A couple of days ago, I spent time going through all of the direct debits and standing orders I no longer needed or rated.
For years I had systematically joined a host of institutions and societies which I thought gave me some sort of 'respectability'.
I stopped going to meetings back in August and in some cases downgraded membership to a 'country' status.
Most of them were useless and amounted to at least a third of outgoings where I saw no return. Sure, they sent journals or magazines through my door, but ultimately, what did I have to show for it? Nothing.
Ultimately as I have found out too late, self respect and happiness is all that matters. You can have all the memberships in the world, but if your alone and miserable, they're less than worthless.
So out went the spaghetti alphabet of nonsense, except for the Royal Geographical Society. Of all, the RGS may now be useful.
We will see.
For more information on the Royal Geographical Society (CLICK HERE)
This article is duplicated on the new Gullbad Nogbee platform:
HERE where you can better follow my adventures.
Wednesday, 27 January 2010
Shiiin, Jet Stream, White earphones and moustachioed Dan
On 15 January I went to see Shiiin, Jet Stream, White earphones; an art exhibition of work by my old pal (See: LINK HERE).
It was a great do and a bunch of other pals from a past life were there too.
It's rare to see Damien and so the fact that I saw him alongside a whole load of joint friends and his Dad (who is a great man to talk to) was a real pleasure.
I also caught up with Dan, a moustachioed dude I remember from Bromley, he now works for a magazine.
We chatted about our different positions and it was Dan who suggested I write a blog of my adventures. "Everyone loves the idea of just walking away!", Dan shouted over the din.
He went on, "Of course! Everyone wants to give their dog to a neighbour and go abroad. And if they can't actually do it, they like to read about people who do!".
Dan encouraged me to get in touch with magazines and explore who might be interested in taking written work on spec with the blog as a background for people to follow.
So thanks to Dan, 'we are where we are' (as JW used to say).
This article is duplicated on the new Gullbad Nogbee platform:
HERE where you can better follow my adventures.
It was a great do and a bunch of other pals from a past life were there too.
It's rare to see Damien and so the fact that I saw him alongside a whole load of joint friends and his Dad (who is a great man to talk to) was a real pleasure.
I also caught up with Dan, a moustachioed dude I remember from Bromley, he now works for a magazine.
We chatted about our different positions and it was Dan who suggested I write a blog of my adventures. "Everyone loves the idea of just walking away!", Dan shouted over the din.
He went on, "Of course! Everyone wants to give their dog to a neighbour and go abroad. And if they can't actually do it, they like to read about people who do!".
Dan encouraged me to get in touch with magazines and explore who might be interested in taking written work on spec with the blog as a background for people to follow.
So thanks to Dan, 'we are where we are' (as JW used to say).
This article is duplicated on the new Gullbad Nogbee platform:
HERE where you can better follow my adventures.
Trust the gut
After the New Year madness in the Clyde, I drove down South, dogless and keen to know whether fate would give me reason to stick around or not.
I arrived home and checked my post and emails - no documents.
I sent an email from my iPhone to my contact explaining the frustration of needing documents I had been instrumental in writing and not receiving them. I explained that if I did not receive them over the course of the week, I would walk away. The feeling itself was quite liberating.
On the Tuesday I had a response. The documents would not be with me. As I suspected.
I emailed my old bosses and explained my position. I reflected on the situation and can see that maybe more space and time is needed by the incumbent management to update the existing documents in order that they have 'ownership'. I confirmed that I was happy to walk away for a year when I would check back in to see if they needed any help then.
This caused some small amount of resentment from the incumbent, but as adults we explained our different positions to each other and I hope parted with mutual respect.
This article is duplicated on the new Gullbad Nogbee platform:
HERE where you can better follow my adventures.
I arrived home and checked my post and emails - no documents.
I sent an email from my iPhone to my contact explaining the frustration of needing documents I had been instrumental in writing and not receiving them. I explained that if I did not receive them over the course of the week, I would walk away. The feeling itself was quite liberating.
On the Tuesday I had a response. The documents would not be with me. As I suspected.
I emailed my old bosses and explained my position. I reflected on the situation and can see that maybe more space and time is needed by the incumbent management to update the existing documents in order that they have 'ownership'. I confirmed that I was happy to walk away for a year when I would check back in to see if they needed any help then.
