I haven't posted for a while because of that lethal holy trinity - fear, procrastination and self doubt.
Those little bastards are bad enough in isolation but when they join forces it's bloody lethal.
I didn't feel I had anything worthwhile to share, had radically transformed or rid myself of all those pesky habits. I didn't feel particularly inspired or funny so I did what I usually do. Retreat to self!
I didn't want to write another blog saying, 'when will I change?' - This is both boring and familiar. So instead I wrote nothing. My head was telling me one thing, reality another. I became imprisoned in self.
This is an evil trap to fall into. The head. Don't bloody listen to it. It's dangerous to go into alone sometimes. As an addict or alcoholic (I know normal people have bad thinking too so I'm not missing you out) negative dangerous destructive thinking is par for the course - But here's the truth. Most of it is total shit.
I'm reading 'The Chimp Complex' at the moment, by Dr Stephen Peters. He basically comes at it from a scientific angle. He calls the 'head' 'the Chimp with it's own entity. He calls us 'humans'. Our job as humans is to apply the 'human' part of the brain or logic, and find ways of managing the chimp and putting it back in its box. Not to let it control us. That's what mine has been doing this week.
My Chimp is my alcoholic mind. The commentary that tells me 'you're no good, you're a waste of time, or 'lets be fearful, worried, jealous and slothful'. That compares and despairs me next to others - All those wonderful thought processes that render me useless and keep me 'down there', where it wants me.
As a recovering alcoholic with a 12 step programme, there are many tools I can use to help drag me out of this. Sometimes I use them immediately, other times it takes longer. But I always use it in the end instead of alcohol or drugs. Sometimes I have used other things to 'fix' this thinking. Sex, shopping, food, relationships, attention, box-sets, exercise. Anything other than a spiritual fix to make me feel better. But in the end I return to some form of spiritual solution and the other things revert back to normal healthy proportions. When I treat my head, I exercise because I want too instead of needing too. I have sex because I like it rather than compulsively to make me feel better about myself. I'll eat because I'm hungry rather than gorge to suppress reality - and so on. Life becomes healthier and more 'normal'.
I've noticed that some people have their own inbuilt 12 step programme. An incredible ability to get themselves out of this thinking and change it around. I admire these people greatly. They move from darkness to light self sufficiently and it is awesome to behold. Big shout to you lot.
Other's need help from things such as yoga, counselling, therapy, meditation etc to get out of the head and into positive action. It seems that most of the self help industry is dedicated to this in different forms. It's about fighting those demons in your head and moving into health and happiness
The only problem with this is that it requires action. Usually on a daily basis. And for most of us in today's society we want a 'quick fix'. Someone to do it for us. Isn't there an App for that??. Unfortunately it doesn't work like that and we have to find a place where we are either too uncomfortable, in too much pain or just sick of ourselves before we do something about it.
And then when we do want to do something about us that's where the real head-fuck comes in. Where do we start? So many self help blogs, websites, spiritual practices, therapies. The latest fashionable way of life, guides to happiness, catchy inspirational quotes. it becomes overwhelming. Since when did we have to get some perfect? When did this pressure to improve our lives kick in?
Have we ever considered we're actually OK? Have we actually considered we're exactly where we are supposed to be right now?
But you know what? We needn't worry. It is never that bad. Sometimes we feel we're worse than we are. We're not. We're doing OK. We really are.
All week I've been listening to people hammer themselves for slight character traits in the pursuit of happiness and enlightenment. Really admirable people trying to better themselves and rid negative processes. This I respect hugely.
But you know what - My Father's anniversary of his death has made me think. We're doing OK. Because his death was such a savage alcoholic one. Because it was so lonely, inhumane and empty. So low bottom. Because he slung along on the bottom for so long. Years. It made me think if we are sober, or clean, or married, or have kids, jobs, life. Even if we're carrying a bit of weight, or can't stop smoking, or we're seeing prostitutes on the side, or in unhappy relationships. We're actually doing OK. We can do something about these. We're in the game. We're alive for fucks sake and we're being human!!!
Part of the fun of being human is fucking up. Part of the fun is being unhappy because then we are prepared to do something about it! Part of the fun is in the character defects we have. In our imperfections. In our madness sometimes. The fun is in the journey to change them. If we spend all our lives trying to be perfect or castigating ourselves for not being this or not being that we miss out on the fun. We miss out on the pointers. We miss out on so much.
When I hear people who are sober, or clean or trying to get better hammer themselves for not being perfect it pains me. When I hear myself beat myself up that I'm not a best selling author or 'those people on Facebook are doing better than me', I need a slap of reality. I'm well ahead of the game of where I was 14 years ago when I woke up drunk, piss stained and fat on my girlfriend's sofa thinking, 'I need help here'.
So why beat myself up? Why hammer ourselves if we're not perfect? We're doing better than we think we are. If we accept our defects and habits then surely that's the first step to making them better. Learning to laugh at them is even more powerful. Sure, it doesn't cure them but guaranteed it makes them less painful and life becomes lighter.
Radical acceptance of self both good and bad is a massive step forward. It's something I've been doing this week and it really does work. Try it!
I'm a big fan of all of us today. We're all magnificent bastards doing the best we can!
Today I was in town and spent time with a guy 2 weeks off booze and heroin. I gave him a huge hug and told him he was the healthiest looking heroin addict I've seen in many a year. I told him he was OK, not to beat himself up. Not live in the could haves but live in today and it made me think of myself and for myself to do it, hence why I'm writing this blog.
I slipped a little back into self when on the tube at rush hour, but then a father of two sons, holding their hands slipped in front of me. One if his boys was shaking and clearly had a severe nervous disorder and mental illness. It made my heart melt. I had huge admiration of the father who was showing his boys equal love. But also at how fragile we all are, how lucky I really am to have what I have and how we can all reach out to someone and give them a little help now and again.
Getting out of self can be freeing. So why not do something for someone else tonight. Drop your parents a text, tell a friend they are ace, congratulate your man for not pissing on the toilet seat. It doesn't have to be big but just enough to make you feel like a magnificent bastard because you really are.
Did I make you feel good? I hope I did as that what makes me feel good. It's like delivering a big orgasm by blog and man do I love to do that. So good for my self esteem and masculinity. I'm that needy on outside affirmation and not healed yet.
Love you big
Nicky Evans
Thursday, March 31, 2016
Friday, March 25, 2016
David Michael Evans - 1944-2009 - A Story of Alcholism in Life and Death
I always post this on Good Friday. Easter is a hugely symbolic date on the calendar. I consider myself more spiritual than religious but to me Easter is extra poignant to me and my family.
My Father, David Michael Evans died of alcoholism on Good Friday 2009. My Grandparents were married on Easter Saturday, my Grandmother the family matriach was born on the 13th April, my neice on the 16th and I had my moment of clarity and went to my first AA meeting on Easter Sunday 2001, setting in motion the journey to sobriety and recovery 16 years ago. Jackpot!
