First dates are funny things aren’t they? I have never enjoyed them particularly and to be honest I don’t think anyone does really unless we know the person we are on the date with. They are usually filled with awkward silences, ‘getting to know you chat’, and sometimes drinking far too much due to nerves. Often they feel like an inquisition.

“Justify to me why we are compatible!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Ok so maybe not quite like an inquisition, no one really ever gets burnt at the stake after a first date (unless that’s your thing which I am in no way judging). Probably a more apt analogy would be a job interview. You are selling yourself to that person, convincing them to give you the ‘job’ (mind out of the gutter please people!). Equally you are also cross examining them (the courtroom metaphors come too easy!). You wish to know everything about them. Usually the list follows a rather predictable formulae;

A: Job, most people have them, its easy to talk about and if they done have one then the date usually cuts off at point A.

B: Where do you live, again most people live somewhere. This can then go into a tangent of where they grew up and where that odd mixture of accents descends from.

C: what do you do for fun. Now this one is probably the most tricky where a lot of people get caught out. This one is the key that most second dates either progress from (well lets be honest you or your date knew that within the first 5 seconds but lets just pretend to the contrary), or they fall into oblivion.

On a date scenario we have two choices for point C. We tell the truth and admit that when not working we like to get pissed with our friends and watch Netflix on binge. The other and most commonly used option to scenario C is to Lie.

Yep, tell barefaced lies. “yeah I love going rock-climbing, reading poetry, reading to sick kids on a weekend.”.

Like a job interview dates can descend from gentle embellishment to complete works of fiction depending on how much you want to impress, or how much of that first bottle of Pinot you have sank. We all do it. We sell an idea of ourselves we want our dates to buy into. They seem like little white lies, from both parts. The part that makes it dangerous is when you both say something like, “yeah I love to go white water rafting too!”. Next thing you are in a weekend in Scotland wearing a wetsuit contemplating where the nearest bar is and how the hell this escalated in such dire circumstances. WHY GOD WHY???

One of my favourite dating tales is actually not from my own repertoire (though I have some shockers to tell). It actually involved my good friend Billy. Its the age old tale of Boy meets Boy, or rather Boy messages other Boy on gay dating app and arranges to meet up. This was back when we were 17 and still very green to dating like grown-ups. To be honest I only think we perfect our dating game in our 30’s.

SO Billy had announced during a free period he was heading to Belfast to meet up with his date. All very run of the mill so far. He then asked would we all like to go with him. At the time I thought it was a little odd however looking back It was probably to avoid getting molested by some potential pervert. Safety in numbers is always best. The guy in question was 28. At 17 that seems like an old man. Billy also had the added advantage that if this guy was a creep he could come back home with us. The arranged date was scheduled for a pizza date then a hotel date. Very presumptuous if you ask me however that must have been how 30 year olds rolled in those days. I had visions of Billy in a pit somewhere getting screamed at by the 30 year old, “it puts the LOTION ON, or it gets the HOSE AGAIN!!!”. Thankfully that is not what went down…. to my knowledge, again no judgement.

Myself and the ladies ventured up that evening to the date. Billy was wearing a smart shit and jeans while I feel the rest of us were in hoodies and jeans. At that age I felt too silly to dress like an adult and also, it wasn’t our date so why do we need to impress. We turned up at the pizzeria and started to troll through the menu. In walked the date.

The guy was about 6ft tall, full suit (definitely work suit), shiny shoes and a belt. Now don’t get me started on suits and belts, that’s a whole different blog. Probably a weeks worth. He sat down and introduced himself. He carried himself a lot older than 28, in fact I think he may have been north of 30 but I would know for certain, mandatory I.D checks were not the rage in those days. The waiter came over to order the drinks. We went round the room and myself and the ladies had an assortment of alcopops, I believe a Smirnoff ice for myself. The date then turned round, grinned at us and looked at the waiter. With an air of smugness he said, ” WE (already a we) will have the HOUSE white”. Now to clarify I now understand that the house white is the cheapest on the menu however a group of 17 year olds were not this savvy yet. Already we disliked this guy. He made us feel like…… teenagers!

