Mans Retreat 2013 - 4 men & a static caravan

I survived the 2nd annual mans retreat. This is my rather dubious account.

History

This was the 2nd Annual Man Retreat  & in all honesty a well earned break for the married ones. What goes on Man Retreat Stays on Man retreat, though in truth sod all really happens, which is just the way the married men want it.

Firstly we need to define what is Mans Retreat? Well at the age of 40 my mates and I are roughly 5 years away from the mid life crisis. Also my pals are now married with young children so their lives are very different than before. They have little in the way of time to read Exchange & Mart on the shitter let alone spend time with their mates. This is the whole concept of mans retreat. To reconnect with other men and read Exchange & Mart on the khazi.

A wider issue is that modern men are losing their identity in the world. Years ago our role was defined yet now it is changing. We are effectively becoming pussy whipped, metro sexual man is taking over. Small beards, exfoliation cream & men that sing like girls on X Factor . Where have all the real men gone? It is a time to go back to the roots, be with other men and generally do fuck all for 2 days in your pants. It follows the same basic code of all other forms of retreat. To reconnect with your core values through the medium of grunts and silences in a hairy, smelly environment. It is not for the faint hearted or hairless.

The ideal place to reconnect is in a confined space. Here a Static caravan is the ideal environment to get back in touch with your masculinity. 12 square foot of beige lined peaceful bliss without a screaming child, nappy, wife or fellow man to please. Man Retreat encourages total freedom, abandon and Scotch Egg crumbs. Leave your Gucci loafers at home boys. Big pants and cardigans are all that is required.

 

To add to the Mike Leigh gritty realism, it has to be in a British seaside town out of season and it has to be personal to one of the members. Men who now have families and kids need to reconnect with their childhood too.

Last year it was Pembrokshire, as I spent lots of time there as a kid. This year it was Brean Sands as one of the members submitted a eulogy to the memories he had as a kid of the 'turd brown sand and romantic views of Barry Island by night. There was only one winner.

So the caravan was booked (3 bedrooms), the party was expanded by one (on trial for the weekend), & we were off to Home Farm Caravan park, Burnham On Sea. A bonus was that it was adults weekend (slightly worried it's an X large suburban swinging retreat) and Roger Decorsey was starring in the club house on Saturday. I'm pretty sure he was only booked as he's the only 70's performer not arrested on Operation Yewtree. It was all set. We were ready. 1 highly sensitive recovering alcoholic (me), a depressive, an anxiety sufferer and a sport addict. Bring it on!! It is where we reconnect as men in 12 square meters of unbridled beige. The healing power of the Static

Friday 15th November - Day 1

The day of the road trip. When you think of a road trip it conjures romantic images of Jack Kerouac On the Road, Alan Ginsberg, the beat poets, Thelma & Louise and endless adventure. We're off to a static caravan in Somerset. Pick the adventure out of that. Fear and loathing in Wookey Hole.

We were to meet at 12pm. I immediately fucked it by scheduling a business meeting and interview. I ended up 90 minutes late. This immediately pissed everyone off. Luckily my post on Facebook in the morning about the married boys being pussy whipped deflected their resentment away from me being late to me being antagonistic towards their partners. This was not a good start. Not only was I Relegated to the back seat of a child locked car rendering me cock less but within 5 minutes I was ganged up by 3 married men for calling them pussy whipped. Not a great start by me.

Married blokes with kids have an unspoken affinity, identification and connection. They have shared experience of marriage, kids and responsibility. Whereas me, a 41 year old commitment-phobe who has never been married, kids, mortgage avoiding any kind of responsibility instead dedicating his life to hedonistic selfish pursuits, did not.

 

The team was clearly unbalanced and in need of someone in the Makele role. (female readers will have no idea of that Football reference - it's basically the Football equivalent of a marriage guidance counsellor or in other words Tramadol)

Finally we got to Man number 4's gaff in Marlow at 3pm after heavy traffic and a slight hint of niggly banter in the air.

At this point we decided to attempt some continuity from the 1st Man Retreat when we got to his house & commented on his kitchen sofa (every one's so middle class in Marlow they have sofa's in their kitchen) last year he worried that it was too small & expensive. We agreed, making his Kitchen area look like a non league football bench. Repetition is a key factor in Man Retreat. I said repetition is a key factor in Mans Retreat etc..

The second point of Man's interest was the newly laid decking. It looked like he'd had half his garden decked. It reminded me of a P&O ferry. I had a moment of clarity. Realising we had indeed reached middle age when we all sat and admired the workmanship. Clearly a man has reached a stage in his life when he discusses decking. It's Impressive & horrifying in equal measures.

A quick group shot was taken with the intention of recording the Man Club Retreat members but all it ended up doing was making us look like four faded members of a 90's Boy Band'. Recreating hits like 'Special Brew', 'I'm getting decking in the morning' and 'where did it all go wrong'. We were ready to roll. (All be it in the middle lane at a safe consistent speed of 70 miles an hour)

The drive

The drive is a key ingredient in the bonding process. Conversation must flag after the initial burst of adrenaline until you all sit in slightly bored silence. This is occasionally broken with random comments about driving skill. One reversing manoeuvre got exceptional respect with a textbook 'arm across the backseat' move. Men were suitably impressed at this forearm action. Solid, dynamic, bold and confident. Nobody likes a nervous driver on Man Retreat. The driver has 3 eagle eyes watching his every move and the pressure is on. Sebastian Vettel would shit himself with such man pressure but our driver confidently munched his way through several scotch eggs, demolished 4 cans of diet coke and kept a stern glare throughout. Not only that but he kept one hand on the gear stick throughout, ready for any quick rally like gear change and on occasions even rested his right arm on the arm rest with his forearm out the window cradling the roof. Textbook stuff.

.

Arrival

The sense of anticipation and sheer relief that you can stretch your creaking 40 year old limbs is electric. You remember when you were a kid going to the seaside on holiday and how excited you got? Well you don't get any of that on Mans Retreat. You're far too jaded and cynical for that silly joyful stuff. Instead you're more excited by stretching your sciatica than the location, however we managed to muster up some modicum of interest when we arrived at the spectacular Home Farm Caravan Park at 6pm.

We were greeted with an odd sprawling mass of towed and static caravans with a huge club house, indoor pool and slight whiff of decay and depression. Think the farm in Dallas meets council estate and you get the picture. It was the Perfect Man Retreat Location. The brochure described rolling fields and wide open spaces. Whereas all that was rolling was tobacco outside the bar and the wide open spaces were clearly the shelves in the barren onsite shop.

Luckily The Static was an upgrade on last year's Tide Rio. This was pure luxury. 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms and a small balcony ( steps to the door) - The interior was a a world of beige. Like stepping into a carpet advert from the 70's. Perfect.

 

The men unpacked & discovered we had 2 towels, 1 small toothpaste and a charger between us. Ray Mears we were not. Clearly we had left it up to each other thinking, 'he's bound to bring.it.' Girls would never ever leave something to chance and it just highlighted how shit us men are at preparation and packing. A rucksack with Lynx, Socks, pants, fleece and Exchange & Mart would suffice.

The strict itinerary allowed us 2 hours of downtime. There were literally tens of things you could do at this Caravan of Fun Park. Either stay in or go to the clubhouse. There was only one winner. Pool at the over large, decaying and empty clubhouse. The ultimate 'winner stays on' male bonding activity. Now the club house was essentially a large darts hall, with 500 seats, long tables, a huge bar and café serving nothing but 'everything and chips'. Thus was Bullseye territory. Not a skinny Machiato in sight.