This caused some small amount of resentment from the incumbent, but as adults we explained our different positions to each other and I hope parted with mutual respect.
This article is duplicated on the new Gullbad Nogbee platform:
HERE where you can better follow my adventures.
Monday, 25 January 2010
New Year and Snakes Blood Soup
I have never seen in the New Year in Scotland. I have been there for the period between Christmas and New Year lots of times, but generally drove back down for the night itself to be spent in Calais Gate with chums.
Last year was spent in with the lost love. So soon after Dad going, it was not really a happy occasion. In fact I recall I went to bed early despite there being an Elton concert televised.
This time my sister telephoned me in early December. She said that a charity swim was being organised at Inellan down the road from where she lives. She asked "would I join in?"
"Of course!", without thinking, I confirmed that I would do it.
As the weeks went by and the day approached I became a little hesitant. As I drove from home to Scotland through the snow I watched the outside temperature fall from a balmy 0°C to -6°C.
The days wore on and my trepidation increased. As I have explained before, 2nd Christmas was great, but between Christmas and the dip, only time. Even that's not entirely true, since we went for walks, and played Lego so diversionary activities were plentiful.
My sister confirmed a few days before that Old Years Night (as our Nan calls it) would be spent at a dance organized by a local dairy farm in the Toward community hall. It turned out to be great and ranked as highly by me as a barn dance wedding I once attended near Brighton. The best ever wedding of a friend I have ever been to, but that's another story.
The New Year dance was great. A bloke with a synth and a mic, sang a range of songs including some traditional Scottish dances (which is always a good laugh so long as you can follow the people in front) including 'stripping the willow, the dashing something and something else'. It was a real laugh.
New Year came, balloons fell from the ceiling, my sister and brother in law danced.
2010 was here! Hoorah! Gone was the back-end of the worst period in my life.
Then came morning.
For Christmas my sister had bought me a "Keep calm and carry on" t-shirt and we decided to wear the same as a uniform. I had found my sun hat from a few years ago and we both had blue shorts on.
It should at this point be explained that we knew a few people who had borrowed wet suits for the dip, but for some reason, we decided that if you are going to swim in the freezing cold, you might as well do it. "Wet suits are for wimps", we chanted!!
The support crew (brother in law and nephew) were both carrying the cameras and 'snakes blood soup' (which tasted remarkably like tomato?) was poured into the Thermos flask.
My sister and I ran next door to gather some more troops (successfully getting swimming agreement from two with the rest of the family in support - G looked particularly fragile but was in fine spirits).
Then the time came. A hundred or so strangers lined the beach at Inellan and a few other people were in fancy dress with wings like 'arctic fairies' ready to take the plunge. In all I estimate that 25, or so, of us were there for the swim.
Having duly signed the obligatory health and safety disclaimer and paid our £5.00 entry fee, a wonderful fancy statue of liberty started the countdown.
We were off.
My sister and I had already agreed to swim further out than any others and that swimming was not confirmed unless total immersion had been achieved.
I was proud to say that my sun hat floated at least twice straight from my bobbing head.
We gained our footing and both stood up. Shaking hands to the sounds of shrieks and screams of the natives running for the shore we calmly chatted for a bit and agreed to go in again one more time. This time it hurt!
We got out and waded in as controlled a fashion as we could into shore.
Warmed by towel and snakes blood soup, a shot of whiskey was passed to each of the swimmers by the organisers.
We all congratulated each other and having got dressed, proceeded to get back into the car and return home, triumphant!
This article is duplicated on the new Gullbad Nogbee platform:
HERE where you can better follow my adventures.
Last year was spent in with the lost love. So soon after Dad going, it was not really a happy occasion. In fact I recall I went to bed early despite there being an Elton concert televised.
This time my sister telephoned me in early December. She said that a charity swim was being organised at Inellan down the road from where she lives. She asked "would I join in?"
"Of course!", without thinking, I confirmed that I would do it.
As the weeks went by and the day approached I became a little hesitant. As I drove from home to Scotland through the snow I watched the outside temperature fall from a balmy 0°C to -6°C.
The days wore on and my trepidation increased. As I have explained before, 2nd Christmas was great, but between Christmas and the dip, only time. Even that's not entirely true, since we went for walks, and played Lego so diversionary activities were plentiful.