If Easter is all about death and rebirth, it's ridiculously symbolic my father dying of alcoholism on Good Friday and his third son getting sober on Easter Sunday! I'm honestly not making this shit up. I shit you not.
Today is the 8th anniversary of my father's death. He died a lonely, alcoholic death in a warden controlled flat in Parsons Green on Good Friday 2009. He was alone, 64, unfound for 6 days. His was a sad, alcoholic tale of life and death.
His alcoholic death affected a whole family, town and generation. Although tragic it inspired my Mother to go to Alanon and find recovery after a 40 year battle with alcoholism. It galvanised a cause in me to campaign for my own and other people's recovery from alcoholism as a terrible, powerful destructive disease and it has helped many people through reading this story or hearing about his demise. He has acted as a powerful example of what untreated alcoholism does.
Only a man of his ego could be born on Christmas Day and die on Good Friday! He was an arrogant bastard with a great sense of humour. Only a man of my ego could find a sober rebirth on Easter Sunday 2001. You couldn't make it up. I have taken on this family arrogance baton into sobriety. Like father like son.
I loved my father, he was my hero. A large, funny, charismatic man. But he was afflicted by the disease of alcoholism and after he left the family home in 1985 when I was 13, he effectively lived a solitary life of a drunk until he died alone, in 2009. A 24 year suicide.
I share this because it is interesting on many levels. I am not owning the story to be sadder than others. Many people have tragedy and sadness in their families/past. I am not using it to puff up my ego and make a point. I simply wanted to put the story of alcoholism down and how it affects a family and how in death life can begin.
It is a story of life and death, alcoholism and recovery. Sadness and light. It is a story about how David Michael Evans' life can inspire. Perhaps not in the way he thought or wanted. But in the way it was. I hope some may find solace, connection, identification or hope through reading it and have a couple of chuckles along the way. After all what is life without laughter?
I hadn't seen my father since I was 18, and then it was only for 30 minutes when my Niece was born in 1990. He had left my life when I was 13, due to his heavy alcoholism. He lived a life of a street drunk, popping up now and again. The odd phone call here, a card there. He was alive but not alive. The living dead type life that active alcoholism brings.
My Father, David Michael Evans died of alcoholism on Good Friday 2009. My Grandparents were married on Easter Saturday, my Grandmother the family matriach was born on the 13th April, my neice on the 16th and I had my moment of clarity and went to my first AA meeting on Easter Sunday 2001, setting in motion the journey to sobriety and recovery 16 years ago. Jackpot!
If Easter is all about death and rebirth, it's ridiculously symbolic my father dying of alcoholism on Good Friday and his third son getting sober on Easter Sunday! I'm honestly not making this shit up. I shit you not.
Today is the 8th anniversary of my father's death. He died a lonely, alcoholic death in a warden controlled flat in Parsons Green on Good Friday 2009. He was alone, 64, unfound for 6 days. His was a sad, alcoholic tale of life and death.
His alcoholic death affected a whole family, town and generation. Although tragic it inspired my Mother to go to Alanon and find recovery after a 40 year battle with alcoholism. It galvanised a cause in me to campaign for my own and other people's recovery from alcoholism as a terrible, powerful destructive disease and it has helped many people through reading this story or hearing about his demise. He has acted as a powerful example of what untreated alcoholism does.
Only a man of his ego could be born on Christmas Day and die on Good Friday! He was an arrogant bastard with a great sense of humour. Only a man of my ego could find a sober rebirth on Easter Sunday 2001. You couldn't make it up. I have taken on this family arrogance baton into sobriety. Like father like son.
I loved my father, he was my hero. A large, funny, charismatic man. But he was afflicted by the disease of alcoholism and after he left the family home in 1985 when I was 13, he effectively lived a solitary life of a drunk until he died alone, in 2009. A 24 year suicide.
I share this because it is interesting on many levels. I am not owning the story to be sadder than others. Many people have tragedy and sadness in their families/past. I am not using it to puff up my ego and make a point. I simply wanted to put the story of alcoholism down and how it affects a family and how in death life can begin.
It is a story of life and death, alcoholism and recovery. Sadness and light. It is a story about how David Michael Evans' life can inspire. Perhaps not in the way he thought or wanted. But in the way it was. I hope some may find solace, connection, identification or hope through reading it and have a couple of chuckles along the way. After all what is life without laughter?
I hadn't seen my father since I was 18, and then it was only for 30 minutes when my Niece was born in 1990. He had left my life when I was 13, due to his heavy alcoholism. He lived a life of a street drunk, popping up now and again. The odd phone call here, a card there. He was alive but not alive. The living dead type life that active alcoholism brings.
You get used to the drama and chaos an alcoholic causes in a house but you just get on with it. The drama becomes the norm and that's all someone growing up in alcoholic/addict house is used to. You don't blink at arguments, police, court orders, domestic violence, fear, guilt, worry and violence. In fact normality seems rather dull in comparison.
The effect on a child growing up in this environment is profound. You don't think it of course as you just live your life, but for me it has resulted in a double life, people pleasing, dishonesty, feeling sorry for myself, feeling superior to others, incredible anger, frustration, impatience, lack of self esteem and a series of failed relationships and commitment issues. Part of me never grew up. Of course, I'm not laying the blame for my life at my father's door. My own alcoholism did a great job of that, but now that I'm 43 I can see how some of the patterns of my upbringing has affected my life as an adult. Part nature and part nurture. That can be true of many people.
When I got the call in 2009 I was shocked. I hadn’t thought about him for ages. You get used to not having a father. I called my Mum, brothers and girlfriend. I was asked by my cousin if I wanted to take care of affairs, seeing as he had been out of our lives for so long. I didn't hesitate. Of course I did. He was my father after all and it was my duty.
I made calls to the coroner trying to find out the facts of his death and piece together his life. You have to take the role of a sleuth, trying to piece together the alcoholics final few years.
I found out 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 1944, probably died on or around Good Friday. Only he could do that!
The effect on a child growing up in this environment is profound. You don't think it of course as you just live your life, but for me it has resulted in a double life, people pleasing, dishonesty, feeling sorry for myself, feeling superior to others, incredible anger, frustration, impatience, lack of self esteem and a series of failed relationships and commitment issues. Part of me never grew up. Of course, I'm not laying the blame for my life at my father's door. My own alcoholism did a great job of that, but now that I'm 43 I can see how some of the patterns of my upbringing has affected my life as an adult. Part nature and part nurture. That can be true of many people.
When I got the call in 2009 I was shocked. I hadn’t thought about him for ages. You get used to not having a father. I called my Mum, brothers and girlfriend. I was asked by my cousin if I wanted to take care of affairs, seeing as he had been out of our lives for so long. I didn't hesitate. Of course I did. He was my father after all and it was my duty.
