A Little Love & Understanding

Like so many others I make my living through the use of words.

The words I use are formulated through a process.

Basically it breaks down as follows.

First of all the act of listening, and most importantly, hearing.

Then comes processing & understanding.

Once we understand then we can move on and begin the process of rephrasing, but not misrepresenting, what we have heard.

We then prepare and then deliver a final piece of work, such as a funeral ceremony.

This process is one I try and use in all my interactions with other people. You know, try and think before you speak. I don’t always succeed.

I sometimes fail to listen, as Mrs B will tell you.

I may hear but not fully understand. This is a common trait amongst human beings I fear!

In trying to understand what others have said, to comprehend their needs, requirements or meaning,  you sometimes have to remove the political, social and perhaps even spiritual filters that make up your own philosophy for life.  Or at least you might be prepared to accept that your perceptions may be coloured by those filters?

To be of use, I have to be open to so many possibilities. I have to be open minded and accepting that some people see the world differently to me because they experience life differently to me.

This preamble is leading to the point I’m trying to make today and tried to make yesterday in a Facebook post about the Black Lives Matters protests.

It should be possible, even in the snake pit of social media, to express an opinion or to pose a question (which asks you to think about things in a different way), without actually signalling support for one view or another.

You’re just thinking, listening, measuring the arguments and trying to comprehend why people do things that you might initially think are daft or dangerous - like march in protest in the midst of a pandemic.

So today I want to ask a question which I hope might make people think and then understand why people act differently.

And I hope we can do it without any judgemental diatribe. We can just be human and try and understand other humans.


Picture it: The Nottinghamshire coalfield, 1984 and it's the height of the Miner’s Strike.

People are picketing and protesting in large numbers. They want to secure their jobs and a future for their industry and their families.

Some of us were there and remember the passions that were aroused. It was a very hard time for many. Some families split asunder for ever. Everyone had an opinion and fought to defend their point of view.

Imagine now, in the midst of all this protest, a global pandemic occurs.

Ask yourselves this…do you think the striking miners would have just packed up and gone home?

Or do you think some of them would have fought on?

Do you think some might still have turned out to stand on picket lines, shoulder to shoulder with their work mates?

Still protested and gathered in enough numbers to show the government that this was so important they felt they had no choice but to ignore official advice?

Do you think you might just think about that?

And through your thought processes do you think you might find some understanding as to why people sometimes feel desperate action is needed?

You don't have to agree with it. Understanding isn’t approval.

And if you find that you can understand why a miner, or anyone, might stand up and fight for their job, (even though there are risks attached), can you now understand why people might fight for other things…like life?


Thats all I hoped for yesterday, today and tomorrow. That we can at least try and understand. And if we understand, maybe we don't judge so harshly?

Heroes

Is there in truth no beauty?

Well it was bound to happen. After spending weeks playing Merge Dragons or watching back to back episodes of ‘Murder, She Wrote’, I’ve given in to temptation and headed back to the blog.

I warn you, I have nothing to say of any great pertinence about the situation we all find ourselves in.  I’m not a scientist nor a medical expert (unlike most other people on Facebook apparently) but I did want to raise an issue that’s been bothering me.


Let me say that I have nothing but praise and admiration for everyone working in the health service and other frontline roles during this pandemic. Your service seems to have been exemplary in the face of such awful pressure.

As well as the Thursday night clap, there have been many posts on social media extolling and acknowledging these newly discovered heroes. I think this is great, but I can’t help but ask why we didn't consider them heroes to begin with?

The thing that really bothers me though is that these gestures of praise cannot seemingly stand alone, they are often accompanied by negativity and even hate, with many posts going on to denigrate others.

Why do people feel that you have to knock someone down as you raise others up?

The target of many of these negative posts are ‘celebrities’.

For me there are two categories of celebrity. There are those who achieve fame through hard work and skill, for example actors and sportsmen, authors and artists.

There are others who are seemingly famous for being famous.  Those who have no determinable skill (in my opinion), and who might have the words ‘influencer’ or ‘reality star’ attached to their name.

I have no axe to grind with this latter category, although on occasion it does seem they get caught up in their own self importance. I guess I might fall into this category as I expect you all to read this blog and think I’m wonderful. Please validate my existence!!!

The attacks aimed at celebrities seem to have one main thrust.

You have no value in society now: we have realised that nurses and doctors deserve all of our admiration because they are doing something concrete in the face of this pandemic. They save lives, they tend to our injuries and needs both physical and mental. They risk their lives for others. What are you doing?

Celebrities are just in it for the money and attention. Luvvies and left wingers, snowflakes and…well, endless insults depending on the mindset of the attacker.


I best declare an interest here. I love theatre, film, TV, literature, music & art.  Maybe I’m biased in what I’m about to say but that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be said.


Dear Haters, when you’ve been sat on your keyboard all day, warrior-ing away, maybe highlighting the work of nurses for example, whilst also spitting poison at actors; what do you then do to relax?

Perhaps you turn on Netflix? Or Spotify? Or a video game?  It’s likely you turn to the work of the very people you’ve been bad mouthing. Those who create so much for you to enjoy.

A nurse may help save your life, but what is life without art? Without beauty?


I cannot tell you how much I’m missing the theatre. To think I might not be able to go again for months and months is shattering. But I have music, I have TV, I have box sets, I have streaming events, I even have Zoom coffee mornings with likeminded folk.

There’s much beauty in my life thanks to the work of artists and ‘celebrities’ who are using their skill to keep me, and the rest of the world entertained and sane.

One of the biggest problems with being at home, and not working, is that the phone stops ringing. That’s hard. I guess, like so many in the arts sector, I’m currently resting.

You’re worth as a person may be wrapped up in getting a phone call inviting you to work. But for some there is no work in their chosen field.

Of course many are not resting at all. Many are working wherever there is work to be found, like supermarkets.  Anywhere that helps them pay the bills. Some have even been returning to previous jobs in nursing & the care sector.

Still, even in their isolation, artists have been giving us a constant stream of material via the internet. plays, musicals, concerts, poetry…all greedily lapped up by us, the audience.

Can you imagine isolation without this? Or a book. Or a virtual tour of a gallery? Or whichever game occupies your time online.

Heroes come in many guises, and for me those who remind us of the beauty found in life, through the arts, remain heroes.