We aimlessly played pool, the 2 drinkers got stuck into the pints whilst the recovery boys chomped nuts and downed diet coke. The England match came on TV and we were away, Pool and footie, no conversation. Men in comfortable sports induced silence. Perfect.

After it was time for a Man feed. The only thing to eat when you hit the British seaside is of course a dirty Curry. So off we popped to Burnham on Sea, a rather strange small place that only the extremely poor or clinically insane would choose to go on holiday (can't work out which ones we were). The men bonded over Lamb Bhuna and Kingfishers. The recovering alkie tried to drink vicariously through the other two by ordering them pints, brandies and chasers. Old habits die hard. Going for a curry was a bit of a risk. 4 lads, strong curry and a 12 square foot caravan. There would be no escape. The propensity for wind damage huge, A Philippines style storm could well be brewing. Still it's good to take risks on Man Retreat,

The boys got back to the Static at around 11pm, the drinkers went to the club house for last orders whilst the other 2 reclined in their pants at late night movies. Of course this is one thing man Retreat insists on. A shit movie to kick off the weekend.

 

Then we indulged in a 5 hour conversation/debate that turned into an outright argument about several topics most of us cheerfully displayed maximum confidence in knowing about but very little true knowledge. I was the biggest exponent as I passionately argued my case and got more frustrated as I became increasingly irrelevant, tenuous and obtuse.

Still there was no going back now and thus I slipped into what most men will be familiar with. Male pride. Arguing your point long after you know what you were talking about. Your mouth is moving but your brain is saying, 'shut the fuck up'. Your make pride and ego are well in control by now preventing you from backing down and admitting your were talking shit. It also persuaded me the 3 Dads were ganging up on me feeding my sense of persecution even more thus rendering me even more aggressive with my points. At several stages my finger even came out. never a good sign. 

 

My Ego  pursued this pointless charade until 5am, and even when nobody had any will left, it still wanted more. My stupid male pride has no off button when in control of me and it was thirsty. The boy's eyes were shutting and the birds were singing. A textbook exhibition of male pride. The result? Total misery and a teenage strop. Perfect male behavioural patterns I and we know oh so well boys.

The only thing you should be doing at 5am is drugs, sleeping or a milk round. Certainly not arguing about the commercialisation of the mass media as a reason for how the truth isn't exposed and people are idiots for believing what is peddled. My ego thought I knew what I was talking even if nobody else or my true self did.

I'm not going to lie it was an exhausting and intense start to Mans Retreat. A static caravan is no place to indulge in a heavy moral and sociological debate. We should have stuck to 'who's a paedo'. I soon realised at 2am I should shut my mouth but my male egoic pride kept me going until 5am. And I'm supposed to be the one with a 12 step programme!!

 

Day 2 - Sat 16th November

Mans Retreat Saturday

Mans retreat Saturday is the guts of the retreat. The engine room. It has to start off with a lie in. (for the married boys) Especially in your cramped caravan bed with your legs hanging over the end. The night must be interrupted by intermittent waking up due to hypothermia in the freezing conditions. Double socks are a must.

A lie in is essential for fathers on Mans retreat. It is a rare treat and one to be savoured. Not having young children climbing all over you at 6.30am is essential to reclaim your masculinity and get some kip in.  

Training Regime

 

Exercise is important on Mans Retreat. To keep physically fit helps to balance the undoubted eating of shit throughout the weekend. The Married ones with children opt for lie in over a run 9 times out of 10. Married mens training regime is essentially horizontal sleep. I personally opted for a run to the beach, taking in the gorgeous turd brown coast and endless boarded up houses. This place hasn't come out of recession since 1984. I passed 3 mobility scooters, 1 van with BJ's on the side and 2 piles of sick. Welcome to Brean Sands! Now fuck off...

 

The run enabled me to feed my huge resentment at the 3 other boys and contemplate leaving. Such was my intense insanity. I soon calmed down. Had a big pray up on the beach, had a stern word with myself for being such a knob and headed back to hunt and gather provisions for the boys breakfast.  

  

Breakfast

 

Mans retreat only allows fried food. Museli contravenes several rules and results in being suspended. Man is encouraged to go out into the wild (well the local Tesco Express on the way back from my run) and hunt, gather and forage his own food, (put them on his credit card). Eggs, Bacon, Sausage, black pudding & toast the staple ingredients. Man must then cook his own breakfast, reclaiming his Independence in unhealthy fried cooking and then sit in a cramped kitchenette squeezing himself into the caravan's 'social zone' to eat at a table and get yolk over his beard.  Endless tea is drunk eschewing all modern advice to hydrate with water. Mans retreat encourages you to get into double figures by midday.

 

A natural order falls into place. I hunted and gathered the food whilst one of the other men cooked it, another washed up and the 4th member did fuck all. Men working in unison performing team work, albeit for 4 minutes. The bonding had been re-established.  

 

Itinerary

 

It is crucial for Mans Retreat not to have any plans or itinerary throughout the day. The day must include essentially nothing. Pressures and responsibilities of every day life mean that Mans Retreat provides a healing balance to this by asking you to do absolutely nothing apart form drift along the day. Mans retreat encourages sitting around in the cramped caravan after breakfast in your pants, reading papers until one or all of you starts getting on each others tits & annoyed. It is THEN time to go out. Mind you this probably happened last night though of course the other rule of Mans Retreat, Never say how you feel, the truth or express any emotions. Simply repress it and continue to nurture a secret deep rooted resentment for around 40 years.

 

Nature & Reconnect with Childhood

 

Mans Retreat encourages Man to visit places he went in childhood to reconnect with being a youngster and recall positive memories from the past. One of the members visited Brean Sands from the age of 3-15, so it was like a spiritual home coming for him. A special moment was the look of horror on his face though when he realised 'It's more of a shit hole than I remember'. Life always seems so much better when you're a kid, and now as a jaded, tired cynical grown up man it's good to get back in touch with those pure emotions of joy, excitement and fun. It's a chance to stare out to sea, observe the golden coast of Barry Island and say 'who Am I?' 'What am I doing here?' and 'What time is the pub open?"

 

 

 

 

Having said that the fresh air, long drawn out tides, howling wind, turd brown sand and stench of piss as you walked up the alley to get to the beach meant you were filled with their own memories of childhood, waves of nostalgia and nostrils full of stale urine. It was time to leave. Pub

 

 

Afternoon

 

This is simple. Pub. Pints. Sport. Rugby, Football. Pub Quiz. No frills. It does exactly what it says on the tin. No messing. No chat. Simple drinking, sport and trivia knowledge. Classic Manly Pub activity. Not a kids club, Ikea, Home furnishing or shopping centre in sight. Bliss!

 

Diet

 

Diet is crucial on mans retreat. Fruit and vegetables are banned. The average meal must include at least 99% Carbs and heavy saturated fat. Man Retreat rejects nutritionists advice on fresh vegetables, white lean meats and pulses. The only pulse allowed on Man retreat is his own after a heavy afternoon in the pub. Man Retreat doesn't follow Paleo, Atkins, IM, Blood or any other form of diet. The only diet allowed on Man Retreat is the Fat Cunt diet. Cookbook to be published later.

 

This means the only Saturday evening meal of choice is fish and chips. Plus an optional battered sausage and bread roll. This is the ultimate #CarbWank. Where you are effectively putting carb on carb on carb on carb. The only green thing allowed on Mans Retreat is mushy peas or bogie's. It makes no difference they look the same anyway.