I made calls to the coroner trying to find out the facts of his death and piece together his life. You have to take the role of a sleuth, trying to piece together the alcoholics final few years.
I found out 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 1944, 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 he suffered for 24 years.
I went to where he lived and spoke to the warden who put some pieces of the jigsaw together, it was then the real details of the alcoholics demise were brought to life. He lived in 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 Sheperd'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)
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. In humane.
The bathroom. Filthy. Covered in blood on the walls and toilet. Like he had been throwing up blood for years. A horrid state,
And finally the worst room. The bedroom. 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.
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. Cheap ones. When you reach that stage of alcoholism Smirnoff and other 'luxury' brands are long gone. Blood spattered paperwork was next to the bed. Shit and devastation everywhere. It was truly horrifying. But I guess the norm to him.
I had to look for his wallet, to try and get some details. I found his trousers on the 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. One was a woman he was with for a while but who left him to go to New Zealand, her number and the other, my name 'Nicky (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 every time.
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, shock and sadness. My girlfriend never knew or met 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.
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 12 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 my Mum or girlfriend. I felt the connection of it being my father of course, but I also saw alcoholism, the rapacious creditor claiming another life.
Those were the circumstances. A few things 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.
Those were the circumstances. A few things 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 directors and getting a discount deal. Great businessman, his Dad, a born bullshitting salesman would have been proud.
At the funeral there were 8 of us. Mortlake Crematorium. Nobody attending was from post 1987. Another example of how alcoholism robs you of life. A vivid example. It was a long slow suicide. A living death. A textbook case of alcoholism. The difference between active alcoholism and sobriety can be seen in funerals. My father pursued it to the gates of insanity and death. He had 8 people at the funeral. My friend Malcolm who dies last year 22 years sober had 300. The difference is stark.
It doesn't mean they are loved any less. It doesn't mean their lives are less worthy. It doesn't mean they are lesser people. It just means alcoholism will rob you of everything until it gets what it wants in the end. Your life.
It doesn't mean they are loved any less. It doesn't mean their lives are less worthy. It doesn't mean they are lesser people. It just means alcoholism will rob you of everything until it gets what it wants in the end. Your life.
I shall end this blog with the words I spoke at the funeral as we got him cremated to the Theme Tune to Minder. The last time we were together as a family. A happy nostalgic memory before the alcoholism took over.
If anyone is struggling to accept alcoholism as a disease well what do you think the above is?. If anyone wonders why I'm a passionate supporter of recovery now you know. If anyone wonders why i believe David Michael Evans to be a powerful example in death then you've just read why. He is an inspiration for me. One of the reasons I do sobriety. The reason sometimes I'm so evangelical about the power of the disease. I don't want a long lonely alcoholic death. I don't want others to have to endure 30 years of pain. I don't want families to hide it, claim it doesn't exist. I don't want the ignorance to continue. It is real and it affects many people. It is the least understood and most ignorant disease there is
Sometimes i don't feel good enough. Sometimes I don't know what it is to be man. Sometimes my own alcoholic ego runs away with itself or I struggle with my purpose, my journey, my soul. But in this time i felt a man. It felt right.
Death can be good. Death can provide life. Revoery doesn't have to be sad or serious. he was an insane rip roaring drunk with am assive personality. You can have this sober. You can have anything you want sober. Alcoholic or drugs doesn't have to define your life and stopping drinking doesn't mean a life of dull and boredom.
You meet a lot of recovery experts around. In AA, in treatment, on Facebook. Some talk a load of shit, claiming to know answers, preaching at what we should do, leading a fake spiritual arrogant and sanctimonious life. I say fuck it. Fuck them, fuck what you are supposed to do. Be real, be human and be true to yourself. Just don't drink, don't die and don't be a c**t. Seems like a pretty simple set of spiritual codes to live by?
I often wonder what a low bottom drunk like my Dad would think of a lot of recovery models and shit being spouted sometimes so I tell myself to keep it real, keep it honest but keep it humble.
A sense if humour and a sense of fun is important. Stay clear of the experts telling us what to do. Stay clear of the doubters or negative criticism. Just read the end of his life, tell yourself is that what you want. If the answer is no then there is a solution and I went to it on Easter Sunday 2001. It works it really does and if you are a family member affected by someone with addiction/alcoholism there is also a solution for you too. Alanon helped change my mother's life it could help you too.
David Michael Evans 1944 -2009
If anyone is struggling to accept alcoholism as a disease well what do you think the above is?. If anyone wonders why I'm a passionate supporter of recovery now you know. If anyone wonders why i believe David Michael Evans to be a powerful example in death then you've just read why. He is an inspiration for me. One of the reasons I do sobriety. The reason sometimes I'm so evangelical about the power of the disease. I don't want a long lonely alcoholic death. I don't want others to have to endure 30 years of pain. I don't want families to hide it, claim it doesn't exist. I don't want the ignorance to continue. It is real and it affects many people. It is the least understood and most ignorant disease there is
Sometimes i don't feel good enough. Sometimes I don't know what it is to be man. Sometimes my own alcoholic ego runs away with itself or I struggle with my purpose, my journey, my soul. But in this time i felt a man. It felt right.
Death can be good. Death can provide life. Revoery doesn't have to be sad or serious. he was an insane rip roaring drunk with am assive personality. You can have this sober. You can have anything you want sober. Alcoholic or drugs doesn't have to define your life and stopping drinking doesn't mean a life of dull and boredom.
You meet a lot of recovery experts around. In AA, in treatment, on Facebook. Some talk a load of shit, claiming to know answers, preaching at what we should do, leading a fake spiritual arrogant and sanctimonious life. I say fuck it. Fuck them, fuck what you are supposed to do. Be real, be human and be true to yourself. Just don't drink, don't die and don't be a c**t. Seems like a pretty simple set of spiritual codes to live by?
I often wonder what a low bottom drunk like my Dad would think of a lot of recovery models and shit being spouted sometimes so I tell myself to keep it real, keep it honest but keep it humble.
A sense if humour and a sense of fun is important. Stay clear of the experts telling us what to do. Stay clear of the doubters or negative criticism. Just read the end of his life, tell yourself is that what you want. If the answer is no then there is a solution and I went to it on Easter Sunday 2001. It works it really does and if you are a family member affected by someone with addiction/alcoholism there is also a solution for you too. Alanon helped change my mother's life it could help you too.
David Michael Evans 1944 -2009
I love you Dad
Together We Are Stronger
Nicky Evans (son)
Nicky Evans (son)
Wednesday, March 16, 2016
The Secret to a Happy Long Term Relationship
I'm a late starter. So before I lay claim to knowing the secret to having a happy long term relationship, let me just put in a disclaimer.
I am 43, I have never been married, I have no children and have pretty much avoided settling down and committing to a long term relationship or marriage most of my adult life. But why let small details like that get in the way of passing on some killer tips?!