I hope we never again underestimate the value of our NHS staff, those who care and who put the needs of others before themselves.  I also hope we can see it’s OK to put them on a pedestal without knocking someone else from theirs.

We must continue to value and support the arts wherever and however we can. And to all my friends out there, worried about what awaits them after the storm, you will always find an audience, even if it’s just me.

Life Upon The Wicked Stage

January 18th

Life Upon The Wicked Stage

Have I ever mentioned I love going to the theatre?

Mrs B & I are heading to Sheffield today to visit one of my favourite theatres, The Crucible.  We shall be seeing a production of Guys and Dolls. I’ve heard only good things about it but then again Alex Young is in it and she’s like a lucky charm for me. I can honesty say I’ve never seen any show in which she was cast, that wasn’t amazing. From Follies to Sky’s Edge - all top drawer stuff.

I’d love to have been in a production of Guys and Dolls, it’s on a list entitled ‘Regrets’, along with not learning to play the piano or to tap dance.  I think I have the physique to have made a good Nicely-Nicely Johnson, but sadly I don’t have the voice to match.

My acting career (everybody laugh) did give me a few chances to appear in plays that were great favourites, but I’d have loved the chance to play Hector in The History Boys or Henry Drummond in Inherit The Wind.

But I’ll be content having played Goldberg in The Birthday Party, Thomas Milburn in Close The Coal House Door, and Juror 11 in 12 Angry Men.


12 Angry Men was the first play I appeared in after moving to live in Mansfield. My recollection of being cast is a little hazy now but I think one of the other actors in the play would occasionally visit the shop where I was working at the time…yes, I was a shop assistant for a while.

I think the conversation came around to them staging 12 Angry Men and how they were looking for people to audition and so I offered my services and was apparently the only one who could manage the middle European accent required of the character. I got the part and in a way that changed the direction of my life because I then also decided to became a mature student and study performing arts! HND Distinction.

The production was extremely well put together and around that table I met a range of actors with varying levels of experience and expertise but we all worked so well together and my friendship with Juror 12 (who won’t be reading this) started around that jury room table. I have lost touch with so many of them but I guess that happens doesn’t it?

The reason this has come to the forefront of my mind today is twofold.

First of all, I ran into Juror 4 yesterday. I hadn’t seen him for years and it was nice to have a quick chat.

The other reason is that it’s around three years since Juror 6 died. Such a sad thing to have happened.


He had worked at The Crucible as part of the stage crew and on the day we learned of his death we went there to see Anna-Jane Casey give a wonderful ‘Audience with’. She was starring in Annie Get Your Gun which we had seen the week previously.

All of these memories are washing around in my head and I guess you could get a little maudlin but actually there is only happy memories associated with that production of 12 Angry Men, so I’m just sticking to the good stuff.

It may well be that I never set foot on a stage again and although I do have regrets they are nowhere near as important to me as the joy I often found being someone else on a stage for a couple of hours.

It was fun. (Just don’t ask me about Romeo and Juliet)

Hello!

January 17th

Hello!

I’m doing some research on Unitarians, because after someone commended me on my delivery of a funeral ceremony, they added I’d make an excellent Unitarian.

I smiled and thanked them of course as I was raised to be polite, but I must admit without reading up on the Unitarian philosophy I wouldn’t have a clue if I was being appreciated or insulted!

Now it turns out there is a Unitarian meeting house in Mansfield so I might have to pop along at some point and find out first hand what’s going on but as I already read it involves hymns and prayers then I’m not sure it’ll be my cup of tea…although they do give you a cup of tea and a biscuit afterwards. I thought they only did that when they took your blood!

I wonder if they wear robes? I think I’d look good in robes. Not keen on a dog collar, nobody would see it anyway as my chins would hide it.

They don’t do wine and wafers I’m guessing as they don’t do the whole Jesus thing so no sneaking sacramental wine under my new robes for later consumption.

Not sure about a calling from god, more a calling for robes that has me hooked…oh well, I’ll read up some more and report back at some point.

You’re never too old to learn something new and you should never stop asking questions about your place in the world. My thoughts on religion have changed markedly over the years and I feel mostly satisfied with agnosticism and Humanism, but who knows what might happen when you allow yourself to be open to the possibilities?

I don’t expect a full scale conversion like some of my friends, and you won’t find me knocking at your door saying ‘Hello, my name is Elder Baxter’…


I have a confession to make.  Not in a Catholic way, I’m not fiddling with my beads as I lie in bed writing this;  I just wanted to confess that as a regular theatre going man and musical theatre junkie, it’s hard to explain why I’ve never seen the Book of Mormon.

Well I’m making amends and I’ve booked tickets to see the show when it arrives in Nottingham later this year.

I had a little session of theatre booking yesterday, found a little spare cash and decided to treat Mrs B to tickets to see Matthew Bourne’s ‘The Red Shoes’ plus I’ve booked to see ‘The Addams Family’ musical again, without knowing who will be in the cast. (Fingers crossed).

It’s also the year when I finally get around to seeing Phantom of the Opera. Now don’t judge me too harshly, there must be a reason why at sometime in the last 34 years I didn’t manage to secure a ticket.

Is Michael Crawford still in it?

I suppose there are lots of shows I have yet to see, like Matilda, Wicked, The Lion King and The Mousetrap but having seen Les Miserable more than once and having booked to see A Christmas Carol for a third time, I think it balances out.

This confessing thing is great! I haven’t seen Fleabag or The Crown or Peaky Blinders!

I don’t make this admission with the intention of wearing it like a badge of honour like the Game of Thrones or Star Wars haters would, it’s just that I never got around to it.

Too busy watching NCIS.

Well that’s it for today.

PS: There’s a squirrel in the garden.

The Rhythm Of Life

January 16th

The Rhythm Of Life

When you’ve been to the edge you at least know where it  is…

It was most kind of those of you who made comments about yesterday’s blog. All the nice things you said in such a supportive manner, all true of course and accepted with due humility.

I’ve never been short of good wishes but let me once again express this thought before we move on. I currently have the mindset which although noticing the praise, still expects disaster to call at any moment. Pessimist? Anxiety? Whatever, I’m fine but thank you.

Talking is good, but sitting quietly and listening is good too. Whether that be to people who need to get things off their chest or to the best medicine in the world…music.