 

 

This is of course bolstered by post dinner Scampi fries, bacon fries, Dime Bars, snickers, nuts and crisps. This makes staying in a small confined caravan for a number of hours extremely volatile and smelly. Men's Retreat encourages breaking wind as a means of men letting it all out. It is one of the ethos of Mans retreat. Not to hold anything back and relax. So much so there is often a severe danger of man shitting himself mid gust. One of the members suffered a scare during 'You've Been Framed' luckily it was a false alarm. Only some light skids.

 

Evening

 

The evening is a tricky choice. The natural inclination is to lay around in your pants watching sport, movies & occasionally breaking wind. Luckily Saturday night was entertainment night in the Caravan Park clubhouse, so there was only 1 place to go. I haven't felt that excited about a night out since

 

We arrived at 8.30pm and the place was packed. Rows of tables and heavily tattooed men (and women) dressed to the nines in leisure slacks and comfortable shoes. To be fair some of the women had made an effort, though I'm not sure if they were in fancy dress or not. All the women looked like cleaners and the men like Sunday league football managers. It was an odd mix.

 

The bar was doing a roaring trade, the café churning out chips by the kilo. This was not a place for Gillian Keith.

 

We settled at the pool table (naturally) and resumed our 'winner stays on' bonding exercise. The rugby was playing loudly in the corner and the Northern Mc (why are they always Northern) started the bingo. Yes it really did happen. It is mandatory on a Caravan park to have Bingo. Near enough everyone of the 500 strong crowd played for the top jackpot prize of £60. Gripping stuff.

 

After what seemed like 23 days, they brought on the warm up act for Roger Decorsey. It was by now proper cabaret and they brought the musical turn on. Lady GaGa tribute, complete with silver bikini & glasses. I'm pretty sure she had a meat dress on but it was made from strips of Turkey Ham and Offal from Lidel. Classy it was not.

 

We then introduced a healing factor into Man Retreat. The Fear challenge. The equivalent of walking across hot coals and fire you get to do in self development retreats. It's all about curbing your fear and persuading yourself you can do anything. So what was the Man Retreat equivalent?

 

Dancing of course. Not just any dancing. Sober dancing. Terrifying for the real man who requires at least 8 pints of strong lager just to remove the 20 foot neon flashing 'Twat' sign above his head as he throws down his shapes. The men were challenged to conquer their fears and take to the empty dance floor in front of 500 people and dance sober solo to the Ga Ga tribute. This would help them break free of their fear. Loosen the chains of suppression and allow the Men to tackle life with a new found energy and open mindedness. When asked if they fancied taking this challenge they all replied in unison, "fuck off" and carried on playing pool. Quite ironic really as you give a man strong lager and you can't drag him off the fucking thing. Maybe next year. 

 

To be fair to Ga Ga she could sing and she roused the crowd from their carb loaded slumber. It was at this point the night got weird. " blokes from Wales bounced into the room dressed as gigantic inflatable penises. They danced with Lady Ga Ga whilst slopping their pints everywhere.

 

I looked on at this scene and thought. I've taken every drug there is known to man. I've tripped my face off on strong LSD for days on end. I've drunk my own body weight in hard liqueur, I've attended 12 step meetings for years. I've seen every weird sight known to man, but never ever have I seen a darts crowd rocking to Lady Ga Ga, dressed in Bernard Mathews Turkey Ham, with 2 giant cocks dancing in front of her waiting for Roger Decorsey & Nookie Bear. It was a special moment. One you have to freeze frame and appreciate. This may never happen again in my life.

 

Of course, the boys played on at Pool as if they saw this everyday. I on the other hand couldn't resist;

 

 

Insert joke here (...........)

 

 

 After we settled down from the excitement, Ga Ga did her best to rouse the bored crowd and we took our spaces at the bar to watch the star turn. Roger Decoursey and Nookie Bear. The last time we saw him was on CrackerJack in the 70's and he wasn't funny then. We had high hopes for his blue adults act and clearly everyone was excited to see him.

 

He came on to resounding indifference and proceeded to bomb. He chucked everything at the crowd including some gentle racism and homophobia. It was only when he got Nookie Bear out the crowd went wild and he was on track. I checked to see if Man Retreat were enjoying it but their faces gave it away;

 

 

 Sometimes Men's faces just hide the truth. I bet inside they were pissing themselves. We left 2 minutes after this pic was taken 20 minutes into the act. Any further exposure to this could well have set off suicidal thoughts within the group. Not the aim of Man Retreat.

 

We left to go back to the van where we watched back to back Man films (not the mucky ones you maybe thinking. Nobody likes a jizz soaked Static) and whilst 2 of the members peeled off to bed early (1am) me and another member got into a rather deep discussion.

 

Luckily it wasn't on the scale of the previous evening however we did start to talk about God, spirituality and Higher Power's. A little deep for Man Retreat and a Static caravan. Still it was a fine attempt at informed discussion regularly interrupted by loud trumps of wind. Something you don't see on Question Time. Full marks to us though for carrying on in such adversity.

 

The discussion ended at 3am and we hit the hay. (not together) for a Carb induced kip. It was A long Saturday and thrillingly I didn't annoy, piss or upset anyone off today. Luckily my ego was under control. For now.

 

Sunday 17th November.

 

By now everyone was sick of the sight of each other. 48 hours living on top of each other in a cramped confined space had taken it's toll. Of course the heavy carbs, fried food, lack of sleep, several bottles of Red & feeling of decay within the Park played it's part. It was time to leave.

 

The non pussy whipped married boys had their families to get back to. Me? Well I had a hot date with my girlfriend. Man, how she coped for 2 days without my incessant moaning, annoyance and pretend dancing to crap techno lord only knows.

 

Roll on next year. Who knows we may even push the boat out to a cottage in somewhere even more exotic like Hull. One can only dream.

 

Keep Manning Up Men and look out for a Man Retreat near you. It's genuinely thrilling

 

Nicholas E Evans

xx

 

 

 

 

 

 

EVANS GOES HERBAL - Giving Up Caffeine Is Harder than it Looks - The Friday Blog

Did we all survive Halloween? Is the car and house still standing from trick or treaters?  I loved it as a kid, dressing up, knocking on people's doors. Getting 20p was the holy grail back then, though you usually ended up with manky old penny sweets. Of course for the miserable sods who didn't give you anything a turd through the letter box or a flat tyre was fair game. Now as an adult I really appreciate how much of a nightmare such childish behaviour is. It takes months to eradicate turd stains and smells from the hall carpet. I played it safe & avoided any undue damage to my property by dressing up in a gold lama tracksuit, white wig, big cigar and opened the door by saying 'howzaboutthatthen guys and gals'. Slightly wrong but it did the trick. I am turd free this morning.

It's always been a big deal Halloween, especially for kids. However now the full commercial sales might has taken off it's everywhere. It seems that time is shortening because we are bombarded by advertising messages promoting the next 'big occasion'. We've just been through Halloween, now it is full steam ahead Christmas. Then it will be Valentines Day, Easter, Mothers Day etc. It's almost like the big brands are encouraging us to forget the now & have our mind on the next occasion. It's exhausting. Still I must be grateful for a turd free hallway this morning even if I did receive several complaints from my neighbours for my Fancy dress attire last night.