As the evening progressed we had some food, few more drinks and the date did not speak to one of us the entire evening. We were not really bothered as we were only there for moral support for our friend. He probably seen us a hinderance and couldn’t wait to ditch us quite frankly. Then he turned round to billy and said, “I cant wait to get to the hotel I booked for us and get into the bath”. My fork bounced off my plate. I couldn’t believe this was appropriate dinner conversation. 17 or not I knew this was weird. Surely a 40 (sorry 30) year old would know the difference between polite and impolite dinner conversation. It was immediately apparent then what this guy was and wanted. He was horny and wanted Billy that evening.

This guy oozed arrogance and he knew it. He came for dessert and the dinner was just a formality.

We said goodnight to Billy as he left with the date and we told him to ring us at any point if he didn’t feel comfortable. What more could we do? He was adamant that’s what he wanted and as friends you have to support that. Even if it makes you feel uncomfortable in your own stomach. In the car back home all we could do was talk about the sleaziness and arrogance of the date. The way he thought he could treat our friend after one date? Yeah we were rather naïve to the ways of the world and Billy was always in a hurry to grow up. I was always comfortable being a teenager when he wanted to be a man. I was in no rush. Especially after seeing Peppy Le Pew doused in Cool Water by Davidoff.

We had all the gory details on Monday at school. We relished in the gossip and was asking Billy would he see him again, what he thought of him, all the friend type questions you grill them on after a date. Alas it was not to last. Billy would go on to have many great relationships however this blog is not about great relationships but about first dates. When I settled into adult life I always thought about the do’s and do-not’s of that dating world. If I ever thing I’m going wrong I think to myself,

Don’t do what Peppy Le Pew did.

night night xx

Ok so planning a holiday is always fun. From talking about it, booking the fights to finally getting all the holiday essentials. So we have to think about new clothes, sun cream all that malarkey. My favourite holiday purchase is always what book I am taking with me. To me it is the most fun purchase and the one I love getting deep into by the poolside. Holidays should always consist of copious amounts of alcohol, food and plenty of downtime. Downtime by the pool wearing my knockoff sunglasses (as I tend to set my arse on them and break them so no Raybans for Michael!) , listening to some music and soaking up the sun with a good novel.

This years holiday novel is an old favourite of mine. Marian Keyes. Many will remember her as the Irish Novelists who popularised the chic lit genre of the late nineties and early noughties. Her books deal with some serious shit! We have depression, alcoholism, bereavement and divorce. However how She frames these tales is rather light, irreverent and really funny. Her take on this tough subject matter has actually inspired my own writing style to a certain extent. Perhaps its the Irish nature, their may be a shit storm going on however we can actually turn it around and laugh about it. The first book I read of hers was called Angels. It stars Maggie Walsh who is recently separated and decided to move from Ireland to L.A. Keyes recurring characters are the Walsh sisters who usually feature one in each story. Sometimes their is some crossover however the spotlight is usually centred around one in particular. Maggie is the plain jane who is rather unimpulsive and the least likely to take the plunge of moving thousands of miles away. The story takes on her adventures in L.A and whether this move was right in the first place.

The other Keyes novel I am taking with me is called ‘Anybody out there’, which immediately makes me think of the Frozen song ‘do you want to build a snowman’ for some odd reason. This novel actually deals with one of the Walsh sisters (I think she’s called Annie) loosing her boyfriend and how she deals with the grief. I remember how touching this novel was the first time I read it and how potent the journey of her grief was. I think when I started to write this blog I had a few inspirations and this novel was definitely one of them. At the point of reading it I had never dealt with grief and only had a very abstract idea of what the experience felt like. We see grief played out in film and tv and it is over as quick as it began. Lets be honest there is only so much that can be fit into a 20 minute time slot. Even some of the greatest films on the subject matter struggle to tackle the complexity in under 90 minutes. The film that comes to mind is PS. I love you. Also penned by an incredible Irish writer, Cecilia Ahern. The books are always superior to the films. I book can take you on a journey that a film can only scratch the service of.

For me the journey of a book is all part of the fun. It is even better if the full spectrum of emotions can be explored through its pages. Keyes style of writing does just this and I must confess I will probably be sitting by my pool in September laughing one moment reading her novels and crying the next. I am particularly looking forward to re-reading ‘Anybody out there’. The first time I read it I really enjoyed the experience however I was rather green to the idea of loss. This time around I am reading almost from a fresh pair of eyes. It will be like talking to an old friend and comparing notes together. It will also give me a sense of ‘feeling normal’, that this process is very much part of what it is to be human. The fact that I will be working on my tan and getting very bronzed during this process doesn’t hurt either!