Last night I sat in the audience at the Royal Concert Hall in Nottingham to hear the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by John Wilson. The concert was entitled Discovering Vaughan Williams, and we began with a wonderfully illuminating guide to his Symphony No 6, which the orchestra played in the second half. Stephen Johnson spoke with such apparent knowledge and passion, explaining the history of the piece and how it was received upon its completion in 1948.

As he spoke, his thoughts were highlighted by excerpts played by the orchestra.

I was enthralled and it took me back to my school days in the early 1970’s, when my music teacher, Mrs Bird, played for us Mendelssohn’s Hebrides Overture (Fingal's Cave). I shall never regret picking music as one of my O Level subjects and my passion for music, although born much earlier, was sealed as she spoke so knowledgeably and enthusiastically about the composer and the themes explored in his work.

I only wish that the audience last night had more young people in it, to discover the joy of music and the motivations of those who create it. And to those who think they don’t like classical music, well if you like film scores by John Williams or Jerry Goldsmith, you’ll like Vaughan Williams, even a somewhat challenging piece like his Sixth Symphony.

Vaughan Williams was a composer we also studied, his Fantasia on Greensleeves and The Lark Ascending were the pieces I recalled from school days, but I wasn’t aware then but I’d already crossed paths with the one of his themes from the Sixth Symphony as it was used as the theme to A Family At War (1970 - 1972).

A Family At War


Of course, the symphony is much more complex and turbulent than this lovely lilting melody would have you suspect and hearing it played last night reinvigorated my interest in the composer.


But the real revelation last night was the piece the orchestra played before the interval, entitled ‘In The Fen Country’. Described by the composer as a “symphonic impression”, it again summons up images from my childhood as I was born in the Fenlands and knew those great bleak expanses so well.

If you have 15 minutes to spare, I invite you to listen to it.


In The Fen Country




It’s now added to my list of favourite classical pieces.

I’m convinced that music is great therapy, and there are pieces I turn to when I need to feel joy or shed a tear.

Here are three of the classical pieces I love ( there are many non classical pieces of course, Sondheim being my mainstay)  and here are links if you want to hear them, but I’d be really interested to hear your personal choices of musical medicine.

All of these pieces are very accessible I promise you…I left the Mahler out!



Solveig's Song by Grieg

Poulenc: Gloria (6) Qui sedes...

Saint-Saëns - Symphony 3 (Finale)

Company Way

January 15th

Company Way

I officiated at a ceremony the other day and at the end, as people were making their way out of the chapel, I was approached by a man and a woman who first of all thanked me for the service and then asked if I had a business card they could have.

It transpired that the gentleman’s mum had died the day before and having seen the type of ceremony I delivered, he wanted me to help with the arrangements for his mum.

That’s very flattering of course and after all these years working as a celebrant I still need that occasional boost to my confidence, to know that what you do, and how you do it, is valued by people.

Of course I promised that I would help the bereaved man if at all possible but I apologised that I couldn’t give him my business card as I don’t carry them at work.

It’s always feels a little tacky to me, as if you are touting for trade. I know other celebrants take a different view and I’m not saying I’m right or that they are wrong to have logos all over their cars for example, it is their choice of course. They are probably more comfortable with the business side of the work than I am.


That’s always been a dichotomy for me in my work, a tension between it being work, a business that pays the bills, and then the side which is such a very personal and human interaction. A contract built on trust.

I’m glad I’m paid via the funeral directors because I know for a fact that if families paid me directly and maybe someone forgot, then I’d never be able to chase them for money. It takes me all my time to remind FD’s when they forget!

I do have business cards, I leave them with families after that initial visit so they can keep in touch before the ceremony, in case they think of other things I need to know for example.

I do have a website but I never update it and I’m actually thinking of taking it down this year.

Someone once said that getting paid to do something you enjoy doesn’t seem like work, however the tax man disagrees so there is that side of the business that has to be attended to.

I think I may well have revealed in an earlier blog that I’m struggling emotionally and physically with work at the moment. I’ve lost confidence in my ability to be of use. I almost gave up work altogether, but when you’re approached and complimented and people want you to help them it is a real boost to your ego and self esteem. But there comes a point where you still have doubts.


The danger is that if you get negative feedback it can be devastating and all the good you might have done is forgotten.

Business cards, corporate branding and advertising cannot repair that.

I think that after dealing with so many vulnerable people over so many years, my own professional veneer is wearing away. And maybe the biggest fear now is expecting that time when I get it wrong and how devastating that will be for a bereaved family.

In truth, this realisation has opened up some old wounds from many years ago, times when I believe I let people down and the outcome was tragic.

Why is it that my memory is so bad at recalling the good times and yet so good at recalling the bad?

Everyday a new battle, but onward we go…another family awaits my services today.

Business as usual.

Think

January 14th

Think

I had a long chat with a bereaved family recently about how angry they were to discover that a beloved family member had died…via a Facebook post.

What made it worse is that the person who posted the news wasn’t even particularly close to the family.

My initial thought on the issue was that for many people social media exists to put ‘you’ at the centre of your universe.   You don’t think about the feelings of others, you just post things because it says something about you.  I may well have been guilty of this sin myself.

I’m hoping that many of your are thinking that you’d never post such a personal thing, especially when it affects others much more deeply than it affects you.  Good, that’s probably why your Facebook friends with me, because you are thoughtful and considerate of others.

Social media is something that I have a ‘love/not love' relationship with, especially as there is so much hatred and fake news and bullying to be found there.

The reason I remain connected to the world in this way is because there are also many reasonable voices to be found on social media and it is wonderful to discover that you’re not alone in the world. I made this very point to one of my Facebook friends recently when she mentioned she had considered leaving. Voices of reason, voices raised in concern for the planet and all on it, people campaigning for the arts or education or mental health issues; these voices are needed to try and bring some balance.

I say, “Facebook friend”, and I have actually met the person in question three times, but sometimes it feels like  the words ‘Facebook friend’ might be considered an oxymoron. I mean how is it possible to be a friend of someone you have never met?

And yet people are now apparently rated by the number of ‘friends’ they have or the number of re-tweets they get or the number of views they receive.

But let’s be positive: I can now chat with people on forums and groups about many shared interests including the theatre. I can interact with and support organisations in their charitable work or funding arts projects.

So whilst the inappropriately swift and unthinking post about someone’s death is at one end of the spectrum of posts, at the other end is social media coverage of events that are a great boon to me and others. I can’t tell you how many good theatre tickets I have booked after seeing something posted on the internet!

