As human beings we are wonderfully complex creatures. I often wonder do our animal counterparts go through the complexity of the wonderful spectrum of emotions, like we do? Like the fabled poisoned chalice from Macbeth we are burdened and blessed with the full array of emotions. The past three days have been a burden, however that is only because the last 30 years with her, were blessed. The physiological heart is a muscle to circulate blood to all the organs, however metaphorical heart is much more than a muscle. It is where we store all our hopes, dreams and emotions. Sometimes we let them out to play with all the other kiddies. Other times we keep them locked in as we feel we do not wish to burden others with our woes, after all it is just us that feels these things correct?

Lady Macbeth followed her head. She convinced her husband that meteoric aspirations were plausible and getting those would and should involve and means and be just. Ultimately the heart won in the end and she succumbed to feelings of remorse and ultimately her death over her guilt. Scholars have debated over whose role was greater in the Massacre of King Duncan. Was it Macbeths thirst for power, or was it Lady Macbeths. One thing that is not up for debate is the moral of the tale. Heart will defeat head every time. We cannot deny our feelings lest they spill out into unhealthy manifestations. This is a common theme in many of Shakespeare’s tragedies’ and a common lyrical device to centre a plot. I recall my lessons in Shakespeare very fondly as often beneath all the hidden imagery and ye old language, their is a very simple message. In this case that we cannot and should not block out our emotions. I am finding this out gradually in my own personal journey.

As I walked home today after work I looked up at the Manchester sky and seen a storm cloud. It was black and angry. Full of mischief. Those who have been enjoying this great British summer will most certainly agree we are due a spot of rain. We need a good storm to release all that humidity so we can all get a decent nights sleep. Like that big back cloud this week I was walking on the precipice of a storm. I could feel the droplets forming, almost teasing to burst out onto the streets below. My emotions were turning to a point they were taking over. I felt anger, I felt pure rage, I felt sad. That beautiful spectrum of emotions was tipping into the darker magenta tones. Finally yesterday I just let the storm rage. I burst into tears then I burst into anger screaming at everything in my apartment. The act itself would cause people to question this little Irish boys sanity I’m sure. My neighbours will be sending out the white coats at any moment. Though I defy them not to feel this raw emotion themselves at some point in their lives. They will understand I am sure of it.

I feel I was like Lady Macbeth in Act 1. I was doing what my head told me to do. I was acting a little too normal, a little reserved in my approach to grief. People would ask how I am and I would act very Hugh Grant like and mumble what people wanted to hear, “yeah its hard but I’m coping”. That’s what is expected. I am now very much in Act 2. I have grabbed the poisoned chalice and it burns, it burns with all that emotion that has been waiting to escape for months. How does that feel? Id be lying if it said it felt bloody marvellous however it feels better than having it all pent up inside. Like this unseasonal weather I needed to crack at some point. I needed my storm. Thankfully we do not have monsoon weather as I doubt my little heart would cope with the pain. A storm to release the humidity is good every now and again. After a storm comes clear skies and cooler temperatures. Also its pride next month so possibly a rainbow to boot?

I shall go to bed tonight thinking of her as I always do. Tonight though I feel just a little bit lighter in myself.

night night xx

The past couple of days have been really hard. It all started by looking at my bathroom doors, the veneer is coming off the wood slightly. Then I remembered how mummy talked about me and her going door shopping and she would treat me to new doors. My heart sank. Not due to the new doors. I couldn’t give a shit about new doors. It made me think about all the plans we made. We were planning to go to New York, in fact we talked about it every year and always thought, we can do it next year. Unfortunately their is no next year now.

I’m sad, I’m angry, I’m numb. I know this feeling will pass but the past couple of days have been hard. They say lie is cruel, well I know where that statement comes from now. I know I’m being very selfish and self centred right now, I am conscious I have said I about thirty times in todays blog. I just cant help it! I just want to go somewhere and scream at something. I want to punch something! I want everyone to feel a piece of what I’m feeling as the burden of these feelings are weighing me down. I feel like I’m deep-sea diving and I’ve ran out of oxygen in my tank. Maybe tomorrow will bring a better day. Until then I shall get into bed, put on some trashy television and try to escape for an hour or two before I go to sleep.

arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Night night x

The humidity of this summer has me longing for the cooler months. Don’t get me wrong I absolutely love this summer and the unseasonable warmth, however I do think writing this blog in cooler temperatures will be a lot easier. I guess in the UK we are not used to having a summer so it seems a lot more extreme when we do. As I sit next to my fan blowing a cool breeze over myself and my laptop it makes me giggle ever so slightly thinking of mummy.