This is my new Friday slot for my blog. My weekly round up. I will spare you the dull bits this week (There have been many I assure you), but the headline news is that I've given up caffeine. Yep, this little 5 bottles of diet coke & 14 cups of tea-a-day merchant has been caffeine free for 3 days.

Now for a man who has been brought up by Welsh women who insist on drinking at least 4 litres of tea a day it's been quite a big deal. Tea is the fulcrum of this country. Think of any national crisis and it's always 'I'll put the kettle on'. And I'm not talking about that herbal shit either. Nor even the fresh loose leaf style or even poncy vastly overpriced silky Tea-pigs. No, I'm talking old school builders tea. So strong that you could stand your spoon up in it. Drop of milk, 2 sugars. Lovely.

I have been used to guzzling multiple cups a day. Wake up. Cup of tea and a smoke. Tea on the way to work. Tea at my desk. Tea at home, tea after dinner, tea, tea, tea. Since getting sober my tea drinking took on astronomical grounds. I swear to god I smelt of Teltley. I love it. Can't get enough. If you then double up with multiple bottles of diet coke & the occasional red bull then Bingo you're on a roll.

Trouble is of course, the occasional day like this is OK, but doing it day in, day out for 12 years takes it's toll. You can't sleep. You are constantly knackered, so what do you do to get by, you load up on even more caffeine. Insane. it's like the blind leading the blind. But you know what is really insane? I never took Pro Plus or other stimulants as I was of course sober & in recovery and considered that 'using' artificial stimulants. That's proper insane. Totally fooling myself and justifying that my behaviour was Ok because I wasn't popping pills. That's like someone smoking Skunk but not counting it as a drug because it's not Heroin. Madness.

The fact that I was pouring more stimulants into my system than the Jamaican sprint team didn't enter into my head. I was fooling myself that much. So why did I stop this week?

Well other than getting very little sleep for 12 years, huge dark circles under my eyes like Frankenstein, chronic fatigue, dry mouth, feeling constantly hung over, trouble concentrating, irritability, intolerance, negative thinking, rotting teeth & body breaking down no reason really.

How can caffeine do all that? Well I guess in moderation like everything else it is fine. But since when have I ever done moderation? I know how to spell it, it's just doing it I find tricky. If I like something and it feels good then I want as much as I can possibly ingest. Plus of course as humans we fall into repetitive habits. The thought to have something comes and I have it. Constantly. This is where habitual human behaviour meets addictive personality. The result? Well the above list will do for a start.

No it's not Heroin, crack or any of the headline drugs. No I am not over dramatizing this. It's only fucking tea after all for Christs sake Nicholas!!! But trust me addictions can take on many forms, each having their own damage. I still have loads more in my locker I'm not ready to let go of yet.

So this week I've been downing decaf tea (I know, I know it's like non alcoholic lager and a waste of time but I'm doing this in stages OK?) & I've got on the herbal shit. Peppermint & Chamomile.

I  have officially turned into one of those wankers I hated in my early sobriety. And you know what I love it! It's inevitable. I mean, my Egoic me is bound to hate anyone who is healthy, happy and successful because my it doesn't want me to do that.

So for years I've lived in it (and still do a lot) merrily drink 20 cups of sweetener laced tea, smoking 40 fags a day and keep myself feeling shite. Well no more Ego. You can fuck off. I'm on the Peppermint & chamomile. Mmm raspberry & elderflower infusion. Bring it on. Green Leaf Mint Japanese Herbal Garden..You fucking bet. I'll have a pint. I'm a herbal mother fucker now Ego. Tetley's will be fucked. Their profits will fall at least 12% a week as The Evans goes herbal.

The big test of course will come when entering an old school café. I'm not sure the order of "Full English breakfast with grilled tomato, poached free range egg, wheat free toast & a cup of elderflower & thyme infusion tea please luv", will be met with enthusiasm. Still I will build up to that.

However the ultimate will come when I go back to Wales to see Aunt Gwynie. Turning down tea in Llanelli is not only considered rude, unsacred and shocking. I actually think it's illegal too. Unless you've drunk 14 litres of weak tea until your bladder is bursting you've not been sociable. I dread to think the look on her face when I ask for Jasmine infused Green Tea. I actually think it may finish her off. My grandfather Idwell Isaac Evans will be turning in his tea stained Grave at the thought of that one. Mind you I think he died from a burst bladder so fair does.

So after 12 years of massively loading up my system on legal stimulants and abusing my body I've been in absolute bits this week. Withdrawals symptoms have included tiredness, headache, thirsty. back pain, aching legs, depression. All from fucking tea and diet coke!!!!!!!! Holy shit I dread to think what giving up smoking will be like, That may tip me over the edge.

Anyway, have a tip top caffeine, lactose, dairy, wheat, sugar free weekend if indeed you can have any fun without any of that. Still for all you non addicts out there there's always wine, whiskey, sex and song. I'll just stick to the sex and song me thinks. Followed of course by a herbal.

Nicholas E Evans

Courage Needs A Friend Sometimes

Hello readers, how are you doing? It's been a while. Have you missed me? I've certainly missed you. Thank God we're together again.

Your little author has been somewhat lost. That old fearful, worried, self doubting, self deprecating head took over for a bit and wouldn't let go. Apparently it's something called Ego.

Now I've always associated ego with being grand, full of it, almost arrogant. However I recently discovered that's not the case. Firstly it helps to know the definition of Ego. Do you know? Do you think you know? Me too, I thought I did. It's remarkable how often I use words or terminology which is incorrect.

Ego" is a Latin and Greek (ἑγώ) word meaning "I", often used in English to mean the "self", "identity" or other related concepts.

So Ego is actually Me, myself and I. Of course this can apply to people being too full of themselves which can come across as arrogance. But what about when you're in fear? When you're doubting yourself? When your head will not switch off and you are consumed by worry, remorse, self pity & negativity? When your financial worries overtake you. When you feel a failure. When you constantly compare yourself to others and come off second best. 

Well as I've recently discovered this too is Ego. Exactly the same family as arrogance just the other side of the coin. It's essentially being consumed by self. So much so that almost everything else is clouded. Once this process is in place I find it like a juggernaut to stop. I am almost controlled by these emotions, driving me on. The Ego has taken over at this point. All perspective lost.

I'm still lucky enough to function of course. Wake up, go to work, speak to people, live life but it feels like there's a big sheet of glass between you and the world. This is not to be confused with depression. Some do. Depression is an illness and my heart goes out to be people who suffer from it. The thought patterns, brainwaves and body chemistry means people do not have a choice. That's the difference between depression and the Negative ego.

Patterns of thinking and behaviour have been with me since a child. I'm used to a certain way of thinking. Particularly about myself. Lump alcoholism into the mix, which is a form of mental illness  and you have a very powerful mix. Doctors, physicians, counsellors, therapists sometimes don't even spot the difference.

How often are people thrown anti depressants after a tough time mentally. We are one of the biggest abusers in the world. 'Pop a pill and everything will be OK'. Well for some of course medication is necessary and professional advice should be sought. However how many people suffer in silence or use alcohol or drugs or other behavioural patterns to medicate their thinking? I know did and do.

So why am I talking about this now? I've just come through a foggy time myself, It's been a real low time. Money is tight. The company I have been trying to get going is stalling and I'm worried about future income & finding work. I've been wondering what my calling is? What is my purpose? What can I do that I love and be proud of? I've become overwhelmed, fearful, feelings of failure and regretting the past. Wondering how I pissed away all my money, why I didn't climb the property ladder, why I have run away from responsibility, why I am, where I am, who the fuck am I?