And everyday  brings the chance for new and exciting people to welcome you into their world, whilst joining you in yours. People from all around the world, and different walks of life. People from the arts whose work you love, people who are held in high regard in their field and yet will exchange a few kind words with the likes of me.

For all its faults, social media has given me a chance to do things I might not have done and meet people I might never otherwise have met.

I guess the moral of this post, if morality is still a term people understand, is perhaps before we post anything, we might pause and think about how this will affect others. Step out of the centre of your universe and stand in someone else’s just for a bit.

I can be more succinct, in less than 140 characters even: Don’t post about someone being dead until you’re sure that the family are aware.

Thanks.

A Car Ride

January 13th

A Car Ride

Back to work and on the road again. It’s Monday morning and I am heading towards Doncaster…ah the glamorous life.

It may well be that I venture onto a motorway and if I do I’m sure it won’t be long before I am wishing I had machine guns fitted to the front of my Skoda.

I’d glide up behind the dozy idiot doing 55 MPH in the third lane, there’s always one,  and I’d give them a quick shot up their exhaust pipe.

What do they think the other two lanes are for? Walking? Maybe horses and bicycles?

I don’t get road rage and you already know I’m professionally nice so I never gesture at people using just two fingers. I might offer a Paddington hard stare as I overtake them, but that’s about it.

And have you ever noticed when you do overtake the dreaded 3rd lane sitters, they all look like they have fallen into a coma? Hands planted very precisely at 10 & 2 on the steering wheel (imagine it’s a clock face) and staring straight ahead with a blank expression on their faces, they are totally unaware of what is going on around them…they are fixated on maintaining their course and speed whilst listening to their local BBC Radio station.


These are the same people who have trouble with roundabouts. And god forbid they come across a mini roundabout, they’d likely have a stroke!

There is one thing for sure, the vast majority of drivers think they are safe and would hate it if their driving skills were criticised or questioned. My guess is though, that every driver breaks the law at least once a week, if not more.

Mrs B will tell you, I’m not the best driver in the world, and I have two speeding convictions to prove it. Two speeding tickets in 30 plus years of driving isn’t bad is it?

Why is it that some law abiding citizens have a blind spot when it comes to speeding? People love to complain about the injustice of  speed cameras and those sneaky vans which catch you out when you’re doing 35 in a 30 limit.

But you only get caught if you’re breaking the law don’t you?

One day soon this will all be a thing of the past; with driverless cars we will all just climb in and sit back as we are taken to our final destination, safely and within the speed limit.

And someday in the future, cars will fly or maybe we will get our long promised personal jet packs?

 Finally we will arrive at the perfect Star Trek solution - the transporter.

Beam me to Doncaster Scotty!

Sorry Sir, it’ll be a wee while, there’s someone asleep on the third transporter pad.

Bugger!

Why Do the Wrong People Travel?

January 12th

Why Do the Wrong People Travel?

I need to renew my passport. As far as I know I don’t have any ancestry that allows me to dodge applying for a British passport so that’s what I’ll have to do.

The planning and taking of foreign holidays doesn’t occupy much of my time these days, I’m happy in Filey or Bamburgh, but we are planning a trip abroad later this year so a passport  will be required.

I was trying to recall how many times I’ve actually been abroad in my lifetime and I know the first time was a secondary school trip to Le Tréport in France. We also went to Middelkerke in Belgium with school and I remember we had mayonnaise on our chips. I think in that moment I became middle class.

I’ve been on skiing holidays to Bulgaria and Italy. In Bulgaria I acquired a taste for red wine, 30p a bottle. Russian champagne was less than a quid I think and we did drink an awful lot of the stuff as the food was bloody awful.

You had to queue each night for dinner, and us Brits all queued as you would expect, a nice orderly line, only to find the Germans rushing past you when the bell went. Sorry about the racial stereotyping but this is a true story.


We did laugh when one particularly rude woman fell up the steps and split her knee open. Not pleasant of us I know, but as we laughed and stepped around her prone and bleeding body, we had but one thought in mind…we must get to the salad bar!

The reason: well you had to fill your plate with salad and cheese because you knew that the ‘meat’ was going to taste of soap and the soup would be thinner than water - and usually had fish bones in it and an oil slick of grease floating on top. I think we lost weight on that holiday.

I also recall the fun we had exchanging our British notes for local currency, by surreptitiously passing it to our waiter under his napkin. Quite illegal but the only cabaret in town. You could also exchange cash on the ski slopes as there was usually a man hiding in a bush waiting to do you a great deal.

Italy is nice, we have been several times. We drove there once to go camping in Tuscany. Before SatNav, and with Mrs B not being the best map reader, we did end up taking a small detour into Germany when we should have hit Switzerland. Anyway we got there and Tuscany still holds a special place in our hearts.

I have visited the USA five times including a fly drive holiday, and another detour which found us in the middle of the US Rangers winter warfare training camp! We rode on cable cars in San Francisco, with Diana Ross…that’s a story for another day.



I also rode a horse called Buck; this was in Bryce Canyon National Park. I’m not a confident horseman so they gave me this old plodder to ride. As we meandered through the beautiful scenery and along the path around the edge of the canyon, our guide, Vern, told me that Buck got his name because he liked to kick up a fuss near the edge of the canyon, but only on a Saturday.

It was Saturday.

I sat very still.

I’m guessing Vern had a big grin on his face.

Vern was a man who looked after tourists in the summer and in the winter he tracked and tagged mountain lions. I was in awe.

On that trip we also visited Monument Valley, and I recall just standing, again in awe, remembering all the times I had watched John Wayne and other cowboys stars, riding through that magnificent setting. I picked up a rock and bought it home. I still have it.

We have been to islands and to cities, we have flown and sailed, we have had some lovely times and are lucky to have done so.

But now, I no longer have the desire to travel great distances. I don't like flying long haul, I don’t like flying short haul!


I don’t like the weather to be too hot, I’m not bothered if I ever see another sun bed.

I’d love to go to New Zealand, or maybe Canada, but if I don’t get there I don’t.

I’ll happily sit on a bench overlooking Whitby harbour and eat chips, and dodge seagulls, and think about all the wonderful places I did get to see on those past journeys.

As someone said to me the other day, “You’ve been around”.

