back in business. He said it could have been from a dodgy website, i kept quiet, considering my 'favourite' menu was stacked full of them. Pleased i didn't share that with the camp Chaplain. The guy told me to love my laptop, to take care of it. Not to visit dodgy sites. Does that include Asian shaven haven 6?

I then got a text from an old friend saying they were suicidal, more family drama calls, visited a family member for a nice cup of tea, though found the tea surprisingly weak which is sacrilege in Lanelli. The tea must be strong. it is what you set your life by. Everything follows from the tea. Standards must be kept. Clearly you know people are struggling when they serve weak tea. Tell tale sign of depression i think.

Then it was back to Brymoor at 10.30pm for a sit down and relax. Fuck me what a day. the great news is Nan OK and not fading immediately and she is peaceful, the witness of LLanelli town centre on a Saturday was something i think David Atenborough should film. Fuck the south Pole get down to Llanelli boy. The rissoles were a triumph, the camp Chaplain a character, the old tarts a joy and the family drama a strain.

There's only one thing to end a day like this, something that will send me to sleep peacefully, that will meditate me, nourish me spiritually. Calm and relax me. Now, where is that Alan Green phone in..aaaarrrrrrgggggghhhhhhhhhhh!

xx

Day 166 - Friday 15th June - Brymoor Road

The day started with a text from my mother. 'Pack a bag, you may have to come down as Nan not looking good'. Not a great way to start the day but that's the way it is at the moment.

I went to work anyway, and when i got there was shocked to see that proofing of the 75 business cards had been taken away from me.

I was devastated. All my career I'd been working towards this moment. GCSE's, A'Levels, BA Hons degree, 7 years in Premier League Football, 6 years in Rugby Union, sourcing thousands of pounds in sponsorship deals and events. I was primed to check and cross reference 75 25 year old's personal details onto an excel spreadsheet and check they were correct. I was ready. This was my moment. All my dreams were about to be realised. I was like i was 15 in the bathroom with Sara Biddle and i was about to lose my virginity. "This is it" i thought.

And then they were gone. i got to the office and a colleague had been given the task. Gutted. Of course she moaned at me and said she hated me for being given this amazing job. I cursed my bad luck and congratulated her. It was an important responsibility i sagely noted. Maybe, just maybe if i keep my head down, do an MA and tons of other qualifications i can one day be handed such an incredible task. I will chug away.

I got the text in the afternoon that it would be a good idea to come to Wales. Nan was very weak & ill. I was supposed to be doing a wedding (reception) on the Saturday and going to Wales on the Sunday. I was told that it could be too late. I headed down.

On the way i listened to the Radio 5 Live commentary of England v Sweden, with that c*** Alan green's phone in. It made me feel suicidal. The man is definitely the world's biggest twat. Miserable, moaning, criticising. He sounded like the human equivalent of fingers down a blackboard. He needs ending.

His basic tact is to lam bast everything, whilst wearing a leather jacket and a tie. That just shows how out of touch he is. Those two items of clothing simply don't go.They have no right being paired together. Like cords and denim. Top and Man. A leather jacket and tie simply means 'nonce' to me. Like a Geography teacher too 'friendly' with his teachers or someone on the register. Leather jackets and tie are effectively a badge of dishonour.

And this is in effect Alan Green. A pure c**t for the c**ty purists. Bigger even than a genetically modified Peter Andre. Oh yes he's that big.

The journey was easy, the footie was on so i had road to myself. It was Just me, the radio and Alan fucking Green. No amount of pain going to Prince Phillip hospital visiting Nan compares to that. It's literally like pushing pins in your knackers and listening to Leonard Cohen. Grim. He was so negative i developed Cancer of the ears. Terrible.

I reached Brymoor Road at midnight, on arrival i immediately saw 2 obese tracksuit youths walking down the street with cans of beer. Classic Llanelli.

My Mum was waiting, she looked tired and stressed. There were 3 bits of breaded chicken cooked. You know the type from M&S. It was the same stuff she used to cook for me when i was a kid. i hadn't eaten it since. It totally made me nostalgic and set off a real memory lane over the next couple of hours as we sat and talked about Nan and past memories.