I have been in love of course, only around 35 times, but I've also had 4 long term relationships, however these seemed to end around the 3 year mark. Why? Well, a host of reasons. Fear of commitment, abandonment issues as a child, coming from an alcoholic home, seeing parents split up when young, becoming a fully blown sex and love addict or just hidden fear. Perhaps I haven't been ready, or met the right woman at the right time, or maybe I just haven't wanted it.
Whatever the reasons I admit, I'm not exactly coming from a position of strength here when it comes to passing on expert tips and guidance as to what makes a happy long term relationship.
So, I basically get all my life lessons from my 25 year old neice. She is much wiser and more grown up than me. She's married over a year, has a two 2 week old baby, a lovely little flat in SE London, a deep faith in God and a strong family unit. All the things I have shied away from instwad seeking a life of pure self centred pleasurable hedonistic fun.
Spending time with her and her little daughter (My Great Neice) recently has been fun and enlightening. Yesterday we stumbled upon the secret to a happy long term relationship and it's not what you think it would be. I had to share it with you.
She has a beautiful porcelain sculpted soap dispenser. It is white and shiny with silver trimming. As far as soap dispensers go it is in the Premier League. We're talking £40-50 here. None of this 'Everything Under £1 shit. It's proper quality.
However, hubby likes to have the soap dispenser on the sink by the taps for maximum ease. Most men will wholeheartedly agree with this set up. The trouble is the sink has trim around the bowl which makes the surface uneven. This causes the soap dispenser to fall into the sink. It refuses to stay upright for longer than 10 minutes.
Therefore wifey kept putting the dispenser on the ledge well above the sink. Safe and secure. The trouble was hubby complained that it was too far away from the tap and 'just not the way it should be'. Every man wants to have minimal effort at any time and will all agree that soap needs to be by the tap. You don't want to be fucking around trying to place soap on your hands 10metres above sink level when washing your hands. It can cause men to have a melt down.
The couple debated this for weeks. Back and forth the argument went. Sometimes wifey would go into the bathroom to find it precariously placed on the sink. Then hubby would go in to see it stand proud and secure on the ledge. Stalemate.
Then one day, hubby came back with a large plastic hand soap dispenser. 99p from Poundland. He placed it on the sink and returned the beautiful porcelain holder back on the ledge. Both were happy. Both got what they want. OK granted the 99p thing was horrific but they both did their job.
After hearing this story I visited the bathroom to inspect both said items and agreed with the hubby that a man had to have soap by the tap, but I was forced to concede the porcelain dispenser was indeed beautiful and looked good on the ledge, however this was not practical for a man. It's not too bad for a woman because they are used to fucking around for hours in the bathroom. Men will only spend considerable time on the toilet. The shitter is his sanctuary where he does most of his thinking time, so hand washing needs to be done as quickly as possible.
The moral of the tale and clearly the secret to a happy long term relationship is 2 soap dispensers. Compromise and solution. Both parties need to be happy in order to flourish and grow.
There is no point in one partner putting up with something only to harbour a secret resentment. Both need to have their thing within a union for it to prosper and grow. Whether it be soap dispensers or anything else.
I know of course in time the 99p thing will go and wifey will have her way. People who have been married 10 years + will be nodding their head to this. Husbands will laugh at newlywed men getting equal billing. 'You just wait my son', you can hear them mutter, 'if you want a quiet life you'll give in.'
I'm picking up so many useful tips for when I finally get hitched. It's so useful. I cant wait for the battle of the bathroom!
The final word comes from a couple who have been married for over 50 years. 30 of it has been spent living on a boat without one argument. When interviewed they were asked, "what is the secret for being together so long and getting on so well?" The husband cut in and relied. "It's simple. I can answer that in two words." "What are they?" Asked the interviewer. "Yes dear" replied the husband and they both started laughing.
Wise words indeed and apparently they had two soap dispensers.
Love and peace
Nicholas Edward Evans
I am 43, I have never been married, I have no children and have pretty much avoided settling down and committing to a long term relationship or marriage most of my adult life. But why let small details like that get in the way of passing on some killer tips?!
I have been in love of course, only around 35 times, but I've also had 4 long term relationships, however these seemed to end around the 3 year mark. Why? Well, a host of reasons. Fear of commitment, abandonment issues as a child, coming from an alcoholic home, seeing parents split up when young, becoming a fully blown sex and love addict or just hidden fear. Perhaps I haven't been ready, or met the right woman at the right time, or maybe I just haven't wanted it.
Whatever the reasons I admit, I'm not exactly coming from a position of strength here when it comes to passing on expert tips and guidance as to what makes a happy long term relationship.
So, I basically get all my life lessons from my 25 year old neice. She is much wiser and more grown up than me. She's married over a year, has a two 2 week old baby, a lovely little flat in SE London, a deep faith in God and a strong family unit. All the things I have shied away from instwad seeking a life of pure self centred pleasurable hedonistic fun.
Spending time with her and her little daughter (My Great Neice) recently has been fun and enlightening. Yesterday we stumbled upon the secret to a happy long term relationship and it's not what you think it would be. I had to share it with you.
She has a beautiful porcelain sculpted soap dispenser. It is white and shiny with silver trimming. As far as soap dispensers go it is in the Premier League. We're talking £40-50 here. None of this 'Everything Under £1 shit. It's proper quality.
However, hubby likes to have the soap dispenser on the sink by the taps for maximum ease. Most men will wholeheartedly agree with this set up. The trouble is the sink has trim around the bowl which makes the surface uneven. This causes the soap dispenser to fall into the sink. It refuses to stay upright for longer than 10 minutes.
Therefore wifey kept putting the dispenser on the ledge well above the sink. Safe and secure. The trouble was hubby complained that it was too far away from the tap and 'just not the way it should be'. Every man wants to have minimal effort at any time and will all agree that soap needs to be by the tap. You don't want to be fucking around trying to place soap on your hands 10metres above sink level when washing your hands. It can cause men to have a melt down.
The couple debated this for weeks. Back and forth the argument went. Sometimes wifey would go into the bathroom to find it precariously placed on the sink. Then hubby would go in to see it stand proud and secure on the ledge. Stalemate.
Then one day, hubby came back with a large plastic hand soap dispenser. 99p from Poundland. He placed it on the sink and returned the beautiful porcelain holder back on the ledge. Both were happy. Both got what they want. OK granted the 99p thing was horrific but they both did their job.
After hearing this story I visited the bathroom to inspect both said items and agreed with the hubby that a man had to have soap by the tap, but I was forced to concede the porcelain dispenser was indeed beautiful and looked good on the ledge, however this was not practical for a man. It's not too bad for a woman because they are used to fucking around for hours in the bathroom. Men will only spend considerable time on the toilet. The shitter is his sanctuary where he does most of his thinking time, so hand washing needs to be done as quickly as possible.