Reading these novels on holiday is going to be like connecting with an old friend who I have not spoken to in a long time. A friend who brought me a lot of laughter, tears and a sense of warmth all within 450 pages. The one thing that scares me  though is stopping. On holiday I will be stopping my busy schedule. I wont be working. I will be with my thoughts a lot. Its scary but equally I think it will be the best thing. She will be in my thoughts a lot.

I’m glad I have Marian with me.

xxx

As I lie in bed reflecting on the shenanigans of last nights adventures I think I’ll have a little break this evening. My brain really couldn’t concentrate on writing this evening so I will resume from tomorrow. I think tomorrow will be a story as their is one I’ve been itching to tell…. until tomorrow xx

OK so todays blog is more of a thought than a full scale Illiad. I was watching a comic yesterday on Netflix called Iliza Schlesinger. Her schtick is that she is a millennial feminist (albeit admitting towards the elder scale as she was born in 1983  the cut off). She is also a self confessed, unapologetic feminist. Unlike the Germaine Greers’ of the world, Iliza brings a breath of fresh air to feminism. She brings a self deprecating quality that Is as refreshing as it is hysterical. She mocks and makes many valid points in the same beat.

One of her stories involves talking about the pressure women put themselves under to look good. She talks about no matter how skinny a women is those allusive five pounds can be desirable to loose. No matter how blond we can be blonder right? What struck me about this commentary on female struggles, they are totally transferable to gay men. We often obsess about our bodies to ridiculous degrees. We are never thin/buff enough, we can always strive for more. I actually believe we are women on steroids with our self obsession. Like women we are a victim of our own community. This obsession is all over the community wherever we look. We see posters advertising nightclubs with tanned Adonis’ (under 30) with perfectly bleached teeth and abs that could have been bought from Clas Olsen in the kitchenware section. The gay community is pretty bad for body/appearance shaming. Ironic isn’t that a group that fought for acceptance can be so exclusionary at times?

Iliza also talks about how we all have that one thing we would change about our appearance. Sometimes its a collection of things forming a collage of our insecurities. This collage however is only mostly noticeable to us. Iliza ends her routine by making a rather poignant statement about self love and acceptance. Women should empower other women. I agree completely. We all have a right to feel good about ourselves however the only way we can do this is by changing how WE ourselves feel about OURSELVES. I Have found over the years to love myself, imperfections and all. I am at my most confident when I don’t give a flying fuck what other people think. I channel my inner diva, hold my head up high and just…. strut! Sure I’m only 5’8… I wish I was 6’0 but hell I’m going to be the best 5’8 Irish boy that I can be! A secret tip, when I feel like shit sometimes a new outfit can really put the fire back in my spirit (is that cheating??).

This is a topic I will revisit in the future as I believe their is a lot more meat on the bones so to speak and their is definitely more in this. I am only scratching the surface as I am mildly distracted by the heat and some stray glitter that is flying across the room. So in closing I will leave my final thought from somewhere far more iconic and fabulous than myself.

“My mamma told me when I was young

we are all superstars…..

theirs nothing wrong with loving who you are, she said, cause he made you perfect babe”

Credit lyrics – Lady Gaga

Credit Sentiment – The Lioness

Ok so my topic for tonight’s blog is rather mundane, it’s something we all as human beings have to do, housework. Its something we all dread doing, the thought of the household drudgery as a close friend called it can seem so utterly unappealing. The day started by the usual scan of social media over some Special K. I woke up relatively early for a day off. As I scanned through Instagram and Facebook (do millennials still use Facebook?) I noticed all the happy holiday goers, this did not inspire me much to my land of chores. Then a smile drifted over my face, when they are back at work in September I shall be lying on a beach sipping on a luxurious cocktail, then I will have my revenge!

Queue Super villain Laughter!

I have always been terrible for procrastination. It seems more appealing to stall the inevitable. Ill do it after one more episode of Glee I told myself. I am recently re-watching all of Glee so I thought 5 seasons of that would be better than my house work. As I watched my third Rachael Barry solo over my hot water and lemon I decided it was time to make tracks. I always start the same way. Washing first. I then dusted, washed the floors and did all the wood work with polish. I usually follow this rather predictable cycle. The thing is it usually makes me feel so much better once I’ve finished. The sense of calm and tranquillity it brings every time I do it is always worth it, however every time I prioritise procrastination. Everything we know is good for us is always the thing we leave to the last. Cleaning is also something I love doing. I’ve always enjoyed the smells, the scrubbing, and finally the end result. Procrastination however takes over in the early stages. Once it’s done however I feel that overwhelming sense of satisfaction. With the bedding hung up I then feel I can relax to my day…. more Glee then.