See, totally in self isn't it? I dominated me and I didn't care much for what I saw. So what did I do? I avoided of course. I buried myself in old behaviours. I smoked more cigarettes, paced around the (rented) house more, ( see I had to put rented in brackets to show how much of a failure I think I am. That deep rooted self hatred rearing again almost as an impulse) stayed up later, worried more. The more I worried the worse it got. The more I tried to figure out what to do the less the answers came. The more I demanded from God the further away from peace I got. I was a bit fucked if I'm honest, yet nobody would have known. I've got the armour and the mask see.

Some people hate people like that. Instead they have an in built, up and at them attitude. Fight or flight. They get on with it and man do I find that admirable, like they're from another planet. Good on you I think, now how the fuck do I do it?

The point I'm trying to make is that sometimes I smash myself so hard. Smoking, diet coke, tea, caffeine, late nights, marathons, stress, worry that my body breaks down. It's almost like I'm so deeply entrenched in these negative Egoic behavioural patterns that the only way my soul can smash the ego is by smashing my body. Then of course I smash myself mentally. Beat myself up. Give myself too hard a time. This of course is another form of negative ego. Ugly isn't it to hear and read?

Then finally I wake up. When the body starts to break down or you mentally disintegrate I take notice and that process of change becomes a reality. That's where the real fun begins. How the fuck do you change?

Are you following me or have I lost you? Here's an Example for you. My teeth are rotting. They have holes in them. Why? Well basically because for the past 12 years since giving up booze I've been heavily addicted to diet coke (or Heroin as my mate calls it). 4-8 500ML bottles a day from morning to night. Coupled with a load of cigarettes that kept my ego nicely boiling for a good while.

I knew it was bad for me, it made me feel rough, the dentist told me 3 times to stop drinking it, one of my teeth fell out and I told myself most days. "You must stop this". I kept going. On and on until I prayed for the willingness to give up. I couldn't. I knew deep down I didn't want to. It was a habit and addiction.

Then one day 4 weeks ago I guzzled down a delicious chemically modified bottle of dark liquid cancerous diet heroin and thought. 'fuck it no more'. And I stopped there and then. A few cravings but none has passed my lips since then. I viewed it as something I couldn't do without. My prop along with cigarettes and tea. I can do without it. Another example of my Ego telling me lies. The next on the list is the cancer sticks and caffeine.

If I listened to the lies for 12 years on that what about all the other areas of my life? It has been ruling me for 41 years. Fuck me what a realisation.

I know my future has to be like one of those awful clean living bastards I used to hear when I first went to AA. I will have to turn into the person I hated. Fuck me I may even become happy.

The next thing on the list is my mind set. My thinking. So easily I go into negative. I put barriers up. 'It won't happen to me', 'I can't do that'. I'm either jealous of others success or berating myself for wasting time. What is the use of that? Again my Ego is winning. Ruling my thinking and behaviour.

So I spoke to people, reached out for help and of course my head wanted to be cured immediately. I was given some useful tips of what to do. Give up caffeine, chant, meditate, positive affirmations, writing, prayer. All the things my Ego hates with a passion and puts down before trying. So it wins and I remain in pain. I remain locked in self somewhere down there my ego wants. Contemot prior to investigation has been my mantra.

So I'm awakening to change. I have been praying and meditating for 4 days now. I feel lighter. The financial fear lifted this morning and came back this afternoon. I am trying to open myself up to the possibility of the future. The possibility that I may write a book, that I can do creative things. That perhaps I will be magnificent of sorts..

I'm not saying I've cracked it. (I've done 2 cups of tea and smoked 3 cigarettes whilst writing this but at least I didn't look at Shaven Asian 4) Jesus Christ it's like learning to walk or watch the X factor without wanting to kill yourself. I've a long long way to go. Many things to learn. Lots of layers to shed and a battle to get out of Ego and into the world of the soul. Into reality. To Properly step out into life. It's going to be a daily battle but one has to at least try, right?

Someone suggested I named my Ego. To give it a personality so you can talk to it, give it a perspective so you don't live it, be it and become governed by it. So I've called mine Donald. As in Trump. Fuck me, he's the world's biggest knob and exponent of Ego so it's very appropriate. Plus of course when I remember to look down on myself and my ego I can think of Donald Trump's ridiculous hair. That will make me smile and site of that ridiculous nest will take the power from any moments of self seriousness. Learn how to laugh at myself will be one of the biggest gifts of all.

After all, how important are we? Are we just passing through? How much do I really think my little worries impact on the world? is that not being a tad too self important when you miss everything happening in the world because I haven't got a semi detached in Sunbury? Get a grip Nicholas, it's a big old world out there and apparently, here's the shocking truth, it doesn't revolve around me. Hallelujah!! He's finally realised it (for today)

I've been listening to the serenity prayer for 12 years.

God, Grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change
Courage to change the things I can
and the wisdom to know the difference

I never knew what courage was. To fight? To stand your ground? To be a man? Courage can take many forms but one of the greatest is to face up to what you don't like about yourself and try to change. Hard isn't it?

Why are there so many counsellors, drugs, CBT's, self help books, personal development coaches? Some of us try to change but find it so bloody hard on our own. That's why together we are stronger. In unison we can do it. With faith, hope and help it's easier. When we connect we find out we're not the only one who feels this way. We can help each other change. We can do it. We really can.

That's why even courage needs a friend sometimes

Together we are stronger

Nicholas Edward Evans
25th October 2013.

My 1st day as a Movie Extra (and last)

Today was my 1st ever day as a movie extra. I joined a casting agency a few weeks ago with the sole intention of topping up my income. I just had to note down my experience and share it with you.

I'd just like to point out at this stage I have no delusions of grandeur. I am not a wannabe, trained actor or 'In the business'. I am not star struck or so obsessed with movies that I want to be part of them. I am a normal, plain, bog standard raging ego maniac sober alcoholic lunatic trying to start a new business who needs a little extra income to ease the load. I've never watched Ricky Gervais' 'Extras', though I'm told it's superb, so I'm not borrowing any material. This is purely my experience as a Movie Extra.

By means of background and setting the scene the first problem I encountered was my ego. It's out of control. It tells me I'm destined for greatness and displays an enormous amount of arrogance even though my real life facts do not back up this information. It's hilarious to observe, which I do every day. So I entered into the world of Movie extra work armed with nothing more than a 2 second appearance in a Tesco advert last summer and a physical appearance that apparently resembles 'David Beckham's uncle'. As told to me several times on set today (Bit of a blow as he's 38 and I'm only 3 years older, then again he wasn't a raging alcoholic for 15 years & a hard core smoker for 20)

I should have predicted trouble when I registered a few weeks ago. We were told to turn up at 11am somewhere in London and a strange mix of retired folk, young wannabees and trained actors turned up to have their photo taken and get on the books of this well known TV Extra casting agency, or to give it the correct title 'Supporting artiste' Agency.

I did as everyone else and felt thoroughly miserable. That's when the ego started. 'You're better than this shit'. It went into overdrive and I should have predicted the outcome there and then. Still on I went, registered and resulting my 1st job was today.

It was on a movie adaptation of a very successful novel, starring a Hollywood A-Lister (Mr X) - for legal reasons I am unable to name the film or the Hollywood A-Lister. The most I can say is that the novel is superb, very funny, dark, clever. The writer once described most British folk as 'dressed for the track but built for the pub'. Make your own guesses.