The moral of the tale and clearly the secret to a happy long term relationship is 2 soap dispensers. Compromise and solution. Both parties need to be happy in order to flourish and grow.
There is no point in one partner putting up with something only to harbour a secret resentment. Both need to have their thing within a union for it to prosper and grow. Whether it be soap dispensers or anything else.
I know of course in time the 99p thing will go and wifey will have her way. People who have been married 10 years + will be nodding their head to this. Husbands will laugh at newlywed men getting equal billing. 'You just wait my son', you can hear them mutter, 'if you want a quiet life you'll give in.'
I'm picking up so many useful tips for when I finally get hitched. It's so useful. I cant wait for the battle of the bathroom!
The final word comes from a couple who have been married for over 50 years. 30 of it has been spent living on a boat without one argument. When interviewed they were asked, "what is the secret for being together so long and getting on so well?" The husband cut in and relied. "It's simple. I can answer that in two words." "What are they?" Asked the interviewer. "Yes dear" replied the husband and they both started laughing.
Wise words indeed and apparently they had two soap dispensers.
Love and peace
Nicholas Edward Evans
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
Thought of The Day - Change
Thought For The Day
Be The Change
I don't usually go in for these kind of messages. You know the ones. Inspirational quotes placed on a backdrop of a beach, landscape or some kind of famous figure. Wanky isn't it? And there are so many. Don't get me wrong, some of course are good - that Ghandi or Einstein were pretty profound dudes, but like anything these days when it becomes a marketing ploy, it dumbs down the profound impact, loses the intellectual stimulate and forces us to become jaded and cynical.
I'm more of a 'show me don't tell me' kind of a guy. It's easy for us to paint pictures of inspiration or spiritual greatness on social media whilst behaving like a total self centred egotistical dick in real life. With clever packaging you can make the image so much deeper and richer than the actual reality. I suppose that's the way of modern times. Spin, image, soundbite, 'digital footprint' are all important in creating an image and brand. I should try it some day!
I saw the above image posted on my friend's Facebook profile today and really liked it.
1 - because it's placed on an Underground sign at Tooting.
2 - because someone has gone to the trouble of trying to make the day lighter and more thoughtful for commuters (and himself) and
3 - It's a straight to the point non bullshit statement which happens to be true.
It certainly made me think. Did you? Ringing close to home which is always the hallmark of a good statement. Challenging you and making you feel something. Sometimes I am so wrapped up in the result or end product, I forget about the process to get there. Sometimes I sit and want change so much I miss the point it is an actionable energy not just a thought.
We may have goals, objectives or visions, whatever you may call them. Lose weight, run a marathon, earn £250k, buy a house, have a kid, get a new job, write that novel. It's great to have dreams or goals but how many of us simply focus on that end result without having the slightest clue how to get there?
How many of us have wanted change in our lives? Job, habits, smoking, relationships, finances, drinking or whatever it maybe. Change is easy to want but hard to action in my experience. It's when you do make changes that the gold really comes. It creates an unstoppable momentum and energy that is so positive that results become a by product of it.
According to the quote (who is Jack Nixon by the way? He's officially my favourite person now) - If we focus on the result we never change, but if we focus on the change the result will come.
I love it. It's simple, concise and so accurate. I'm a believer.
The trouble with focusing on a result is you forget the journey. If it's as simple as losing weight for instance. Let's say 2 stone and you pin up your target weight on the fridge, tell everyone and then think ,Ok how do I do it? How do I actually change my diet, eating, exercise, life, patterns of behaviour to get to my target weight. How do I get that result?
Hard isn't it? Overwhelming at times. Probably why there are so many self help books, therapists and counsellors. What about the quick fix 'fat burning' or 'slimming industry'. All aimed at results based people. Mostly based on fear or shame. They miss the point.
What if we turned it on it's head like the statement. What happens if we concentrated on the change first? Yes of course it's good to have a goal in mind, but if we concentrated on trying to change our patterns, processes and procedures wouldn't the weight come off anyway?
What about if we made an effort to eat a particular way. We got up and exercised within 2 hours of waking 5 days a week. What if we employed a coach or fitness expert? Or joined a class and went. Or even we cut one thing from our diet we knew was doing us harm? All of these are either small or massive changes we are effecting. By doing this we will probably lose weight. We will probably start to feel better about ourselves and if that happens it will give us more incentive to carry on and make more changes. It creates that energy and momentum.
I have experienced this process. I have seen friends go through it. A mate of mine recently lost a lot of weight over a period of a year. I looked at his journey with fascination. Firstly he was more focused on the result than the change. Then when he got into the process more and made small changes he reached the tipping point. He had lost so much weight it made him feel great so it super motivated him to make more changes. The momentum changed.
The end result was massive weight loss and him feeling so excited to get into a normal suit. It was a by product of his changes and fundaemental shift in attitude and energy. The result just happened almost as a by product of the changes.
Does the mind come before change or does change come before the mind?
Fuck knows if i'm honest. All I know is it's good to have both. But if one is playing silly buggers don't let it win. If the mind says 'don't go out and run this morning'. Have 'smart feet' and get out there. The head will eventually catch up. Positive action leads to positive thinking in my experience.
The point is don't post up a picuture of a yacht or car as your ultimate goal and expect to get there, simply ask yourself 'what am I doing today to take me closer to my dream and what do I need to change to get there."
If you have that level of self honesty you are already half way there and actually trying change is a positive action whereas focusing on a result is not an action. It is a desire and that's OK. But as we know faith without works is dead. It's in action the energy shifts and all kind of remarkable things follow and we get a 'result'. Change is an action. Its a doing thing. A result is an end goal. A finality. It's not an action it's an inaction.
So thank you Jack Nixon for the thought for the day I really enjoyed it and I don't usually say that about TFL, you are today's magnificent bastard and I salute you.
Nicholas Edward Evans
Sunday, March 6, 2016
A Mothers Day Letter
Dear Mum (and all other Mother's out there)
Some people aren't fortunate to have mothers. Some lost them when they were young, some didn't have one at all. Others have lost them more recently or have ones who are selfish and unkind.
Luckily I have you.
Mothers are easily taken for granted. When you are a child you think Mums are everything. Your nurse, your teacher, your bank, your cook, your cleaner, your taxi. You literally did everything for me and made it look so effortless.
I can remember so many times when I was ill and you stroked my hair or just to hear the words 'oh my darling' made me feel better. Your chocolate cake was superb, even better when I got to lick the bowl out (no dirty jokes from me at this point) you made every Christmas and birthday memorable, were always available, maternal, caring and nourishing and I consider myself to have nothing but great memories of being a child. Apart from the cleaning.
Then the dreaded teenage years. As a boy you obviously are embarrassed by your mum. Wanting to rebel and do boys things. These are difficult years but you always provided, gave me food, money and love. You ignored the stash of adult mags under my bed and never complained about rizlas in my desk draw.