Yes, I’ve been very lucky and all of those miles brought me so many smiles…and memories. Now you poor sods have to put up with these reminiscences!

There’s A Storm A Comin’

January 11th

There’s A Storm A Comin’

Mrs B’s first words this morning were “That was a windy night”.
I apologised of course, but then realised she meant the wind rattling the window from the outside, not the inside.

We always sleep with the window open a little, can’t abide a stuffy room. I think it stems from being raised in a house with no central heating and no double glazing. Even when I moved away from home my lodgings were not heated upstairs and waking up with ice on the inside of the bedroom window pane was normal during the winter months.

In those dim and distant days of my past, when I worked shifts, a stormy night shift was something I enjoyed. First of all it blew all the idiots home to their beds rather than having them wandering the streets plus if it got too wet there were always interesting places to shelter.

Car sales forecourts, always worth a check, occasionally you might find that they’d left a car unlocked.

Hotels, with night porters, always welcomed you in for a chat and a coffee.

Woolworths, that dates me I know, had a night watchman. His name was Dougie and he had a wooden leg and a constant drip from the end of his nose - but he made a good cup of tea.


If you were lucky, one of your mates might pick you up for a warm and a ride around. That did end up being a bit risky though, as one night I climbed in the back of a warm car and fell asleep…and woke up in Retford. I should have been on the High Street in Lincoln!

The best part of 40 years have passed, but I remember some of the night people you’d see as you wandered those mostly deserted streets. There was a little lady in a blue raincoat and white wellingtons who was only ever seen at night. What was her name?

There was Mr Scofield, a tall man with a scruffy beard and a lack of hygiene that meant you could smell him long before you saw him. In a long brown overcoat and a trilby hat, with his small mousey wife dragging along behind, the old pervert had a habit of exposing himself.

There were proper old fashioned drunks, like Martin, who swore and spat at you. I think he’d been arrested by every police officer in Lincoln.

I recall them all, some with greater clarity than others. I recall something else; there were no homeless people sleeping in doorways. How times have changed.

There were nights as I walked around the Cathedral and Castle Square that the only noise you heard was an owl offering its mournful cry to the moon. Or as you walked the tree lined avenues, empty of traffic, it was just the wind, making those trees dance and sing.


I sit here now, looking out at the Hawthorne tree in the garden, bare branches waving to no-one in particular as the wind gusts up the side of the hill.

The wind that may crack and fell a mighty tree, the tree too stiff to change…the Hawthorne survives because it can give a little and ride the storm. Maybe there’s a lesson for us all in that?

Fit As A Fiddle

January 10th

Fit As A Fiddle

This could be classified as too much information but have you heard the old joke:

A man goes to the doctor and says, “Doctor, can you help me? I have a bowel movement every morning at 7am”. The doctor asks, “What’s the problem with that?”  The man replies “I don’t get up until 8!”

I recently had a change to my medication and it’s causing havoc with my system.

As a man of a certain age, I’m used to getting up in the night to visit the toilet, but not for…well, let’s say, extended periods.

Disturbed nights are not helping with my energy levels which are running low at the moment. I’m constantly tired and I’ve found myself, on occasion, falling asleep whilst people are talking to me!

After having a short break from work, next week I need to prepare for life as usual. I’m just not sure how prepared I will be.

My confidence took a real hit this year, and I found myself wondering if I had lost the ability to do the job as effectively as I wanted.

Poor health, a lack of confidence, sorrow at home through personal loss, all combining to make me feel that it was time to do something else…but what?

The truth seems to be that I will be officiating at funerals until they put me in a box and screw the lid down.

I just hope when they do that, they’ve checked I am actually dead and not just asleep again!

Anyway, the new medication was the result of seeing a new GP, one who listened and decided that there were a number of things to be done towards finding me a diagnosis. I must admit I’d love to know why I am so fatigued, why somedays I struggle to walk,  and why I occasionally fall over. Why my memory isn’t always brilliant. Why I’m so distracted.

So I’m going to be prodded and poked and probed like never before.

I’ve already had a heart scan and can report that the ticker is doing ok. No issues other than those expected at my age.

I know some of my family members and friends are going through their own medical traumas at the moment and I know how lucky I am to be able to work and enjoy life…I’m inconvenienced, not incapacitated. You do have to retain a sense of perspective.

Our bodies don’t come with guarantees and it’s very rare that a perfect specimen rolls off the production line. We are not intelligently designed, we are a complex amalgam of vessels and nerves, muscles and synapses and at any time one little bit of us can stop working.

Evolution hasn’t created a perfect human body, just the one that was best able to survive long enough to pass on our genes…including the bits of us that are not quite functioning as they should.


Hopefully after being probed they will be able to identify which bit of me is faulty. Maybe with an oil change or a new piston, I’ll be off and running again?

Until then what can you do but keep chugging onward…

History Has Its Eyes On You

January 9th

History Has Its Eyes On You

I think this child is beautiful. I don’t know their name, or anything about their life; it’s just an image I found on the internet. I post it simply because I wanted you all to think about something I was told this week.

Can you believe there are people walking the face of this planet who think this child should not be seen by other children? That they should be hidden away, because they are ‘not normal’.

I’ll tell you what’s not normal - hating something or someone, because they don’t look like you!

Well it didn't feel like it was normal, but now I’m not so sure.

Hatred seems to permeate every aspect of life and I think as a society we are becoming inured to it. People just say what they want, no matter the pain it might cause, because ‘freedom of speech’ is a god greater than any others. The high priests and priestess, the likes of Katie Hopkins and Piers Morgan, claiming they have an inalienable right to offend.

Freedom of speech is sacred I’ll agree. Freedom to speak against injustices such as slavery or FGM or corruption or to protect the environment. Freedom to challenge the powerful when they over step the mark. Freedom to protest, freedom to inspire change for the greater good.

Tell me what greater good is served by allowing hateful people to demand a beautiful child is hidden from the world?

Tell me what greater good is served by attacking a young women who is trying to raise awareness of the effects of climate change?

What benefits are the to be found in constantly belittling another person so that they no longer feel welcome in this country?

I long ago pledged that I would not tolerate hate speech on my social media and I don’t care if you're family or friend, I will and have reported and blocked people who allow such hate to be displayed.

Nobody is stopping you having an opinion but if you really want to use the power found in the freedom of speech, challenge the arguments being put forward, don’t attack the person making the argument.