Now before I tell about you about the day. It's important to know how this casting agency works. As an Extra, sorry 'Supporting Artiste', you are effectively scum. A peasant. 3 Dimensional meat that moves. You are a walking prop so it's important not to feel too grand, smug or pleased with yourself.

I'm not too familiar with the industry but this company seems pretty full on. You get an email about the job. Then another email confirming if you're available. Then you get a questionnaire asking you to confirm 'Yes or 'No' if you can do the job. The small print states that 'YOU MUST BE FREE FOR THE AGREED DATES'. If you consistently turn down jobs or if you press yes and don't turn up, they operate what they call a 'ONE STRIKE AND YOUR OUT' rule.

They text this to you several times to remind you the week before & then the day before and to make you totally aware they are on your case, they text you the night before to remind you, 'IF YOU DON'T TURN UP WE WILL TAKE YOUR KIDNEYS, YOUR KIDS, YOUR HOME & SET LIAM NEESON ON YOU WHO WILL FIND YOU, TAKE YOU & KILL YOU'. As I said they are a harsh outfit.

They make you know in no uncertain terms you are movie scum and lucky to even have a sniff of waiting around bored shit less on a set all day for £100.

It was a 7am call on set at a grand old London location, an hour's drive from my home. I woke at 5am, was on the road at 6 and arrived at the venue at the right time. I thought of bailing and going home (or to work) several times but somehow kept going. All the time my ego was saying 'I bet Mr X Hollywood A-Lister doesn't have to fucking drive in does he?'. The Ego had started early, actually before I got up, as it was now comparing a 41 year old sales manager and part time MC/comedian to a Hollywood A-Lister. Good work Ego. It was clearly going to have a field day today.

I reached the meeting point at the catering trucks in one of the car parks and waited around with about 100 other people trying not to get in my car and head home. People were greeting each other like long lost friends (these as I later learnt were the professional extras who all do the same jobs) or standing around looking lost and lonely (me) or running around looking stressed (crew)

We were herded like Sheep into mini buses and taken to the set. It was on the mini bus that I experienced my 1st professional extra. It was an old boy who clearly knew the score and took great delight in telling me what films he had worked on, the actors he had met and a lovely tale about how he bumped into 'Rupert' (I'm thinking Everett not The Bear) in Covent Garden yesterday. He dropped in loads of slang when mentioning film. At one point he said so and so was an expert at DP. I stirred at this point as DP in my language is porn for Double Penetration. I was saddened to hear he was talking about Digital Photographer. He was a Movie Extra bore who borrowed other people's talent as his own and had been doing it so long had woven his life into being 'in the business', even though he was as much on the fringes as Norfolk is to Britain. He was effectively the human equivalent of Norwich.

Then it was straight into the glamour & excitement of being on a movie set. Plastic chairs, long tables, freezing cold and Waiting, lots of waiting, waiting and more waiting. All the Extras were herded into their pen (we had a separate area) but my hopes were raised at registration when they put me down as a 'featured part'. A named part where I would wear a costume, have different direction, maybe a speaking part and more money. Yes!!!! An upgrade to a bigger part, recognition and an invite into Mr X Hollywood A-Lister's inner circle. I'd be snorting coke from a hookers arse and playing cards with the jet set before dusk. I had made it. Something every Extra holds out in hope. To get spotted. To be hand picked and catapulted into Super Stardom

A quick trip to wardrobe department put a kibosh to all that when they looked at my name and said, "We've already got 3 of you in the featured part. There's been a mistake. Go back over there with the 'Supporting artistes'. Nuts my moment of glory shot down. It was back to the plankton and mass of nomad Extras. I was a nobody once again. My ego laughed. Get back to your pen.

It's a blow to the ego when you realise the chemical toilet is actually more important than you on set. You simply don't matter. Extras are lower than catering. You have to know your place and there's only one thing worse than an extra. An Extra who thinks they're above everyone and deserve a role in the movie. That's exactly where my ego sits. Harsh.

We were lined up and I was picked to partner a very glamorous woman as my date in the crowd scene of a glam darts match from the 80's. We were placed on a side table and told to cheer when the darts caller (delivered not as well as I would have) shouted 180!!! Our table wasn't even in shot so we all faked enthusiasm and I called on all of my 6th form drama lessons and threw false beer in the air and clenched my fist as a pretend darts player pretended to throw darts into a board at a pretend darts tournament with a pretend darts caller calling out 180 which didn't really happen (he got 45) to a bunch of people pretending to look interested and pretending to cheer. It was an odd start to the day,

They fucked around with our positions. 5 people were taken from our table and put closer to the action. The runner or 5th hand to the director twice removed (Essentially the equivalent of Princess Beatrice of importance) shouted over our table to someone who looked slightly more important and said "Don't worry about this table. These are Overspill"

Great. Demoted from the lowest possible position on set (Extra) to something lower, termed as 'overspill'. We didn't quite know what it meant but I figure it was the film set equivalent of Nick Clegg. We had hit rock bottom. To be fair to my Ego. It laughed hard at Overspill and managed to take it in good humour. Cracking jokes to anyone who would listen and received vacant looks. It made me laugh though.

The morning passed with exceptional dullness at this charade. 100's of people seemed to be employed as crew. Most holding ear pieces and running around like they were on The Cube. I'm not in the business so I don't know all the correct positions on set. But from what I could tell. The main dude was the Director (Dude 1). He had another dude (Dude 2) who shouted at everyone telling them what to do all the time. Then when Dude 2 stopped shouting, Dude 3 would come in and check the shot. This would then involve a team of Dudes (4,5 and 6) to debate the scene forcing a load of other technical Dudes to redo everything and shoot it again. My favourite was 'White board dude' and 'track' dude. Their job was solely to hold stuff up or lay down track.

Then you had the actors. These were looked after by make up and a team of lighting and other 'dudes' who gave them direction, encouragement and tea. Within these actors we of course observed Mr X, Hollywood A-Lister. THE DUDE, who remained stoically still, vague and slightly above everyone else throughout. However it was comforting to see the star of the film also looking like he wanted to end his own life after 3 hours of the same scene. We were not alone.

We broke for lunch. Crew and cast had a great spread, 5 choices of lunch, salads, meats, cheeses, tea, coffee and their own catering area. We had a take away catering truck which looked like a Kebab van from the 80's. I didn't fancy any of the shit unhealthy food on offer for us Plankton and helped myself to the only healthy thing on set from the Crews spread. A bit of salad and Mackerel.

This is when one of the White board holder upper spotted me and the following conversation took place; I've renamed him Mackerel Wanker

Mackerel Wanker - '"Oi that's for crew that is - your truck is outside"
Me - "There's no food left "
Mackerel Wanker - "That's not my problem put it down"
Me - "Calm down mate it's only a bit of fish"

I anticipated a stand off over the mackerel. I was actually munching on it and tensed, ready for him to try and grab it out of my mouth. Maybe this bit will get written into the film. Me and the Mackerel Wanker fight scene. Mackerel wanker standing for all those self style jobs Worth's who think they are better than who they are and only feel good about themselves by putting others down.

In the end nothing happened. he carried on being overtly sexist to the catering girls and I retreated back to the Supporting Artiste Pen. perhaps they should have given us a cage and just thrown in food at feeding time.

In the afternoon we shot the scene again this time from a different angle and this is where me and my new mate. Matthew the Punk & I hit the big time. The table next to us was one away from Mr X Hollywood A-Lister, in the back ground. Dude 1 brutally removed all the ugly fat girls from the table and replaced them with stunners. A simple 'can you lot stand over there and these girls stand in your place' was used. It was brutal and quick. There was no room for molly coddling on this set. He may aswell have said. 'Can all the Ugly ones please move to the side and let the better looking ones into the background shot please'.