As I sit on my sofa an all too familiar episode appears. Its called the funeral. Its the one where Sue Sylvester the ‘villain’ has her sister pass away. We spend a lot of glee going through a love/hate relationship with Ms Sylvester. She constantly attacks the Glee club with her over the top Wile E Coyote shenanigans which ultimately fail. This episode though exposes her raw humanity. She has lost the most important person in her life. It is hard not to relate to this character. Especially in this time in my life. The finale has the Glee choir sing ‘Pure Imagination’ from the original Charlie and the chocolate factory, as this was her sisters favourite movie. This version is a lot more melancholic in tone and as it played out I felt a cold wet tear run down my cheek. It was touching, sentimental and very sweet. Those damn Glee kids know how to tug at the heart strings.

In the background we see a montage of clips from Sues life with her sister. Its the usual Hollywood style of life montages. Their is a clip of Sue pushing her sister on a swing and laughing hysterically, all rather cliché but none the less touching. It started to make me thing about my own montage with my mummy. I thought about all the times we laughed together ( and their were many) but also when we just sat in each others company, very still, very silent and very comfortable. These moments probably don’t make the best montage of someone’s life. What they lack in animation however they make up in heart. It takes a very special relationship with someone who you can just be in their company and not speak a word. You have those comfortable silences and are just happy to be with them. I had a lot of those with mummy, I always felt safe in her company.

So with my housework done, I can relax, watch some more of Glee and think about mummy. When I was cleaning my room I looked up at those sheep pyjamas today and felt really warm. I didn’t feel sad today. I felt comfort. It was strange and welcoming. I enjoyed it. Amazing what a pair of sheep pyjamas can do really? I folded them up nicely and put them back in my wardrobe where they will stay.

night night xx

Ok so I’ve always been a little bit of a firecracker. I can be terribly outspoken. I don’t need to be however as my face usually tells the full story. I am extremely passionate about life and everything really. If I don’t get passionate about something I will usually find it not worth doing. My relationships are also like this. I can be a little Firestarter as I always like everything to be transparent and cannot really abide bullshit. Aint nobody got time for that right? Mummy always said I moved at my own pace and the world was always trying to catch up. She always had faith her little boy was going to change the world someway.

So how did I come to be this way? Was it nature or nurture? Where you fall on this debate is really interesting as science really cannot back up anything particularly well. Nature shows us animals can adapt through their environment. We are also born with distinct characteristics. Can it be a little bit of both? I do tend to lean towards the nature argument mostly however you cannot deny things happen in your life that can define your character. I was always going to be a little bit more ‘extra’ than most kids however the circumstances that have led to my adult life perhaps have had a significant contribution. For me it was having the cheerleader in the background always supporting me and championing me to do whatever I wanted.

The interesting thing about loosing a loved one is that your emotions are extremely heightened. I am a lot more irrational than once before. I am reacting to things a lot more fiery than I ever did before ( I know I sound like a nightmare). On the tram today I was getting really pissed off at these young girls singing on the way home. They were not particularly loud, they were not yobs, just three young girls  singing with their mummy. I looked on with anger and eventually getting up to move with a loud sigh shortly after. This evening I look back and think, what harm were they doing? None. That’s the problem, irrational thought leaves and all that is left behind is a ball of emotion.

In these circumstances I usually would have a lioness swiping her paw in my face and giving me a harsh does of reality. She kept me in line and even though she was my biggest defender she would always make sure I was in the right. If I wasn’t then God help me! She never had a rulebook of how to be a good person, only one simple mantra. As long as you don’t hurt anyone, do what you want. Its a nice motto to live by however sometimes their is roadkill, especially when this firecracker is on a rampage. More than ever in my life I have to think back to that as I don’t have her here anymore to keep me in line, I need to trust that she has created a nice human being with all the lessons she gave me.