I listened to our new Prime Minster crowing about how much money is being ploughed into education, well let’s hope that some of it is spent on teaching children about civic responsibility and respect for others because that seems to be lacking in society.

I don’t really care where we stand on a global league table for literacy if that literacy is being used to hurt others. I’d rather we were top of the league tables for our humanity and compassion.

I don’t want to live in a country where a child cannot be left to play in their own garden because it upsets the neighbours.

Do you?

I Am Here

January 8th

I Am Here

Other than the temporary blip yesterday when I just felt too tired to manage it, I’m very sad to report that I’m really starting to enjoy writing these blogs again.

The act of writing is somewhat cathartic and although I’m an amateur who no doubt make lots of grammatical errors, the finished article isn’t so much about what you might read (if you do, thanks) but about getting the words out of my head.

I spend my working life writing what other people need me to write so it’s quite refreshing to blether on about things that mean nothing to anyone but me.

Writing funerals is something that takes careful thought but what ends up on paper is almost never a verbatim account of what is actually said on the day. I use notes as a tool from which I can extemporise, the words are a starting point on which the story is built. It’s just my way of working but I make it clear to families that if they want an exact record of what is said, the might be wise to record it!

I don’t write well enough nor with enough confidence, to ever think of publishing a novel, or even a pamphlet. I just try and make best use of the words that come into my head, but speaking words is much easier than writing them I have found.


Over the course of the last 20 years I have not only written the occasional blog but I have also written for local radio as well as presenting on hospital & community radio. The vast majority of the words written were later recorded for broadcast, or presented live and I therefore had the chance to self edit  as I went along.

Sadly, you’re getting unfiltered rubbish…

I really would love another chance to work on radio. My mother dreamt that she was raising the next Terry Wogan, I must be a great disappointment to her.

I may never grace a radio station again as a presenter,  and now the local radio has dispensed with my services it is only through writing this blog that I get to project this poppycock into the world.

I have stories to tell, as do we all.

Some are happy, some are sad. Some might be truer in part than others but all come out of the muddle of my headspace with as much honesty as I can muster, adorned, occasionally, with a sprinkling of humour.

I have tales about dead birds, very much alive birds, drag queens, movie stars, broken windows, ladders, guns, cops and robbers, tramps, mice, explosions, bravery, cows, Native Americans and ladies private parts…

It may well be some of these stories get told or it may just be my ramblings about the state of the world that are electronically ejaculated onto this document.

The words will be here whether they are read or not. Maybe after I am dead and long forgotten someone will find them and then…lose them again very quickly.

Heart

January 6th

Heart

My voice is a little hoarse this morning from a combination of laughing so much last night and the symptoms of a cold.

I’m not certain if this is a new cold or the one that’s been bothering me for some weeks and which led to a bout of sinusitis just before Christmas.

There was a time after my heart attack that I did not suffer with a cold at all. It must have been four or five years and I began to think that surviving a near death experience had recharged my immune system to such a level that I was now impervious to colds and attendant issues. Looks like my immune system has run out of charge! (Although I don’t fancy another go with the jump leads thank you very much).

On the subject of the heart attack (and I’ll stop talking about that soon I promise), I was contacted last night by a chap who runs a Facebook group for survivors of heart attacks. He asked me to join and say something inspirational. I’m still working on that but I’m not sure this relationship will last that long. I have a poor track record with Facebook groups. I usually get asked to leave for not being  deferential enough to the ‘Admins’.


Admins are like the great and powerful Oz, just some idiot behind a curtain, or in this case the veil of the internet.  It’s the most power some people will have in their lifetime and some do let it go to their heads.

Admins can be the embodiment of a combination of dangerous traits. Someone extremely keen to do a job at which they are totally inept. Think Donald Trump and you’ll not be far off the mark.

I tried being an Admin once…least said the better I think.

Back to last night, the show was very funny and at one point the whole audience were given kazoos to play; with varying degrees of success. A concert hall with the best acoustics in the country, filled with the ridiculous sound of one thousand  people playing the theme to Doctor Who on the kazoo.

I couldn’t play for laughing. I laughed a lot. I laughed so much that I’ve had to put my trousers out to be washed this morning.

I love properly scripted comedy. I went to one of those improvised comedy things once but I didn't like it; it just felt like they were making it up as they went along.

I was attending the show without chaperone, which is not unusual for me, but in my present physical condition it’s a bit of a risk.  Like going to the North Pole without having your vest tucked in. Maybe that’s where I got this cold?


 Anyway, I safely navigated myself into the concert hall and found my seat. I ended up sitting next to a retired teacher, a charming lady. It must be noted that the whole audience was populated by white, middle class pensioners. And me. It was like a Radio 4 retirement home.

 Anyway, the lady and I chatted amiably  about many things including our thoughts on the state of British comedy and the arts in general.

She was very proud of the fact that at a recent pub quiz, none of the six people in her team could name the winner of this years ‘I’m A Celebrity’…not one of them had watched it.

I did watch it but I still cannot tell you who won.

This initiated a conversation about the ubiquitous Ant & Dec.  Coincidentally, earlier in the day I had been listening to a new radio comedy in which their progenitors, Dick & Dom, were mentioned. I come from an era even earlier than that, the era of Trevor and Simon…I can still swing my pants, although not at the minute as they too are in the wash.


Much to my great pleasure, Jack Dee shared this tale last night:



The teams are going to treat us to a spot of acting next, in the game called Sound Charades. This is based on the erstwhile TV favourite Give Us A Clue, in which players mimed titles of songs, books and films. The undisputed master of the game was Lionel Blair, whose TV career has sadly waned of late. He did, however, recently audition for I'm A Celebrity - Get Me Out Of Here!. Lionel's challenge was to sail a raft across a river with a small crew, but sadly the raft hit a rock and sank, and what a look of horror there was on Ant's face when Lionel went down with both hands on deck.



Enough of this silliness, I suppose I better start working on my inspirational words for the heart attack survivors Facebook group.

I feel like a cross between Bear Grylls & Marjorie Proops but to be honest after 11 years of experience as a survivor all I can think to say is…you are alive, so live!

I’ll probably get sanctioned by the Admins for not taking it seriously enough and I’ll be banished to the relative obscurity of this blog for all time.

Take care, and remember the most important lesson you will have learned today is there will come a time when incontinence pads will be more important to you than iPads.