We marvelled at the brutality and acceptance of this cull. We noted the remaining blokes just didn't match the newly brought in tottie. They were more Kwik Fit advert and punching well above their weight. Then Dude 2 (Sergeant major) shouted 'Can those two guys in the back come and replace these two here'. We looked behind us but he was talking to us. 'YESSSSSS. We had been upgraded from overspill to the big time. One table away from Hollywood. We were in the big time here. Prime location in the background of the camera shot straight at Mr X. A luxury upgrade

Fuck you overspill. No longer would I have to bore my future grandchildren and replay them the scene and say 'can you see me? Look at Mr X, then behind him. The bloke behind him, Well if you look past him you can see Grandad's right ear. That's me. Overspill"

No instead I will be able to show my future off spring (I know that's a projection as I'm not even married yet) the scene and Grandad will be there. Right behind a Hollywood A-Lister. Fucking Yes. The big time. That's got to be worth at least another tenner on my Extra contract. One table away. I could almost smell the glue on his wig. It was exhilarating.

I have to say I found the whole acting a silent exciting conversation difficult. Especially when my alter ego was shouting 'prick!!!!' in my ear. The self consciousness of a self centred fear based alcoholic ego maniac can be overwhelming at times.

I had to mime a conversation with a girl opposite me. I can't lip read & couldn't make out what she was mouthing to me so I had an awful moment of self consciousness, panicked & mouthed back the first thing that came into my mind. Unfortunately it was the word that is on my Fridge from Fridge scrabble which I looked at this morning before I left. The word was 'CockSpill'. My mind must have made the connection from 'Overspill'. The poor girl clearly lip read and instead of looking like she was enjoying herself, she looked like she'd been told her Family had been killed. It was a look of genuine shock. Or was it confused? Perhaps even appalled? I really hope that makes it in. She didn't really look at me again. Mind you I don't blame here. If any stranger mouthed the word 'Cockspill' to me I reckon I would throw them a swerve too. Maybe acting's not for me?

We were excused again. Then recalled. Unfortunately Matthew the Punk and I were relegated back to our original positions. The heady heights of Hollywood greatness were taken from us. Back to overspill. We had our day in the sun. The big time was so fleeting but we will always be left with our memories.

We were out of shot. Out of luck and out of energy. It rolled on and on with all the Dudes fussing endlessly. At one point I asked my table 'Is anyone else losing the will to live?' but was met with blank looks. Just me then. What's wrong with these people? Are they actually enjoying this? Luckily a couple of girls who had been dolled up all day agreed with me, making me feel better. Solidarity.

My mind was gone by now. I had had enough. 12 hours on set. Very little sleep. Tired. Bored. Grumpy. It was interesting to observe the more tired I got, the more my Ego shifted from ironic sardonic detached humour into downright hostility, shouting 'You should be in this fucking movie' on constant loop. Hate it when that happens as it takes over and I become a genuine miserable horrible bastard.

Did anyone else have this inner monologue? Did the 150 other extras go through such mental torture? I figured it was the alcoholic ego so I told it fuck off and everything was cool again. After all I actually chose to do this. My bad. Not theirs. Always easier to apportion blame elsewhere isn't it Nicholas?

We finally finished at around 7pm. As the professional Extra reminded me, "That's a wrap" (cheers for that cock head) and we were treated to a 45 minute queue to get our days timesheets filled in. The final humiliation. Mr X, Hollywood A-Lister was half way to Park Royal Travelodge by now sniffing coke from 4 hookers arses in his Blacked out Bentley. Instead we had to Queue like Teenagers waiting to French kiss Angela Eagling before we could even begin to fight our way home through the traffic.

The final nail in the coffin was being reminded we had agreed to a 2 day job and we were to be on set in exactly the same clothing as yesterday at 6am tomorrow. Fuck me!!! 3 hours kip and another 12 hours of hanging around as Cockspill for £100. Desperate.

I considered not going but the agency will just take my Kidney's and kill my family so I guess I should turn up. Plus the lovely woman I was paired with through out the day (Lead singer of Bony M as It turned out) taught me an invaluable lesson. 'If you make a commitment you stick to it no matter what'. Good advice I think I should heed. So I guess despite everything I did actually learn something today. It was worthwhile, plus I got a good blog material out of it.

Lets hope that Mr X will invite me into the inner circle tomorrow. If I was a betting man I would say this won't happen. Nor will I get upgraded to supporting actor. Nor will that poor young actress stand opposite 'Cockspill' guy. But I'd be well happy to wager that it will be my last experience of being an Movie Extra. The Nick Evans is better than that. I'm going to college to learn how to hold a white board. Even Mackerel Wanker was better paid than me today and he got a better lunch.

Never Again

The Nick Evans

PS - Yes I did go back and no I didn't get upgraded. All day as overspill. Serves me right right huh Ego?

xx

An Unfashionable Fashionable Holiday in the UK

When I think of holidays, I've become used to thinking of golden beaches, tropical scenes, long haul flights. Generally I think of abroad. We all think of different things when it comes to holidays, that's just the 1st thing that comes to my mind. What do you think of?

 

What is a holiday though? It's an escape right? A get away from every day life and all the stresses and strains we accumulate. It's a mental and physical break from our routine that's supposed to refresh & and bring a spring to our step. God knows I needed it.

 

Faced with the prospect of a long winter, with my mind busy from ideas, projects & must to do lists I was feeling slightly burnt out. I needed a break. Information overload. Emails, Texts, Whats App, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Blogs, Apps, work, life, congestion charge. No wonder we get frazzled.

 

So where to go? A week in the sun? North Africa? Turkey? I heard there are some amazing deals in Egypt this time of year if you don't mind the occasional Civil War riots.

 

In the end a new fiscal reality in my life (trying to start a new business) meant that it was holiday on a budget. A simple affair. Easy, affordable and one preferably to take an adorable 5 year old British Bulldog & a new girlfriend (not necessarily adorable in that order) . I knew just the place. It had to be the UK.

 

It's become fashionable again to holiday in the UK. The recession has forced many of us to reconsider. We live here and sometimes you forget just what it is that's so great about your own country. What makes people from abroad travel half way round the world to come & visit. Sometimes it's easy to take for granted what's on your own doorstep.

 

It's certainly become more difficult to find unspoilt and natural places in the UK to go to. Invariably the best spots have become 'Bankified' - where people with money have bought holiday homes and pushed up the price. Parts of Cornwall, Devon, Norfolk, Kent & Wales have become trendy DFL zones (Down From London) - but that's just part of modern society. No dramas.

 

The price is also quite an issue in some places. UK is expensive. Cottages, holiday lets, guest houses. Even static caravans are pretty pricey in high season. You have to shop around to get a good deal - hence why camping has made a welcome return to the UK's holiday psyche. Getting back to our roots as a nation is a good thing in my book. Anyway I digress there, those bits where I verge onto social commentary are always a little boring aren't they? Still It makes me feel better.

 

Anyway - back to where to go. As a kid, because I was born in Llanelli I used to be delivered to my Nan's for a month in the school holiday. I loved it. Truly exciting for an 10 year old, going on the train from London with a summer special copy of Roy of the Rovers to spend a month by the sea.