She is very ill  and the chat is that they think she is going to slip into a coma. I'm pleased I've come down to act as a support. I will be needed.

Mum went to bed leaving me alone in Brymoor Road. It's odd. So many memories i have. So much history. So much of our lives have centred around this house. It is the central place. The spiritual home. It is Brymoor Road. The home of Nan. And she wasn't here. The chair was empty, the house coat hung up. There was no baking, no sound of her humming. It was quiet. it was nice. I was pleased to be here.

One thing i noted was how different i was from My Nan and Mum in some instances. I haven't taken on their cleaning gene. I am a man after all. But one thing for me summed up Welsh Mammies. And how different i am. It was in the kitchen and it was all in the grapes.

She actually went to the trouble of taking them out of the packet, washing them, tearing off some kitchen roll, getting out a bowl and placing them in it. Incredible. Detail, Welsh, fussy, Mammy. Very Nan. Very Mum. Very old school Llanelli.

Me i go to the trouble of buying them and eating them immediately. And what is Kitchen Roll? There is no place for it in a mans house.

So remember the grapes folks. It's all in the grapes. Not in leather jackets and ties

xx

Day 165 - Thursday 14th June - Nan or Mrs P

So this is for my Nan. As many of you reading this blog you will have followed her journey. Her illness. The impact on the family. Her spirit, her humour, her Welshenss, her matriarchal hold on the family.

Without her knowing it she's been the governor. Not by ego, or strictness or wisdom. She has never put herself forward. She;s never been opinionated. She's just been Nan. Mrs P. Mrs Probert of Brymoor Road. She has lived such a long time and her lightness and spirit has meant you think she will go on forever.

She commands such huge respect in Llanelli, in the community because everyone loves her. She has been kind, loving, friendly and lively throughout her life. The community and family want to pay their respects. She deserves it. She is remarkable.

Throughout this illness which has now rendered her unable to eat for 6 days, she is literally wasting away. It is cruel. She sleeps alot now in the Hospice. She rarely gets out of bed and doesn't speak much. She is exhausted. I haven't been down to Wales for 2 weeks, but my Mum and Brother said she is so weak, small and thin now. It is literally breaking her down. Her spirit is still there, but gradually day by day she is receding until we think the end, which will be merciful, is close. You can see the spirit of Nan alive, but the illness and age is breaking down. When she goes it will be a relief for her. I think she has had enough,

It is awful seeing someone you love so much slowly die. Not as bad for me of course because i am marooned in London looking after fucking business cards and letterheads (Had 3 phone calls today about them)

But more for my Mother who is there every day and has been through the whole process with Nan. She will never forget how much she has done, she is cut from the same cloth. She has been remarkable and will require alot of love and support after.

When my Grandfather died i was 17, and i remember his funeral and crying lots. If I'm honest more for me than anyone else. I didn't for one minute think that my Nan had lost her husband of 40 years or my mother had lost her father. The tears were for me. Selfish.

Now i am older and more aware of my selfishness and my role here. To be caring and supportive of my family. To show love. To be love. To be the man i should be and think of others. To think of my Nan. To appreciate her life and her impact she had on so many. To be a son and grandson. Simple.

To experience an elderly relative, especially one you love so much and have so many fantastic memories of, is difficult of course. Most of us would have experienced that. I lost my Father 3 years ago (extensively written about on Good Friday, if you haven't read go back and read then you will understand alcoholism) but i hadn't seen him for 20 years, so i felt a little disconnected.

A grandparent i think is different, especially as maternal, safe and loving as my Nan. You remember times when you were a kid, holidays in Llanelli, Victoria sponge cake, her taking me to the park, buying sweets and comics in Woolworths, always wearing a house coat, Force feeding you Blue Ribbands or breakaways, humming in scale up the stairs, baking rock cakes, always having a hanky and boiled sweet, putting on Nivea at night, looking scary when her false teeth came out, putting her teeth in an old Stork SB margarine pot overnight, always doing hand washing, getting her hair fixed on a Thursday, having a little Nan shopping trolley and always telling me to eat well and put my clothes out for a good airing after washing them (if only she knew how rarely i wash them - dry cleaners anyone #lazysod)

I think because going to my Nan's was always the same, so old school Llanelli and South Wales, going to her was always nostalgic and loving. So special now looking back, and something in my twenty's i took for granted. Every time i went it felt like a spiritual home, especially when i was brought up in the South East, essentially a characterless place without much in the way of heart and soul.