My sister confirmed a few days before that Old Years Night (as our Nan calls it) would be spent at a dance organized by a local dairy farm in the Toward community hall. It turned out to be great and ranked as highly by me as a barn dance wedding I once attended near Brighton. The best ever wedding of a friend I have ever been to, but that's another story.
The New Year dance was great. A bloke with a synth and a mic, sang a range of songs including some traditional Scottish dances (which is always a good laugh so long as you can follow the people in front) including 'stripping the willow, the dashing something and something else'. It was a real laugh.
New Year came, balloons fell from the ceiling, my sister and brother in law danced.
2010 was here! Hoorah! Gone was the back-end of the worst period in my life.
Then came morning.
For Christmas my sister had bought me a "Keep calm and carry on" t-shirt and we decided to wear the same as a uniform. I had found my sun hat from a few years ago and we both had blue shorts on.
It should at this point be explained that we knew a few people who had borrowed wet suits for the dip, but for some reason, we decided that if you are going to swim in the freezing cold, you might as well do it. "Wet suits are for wimps", we chanted!!
The support crew (brother in law and nephew) were both carrying the cameras and 'snakes blood soup' (which tasted remarkably like tomato?) was poured into the Thermos flask.
My sister and I ran next door to gather some more troops (successfully getting swimming agreement from two with the rest of the family in support - G looked particularly fragile but was in fine spirits).
Then the time came. A hundred or so strangers lined the beach at Inellan and a few other people were in fancy dress with wings like 'arctic fairies' ready to take the plunge. In all I estimate that 25, or so, of us were there for the swim.
Having duly signed the obligatory health and safety disclaimer and paid our £5.00 entry fee, a wonderful fancy statue of liberty started the countdown.
We were off.
My sister and I had already agreed to swim further out than any others and that swimming was not confirmed unless total immersion had been achieved.
I was proud to say that my sun hat floated at least twice straight from my bobbing head.
We gained our footing and both stood up. Shaking hands to the sounds of shrieks and screams of the natives running for the shore we calmly chatted for a bit and agreed to go in again one more time. This time it hurt!
We got out and waded in as controlled a fashion as we could into shore.
Warmed by towel and snakes blood soup, a shot of whiskey was passed to each of the swimmers by the organisers.
We all congratulated each other and having got dressed, proceeded to get back into the car and return home, triumphant!
This article is duplicated on the new Gullbad Nogbee platform:
HERE where you can better follow my adventures.
Sunday, 24 January 2010
Doing is the best practice
It was May 2009. After seeing a white suited man tending his bees in Herne I immediately started to watch bee keeping video’s on You Tube and bought ‘The Dummies Guide to Beekeeping’.
I was brought up to understand that Granddad had always said, “There’s not time lost in reconnaissance”.
Reconnaissance involved not just watching a few short films on the internet and flicking through the plates throughout the Dummies Guide, I also signed up with my local branch of the British Beekeeping Association.
The leader of the group is called Trevor Tong and he is one of the nicest and most enthusiastic beekeepers I have ever met. He is a real joy to be near when discussing the subject. There is nothing about bees he does not know and I have had lots of advice from his wife over the telephone.
Armed with a new pair of marigolds and wellington boots, I went along to my first meeting of the branch at Honey Hill. During this sunny afternoon and for the first time, I held a frame and spotted the queen. I was hooked and raring to get started.
I spoke to all the people there about my plan to keep bees in the centre of town. Most were generally enthusiastic, but suggested I practice for a year by coming along to the club.
Within the week I had ripped the corrugated plastic from atop my lean-to at the back of the house and replaced it with plywood, which I could stand on. I had my beekeeping stage set.
I bought a ‘National’ hive kit from the Blue Bell Apiaries in Gillingham and having put that together in the garage of my lost loves parent’s house, I was prepared to house and keep a colony of bees.
Doing is the best practice and I was keen to start being a practising beekeeper as soon as I could.
This article is duplicated on the new Gullbad Nogbee platform:
HERE where you can better follow my adventures.
How I started to keep bees
Twelve years ago, I worked in a homeless hostel just South of London Bridge, not too far from the Tate Modern. It was during that time that I met a guy who worked for the same charity. Let's say his name was Richard. Richard was a senior manager, whilst I was a grunt, trying to promote meaningful occupation to the residents of the hostel. It was a great job and I met some great people, but that’s another story.