Obviously having an alcoholic husband/Dad didn't help. Such difficult times that only now, 14 years into recovery and as an adult do I appreciate and understand fully.
You had to raise 2 children single handedly, you had to buy a house, give up on your dreams with your own clothes shop, get a sales job, provide, fight and do it all on your own. Remarkable. You had to be both parents as one.
You never seemed to moan, you never seemed to be down, you never did self pity. You were relentless and always available, interested and strong. What a fucking powerhouse!
I remember you teaching me how to drive. Trying to teach a 17 year old know it all like me anything must have been challenging;
"slow down darling, this is a 40 MPH speed limit."
"I'm going the speed of the road Mum!" ( I was doing 65mph)
Mum's show limitless patience, understanding and compassion when sometimes you must want to throttle your little shits of children.
You provided for me all throughout University, securing a grant for me that I shamefully and ungratefully spent on Colt 45 and Gin. Sorry!
You have been there throughout my adult years. Throughout every relationship (and there have been a few) and you have always been there for the whole family.
You cared for your mum for years. Every Christmas without fail you showed up for Nan. You cared for her until the end. Your sense of right and duty is impeccable. Strong family values that you never give up on.
Everyone who has met you, from my friends, colleagues, comedy club regulars, AA folk and girlfriends all say the same thing;
"Isn't your mum lovely. You're so lucky to have her." I am.
I'm not going to lie at certain points throughout my life I have taken that love and care for granted. But I am lucky. I know that.
Losing a father when a boy is young is hard. You worked so hard to replace that. I think you felt a sense of guilt or shame or remorse so you worked yourself into the ground so it wouldn't have an impact. Well, let me say this. Nothing can replace a father. Nothing can replace that male bond or role model, it wasn't and isn't your job to replace him and you needn't have felt guilty.
You more than made up. You more than did your best. I never went short, I always got what I wanted (apart from a BMX with Whitewall tyres and mushroom grips I had to make do with Halfords - oh wo with me) - We never really noticed and that it is to your eternal credit.
You have done more than your share and continue to do it. If I ever get my act together (I know I'm knocking on a bit at 43 to give you a grandchild) and become half the parent you have been I would have been doing well.
You've had your knocks. You've had your hardships. Cancer, Addiction, alcoholism and mental illness has had a debilitating effect on the family but you still stand strong. A 5ft 5 matriarch. A tower of strength and spirit. A wonderful generous, warm, caring person whom everyone loves. (In fact all of my exes are your friends and regularly call for a chat. They all love you)
You are a Mum's Mum. I've always said you should open up a business called Rentamum.com for people who don't have Mum's or who cant talk openly to theirs. You are always ready to listen and chat. I know I can tell you anything (well somethings I won't of course)
It's only when you become an adult that you realise Mum's are people in their own right. You have your own feelings, dreams, aspirations. Something you just don't realise when young.
Being a Mum or a parent isn't something you learn from a rulebook. Some are good and some not so, but nearly all do their best. I'm just lucky I have a warm, caring and generous one like you.
Yes, I'm not going to lie, sometimes the flashy, charismatic, alcoholic father is headline grabbing as a role model to a young boy. Boy's want to be their Dad/s and daughters their mothers. But as I've got older I have come to realise that most women are stronger than us bullshiter males and behind every man probably lies a greater woman. You have remarkable strengths that you underplay and are somewhat underestimated.
So today is a day dedicated for mothers. But like any day that's become commercialised it's not just about one day is it? It's about every day. To learn and appreciate what has been passed down to me and given to me. To appreciate you.
For new mothers experiencing it for the first time it must be such a joy, for older mother's with grown up children looking at a new generation of grandchildren it must be such a wonderful feeling to sit back, look at the new-born and new mothers, see their excitement and wonder and think, "thank Christ all mine are grown up"
For single mothers out there I salute you. For people who have recently lost their mother's I hug you. For those of you with mothers who are horrors I console you.
All that remains to be said is that I have a wonderful mother. She is kind and considerate, generous with time and money and always interested in you sometimes to the detriment of herself. She would rather see you go with and her without than the other way round.
If you are reading this and need a little motherly love, she goes out at a tenner for a quick phone call, £25 for a Skype session, £50 for Sunday lunch, £75 for a one to one sit down and chat 'with a nice cup of tea and a biscuit', £100 for a graduation, £150 to meet the new in-laws and £200 for a wedding. Bargain i'd say.
You are the best Mum, but then again we all say that to ours don't we? But you really are.
Love you very much and all mothers out there have a marvellous day
Nicholas Edward Evans
Some people aren't fortunate to have mothers. Some lost them when they were young, some didn't have one at all. Others have lost them more recently or have ones who are selfish and unkind.
Luckily I have you.
Mothers are easily taken for granted. When you are a child you think Mums are everything. Your nurse, your teacher, your bank, your cook, your cleaner, your taxi. You literally did everything for me and made it look so effortless.
I can remember so many times when I was ill and you stroked my hair or just to hear the words 'oh my darling' made me feel better. Your chocolate cake was superb, even better when I got to lick the bowl out (no dirty jokes from me at this point) you made every Christmas and birthday memorable, were always available, maternal, caring and nourishing and I consider myself to have nothing but great memories of being a child. Apart from the cleaning.
Then the dreaded teenage years. As a boy you obviously are embarrassed by your mum. Wanting to rebel and do boys things. These are difficult years but you always provided, gave me food, money and love. You ignored the stash of adult mags under my bed and never complained about rizlas in my desk draw.
Obviously having an alcoholic husband/Dad didn't help. Such difficult times that only now, 14 years into recovery and as an adult do I appreciate and understand fully.
You had to raise 2 children single handedly, you had to buy a house, give up on your dreams with your own clothes shop, get a sales job, provide, fight and do it all on your own. Remarkable. You had to be both parents as one.
You never seemed to moan, you never seemed to be down, you never did self pity. You were relentless and always available, interested and strong. What a fucking powerhouse!
I remember you teaching me how to drive. Trying to teach a 17 year old know it all like me anything must have been challenging;
"slow down darling, this is a 40 MPH speed limit."
"I'm going the speed of the road Mum!" ( I was doing 65mph)
Mum's show limitless patience, understanding and compassion when sometimes you must want to throttle your little shits of children.
You provided for me all throughout University, securing a grant for me that I shamefully and ungratefully spent on Colt 45 and Gin. Sorry!
You have been there throughout my adult years. Throughout every relationship (and there have been a few) and you have always been there for the whole family.
You cared for your mum for years. Every Christmas without fail you showed up for Nan. You cared for her until the end. Your sense of right and duty is impeccable. Strong family values that you never give up on.
Everyone who has met you, from my friends, colleagues, comedy club regulars, AA folk and girlfriends all say the same thing;
"Isn't your mum lovely. You're so lucky to have her." I am.