However right now I’m thinking, I’ve had a nice day. I’m feeling particularly chirpy. I feel almost Zen, for the first time in a little while. Maybe its the cooling temperatures or maybe I’m turning a corner, who knows? One thing I do know is that I want to dance right now and channel that emotion into something fun. So right now I’ve turned on my speakers and am about to blast ‘Good as Hell’, by Lizzo and think of Mummy. If you care to join me (metaphorically) then crank up those sound systems and blast that song. I promise you will feel better 🙂

xx

As I lay in bed I felt inspired this evening to present a double feature. I have missed a couple of days on my blog and am determined to complete what I started. 365 days of Grieving is a labour of love and as such I need to put in a couple to double shifts to catch up the 4 days I have missed. I have missed those days due to my own limited energy levels not due to lack of inspiration. One thing I have is plenty of stories, thoughts, mindless ramblings…. the problem is sometimes after doing a 40+ week in work along with the odd bit of socialising and domestic duties I find my energy only goes so far. Tonight be it the humidity or the new eating plan I have mustered up the strength to write a double feature.

One thing is certain about my dear mummy. She loved a good story, be it fictional or otherwise. She was a great story teller herself. She knew when and when not to embellish certain parts, when to execute precision comic timing and also when to tug at the heart strings. We both had a love for cinema which I have previously talked about. We loved nothing better than finding a good ‘weepy’ on a Sunday afternoon to watch together. My mothers sky library was filled with Danielle Steele stories. You know the type! They often involved some tragic heroine overcoming adversity to finally be struck down my some tragic illness leaving her family destitute. These filled up her memory on her skybox. She would lament how they were all really crap and she had not really watched them however I knew she secretly lived for that ‘crap’.

We differed in our taste in some movies however one thing we could always agree on. Dirty Dancing. I remember sitting in our living room the first time she put it on for me. I must have been about 8/9 at the time. I certainly missed the whole abortion subplot, I just thought some bad man had beat her up or that she was sick? This did not detract for my love of the film. I can remember the opening credits like it was yesterday. As the drum starts to beat followed by ‘be my baby’ sung by the Ronettes I was instantly mesmerised. The music was from a different era but I was used to it growing up in an eclectic musical household ranging from Simon and Garfunkel to the Everly Brothers. I was used to this rock and roll sound filling the home. Music that should have felt odd and nostalgic felt warm and familiar. I felt very much comfortable with the music from the 1960’s. While most kids were probably listening to current chart music I was dancing jiving in the kitchen with my mummy to ‘wake up little Susie’ and ‘bird dog’ by the Everly Brothers. Those were the days when my mum had large big rimmed glasses, high waisted trousers and oversized pullovers. This was the early nineties so I’m sure most mothers had that look. We would sit in that kitchen jiving to classic Rock and Roll till it was bedtime, laughing as my little feet would trip over themselves struggling to follow the natural rhythm of my mother.

So it is fair to say Dirty Dancing immediately struck a chord with my music sensibilities and my love of dancing. As we watched the provocative dance scenes which most mothers would cringe watching with their sons, I just say their mesmerised by the movement. It did not contain anything sexually explicit in my eyes, it just looked like what I considered dancing. Media watchdogs always warn about the dangers of exposing kids to images unsuitable at a young age, and am I in no way condoning watching Rita, Sue and Bob too with you children, I do believe the moral crusaders need to calm down slightly. It did this little Irish boy from a small town no harm after all. As I said before I didn’t really understand the sexual subtext of the film, just a young girl whose daddy wouldn’t let her dance.

As the film progressed we sat in near silence as the little boy from Ireland was captivated by the chorography, the songs and above all the heart of the film. I still remember the goose bumps I felt as ‘I’ve had the time of my life’ started to play. Babies perfectly pleated skirt twirled in the air and Johnny dived off the stage. I gasped, would she finally make the lift? A health inspector may have been wondering what was going on as an 8 year olds pupils dilated as Jennifer Grey leaped into Patrick Swayzee’s arms. It was amazing, it was classic, it was just incredible. After the film ended I sat in silence enjoying the credits as the VHS came to an end. “Did you enjoy that son?”. The big grin must have gave it away, I loved every second of it. How my mother did not realise she was raising a gay kid is beyond me. A love of music and dance surely (not to stereotype god forbid) is a good indication your future son will become interested in same sex relationships. Another indication may have been how I insisted we would dance around the kitchen as mummy ‘lifted me’ as I always wanted to be baby, though I’m pretty sure Jennifer Grey could pull of the flowing skirt better than I could.