Richard was waiting to meet with the hostel manager. I was working on the computer in the office. There was awkwardness that often occurs when people too many layers of management higher than another are put in close proximity together. It’s similar to the silence that befalls the contents of elevators. He did not want to speak to me, not wanting to undermine his management colleague, and I did not want to talk to him, fearing I might say something or answer a question in such a way that might get my manager in hot water, and ultimately make me suffer.
I offered him tea but in the end, the ice had to be broken using a neutral subject. One finds this in every walk of life. Strangers are able to open up to one another by talking about neutral childhood experiences or songs that were sung, old TV programmes like Morph, or Bod, He-Man, Thundercats, or Blue Peter spring to mind as fine examples.
So it was we spoke about good news stories related to our work and success that I was having, together with challenges everyone faces when working with homeless people living in difficult circumstances.
The conversation naturally moved on to discuss meaningful occupation in general when much to my relief; Richard started talking about his own passion for bee keeping. I was immediately off the hook.
It turned out that Richard had bees in Surrey and also kept bees on the balcony of his flat in London. He spoke about the different honey he harvested. He explained that country honey was lighter in colour and was cultivated from mono-crops in the surrounding farm land whereas, London honey was dark and rich more treacle-like and more ‘tropical’; because of the diverse flowers and plants grown in the patchwork of gardens, hanging baskets and window boxes across the city.
Richard spoke about how when inspecting the frames within his hives and lifting them with the sun shining through from behind, all manner of colour pollens might be seen ranging from yellows, oranges and reds, through blues and purples. I remember being enthralled.
Minutes later, Richard was being shown into the Diamond Managers office and I never saw him again.
Twelve years later in May 2009, I was driving through Herne in Kent. In the front garden of a bungalow, a man in a white overall bee suite was tending to a hive. The sun was shining and I stopped the car to watch for a minute or two. The thoughts of Richard’s story of honey from all those days ago flooded back.
I decided there and then that I would keep bees within the month subject of course to feedback recieved from those close to me.
This article is duplicated on the new Gullbad Nogbee platform:
HERE where you can better follow my adventures.
Richard was waiting to meet with the hostel manager. I was working on the computer in the office. There was awkwardness that often occurs when people too many layers of management higher than another are put in close proximity together. It’s similar to the silence that befalls the contents of elevators. He did not want to speak to me, not wanting to undermine his management colleague, and I did not want to talk to him, fearing I might say something or answer a question in such a way that might get my manager in hot water, and ultimately make me suffer.
I offered him tea but in the end, the ice had to be broken using a neutral subject. One finds this in every walk of life. Strangers are able to open up to one another by talking about neutral childhood experiences or songs that were sung, old TV programmes like Morph, or Bod, He-Man, Thundercats, or Blue Peter spring to mind as fine examples.
So it was we spoke about good news stories related to our work and success that I was having, together with challenges everyone faces when working with homeless people living in difficult circumstances.
The conversation naturally moved on to discuss meaningful occupation in general when much to my relief; Richard started talking about his own passion for bee keeping. I was immediately off the hook.
It turned out that Richard had bees in Surrey and also kept bees on the balcony of his flat in London. He spoke about the different honey he harvested. He explained that country honey was lighter in colour and was cultivated from mono-crops in the surrounding farm land whereas, London honey was dark and rich more treacle-like and more ‘tropical’; because of the diverse flowers and plants grown in the patchwork of gardens, hanging baskets and window boxes across the city.
Richard spoke about how when inspecting the frames within his hives and lifting them with the sun shining through from behind, all manner of colour pollens might be seen ranging from yellows, oranges and reds, through blues and purples. I remember being enthralled.
Minutes later, Richard was being shown into the Diamond Managers office and I never saw him again.
Twelve years later in May 2009, I was driving through Herne in Kent. In the front garden of a bungalow, a man in a white overall bee suite was tending to a hive. The sun was shining and I stopped the car to watch for a minute or two. The thoughts of Richard’s story of honey from all those days ago flooded back.
I decided there and then that I would keep bees within the month subject of course to feedback recieved from those close to me.
This article is duplicated on the new Gullbad Nogbee platform:
HERE where you can better follow my adventures.
Thursday, 21 January 2010
What are you doing with the house?
“What are you doing with your house?” came the message from Facebook.
My pal, already looking to take care of my fish, was enquiring about the gaff.