My apartment is south facing and double glazing. Ergo in the summer months the evenings are like a greenhouse in the evenings. Even opening the windows does mild relief at best. Mummy would always ‘suggest’ in her best nagging tone, “go out and get yourself a fan”, yes mummy I will. OK so it took me 6 years to finally get one. I purchased it from Wilkinsons for 15.99, bargain! To be fair she was right as it has really helped my summer sleeping habits. I would tell her that and I could almost sense the smug grin that would cross over her face. She loved being able to tell me, “maybe you will start listening to me now!”. I never learned though. It was almost adolescent defiance when she started to lecture me on what I should and shouldn’t be doing. We would always joke about it as well. She would remark how, “I know you don’t like to be nagged..”, to which my default response was always, “then you wont start, I appreciate that.”. She would often look at me with a surly brow immediately afterwards. It was our own little dynamic. She would nag me just to the point of breaking point, and I would tolerate it to the point of breaking point.

It was always from a good place but we all have these relationships with our parents when we reach adolescence and beyond. Surely after 18+ years on this planet we know everything their is to know? We have read all the instruction manuals and never need advice or support. We are all grown up now right? I guess what we don’t always realise is that, and I certainly didn’t, is that their is no off switch of being a mother, no matter how old we become. We automatically want to go into friend mode all the time and forget they are a parent through and through (unless we need a cheeky £20 of course…. then the parent/child dynamic comes straight back!).

I miss a lot of things about my mummy. I guess what I’m realising more and more everyday is that I miss her advice. That’s all the nagging was, it was advice. I miss being able to call her up and talk a scenario through with her. I even miss her gentle nudges about budgets and how to better economise. Looking back I really appreciate those things now. She was so sweet and caring and some of the time I would roll my eyes, not understanding that she was doing it because she cared.

To everyone reading  raise a glass this Saturday night for all the mummy’s (ill raise my lemonade as I am working tomorrow). Raise you glass, appreciate them, love them.

Give them a ring for me, I would love to. xx

When pondering today about what to write today I took random inspiration from Big Girls snap chat. She has relegated herself from Facebook (much like the England football team…. sorry lads). She only really uses Whats Ap and Snapchat, Its a nice medium for us to share much of what is happening in our lives. She is currently away in warmer climates holidaying with her wee family. She has taken to giving names to her fellow holiday makers. One such guest is a larger gentleman who she describes as Al Murray, AKA the bartender. One word to describe me and the ladies is Random! Our humour derives from the most unlikely of places. We find laughter in many weird and wonderful places. Todays story is one of those such times. For the faint hearted and squeamish please be warned this tale involves defacing popular religious icons for the sake of humour, you have been warned.

It was Christmas time in the secondary school and all the faculty had gone up to the rickety old attic and brought down all the old hand me down Christmas decorations. Unfortunately it was less Hogwarts and more Grange Hill (I’m showing my age a tad here). The Christmas tree had the tattiest old tinsel to be found in pound stretchers and the a Christmas Angel who looked like she was entering a Blackpool amateur drag show. Christmas was always the time when lessons started to die down and we were presented with a lot of ‘study time’, which inevitably never involved cracking open a book once. We were getting restless as a group and decided we needed to spice things up a bit. I cannot recall whose idea it was however I have a sneaking suspicion it was Billy.

We ventured down into the main hall where the Christmas tree was located and decided the drag Angel needed a cosmetic retouch so she could live up to her full potential. We also needed some tinsel to accessorise with so we nicked some of that as well. We decided to rename her ‘Deirdre the Christmas whore’. After all what is more festive than a Christmas Angel with loose morals? She had a full on makeover. We painted her lips crimson red, cut her dress to reveal those striking pins and even decided that every holiday sex worker should have cigarette burns in her clothing and body. As you imagine she was an absolute treat. She was the type of Angel who would barely gain entry into an under 18’s disco let alone Heaven. All done up we felt like their was something missing, “I know”, someone said. “Lets tie two meters of silver tinsel to her neck”, And so we did.