And now, we reach this point. God bless her she is so ill. She is tiny and she is fading fast. I don't quite know what to say. I want to be profound, to be touching, to be loving, to be sensitive. My blog has exposed too much and too little this year. I've written on subjects that have been angry, touching, funny, real. I have been pretty true to myself and others in being authentic. It's always been from the heart, never something i am not. So today i write this on the brink of going down to Wales to see her, maybe for the last time, maybe not. It's difficult to say.

But the best thing i can really say is that she is the governor. The Matriarch. The Queen Bee. Mrs P of Brymoor Road. 97. 73 years in the house. Head of the family. Sweet, lovely and totally adorable. She has always been to me simply 'Nan'. Indestructible, consistent, positive, never moaning, full of Welsh nonversation and totally lovely. I stand by the fact I've never heard anybody say 'watercall' then as a stop gap in the middle of a sentence when she couldn't remember the word, or walk in a room look at you and just say 'therewarthen' and move out.

I've never seen anyone so pleased when you were literally straining at the gut after a huge feed and I've never seen anyone in the world never sit on their own sofa for around 35 years. She was simply on her feet the whole time, doing stuff, fixing others, being on the move. She was, and despite her illness, is, Nan. The Matriarch. And all of us in the family and indeed the world salute her.

xx

Day 164 - Weds 13th June - Jack Daniels Made in Llanelli?

Wednesday. Slap bang in the middle. Neither one thing or another. It doesn't know if it's the start of the week, slow and healthy, or, nearly the weekend, faster and sociable. Basically it doesn't know what the fuck it is. Wednesday is essentially a tranny. Marthur or Arthur. It's confused.

I felt more refreshed and slightly chipper after yesterday's good news. My head was calm, my health OK and i manged not to shout or grumble at anyone. I even took the reproofs for the business cards in good humour. #whatswrongwithme?

I managed to be quite busy without actually achieving much. Writing lists and working through them is apparently the way to go;

1 - Write a list of what to do - tick
2 - errrrrr?

Not a productive day profesionally, but personally? Well something unusual did happen;

An email from my brother linked to the Llanelli Star news article, of him holding up an old family book, which dates back to mid 1800's, owned by my Nan's Grandmother. In the book are potions and recipes in Welsh including 3 recipes for Whiskey.

Now my Nan's family name is Daniels and according to family history, Nan's Great uncle, Joseph Daniels emigrated to USA Tennesse in around 1840. Nothing was heard from him again. Then in mid 1800's they had several children, one of which was 'Jack' Daniels. See where this story is going?

Basically in a nutshell, my Brother believes the book and recipe could well be the original recipe for Jack Daniels Whiskey. If you read Wikipedia about the history it mentions he was a descendant of Wales. It is plausible as there is no real record of the recipe and where it's from. Could this be it?

If it is, then fuck my old boots it really does place Llanelli at the heart of the world. Fuck off Made in Chelsea, Made in Llanelli is taking over now. Apparently The Sun newspaper are interested. The book is real, The recipes are real and it's dated 1840. signed by what would be my Great Great Great Grandmother. According to Uncle Ken, my Grandfather was offered £80 for the book before the second world war. That was in 1940, so that's equivalent to around £100,000 now right? MMMM, i wonder?

Maybe that's why the family has been afflicted with severe alcoholism for all these years? That would be rather ironic wouldn't it? It would also be ironic as my Nan, a Daniels only really ever enjoyed a sweet sherry every decade and on state occasions. I didn't follow her drinking habits.