Comedy Tonight

January 5th

Comedy Tonight

I’ve written many times about the escape from reality one can find by going to the theatre. Yesterday, as Australian bush fires continued on their devastating path and as we contemplate a possible expansion of  conflict between the US and Iran, I was sitting in the Nottingham Playhouse laughing at one of the oldest jokes you can imagine. You know the one, about how the forest  is full of “ghosties and ghoulies”.

Innuendo and double entendre deployed with elan by a great old pro.

I wasn’t alone in my mirth, hundreds of people of all ages had shed the troubles of the world for a couple of hours, to sit in the dark and laugh.

My third pantomime of the season and Polly’s fourth, (she attended Mansfield Palace Theatre which is a place I won’t go because of the management tolerating racism), this time to witness a production of Sleeping Beauty, which made a nice change as all the others were Cinderella!

The thing that you get with a Playhouse panto is tradition. The pedigree of pantomime production there, under the skilful and watchful eye of Kenneth Alan Taylor,  goes back more than 35 years.

Proper story telling, excellent acting, dancing and singing, hilarious set pieces and even a board dropping down with the words of the song we all sing along too.

Magical. Simple. Professional. Pitch perfect panto.

The thing you don’t get is the shoehorning in of modern political messages. No satire, just silliness.

The tickets were a gift from a cast member who, although a total stranger, had followed our journey with Gil. It was a thank you for adopting him as she and her husband had also adopted a Lurcher. How kind was that? We even got a back stage tour afterwards which Polly enjoyed as she got to sit in the Fairies carriage and meet the rabbit who so hilariously avoided ending up in Nurse Tilly’s rabbit pie.

It was a lovely reminder of how there are still some nice people in the world. Spend any time on social media and you’d think the world was populated only by angry, vindictive and hateful folk and yet it was via social media this random act of kindness was born.

I have to say, with regard to social media, I sometimes succumb to the dark side of the force and may engage in badinage which could border on the tasteless, but I did manage to avoid the long queue of people waiting to make jokes about the death of Derek Acorah yesterday.

I think it’s OK to laugh about death, but perhaps you do need to wait a little before laughing at the person who died? They have grieving families too, even the charlatans and frauds.


By the way, if you’re listening Derek and you run into Mary ask her how Dick is please.



Laugh and the world laughs with you…

Laughter is the best medicine…unless you suffer with incontinence.

You know the Bible and The Quran both talk about laughter as being a positive thing and yet neither are books renowned for funny lines.

Anyway tonight I’m hoping to be laughing out loud quite a lot as I return to the theatre, this time the Royal Concert Hall in Nottingham. It is there I shall witness the creation of something that is at once of the moment, as is all theatre, but also allows a degree of nostalgia wallowing …you know why?

I’m Sorry I Haven’t A Clue.

It’s a piece of radio history and I still love listening to old episodes, from those days when Humph was in the chair…saying things like:


After tasting the meat pies, Samantha said she liked Mr Dewhurst’s beef in ale; although she preferred his tongue in cider.

OR

Samantha tells me she has to nip out now as she's been invited to an exclusive club to meet a group of aristocrats. She's very excited to see where all the big knobs hang out. She says at such a posh function she and the other girls will probably end up trying to speak with plums in their mouths.


OR

Sven has to nip off to make sandwiches now for the builders he has working in his house. No matter how many times they ask for cheese and gourmet chutney, he always palms them off with relish.


OR introducing Sound Charades:


The master of the genre was undoubtedly Lionel Blair, and who will ever forget him, exhausted and on his knees, finishing off An Officer and a Gentleman in under two minutes?

OR

We particularly recall one very early show when Una Stubbs scored maximum points after the teams took only a few seconds to recognise her Fanny by Gaslight.



I’m sorry, but I do love a good double entendre.

No matter how gloomy things get, we all have a laugh in us - we just need a finger to tickle it out of us.


PS The joke that made Polly laugh the loudest yesterday:

Jerry The Jester is bending over examining a log and Nurse Tilly walks up behind him and says; “Jerry, you need a new bum, that one’s got a crack in it”.

The Last Night Of The World

January 3rd

The Last Night Of The World

Only three days into the New Year and it might be as far as we get!

Trump playing golf, hits a bad drive and is so angry he decides to nuke Iran.

And it’s no laughing matter really because you wouldn’t bet against him continuing to escalate this latest dick measuring contest with the Iranians after they respond to the assassination of Qasem Soleimani, which I guess they will.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m no apologist for the Iranians, they have plenty to answer for, but to think not so long ago the previous US President had managed to formulate some kind of deal with them that, although not perfect, would have kept the world a little safer.

Fingers crossed that wiser heads prevail because we do not need another conflict in the Middle East…or anywhere.

Man made conflict aside, the consequences of another battle are seemingly becoming more and more acute.

Australia continues to burn, people facing the terrible power of nature and are pretty limited in how they can respond other than to run, shelter on beaches perhaps, just keep out of the way. A thought for the bravery of the fireman who are courageously doing their best and it must certainly make their job harder if people don’t follow advice and evacuate.

I think this has been a timely if costly reminder that human beings may think we own the world but we don’t. The planet Earth does not need any of us, not a single human being is necessary to give value to this planet.

We are the most arrogant of species. We think we can do anything because we have already done so much and yet none of us can make the wind change direction or turn the path of a tsunami or calm an erupting volcano.

Being that person who refuses to leave your home, who wants to stand and fight a raging inferno and then needs rescuing, putting other lives at risk - arrogance. Stupidity?

You can rebuild a house, start again, but not if you’re dead.


Think about those areas of the world where huge disasters have displaced mankind for a while…like Chernobyl.  The plants and wildlife crept back and adapted and reestablished an eco system all without the help of mankind. Our absence made it possible.

Arrogance: that we are somehow so special the world cannot function without us, that we are so smart that nothing could happen without us controlling it.  We can glorify ourselves, feel more important than our fellow human beings, just because of which bit of the planet we happened to be born on!


What a load of crap.


And the present political climate around the world is stoking the fires of nationalist, jingoistic rhetoric and soon that could rage as out of control as the bush fires in Australia.

Maybe the Bible was right and we are living through the end of days?

God created man, man destroyed himself and the world kept turning…all in the blink of an eye.