I don’t have memories of every film I watched with mummy, only a few. Dirty Dancing sticks out the most. We would probably watch it another 20 or 30 times together. It was always so easy for us to switch on and fall into and be absorbed by Baby and Jonny’s world each time. Fast forward 6/7 years and I was in my late teens. It was mummy’s birthday and I knew exactly what I was getting her. I had went to Camerons in Ballymena which is an independent department store. They had a massive CD collection before the days of HMV. As I casually searched for the gift I looked and finally found what I was looking for. Dirty Dancing the soundtrack. On her birthday she unwrapped it and thanked me for it. I don’t think she knew exactly how much it meant to me never mind her. I selfishly bought the CD as it brought back memories of us in the kitchen, dancing away to dirty dancing together.

Every time I hear Be my baby, I always think of the start of my favourite film we loved together. I think of those moments spent as mother and son. Joyously dancing away together. Cherishing each others company.

Every time I hear that song, I will think of you. xx

Dreams are a very interesting experience and very personal to the individual. We all dream, that is a fact however we will never experience another persons dream so surely like the old snowflake and DNA combination, they are all unique to you. Many theories exist of why we dream, from the purely scientific whereby the facilitate the standby process of the brain allowing us to reenergise and compartmentalise all the events of the previous 18 hours. They have also been theorised to represent our hopes and dreams in a manifestation to allow us to do just that, dream.

I have this rather odd recurring dream. I have it about once a year without fail. I am In an auditorium style venue with the layered seating. I am sat in my little seat petrified that I am going to plummet to my death. I spent the whole dream as still I possibly can be contemplating my ultimate doom, which needless to say never happens. On the surface this could be interpreted as a simple fear of heights. I do not have a fear of heights per se, its the feat of falling to a grizzly death that bothers me. If I have a railing and plenty to limit my chances of death then I am pretty dandy with whole height thing.

Paradoxically I also have a recurring dream where I can fly. I think everyone has had this at one point of another. The wind is rushing in your hair and you have the complete feeling of liberation, of total freedom. The two conflicting dreams could represent a complete duality in emotions. One represents a feeling of repression and being stifled, a lack of control whereas the other symbolises a feeling of freedom and complete control in our surroundings. I always was a mixed bag of conflicting dichotomies and this illustration through my dreams completely represents me and perhaps everyone’s duality. We all struggle between that balance of control/lack of control.

Sometimes though dreams can hold very little to interpret. There are the dreams which just hit us plain in the face and require no reflection as they are as plain as a sunrise. Those dreams usually pack a wallop. Last night I had such a dream. I was in some mystical realm where reality was distorted and I could not specifically define my locale, most dreams appear in this abstract notion of being. In my dream she was there, alive, it was mummy. In my dream I had a step mother bizarrely and it was her who passed away. Not my mummy. I felt so relieved that I hugged her so tight as we talked about the confusion as if it was normal. I hadn’t just buried my mummy, it was some unknown step mother from the likes of Cinderella. I had made a mistake, I felt incredible. Though death is unfortunate in all circumstances I felt no remorse for this step mother figure, as she wasn’t real. I have no step mother so how could I feel a sense of attachment to this random figure, all I knew was that my mummy was beside me smiling at me.

I remember few specific details of the dream apart from one little fact. She was all in white. This would not be automatically odd apart from my mother never wore white, I don’t even think she owned the shade (as we know white is a shade, rather the absence of colour, sorry couldn’t resist). White usually symbolises purity and in this case I guess that’s how I see her now. Some heavenly angel like figure in my dreams. When I woke this morning I felt so comforted and protected. Then as the sunlight began to trickle more and more into my bedroom the stark reality began to hit me. It was all a dream.

This is the first time I have dreamt about her since it happened. I think its the first time I’ve had a dream full stop since it all happened. We all have those dreams that we want to last forever and this was certainly one. I felt enveloped in a blanket of love and contentment. It felt so good to have her there. We didn’t speak really. We just sat smiling at each other. It was so nice and so warm, I think that’s the best way to describe the dream. For a few minutes this morning I did feel sad however as I sit with my cereal and my laptop I feel sort of strange and content. Maybe I’m crazy (strong chance of that) but I did feel like I was connecting with her after all these months. Maybe it was just a dream, or maybe something more. I choose to think the latter. After all what harm is there in that?