So keep them peeled readers, hopefully the story will be picked up by the Nationals and we will see where it goes from there. I know it sounds completely mental, but have a read of the link. You will then think, mm, well maybe?

http://www.thisissouthwales.co.uk/famous-tipple-Llanelli/story-16354901-detail/story.html

So that was a rather random curve ball for the day. I dutifully got the train back in Rush hour and walked for ages on the platform checking out each carriage for seats. It was packed, other than the last carriage where there was a seat available in middle of 3 seats. Only trouble was one side was an enormous man in a pin striped suit, who basically looked like a big duvet. He must have been around 24 stones. Taking a seat and a half, encroaching into free seat territory. On the other side was a slightly pikey Asian chap who clearly hadn't yet heard of this new invention called deodorant. He fucking stunk.

it was a dilemma i tell you. Stand wedged in for the next 20 minutes or sit between Giant Haystacks and The anti Right Guard campaigner. I chose the later.

In i wedged, holding my breath. It was basically like trying to sit in a child's seat. Little room for manoeuvre, especially as Haystacks was trying to read the paper. His fat elbows were nudging me all the way.

I managed to breath once i think, around the Mortlake area, so i didn't have to smell the odious pong. The big guy was sweating up too, so it was effectively like the worst manage a trios you could imagine. Still, no-one said commuting was easy. You have to battle some days. I mean a relaxing train journey with a comfy seat would be far too much to ask TFL. It;s just not London is it, well unless you're an Olympic VIP, then it's a piece of piss. True London i think they shall not be experiencing.

The journey made me feel dirty of body and soul so i went to the gym for 2 hour workout. The big beast wasn't there so i wasn't able to apologize and make amends, he's no doubt rapping in front of a mirror, guzzling down some muscle builder.

Me? I pumped, spoke to one of my oldest mates, Burge, who's got 3 young kids. a new house and no life. Heroic.

He explained to me how he had re plumbed the kitchen, put up shelves, constructed a shed and painted the living room, all with 3 nippers running around. I felt significantly less than. A worthless man. The only thing i can do manly give a woman multiples. A great skill no doubt but ultimately the plumbing is a better long term bet. My Priorities are wrong, i Clearly need to improve my DIY skills and I'm not talking about self flagellation.

Nan same. Not eating. Very weak. Spirit Strong. Remarkable woman

Night
xx

Day 163 - Tuesday 12th June - The Great British Wedding

Not much happened today. I write this at 11.55pm, with little or no enthusiasm in me. Nothing in my head. No humour, jokes or inspiration. All i have is me, a packet of gum, a cup of tea (milk 3 sweeteners) and a pair of M&S old school pants (black) - on. Yes I'm that blank in the head I've resorted to writing what's in front of me.

Phone.
Computer
Candle
Gum (said that)
Cigarettes
Diet coke tin
Cup of tea
Werthers original
Hob knobs
American Co-Ed beaver fever 8

That pretty much sums me up. I should get out more.

Today we had a minor breakthrough for my website company, an investor is excited and interested in coming on board. Maybe 3 years of digging may come good. Who knows but it was a positive 4 hour meeting. I know Exciting huh, but 4 hours this afternoon!!. Long time. Don't get me wrong I'm excited about the company but That was almost Flog It, Cash in the Attic, Auction Hunters and The Hairy Bikers worth of tellie i missed. #dam

Startlingly i then wrote a draft business and investor plan. I know i know, what the fuck was i thinking of. I could have been checking out Quincy on C5 USA +1. Disappointed in myself.

I then arranged to go to my Mates gaff and listen to his Wedding speech he is delivering on Saturday. It was the last time I'll see him before Saturday. I'm 39 now so don't get invited to many weddings. I reached my peak at around 32-34 when all my pals were getting hitched, however i have remained resolutely single and resisted such tom foolery. All that wedding prep, churches, dresses, cakes, families, who to invite, who not to invite, present list, honeymoon. God so much. Besides its a waste of a good weekend.

Now as you know I'm a right miserable sod at heart, so whilst i love the whole idea of marriage of cementing your love and matrimony. Of committing yourself to each other. I actually believe in marriage, but fuck me do people have to make such a big deal out of it. £400 for hotels, whole weekend. Then the ones that have pre wedding, wedding then post wedding. Obviously if you're a mate you don't want to offend and turn up for a couple of hours and piss off again. But why so much fuss?