In my ‘no-plan’ plan, again I had not really thought about the detail and so having thought about it for all of a millisecond, I answered, “probably going to see if I can rent it.”
Later that day, another message came with a plan all laid out. Subject to figures, they would rent the house and look after the fish and bees.
As it happens her and her boyfriend are looking to move. They are thinking of buying an old barn and converting it to live the good life nearer to Bristol and Bath.
We talked figures which covered my mortgage and although not signed in blood, its pretty much agreed.
They are looking to move in during the third week of March.
They have seen the house before and so know its unique condition and in a couple of weeks they are going to pop down with his two little kids to check out kiddie amenities.
All of that from a Facebook message asking about help with fish.
This article is duplicated on the new Gullbad Nogbee platform:
HERE where you can better follow my adventures.
My pal, already looking to take care of my fish, was enquiring about the gaff.
In my ‘no-plan’ plan, again I had not really thought about the detail and so having thought about it for all of a millisecond, I answered, “probably going to see if I can rent it.”
Later that day, another message came with a plan all laid out. Subject to figures, they would rent the house and look after the fish and bees.
As it happens her and her boyfriend are looking to move. They are thinking of buying an old barn and converting it to live the good life nearer to Bristol and Bath.
We talked figures which covered my mortgage and although not signed in blood, its pretty much agreed.
They are looking to move in during the third week of March.
They have seen the house before and so know its unique condition and in a couple of weeks they are going to pop down with his two little kids to check out kiddie amenities.
All of that from a Facebook message asking about help with fish.
This article is duplicated on the new Gullbad Nogbee platform:
HERE where you can better follow my adventures.
Tuesday, 19 January 2010
Facebook and fish
In my house I have three aquariums.
One is significantly bigger than the two others and has six coldwater goldfish swimming in it (one big and five very small). The two small tanks were bought for me by my lost love as birthday presents a few years ago. At their zenith they accommodated a thriving community of Guppies.
Guppies are live bearing and breed like nothing else. With such short breeding cycles you can successfully influence new colours and shape strains within a matter of months. Lots of interest was given to 'the Gupsters' and notes were kept on the kitchen notice board of their names, with corresponding tail drawings, identifying who was who. I would recommend Gupsters to anyone, but most especially for families with kids.
With the 'no-plan plan' and after I had agreed the placement for Noggin I was now thinking about the fish.
"What to do with the fish tanks?", I said to myself. Then the answer came, "Facebook!"
I try to keep my status updated or at least relevant to where life is and so I put the problem to my enormous cohort of 'friends' (a minority of whom I have seen, whilst the majority I probably have not seen or spoken to for 20 years and some are just strangers who wanted to be my friend and who appeared to be friendly enough).
Within a day an old pal had messaged back, her and her boyfriend were happy to take the big one. This was excellent news. The no-plan plan is now really coming together.
This article is duplicated on the new Gullbad Nogbee platform:
HERE where you can better follow my adventures.
One is significantly bigger than the two others and has six coldwater goldfish swimming in it (one big and five very small). The two small tanks were bought for me by my lost love as birthday presents a few years ago. At their zenith they accommodated a thriving community of Guppies.
Guppies are live bearing and breed like nothing else. With such short breeding cycles you can successfully influence new colours and shape strains within a matter of months. Lots of interest was given to 'the Gupsters' and notes were kept on the kitchen notice board of their names, with corresponding tail drawings, identifying who was who. I would recommend Gupsters to anyone, but most especially for families with kids.
With the 'no-plan plan' and after I had agreed the placement for Noggin I was now thinking about the fish.
"What to do with the fish tanks?", I said to myself. Then the answer came, "Facebook!"
I try to keep my status updated or at least relevant to where life is and so I put the problem to my enormous cohort of 'friends' (a minority of whom I have seen, whilst the majority I probably have not seen or spoken to for 20 years and some are just strangers who wanted to be my friend and who appeared to be friendly enough).
Within a day an old pal had messaged back, her and her boyfriend were happy to take the big one. This was excellent news. The no-plan plan is now really coming together.
This article is duplicated on the new Gullbad Nogbee platform:
HERE where you can better follow my adventures.
Monday, 18 January 2010
Dogs are such ties
Having the idea to walk away is one thing; actually walking away is another "What about the dog for God sake?"