I look forward to my dreams now, perhaps she will make further cameos. My mother was a big dreamer and we often talked about what they meant and how stranger hers were. Perhaps she has passed that on to me?

If so, what a lovely gift.

xoxox

Ok so I’ve adopted a new approach to my ever present grief that I never thought I would be saying. For the past three weeks I have been eating rather healthy. OK so what does that mean exactly? No I’m not living on lettuce leaves and carrots. I will never turn into that kind of boy. God id spend the whole time craving a cheeseburger! No I have been actively watching everything I eat. I’ve cut out salt and caffeine and replaced them with pepper and boiling water and lemon/oranges. I have one day a week were I treat myself as I couldn’t give up my love for pasta and Chinese food completely. Just Eat you have not lost a customer just yet….

Three weeks into this and I feel fitter, I have more energy and I also think I am a little more happy. My alcohol consumption has dramatically decreased. I was never a full blown alcoholic by any means however I did partake a drink every week as habit. That’s exactly what it was, habit. I think I used alcohol in the early stages to process my feelings. That didn’t really get me anywhere as you just end up feeling like shit the day after, the senses are also heightened so you cry at a leaf falling on the ground. In the glorious month of July I had a few drinks with friends to see the marvellous Alaska Thunderfuck.

Note. Alaska Thunderfuck is a world famous drag queen made famous by Rupaul’s Drag Race.

Note. Also see Gay Culture for more information.

I have also been exercising a lot more. The word used to be a death sentence for me. The very thought of it made me cringe. I have got back into swimming which I love and have been going twice a week. I have also taken to nice long walks around the woods when my head feels particularly cloudy. As I sit here typing this I am sitting my a little vodka and lime as I am heading out with Dazzles tonight. This new plan is not about ‘dieting’ or depriving myself. It is all about being sensible and enjoying things in moderation.

As I sit here 9lbs lighter and more bouncy I feel a little bit lighter in my mood. Still I might have a glass of red tonight while I’m out. Its what she would of wanted, and I will think of her when I do. She was incredible.

Myself and Dazzles have found ourselves into some predicaments over the years. I guess it would be expected after 15+ years of friendship. Apart from the story about how we were enemies first their is another story we share with everyone. It was a defining moment and ultimately could have turned out a little dark, however as luck would have it we have found the funniest and campest way of telling it. It still makes me giggle to this day. Mummy often recalled how she found us that evening, shaking, a little frightened and laughing hysterically.

Myself, Dazzles and Lady Constance had decided to take a break from the usual trip to the big city of Belfast (no doubt due to the fact none of us had two beans to rub together). Dazzles had moved into a house a short 15 minute walk from mine so we decided to have drinks in his house that evening. We no doubt arrives at Dazzles with an array of alcohol that would make a sailor blush. We were having our usual chats in the kitchen (I actually never recall being in that living room???) and Darren was away somewhere most likely doing his hair. We were chatting about how Lady Constance had absconded one of our mutual friends a few weeks previous. I was having drinks with Notorious IJE (It’s just expected….that name will explain itself in future blogs) and Lady Constance had decided to join us. Now myself and Notorious IJE had briefly dated when we were teenagers. We were catching up years later as people tend to do however their was no romantic intentions on either part, just two old friends meeting for a civilised drink, or so we thought. The conversation went from friendly to confrontational on Lady Constance’s part very quickly which ultimately led to him pushing Notorious  IJE over his chair. Nothing had really led this point to its natural conclusion. Perhaps I was missing something?

While Dazzles was sprucing up his air I chose this moment to question Lady C on what exactly her thought process was in leading to this really bizarre turn of events. I wanted to know what happened to go from 0 to 60 in the space of a few minutes of perfectly civil conversation. Sure he was being slightly barbed in his comments (Lady C) however I took it as light banter. Lady C obviously had enough of an vodka buzz at this stage to open up about that night, “well you see Michael what you don’t realise is that I have always loved you”.

Queue Bodyguard Soundtrack! ANNNDDDDDD IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII……….ok maybe not.

At this moment I seen Dazzles appear with his freshly hair sprayed quiff and turn on his heel. If I could caption that moment I’m sure it would read like this:

“Nope, aint getting into this”.