There's the fucking stag weekend which is another long un. £1k. Usually going to eastern Europe or fucking Vegas for a weekend. Either that or |Paintballing in Mid Wales. I mean whats wrong with a night out down the pub or an a ring stinging curry like in the old days? Instead of standing there cold and wet dressed in oversize camouflage overalls like some kind of Kwik Fit worker in the army, getting stung to fuck after being shot in the entire body with a gun full of paint. if i ever get hitched and my best man organises that - I'm going to swap the paint for real bullets and take him down.

Then you have the big day. The world stops. You as a man are forced to say you bride looks beautiful whilst thinking whats all the fuss with that white lacy dress. Pamela Anderson had it right getting married on a beach in a tiny bikini effectively looking like a whore from Snow White. Looks weird in Hounslow though.

Then you have the whole sit through church vows knowing they will never ever go to Church again and are the least spiritual people you know so whats the point in the religious ceremony, you clap, you throw rice, you disappear off to the reception shifting uncomfortably in your starch suit, thinking your mate has now been rendered cock less because the wedding is 3pm on a Saturday when all the sport is on and you can't watch it. Then its the reception where you feast on rather average food, with average company and a collection of people slowly getting pissed to ease the pain of boredom, dull table, the fact you are not married or jealousy/hatred.

After which its the speeches, endless formal toasts and thanks dished out to Auntie Nora you have no idea who she is but gets a round of applause anyway, then the brides father, the groom then the best man delivers the coup De grace as people begin to lose the will to leave. Grandmother is already asleep after 3 sherries too many.

Then the band or DJ comes on, the couple have their first dance. Well when i say dance more of a shuffle, as people take photos of them effectively doing nothing but chatting and moving side to side. The band then comes on, you get up and throw shapes that haven't even been invented yet, the buffet opens, you chat to the men stood resolutely at the bar by now legless and talking utter shit.

The couple depart late at night no doubt not to have sex as passion went out of their relationship years ago and the marriage is an excuse for a good party. The guests filter off and you go back to your overpriced hotel room and dread the fact there is another official post wedding BBQ tomorrow. By now you are sick of everyone and can't bare making yet more small talk and nonversatiion. But you have too i suppose. especially if your the Groom.

Good job I'm only going to the reception. I'm not a good enough mate to be invited to the whole thing. A bit like being on the subs bench for the Champions League final. Your nearly a good mate but not quite. You try not to take it personally but it is a bit of a sleight isn't it?

It's like being an Usher. Basically your mate is saying you're a good wing man, but you're just not quite a best mate material. An usher effectively does fuck all apart form drink, smoke and make inappropriate passes to the bridesmaid. The ones over age that is.

I have been an Usher 3 times and a best man once. I wasn't even a good enough mate when i was best man, as he drafted in a co best man. Like i needed a holding player next to me in the middle. It was a fucking disgrace i tell you. I had to share the glory of the speech and i never struck gold on the bridesmaid. And thats another thing why is such a fuss made about the bridesmaids dresses. All matching, flowers, hair, material. yet they nearly always look totally unfeminie and sexy. More Christmas Cracker than cracker. Some of them i've seen actually look like Cracker. Robbie Coltrane that is in Cracker.

So in a nutshell i cant wait for the wedding this weekend. I've booked the 4 star hotel for £265 a night and got the £60 tank of fuel to travel to the West Country, plus the new tie and shirt and of course obligatory sunbed. I'll send him an expenses sheet, but wait until after the reception to give it to him. Still at least it's in the West Country and not abroad. Now that is taking the piss. I mean yes i'm all for a holiday and stuff but usually not with 56 people. It's effectively 'Coach Trip' but with flowers.

For the record his speech was good although he refused to put in my 'i always finish off on the bride' gag. Can't think why? He's got no romance that mate of mine, although after this i think he'll be sending me my Mate P45. Only joking can't wait really

xx