 

Llanelli is a town. An old working class industrial port so it's not a tourist place. More headquarters for Disability Living Allowance & Mobility scooters these days although it's not without it's beauty. The Welsh coastline is stunning and Llanelli Beach I consider my spiritual home.

 

 

 

As a kid we used to be taken to Pembrokshire to stay at my Uncle's caravan. Wisemans Bridge, Saundersfoot and Tenby were magical, sweeping bays and beaches of unspoilt and gorgeous coastline with golden beaches, rockpools, slot machines and endless days of fun and adventure. It left a positive stain on my brain of good times and I knew it was the place to go for a week to clear the brain, enjoy some stunning coastline and get some space and perspective to my cluttered mind.

 

If in doubt always return to your spiritual home and nourish the soul.

 

Rhod Gilbert did a big advertising campaign for Visit Wales but I didn't need his ugly mush to know where to go. Pembrokshire coastline for me boyo. South Wales here we come. Tenby all the way.

 

A quick scoot on Google and a midweek break in a cottage was found just outside Tenby. Dog friendly and right on the beach. Cheap break as the kids are back at school and we were away. A week's holiday in the Pembrokshire Coastline - as my Nan would say, therewearethen.

 

This is my 3rd day and I'm loving it. The cottage is cool, the place is adorable. I can see the sea and the coastline is stunning. Bentley the bulldog keeps smiling and we're all very happy. I can feel the layers of London stress shedding from my soul. I like it.

 

Yesterday was our first full day. Here is a brief outline of what happens on a British Holiday;

 

Up at 9ish, dog on a lead and walk out to Lydstep beach. I have never been here. It is small, cute and desperately stunning. A small cove in the Pembrokshire coastline and it is beautiful.

 

 

Not a bad start to the day/holiday. You can feel the space and open expanse start to melt your stress. How can you be worried, fearful or stressed when you are confronted with these views? The dog loved it and it gave us a perfect opportunity to capture one of those cute dog shots that everyone loves. Here's our attempt;

 

 

Next it was time for a run whilst my girlfriend hit the gym. I went out on the coastal path to do my favourite thing in the whole world. Run across cliffs and deserted coves and bays. I find it thrilling, exhilarating, beautiful, peaceful and so so pleasing. I'm at my happiest doing this. Hundreds of feet drops to deserted coves. You pass a few dog walkers, ramblers and retired locals all doing the same thing - looking out to sea looking at the expanse. You feel a kinship and shared appreciation of mother nature. It is stunning and I love it.

 

I did a good hour's run/walk/look along the coastal path which was enough to charge my spiritual tank and it's back to the cottage for a lazy breakfast.

 

Next it's time to go into Tenby for a few errands and mooch about. The Bulldog is of course kept in tow. He's like a celebrity. People stopping everywhere to pat him, touch him, pose for photos. I wish I got that much attention but even I'm not that sick that I get jealous of a bulldog. He's a proper beauty.

 

Tenby is a strange place. The real Welsh don't call it Wales. It's a cute little fishing village that has become a trendy fashionable tourist destination. It's pricey and full of tourists (like me) but it's stunning and pleasing on the eye. Mind you it's still South Wales though so it has it's smattering of exceptionally funny characters (who of course don't realise how funny they are) and we met a few during our stay.

 

As soon as we parked in the £5 car park. We met Dave and Ron. Dave was an old welsh boy in shorts minding the car park and his mate Ron was a northerner carrying an Onion. When we remarked it looked like he was going to take a bite. He informed us, he was just off upstairs to have a meat and Raw onion sandwich.

 

"What meat Ron?" I asked

"I've got corned beef, Ham and tongue. Put it with a bit of raw onion. Lovely"

Sounds Interesting - we remarked. He became almost evangelical on the pluses of raw onion at our interest.

"I just love raw onion, it's so nice. Especially with apple. Give me an apple, onion and knife and i'm happy"

 

See - you don't get kind of character in St Lucia do you? We wished him and his meat & Onion sandwich well and moved on.

 

Within 5 minutes we had seen 3 mobility scooters. As regular readers will know I am from South Wales and South Wales is the home of the mobility scooter. We spotted one spare outside a local working mens club and couldn't resist the classic holiday shot;

 

 

 

Next it was into the small centre where all the shops are. Here I met 29 old girls on a day trip out from Swansea. They all commented on the dog and when I said he likes his tummy tickled just like his owner - I had a choir of 29 old welsh girls going ''OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH, naughty". Very funny. We had a nice chat and I learnt they were from an OAP's home and it was their 3rd day trip this year and they had been around town on a horse & carriage, had a pub lunch and were now heading to the beach. Typical Welsh women - they would have talked for hours. That's the other thing about here - people are so very chatty, friendly and happy. It's weird coming from London and takes some getting used to, being open and happy and communicative.

 

Bentley the Bulldog had a photo for an American tourist (should I have charged?) then we went shopping in my favourite shop in the world.

 

 

Everything for a pound + VAT. I love it and it always makes me smile. That's how switched on for the tourists they are here.

 

Next we had a cup of tea on the windswept harbour. Shivering into our steaming mugs as the wind whipped through our insufficient clothing. We laughed how lightweight us Down From Londoners are at such fresh September weather as locals walked their dogs in board shorts and t-shirts. I so need to toughen up. My Grandfather, a former steeplejack would not approve.

 

We hit the beach as the sun came out and Bentley had his first chance to gallop (if indeed a short stumpy bulldog can gallop) on the sand and swim in the sea. This is one of life's pure comedy moments. Bulldogs cannot swim and seeing him attempt to surf was genuinely comedy gold. Still he's better than me so I shouldn't take the piss.

 

It was a joy to see my girlfriend struck by the awesome beauty of the beach and coastline. The sun shone, the cloud formation was awesome, the tide was out and Tenby really came out in it's full splendour. It was breath taking in it's beauty and confirmed why Pembrokshire is one of the most stunning places in the world for me

 

 

We settled against the cliff, laying on the sand with the sun warming our faces. No words were needed. No Facebook updates or tweets required. We sat, we relaxed. We appreciated. It was one of those moments you treasure. Pure holiday gold

 

 

We found a beachside café, ate some seafood, the dog got more attention and then we drove along the coast to some more deserted bays. Parking alongside old couples staring out to sea, appreciating the beauty. catching a glimpse of our future in the rear view mirror.

 

And then it was home. Back to the cottage. Exhausted but content. Peaceful and happy. My girlfriend so tired, she's a London town girl and commented she'd had 'too much fresh air' - why she was so tired which is a phrase I adore. Very funny, so odd, yet so strangely true.

 

It was early to bed. Both sleeping early. Peacefully. Happy. A perfect day.

 

It's Not very rock and roll. Not very headline grabbing. Not the kind of holiday day I would have imagined a little while a go. But you know what? You don't need 5 star hotels. Grand gestures. Over the top activities. You don't need tropical climbs. You don't need to spend £10k to get those post card moments. We got that for free today on Tenby beach. On Pembroke coastline.

 

We got that peace. That joy, that contentment. The sun on our face with our backs against a cliff with the view of the coast. Such space, such expanse. You could almost feel that pressure valve, that knot, that ball of stress in your head letting go. Easing off. Calming down. You can feel the air. hear the gulls, the bells on the boats. the wind whistling against the cliff.

 

It was a beautiful day. A real day. A holiday. Right here in the UK. And that ladies & gentlemen is real life that I so often miss. I'm pleased to have seen it yesterday

 

The Nick Evans

Tenby

Weds 11th September 2013