Over the next few weeks Deirdre evolved into a school icon. Everyone had to take turns babysitting Deirdre. The teachers would look at us, roll their eyes and probably ponder what narcotics we had smuggled into the 6th form centre. The two meters of tinsel came in handy as we used to dangle her from the 6th form window down to the floor below. Fellow pupils would remark how they seen Deirdre in Maths that day….. As if this was something totally conventional and normal. To us it really was. Deirdre would have further cosmetic enhancements which included Billy smearing tomato ketchup all over her as she was ‘due on’. The thing was absolutely vile and disgusting, and to us really really funny!

One day as Deirdre was getting some fresh air out the window the most tragic thing that could happen did, the silly bitch fell from her sparkly tinsel leash and plummeted straight into the downstairs classroom….. “Bugger”, we thought. How on earth were we going to get her back. At the ripe age of 17 we really had no concept of giving two shits to be honest. Myself, Big Girl and Lady Jayne marched down the  Mathematics class taking place on the floor below banged on the teachers door. The teacher answered puzzled and asked “can I help use?”. “yes!”, we exclaimed, “can we have Deirdre back please”. He looked at us in bewilderment, walked over to his desk and held up a heap of silver tinsel visibly stained from a recent ketchup mishap, “Do you mean this …. THING?”. “YES”, we responded, grabbed Deirdre and away back upstairs we went.

I feel sorry for the poor man trying to teach a lesson and being interrupted by a blasphemous icon flying through his classroom window. Try explaining that to the PTA?

A lot of the 6th form boys thought we were absolutely nuts, and to be fair we kind of were, yet some had a random fascination with her. We had turned this rather boring everyday object into a cultural icon for our 6th form students. People would ask to look after Deirdre over lunch. As I type this I actually am laughing at the absurdity of the whole thing. We would also take it in turns to take Deirdre home with us at the end of the school day. I introduced her to Mummy and she looked at it with sheer disgust. “Michael that is awful looking?”. I explained the whole backstory of Deirdre and I think for a split second she considered taking me straight to the doctors to be examined. Instead though she laughed and carried on making dinner for us. She always saw the funny side in our random escapades.

Its weird to think that we all bonded that Christmas over a plastic Angel who had been defaced and maimed to look like a cheap whore on a promise. The fact is she did. We all became better friends for it and If you think we matured and became a lot more sensible in our later years then clearly you are not paying attention to this blog. Our shenanigans would evolve and grow and escalate.

Those were extremely happy times with my friends in our own little bubble. The world couldn’t touch us. Even to this day when we meet up we loose all sense of who is around us. We just enter the ‘Friend world’ and anyone who is in earshot is invited to come along for the ride. Pull up a seat, get strapped in and enjoy the ride.

Because you know we will.

I’m taking a little break this evening as I’m shattered. Had a lovely few days of reflection and a few tears as well. All part of the journey 🙂

Love is one of the strongest emotions. We do so many great things (and maybe some not so great ones) in the name of love. They inspire great art, literature and experiences. Love inspired many of the great sonnets of the great William Shakespeare, and many believe controversially many were about men…. Ooo Shakespeare you naughty scamp! It is a very powerful emotion and can inspire some of the best qualities of the human experience. The love that eclipses all in my humble opinion is a mothers love for her child. Specifically the love a lioness had for her baby cub.

At the tender age of around 9 or 10 I had recently seen my first James Bond film. I became instantly obsessed. The glamorous locales, the flash cars, the exotic women…… well maybe not the last one however they always had rather fetching footwear! I had my first 007 fix and was keen to have more. With a catalogue of over a dozen films I had my work cut out for me if I was to see them all. One day on a regular shopping trip to the local shopping centre myself and mother were passing an independent entertainment retailer. It sold mostly CD’s with a small selection of VHS (remember those??) Physical media was all the rage back then. With the internet in its infancy streaming was unimaginable. Dialup took at least 5 minutes to connect and you couldn’t block the phoneline either so no calls…. actually do people even have landlines anymore? I digress.