That is a good question.
I love dogs and have lived all my life with them. Honey, Penny, Tess, Pip, Fynn and Noggin have acted as hairy punctuation marks, defining episodes both happy and sad. Noggin more so than any I have had before. A little Lakeland Terrier, I took Noggin to work most days and she was a great joy to have in the work environment.
Noggin is a real sweet little thing, whose character is only marred by her instinct to fight and or kill anything that moves. Rabbits, chickens and rats have all been mortally wounded by this otherwise cute scruffy little brown dog.
Well, laying in the bath on Christmas Eve reflecting on misspent opportunity and a soul destroyed future, I had not considered little Noggin. What to do with Noggin?
I had not really thought about that question at all! In between Christmas Eve (Thurs) and the Sunday, I had started to tell folk about my broad plan. Getting out, going off and doing stuff...but nothing about what happens to lives that depend on me. Maybe that is a clue why everything went so wrong? Broad strokes fine! Detail - shit!
When it came to the detail of how I was to untangle myself from this life of things and stuff, I had not really applied myself yet and this included my responsibilities to Noggin.
Anyway there was time to think about that after I got back from my sisters in the 'badlands of the north' - or Scotland as it is also known. Early in the morning in a slight sleet, Noggin and I set off North.
Traffic was a nightmare! A journey that normally takes nine hours, took 12, through rain, sleet and snow. What was just above freezing down south had turned into a constant -5°C! But it was all worth it.
When I arrived long after the bed time of the average six year old, my little nephew was awoken. With his eyes still shut and with a floppy torso a coat was slipped over is pyjamas and wellington boots were tugged on by his mum.
As is the family tradition, out in the street twigs and sticks were placed in the shape of arrows (to guide Santa) whilst 'magic' glitter was sprinkled across the top of them. Little boy still asleep, he turned around and trudged back into the house and went back to bed. The whole operation was conducted in silence.
Suffice to say Santa found his way and as a result '2nd Christmas' was a success with all satisfied.
Brother in laws cooking was incredible again and I put on half a stone during the seven days I was there.
It was the day after 2nd Christmas Day that a sporadic collection of the neighbours six children started to pop in and play with the nephew and Noggin. They're great kids and excellent fun to be with, for my nephew it’s like have a readymade bunch of cousins or siblings on the doorstep, both households living in each other’s pockets and sharing stories, songs and jokes.
I popped next door to have a chat with the parents (they having travelled and were good inspiring examples of what happens when people go abroad) a couple of times and as well as being made welcome with G&T, was entertained with lively conversation and photo albums of time spent in far off lands.
The neighbours raised the conversation of the dog. Whether this was contrived by my sister I do not know. In any event and without any predetermined agenda, it turned out that they were investigating getting a dog and were interested in providing a long fixed-term placement for Noggin.
I consulted via text with my lost love who confirmed that she was not allowed to take custody of Noggin. So the god's had decided Noggin was to stay in Scotland (at least for 15 months).
The dog had kept me sane over the last few months. When everything was at its worst and I was in a dark place, having to look after Noggin, having to feed her and having to take her out, kept me alive. But if I was no longer tied to my dog, then I was not tied to anything anymore.
Even less reason to stay where I am.
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Boxing Day
Boxing Day was spent with my Nan and Aunty. Nan is 88 and born at home at Church Row, Limehouse in 1921. Aunty is 50 and looks 37!! A self-styled matriarch, Nan has caused happiness and sorrow in equal measure over her long life.
It was a good day and we were able to get Nan to Aunty’s new house to watch a film. Nan was really on form and very witty. She liked the house and the log burning stove.
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It was a good day and we were able to get Nan to Aunty’s new house to watch a film. Nan was really on form and very witty. She liked the house and the log burning stove.
This article is duplicated on the new Gullbad Nogbee platform:
HERE where you can better follow my adventures.
Sunday, 17 January 2010
The Beginning
Now to the beginning:
It's Christmas Eve and whilst in the bath this evening it occurred to me that everything I hung my life on up until now no longer exists. My work, my love, my aim and the very reason I ended up living here has gone in just over twelve months. I am not enjoying my pointless existence and my aimlessness is overpowering me as it does whenever I reflect on where I am and where I am not going very fast.
Apart from Dad passing away at the back end of 2008, at least a proportion of the rest I brought on myself; by way of things I did or did not do and things I said or did not say that I should have.