Sit Down, You're Rocking The Boat

2nd January

Sit Down, You’re Rocking The Boat

The festivities are over. Christmas is packed away in boxes awaiting my wobbly progress up a creaking ladder as I drag it back into the loft.

Considering I find it hard to stand upright on the ground, I’m taking quite a risk climbing  a ladder, but if I do fall to my death this morning it will be after a lovely plate of beans on toast and as a condemned man’s last meal goes, I’ll take it.

A quick glance through social media indicates that the bigots are still frisky at this time of year, they obviously don’t hibernate.

Some of them still harping on about the casting of  a female Doctor, others bemoaning a bisexual Dracula. Twitter will go into meltdown when they do eventually cast a BAME or female James Bond. I am going to try and stay out of these pointless arguments from now on: you cannot have a reasonable debate with unreasonable people.

There is one topic I’d like to comment on though and that’s to defend the Pope for admonishing the lady who grabbed his hand and pulled him towards her. I’m with Francis, I’d have chinned her; could have pulled him over and broken his hip! Remember what the Bible says; Let he who is without sin cast the first punch. Amen.

Of course he’s already sought forgiveness for his very human act and offered his apology for not being a good role model in his endless search for world peace…that he constantly prays for…as did all of his predecessors. How’s that going?

The Pope, like other world famous folk, is still human. I think the great unwashed forget that sometimes.

We expect them to act in a different way because of the position they find themselves in.

That’s apparent in another constant thread of discord on social media, that of the ‘disappointed fan’.  The people who, for example, paid to see a show in the West End and then scuttle around to the stage door to grab a selfie with the star.  But sometimes the star doesn’t appear and then the comments start. Nasty comments about how people should remember that it was the paying public who made them what they are!

No dear, it was their hard work and talent that made them what they are and it might just be that on the night you felt they let you down, they were feeling tired or ill or had friends and family visiting or they had to rush off to reshoot a scene on a TV show or movie.

There could be many reasons whey they didn't have time for a selfie with Sharon from Doncaster (their biggest fan) but one of those reasons was not to snub you. The price of your ticket bought you a seat to see the show and nothing else, please try and understand that simple point Sharon and you’ll be less frequently ‘heartbroken’.


I rarely go to stage doors, usually it’s because I have been invited or know someone in the show. The last stage door visit I made was after the panto at Sheffield and that was to get a hug from Mister Maker…for Polly, as they are old friends.  Well she gave him a high five and I got the hug but we were all happy.

Just for your information, Mister Maker is much nicer than Mister Tumble.

It would appear there are some celebrities who always have the time for the fans. I recall watching Daniel O’Donnell spend hours greeting every old lady who’d come to hear him sing at a charity event. He was more prepared than the Pope to be manhandled, but he was younger and less at risk of fractured bones.

It’s always nice when you meet a celebrity and they are polite and engaged but I’ve never taken it personally if they are not. It’s not all about me after all is it? I’m talking to you Sharon from Doncaster.

Sharon’s definitely a Pope grabber.

Anyway, better get some beans on some toast and then maybe a quick prayer before launching myself up the ladder.

See you all tomorrow - hopefully.

Move On

1st January 2020

Move On


Happy New Year everyone.

If I were the sort of person who made resolutions then I might be giving up meat or alcohol for January. But frankly speaking, for me, giving something up for a few weeks might be much harder than trying to give it up forever.

Surely with the challenges of climate change and preserving the future of our whole way of life, long term actions should be taken rather than these short term but well meant gestures? That’s not to say I denigrate anyone who is undertaking these challenges; good luck to you. Maybe it will see a longer term change for you?

I will try and drink less and I will try and eat less meat but not just for January, for the rest of my life. I don’t know yet how successful I will be but I can try.

Other big changes for 2020, well I’ve already spoken in other posts about a change in my work/life balance. The one tool I need to make that work is the courage to say ‘NO’.


I often find myself doing more than I should because of the actions of others and I, being professionally nice, don’t want people to think I’m letting them down. But if someone else promises that I will do something without first checking with me, then I should not feel responsible  for fulfilling their promise. It’s not my fault they misspoke, so I can, with a clear conscience say NO!

I know what has to be done, I now have to do it. Simple.


A more interesting challenge next.   I have been an atheist for most of my adult life, or perhaps I should say atheist/agnostic depending on how bloody minded I was feeling about certain issues.

And yet, strangely enough, I have always considered myself to have a spiritual nature. It does seem a complete oxymoron, a spiritual atheist, but I cannot think of another way of describing how I feel about life.

The essence of a person, their character or personality, is most often expressed through their interactions with others or identified in the things they do for themselves and others . The basic energy of life is spent on making memories and although I’m able to accept that when we die the ability to exist as we once did disappears, something is left behind.

I don’t mean ghosts and spirits, I still think that’s a load of hogwash and I despise those who prey on the vulnerable by claiming to be able to put them in touch with loved ones who have ‘passed on’.

No, what’s left behind is a feeling; something beyond words.  If you sit and think about someone who died, someone you loved, then I’m certain you’ll have experienced that feeling. That feeling is found in the  stories we tell and the memories we keep and will only completely disappear when there is no-one left to remember what it was like to have known and loved you. We will not only be dead, but forgotten.

Anyway, what I promise to make sure of in 2020 is that I explore this idea in more detail. I want to do some reading and research and try, once and for all, to see if there is a more human and spiritual way to live life.

I don’t want you thinking I’m converting to Catholicism or that I’m going to be knocking at your door with a copy of The WatchTower, organised religion will never be for me of that I’m certain.  I’m not looking for a personal God and I guess he/she isn’t looking for me as I’ve not been hiding and I’m quite big, so god alone knows how god missed me!

I just want to make sure that I’m able to be the very best version of myself that it’s possible to be and that means keeping a more open mind.



I’m hoping this year to look after my mental health too. Learning, or actually relearning a lesson that a very wise man taught me 23 years ago. Do not take responsibility for things beyond your control.

How others act towards you or think about you is their business, you just have to decide how to respond to it and sometimes the best response might be to ignore them.

I feel this would be a good time to stop and read ‘If’ by Rudyard Kipling….well some of it:

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise


The only thing we can really do, each day of this year, of every year, is to try and make the best choices we can. For ourselves, our families, our communities, our world. Best choices guided by the best information we can find.


In summation, I guess in a very long winded way I have been saying this: I promise to do my best to give life the honour it is due.

Let’s see how it works out.