I'm not going to lie at certain points throughout my life I have taken that love and care for granted. But I am lucky. I know that.
Losing a father when a boy is young is hard. You worked so hard to replace that. I think you felt a sense of guilt or shame or remorse so you worked yourself into the ground so it wouldn't have an impact. Well, let me say this. Nothing can replace a father. Nothing can replace that male bond or role model, it wasn't and isn't your job to replace him and you needn't have felt guilty.
You more than made up. You more than did your best. I never went short, I always got what I wanted (apart from a BMX with Whitewall tyres and mushroom grips I had to make do with Halfords - oh wo with me) - We never really noticed and that it is to your eternal credit.
You have done more than your share and continue to do it. If I ever get my act together (I know I'm knocking on a bit at 43 to give you a grandchild) and become half the parent you have been I would have been doing well.
You've had your knocks. You've had your hardships. Cancer, Addiction, alcoholism and mental illness has had a debilitating effect on the family but you still stand strong. A 5ft 5 matriarch. A tower of strength and spirit. A wonderful generous, warm, caring person whom everyone loves. (In fact all of my exes are your friends and regularly call for a chat. They all love you)
You are a Mum's Mum. I've always said you should open up a business called Rentamum.com for people who don't have Mum's or who cant talk openly to theirs. You are always ready to listen and chat. I know I can tell you anything (well somethings I won't of course)
It's only when you become an adult that you realise Mum's are people in their own right. You have your own feelings, dreams, aspirations. Something you just don't realise when young.
Being a Mum or a parent isn't something you learn from a rulebook. Some are good and some not so, but nearly all do their best. I'm just lucky I have a warm, caring and generous one like you.
Yes, I'm not going to lie, sometimes the flashy, charismatic, alcoholic father is headline grabbing as a role model to a young boy. Boy's want to be their Dad/s and daughters their mothers. But as I've got older I have come to realise that most women are stronger than us bullshiter males and behind every man probably lies a greater woman. You have remarkable strengths that you underplay and are somewhat underestimated.
So today is a day dedicated for mothers. But like any day that's become commercialised it's not just about one day is it? It's about every day. To learn and appreciate what has been passed down to me and given to me. To appreciate you.
For new mothers experiencing it for the first time it must be such a joy, for older mother's with grown up children looking at a new generation of grandchildren it must be such a wonderful feeling to sit back, look at the new-born and new mothers, see their excitement and wonder and think, "thank Christ all mine are grown up"
For single mothers out there I salute you. For people who have recently lost their mother's I hug you. For those of you with mothers who are horrors I console you.
All that remains to be said is that I have a wonderful mother. She is kind and considerate, generous with time and money and always interested in you sometimes to the detriment of herself. She would rather see you go with and her without than the other way round.
If you are reading this and need a little motherly love, she goes out at a tenner for a quick phone call, £25 for a Skype session, £50 for Sunday lunch, £75 for a one to one sit down and chat 'with a nice cup of tea and a biscuit', £100 for a graduation, £150 to meet the new in-laws and £200 for a wedding. Bargain i'd say.
You are the best Mum, but then again we all say that to ours don't we? But you really are.
Love you very much and all mothers out there have a marvellous day
Nicholas Edward Evans
Tuesday, March 1, 2016
Day 6 & 7 of The Not So Secret Diary of a Faster aged 43 and 3//4
Big Brother Fasting Diary
I wouldn’t fancy using the colema room after one of them . Christ their colon must be enlarged to the size of Hampshire (Both New andUK
I'm sure Elvis would have loved this place, after years of constipation, though it's a bit humid for a jumpsuit to be fair.
But I have done a whole 7 days fasting. I have slung back an occasional can of pop i'm afraid and smoked like a trooper in times of stress, hunger or boredom (so that's pretty much the whole time) - so i'm not what you would call a textbook subject.
Tomorrow, after my morning duties I can break my fast and eat. They suggest raw food for the 1st day, then some fruit and raw food day 2 and some gently cooked healthy food on day 3. I'm not sure I can wait that long.
One of the girls asked me what I was going to eat 1st, saying the shredded Papaya salad was very good. 'I'm sure it is my lovely' I replied, 'but the Pad Thai is better.'
Fuck raw food i'm tasting Thailand tomorrow and I can't wait. And at least i'll be better than my 1st fast in 2006.
It was my first 7 dayer. and I was starving. Every day opposite the hotel I walked past a shop with a massive clear bag of golden tortilla chips hung outside. I swear to God they became more Golden every day. Like they had been spray painted yellow and glistened in the Sun. Those little cunts teased me all week.
They taunted me. I began to dream of giant tortillas. I saw them everywhere. Then on Day 8 when you could break your fast, I marched straight past all the do gooder healthy bastards eating papaya salad and bought 3 bags. Sitting by the pool I demolished them in about 5 minutes. It was disgusting, I looked like Mr Creosote in Speedos. I couldn't shovel them in quick enough. Like speed eating on fast forward. Crumbs were all over me, down my front, in my Speedos, scattering my lounger. I even found a half eaten one in my arse crack. Still waste not want not!
I was like a an adult baby. Bits of processed friend corn covered me but they were the best tortilla chips I've ever eaten, and I don't even like the sodding things. I wont make the same mistake again.
I'm not even that hungry if I'm honest. It's not as hard as you think and I ran again this morning. Some people have good experiences, others find it hard. I'm somewhere in between.
The hardest thing is your head and the tiredness. Sometimes you get in such a fog and can't think clearly. I left my bankcard in the ATM the other night, forget things all the time and even forgot a large Adams apple is not a good sign in this country. What a fool!
Bring on the last day 8! I will report finally tomorrow.
Nicholas 'Pad Thai, double rice, 4 spring rolls, ribs, pork balls and a side salad please' Evans
Day 6 & 7
I'm such a masochist. I extended my fast to a 7th day. I didn't quite feel that 6 was enough, feeling still somewhat rank and listless, so I followed their suggested guide of 7 days.
I'm such a masochist. I extended my fast to a 7th day. I didn't quite feel that 6 was enough, feeling still somewhat rank and listless, so I followed their suggested guide of 7 days.
I haven't yet reached the end of the Colema hell though, a final 'water flush' is scheduled for 10am, followed by a probiotic injected up your ass. If there is one thing I have learnt this week is that I'm a 'giver' not a 'reciever'. I don't know how you girls and boys do it. That's of course if you do of course. You know what I'm talking about you filthy bastards.
I seem to become frozen with fear and dread so I clench. Tensing the whole of my body and of course sphincter. They tell you to 'relax and release', but i'm about as relaxed as someone on their first night of prison sharing a cell with 'Big Don'. This clench in turn forces the pipe to come out and naturally if mid stream a torent of shit. This is not good as you have to pad around trying desperately to put the tube back in your now un-lubed arse, which hurts. I think girls I now know the hell you go through when your man aims for brown insead of pink. I feel your pain.