Immediately I thought cheers Dazzles for leaving me in this rather awkward situation. I wanted the ground to swallow me up. It kind of came from nowhere. In later conversations with mummy she would always quiz me as to why I never noticed. In her words he “always had a candle for you”. I’m not exactly sure what she meant. Was it a Yankee candle and if so…. what scent? Hopefully something with coconut as it always reminds me of going on holiday.

I tried to gracefully brush this scenario under the carpet as I could and continue our evening. I wanted to be sensitive to his feelings however I really didn’t have a response. The feelings were not mutual which is never nice I suppose. The poor lad had laid his feelings on the table and all I could really muster to say was, “O right…. I never noticed”. I suppose that was the half truth. He always treated me differently. He used to announce my arrival into nightclubs embarrassingly all the time or would text me 100 times a day. I guess yeah….. the signs were definitely there. So as we carried on as casually as we could with our evening I decided we needed some music. What could we listen to? At this stage in our lives myself and Dazzles were going through our ‘Wicked the musical’ phase. Nothing like a bit of Defying Gravity to get the party started. So much so we would re-enact that entire song. Michael was dramatically lifted to the ceiling by the two boys and flung across the place. The gays do contact sports in a completely different way.

Disclaimer: To all the heterosexual males out there that have never sang a show tune while half cut…. I call bullshit. We know you live for Streisand at the weekend! That private spotify account is a dead good giveaway!

As the night was coming to a close Lady C was heading either home or to her current boyfriends house, I can’t actually remember, I think the latter. He liked to keep his options open miss Lady C did. Myself and Dazzles decided we would venture the 15 minute walk to mine and watch some Hairspray most likely. Armed with Cider and sharing and ear pod we were on our way. Sill in our Wicked phase we decided to listen again to Defying Gravity, I don’t think you totally appreciate it until the 100th time. So many subtle nuances to appreciate.

As we walked down the long road towards home we heard a car pull up in front of us in the nearest layby. I think we both looked at each with sheer confusion and a little apprehension. Our thoughts went to thinking they seen us prancing up the road like we were extras from fame. As we further approached one lad turned round to Dazzles and Said, ” Are you Dazzles who knows Christopher McGenericName?”. We ignored the comment and rushed past. Then it happened.

Our of nowhere someone hit both of us in the back. Panic took over. We both started to sprint as fast as we could to get away. The boys did not chase us, why would they?

THEY HAD A BASTARDING CAR!

I could hear the rev in the engine so I said to Darren we could crawl beneath the hedges in the road and escape through someone’s garden. The best thing about my childhood was I knew where every back garden connected to and how best to get home (much to the chagrin of my neighbours and my poor mummy). I dove through first, the adrenaline taking over my whole body. I slipped though got to my feet and looked for Dazzles. Where the bloody hell was he?

He was stuck! FFS I thought to myself.

I dived back through the hedge and literally booted his ass through the hedge. The time for niceties had passed. I dived back through that bloody hedge and we  both ran for home. We could hear the car driving past but fortunately for us it was too late. It was then I noticed Darren had a cut on his face. One of the thugs had caught him. This was not good. As we arrived home exhausted, sober (its amazing what a little gay bashing can do) and emotionally drained. Mummy sat with us in the kitchen as we called the police and reported the incident. I could tell she was unsettled. Ever since I came out to her this was her worst fear, and probably the worst fear of all mothers and fathers of a gay child. Behind all the glitter and rainbow flags was something darker, nastier, more real.

One thing I pride myself upon is that I have never let things like this effect my life. I have and never will be a victim. People like that have no impact on who I am as a person. I never let that incident dim my light, and thankfully neither did Dazzles. Our light still shines very brightly (a little too bright for some tastes), as we will never concede on who we are as people. I learned that lesson from mummy. She was always the voice saying that we cannot let the bad define who we become. Let it teach us certainly, let us learn from it but never dwell and never let it define. Even through her worry she would be able to comfort myself and my friend. Lioness mode kicks in and she looks after all her cubs, even the little adopted ones.

I also believe it is important to find the funny side in most things. Everything can have an element of humour (sometimes inappropriate which is my favourite kind). So if you ever feel down or are having a bad day. If you ever need a giggle,

Just think of Michael kicking Dazzles arse through a hedge while listening to defying gravity!

Until tomorrow, A bientot xx