Since I 'retired' from my job in early November I have been trying to create an associate-based consultancy targeting the voluntary sector. I suppose that due to cowardice, this seemed do-able and likely to lead to success. I was successful in negotiating an agreement with a small homelessness charity (my former employer) and looked forward to getting back to work. For lots of different reasons core documents I needed to do the work were not forwarded to me and after two months of trying, I had been informed a couple of days before that the documents I needed were on a PC which had been given away to sell. The documents were effectively lost. I was reassured that the new manager would try to obtain copies, but I was not confident. Reflecting in the bath, the likelihood of getting the documents I needed seemed absolutely remote and represented a last straw.
It occurred to me that I want to change everything I am. Vague words engraved on the Burma memorial by the Embankment struck me about ‘bold acts being the safest’. I need to do something bold (without being rash or stupid). I want to see new places, speak to new people and have new thoughts. My favourite Ghandi quote springs to mind and I am determined to 'become the change I want to see'.
Given the opportunity, which I am going to create, what would I do? I like photography and I liked learning to scuba. I will go somewhere warm, learn more scuba to the point of excellence and take photographs...or something like that.
I have telephoned my late father’s wife, my Godmother and my sister and I told them my bold idea. All have said it's good.
I don't really have a plan but maybe that is the point. No more stifling plans or obligations which only represent 'vanity and vexation of spirit'.
In the old Ava Gardener flick, Pandora measures love by sacrifice and so maybe too late, I give up my lot for the sake of lost love.
This article is duplicated on the new Gullbad Nogbee platform:
HERE where you can better follow my adventures.
It's Christmas Eve and whilst in the bath this evening it occurred to me that everything I hung my life on up until now no longer exists. My work, my love, my aim and the very reason I ended up living here has gone in just over twelve months. I am not enjoying my pointless existence and my aimlessness is overpowering me as it does whenever I reflect on where I am and where I am not going very fast.
Apart from Dad passing away at the back end of 2008, at least a proportion of the rest I brought on myself; by way of things I did or did not do and things I said or did not say that I should have.
Since I 'retired' from my job in early November I have been trying to create an associate-based consultancy targeting the voluntary sector. I suppose that due to cowardice, this seemed do-able and likely to lead to success. I was successful in negotiating an agreement with a small homelessness charity (my former employer) and looked forward to getting back to work. For lots of different reasons core documents I needed to do the work were not forwarded to me and after two months of trying, I had been informed a couple of days before that the documents I needed were on a PC which had been given away to sell. The documents were effectively lost. I was reassured that the new manager would try to obtain copies, but I was not confident. Reflecting in the bath, the likelihood of getting the documents I needed seemed absolutely remote and represented a last straw.
It occurred to me that I want to change everything I am. Vague words engraved on the Burma memorial by the Embankment struck me about ‘bold acts being the safest’. I need to do something bold (without being rash or stupid). I want to see new places, speak to new people and have new thoughts. My favourite Ghandi quote springs to mind and I am determined to 'become the change I want to see'.
Given the opportunity, which I am going to create, what would I do? I like photography and I liked learning to scuba. I will go somewhere warm, learn more scuba to the point of excellence and take photographs...or something like that.
I have telephoned my late father’s wife, my Godmother and my sister and I told them my bold idea. All have said it's good.
I don't really have a plan but maybe that is the point. No more stifling plans or obligations which only represent 'vanity and vexation of spirit'.
In the old Ava Gardener flick, Pandora measures love by sacrifice and so maybe too late, I give up my lot for the sake of lost love.
This article is duplicated on the new Gullbad Nogbee platform:
HERE where you can better follow my adventures.
Saturday, 16 January 2010
How this is going to work
You need to be patient while I bring you up to date with what has happened over the last month. After the preamble, I will then keep you informed of what's going on as regulaly as I can and for when I can't, a network of chums will help to update you via the contents of postcards I send to them. In this way, things I see, people I meet and experiences I have will be shared with you, whether I have internet access or not. You should also note that throughout these meanderings names of individuals and places have been changed where it helps protect the subject or myself.
This article is duplicated on the new Gullbad Nogbee platform:
HERE where you can better follow my adventures.
This article is duplicated on the new Gullbad Nogbee platform:
HERE where you can better follow my adventures.
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