I have been working on my clenching over the past couple of days and become rather good at it. Its like anal yoga. Trying to breathe and relax when you're head is saying 'look out, hold tight, incoming, Clench!!' The result means the clench relaxes and the bowels flow.
This means you release more, and lord knows I felt better when the years supply of backed up liver sausage, corned beef, cocktail sausages, haslet, dry roasted peanuts, turkey ham (it's not even real is it just a made up meat) and mechanically separated meatballs were let out of their poisonous cage. "get out you dirty bastards" I snarled.
Serves me right for eating such nonsense in the first place. How little do I love myself or my body to put that shit in it? Something to work on when I get home I think.
It really is a double edged sword. The more you get into the colema's the better you feel. I hate to say but I quite enjoyed them today. I really have turned insane. They say that all of that nasty horrible toxic food waste can be stored into poison and in turn create cancer or other disease. This is designed to literally flush it away. They do not say 'go back to eating this shit' afterwards, but most usually do.
I'm pretty sure you won't miss my daily shit bulletins and will survive without them. I apologise for being so filthy in graphic detail today, I'll spare you the you tube clip.
This morning, there was a fresh arrival of pasty faced,
lifeless, worn out bloated fasters. Some of which were chronically obese
Americans with what suspiciously looked like specially reinforced trainers and
what can only be described as leisure slacks I seem to become frozen with fear and dread so I clench. Tensing the whole of my body and of course sphincter. They tell you to 'relax and release', but i'm about as relaxed as someone on their first night of prison sharing a cell with 'Big Don'. This clench in turn forces the pipe to come out and naturally if mid stream a torent of shit. This is not good as you have to pad around trying desperately to put the tube back in your now un-lubed arse, which hurts. I think girls I now know the hell you go through when your man aims for brown insead of pink. I feel your pain.
I have been working on my clenching over the past couple of days and become rather good at it. Its like anal yoga. Trying to breathe and relax when you're head is saying 'look out, hold tight, incoming, Clench!!' The result means the clench relaxes and the bowels flow.
This means you release more, and lord knows I felt better when the years supply of backed up liver sausage, corned beef, cocktail sausages, haslet, dry roasted peanuts, turkey ham (it's not even real is it just a made up meat) and mechanically separated meatballs were let out of their poisonous cage. "get out you dirty bastards" I snarled.
Serves me right for eating such nonsense in the first place. How little do I love myself or my body to put that shit in it? Something to work on when I get home I think.
It really is a double edged sword. The more you get into the colema's the better you feel. I hate to say but I quite enjoyed them today. I really have turned insane. They say that all of that nasty horrible toxic food waste can be stored into poison and in turn create cancer or other disease. This is designed to literally flush it away. They do not say 'go back to eating this shit' afterwards, but most usually do.
I'm pretty sure you won't miss my daily shit bulletins and will survive without them. I apologise for being so filthy in graphic detail today, I'll spare you the you tube clip.
I wouldn’t fancy using the colema room after one of them . Christ their colon must be enlarged to the size of Hampshire (Both New and
I'm sure Elvis would have loved this place, after years of constipation, though it's a bit humid for a jumpsuit to be fair.
But I have done a whole 7 days fasting. I have slung back an occasional can of pop i'm afraid and smoked like a trooper in times of stress, hunger or boredom (so that's pretty much the whole time) - so i'm not what you would call a textbook subject.
Tomorrow, after my morning duties I can break my fast and eat. They suggest raw food for the 1st day, then some fruit and raw food day 2 and some gently cooked healthy food on day 3. I'm not sure I can wait that long.
One of the girls asked me what I was going to eat 1st, saying the shredded Papaya salad was very good. 'I'm sure it is my lovely' I replied, 'but the Pad Thai is better.'
Fuck raw food i'm tasting Thailand tomorrow and I can't wait. And at least i'll be better than my 1st fast in 2006.
It was my first 7 dayer. and I was starving. Every day opposite the hotel I walked past a shop with a massive clear bag of golden tortilla chips hung outside. I swear to God they became more Golden every day. Like they had been spray painted yellow and glistened in the Sun. Those little cunts teased me all week.
They taunted me. I began to dream of giant tortillas. I saw them everywhere. Then on Day 8 when you could break your fast, I marched straight past all the do gooder healthy bastards eating papaya salad and bought 3 bags. Sitting by the pool I demolished them in about 5 minutes. It was disgusting, I looked like Mr Creosote in Speedos. I couldn't shovel them in quick enough. Like speed eating on fast forward. Crumbs were all over me, down my front, in my Speedos, scattering my lounger. I even found a half eaten one in my arse crack. Still waste not want not!
I was like a an adult baby. Bits of processed friend corn covered me but they were the best tortilla chips I've ever eaten, and I don't even like the sodding things. I wont make the same mistake again.
I'm not even that hungry if I'm honest. It's not as hard as you think and I ran again this morning. Some people have good experiences, others find it hard. I'm somewhere in between.
The hardest thing is your head and the tiredness. Sometimes you get in such a fog and can't think clearly. I left my bankcard in the ATM the other night, forget things all the time and even forgot a large Adams apple is not a good sign in this country. What a fool!
Seriously though I have enjoyed the experience and i'm looking forward to eating healthily and enjoying and appreciating all the flavours and colours of the great food on offer here.
I am blessed and lucky to be able to have the choice not to eat. Some people don't have that luxury in the world. Some people don't have enough.
I am blessed to have the ability, opportunity and means to cook good food and handle it with love and gratitude. I am ashamed to admit I haven't done that. I've taken having it for granted and have been lazy with what I have put into my body. I have even abused it at times. Shameful really.
It's so easy to get into that attitude at home, but out here you have time to think and reflect. But the real deal is when I come home to reality. This fast will mean shit, literally, if I go back to old ways. So today I decided to train to be a personal trainer, do a nutrition qualification and then train in counselling on addicitons and health and wellness.
I think it will help to change me around and in turn help others to. What do you think? A middle aged body coach in Speedos. Think there's a gap in the market? I bloody hope so!
I am blessed and lucky to be able to have the choice not to eat. Some people don't have that luxury in the world. Some people don't have enough.
I am blessed to have the ability, opportunity and means to cook good food and handle it with love and gratitude. I am ashamed to admit I haven't done that. I've taken having it for granted and have been lazy with what I have put into my body. I have even abused it at times. Shameful really.
It's so easy to get into that attitude at home, but out here you have time to think and reflect. But the real deal is when I come home to reality. This fast will mean shit, literally, if I go back to old ways. So today I decided to train to be a personal trainer, do a nutrition qualification and then train in counselling on addicitons and health and wellness.
I think it will help to change me around and in turn help others to. What do you think? A middle aged body coach in Speedos. Think there's a gap in the market? I bloody hope so!
Bring on the last day 8! I will report finally tomorrow.
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