I seen in the window of the shop called ‘Caroline Music’ a VHS of the Man with the Golden Gun. I was ecstatic with excitement. I dragged mummy into the shop to look at the full selection. They had them all!!!! I opened my puppy dog eyes, pouted slightly and mummy just looked at me with those hazel eyes and grinned. She did spoil her children slightly but it always came with a caveat. Like life we wouldn’t get everything we wanted all at once. It was the delayed gratification principle. It also would make us appreciate it a lot more. If I was to be totally cynical it always enabled mummy to milk the appreciation for a longer span of time. She looked down at her baby boy and said to me, “Ok we can buy one today and we will come back and forth and gradually buy all the tapes”. I was elated. I rushed to the little bin that held the VHS tapes and selected the man with the golden gun. I couldn’t wait to get home.

I popped my VHS in the VCR and as the gun barrel sequence played along with the 007 theme I could feel my adrenaline rushing. I sat their for 125 minutes watching Roger Moore take on the villainous Christopher Lee. Once the credits started to roll I ran down to the kitchen as mummy was preparing the evenings dinner and started to yammer endlessly about the film. As always mummy was very patient even though I’m sure I was boring her to tears. “Do you know Christopher Lee mummy, he was the baddy?”, “yes son he was Dracula in the hammer films, he scares me to this day”. I watched that film over and over and probably to this day could recite every single word.

Over the next few weeks and months we would return to Caroline Music and gradually build up my collection until I had every single tape. Every time I got one I am unsure who was happier, myself or my mother? The thing about mummy was she rarely did anything for herself. She got a lot of pleasure in life through her children. She got so much joy in our happiness. Later in life the James Bond tapes would take a different form. She would buy me new clothes in the summer, she would help furnish my apartment, she would buy me washing powder and shampoo. She never asked for anything for herself. The only thing she loved was a nice card on her birthday. Who could deny her that?

I still love 007. Their is something about the thrill of the spy genre that always appealed to me. The charisma and charm of James Bond is undeniable. Be it Connery, Moore, Brosnan or Craig I don’t care. Its more about the character for me than the actor. The films have taken on a new meaning for me. They are a symbol of a mothers love.

A mother wanting to bring happiness to her baby boy.

Because she loved me.

If we cant trust a swiss banker who can we trust? a question we all ask. I have the same answer every time…… ask Mr Bond…………. the topic of tomorrows blog. Please comment below what I should blog about lol.. if you dare

mon cher xxx

As I’m currently wiping glitter off my arms (I had glitter face paint at Sparkle) I think its rather appropriate as glitter is vey colourful and shiny, just like the ladies.

So having reunited with the three thespians of Big Girl, Lady Jayne and Ringer we also became acquainted with two more into what was becoming a ‘group’ of sorts. ‘Elsa’ was a lovely blond girl, rather infectious laugh and a smile that could light up the whole street. Their was a venerability there as well. She had a quality of appearing confident but the mask would slip every now and again and it would reveal her true self. Elsa had a big heart and her only fault was at times she was rather naïve however a that age none of us were particularly savvy at navigating the world. I now see where that venerability came from, she lost her mother at a young age, not particularly long before I met her. At 33 it has broke my heart and I have found the road difficult, I cant imagine what she went through.

The other, and last of the ladies was ‘Terry’ short for Terrapin (those who know these people will see the not so subtle way in giving my friends pseudonyms. Terry was a red another red head, light skin and rather striking eyes. Terry had a relationship none of us had or understood at the time but She was a very devout Christian. The great thing about Terry was though it was never shoved down our throats, she never tried to convert us (she probably knew we were all lost causes anyway). It never stopped her social life with us either. It just meant if we had a blurry memory we could rely on her to fill in the blanks. its always handy to have a friend who can fill in the blanks, especially after a lot of pinot grigio.

So a motley crew was born, just to recap;

Big Girl

Ringer

Billy

Lady Jayne

Lexxy

Nadia

Terry

Elsa

Over the first few weeks of 6th year we all became fast friends. It felt so natural at the time like it was something planned. The dynamics of sixth form were something akin to David Attenborough’s Planet Earth. We had a social hierarchy, predators, prey (unfortunately) and very clear boundaries. Every sat in the same area every single day. Base camp was set up almost immediately. With the exception of the majority of the boys who would linger around the pool table in over the top displays of machoism, the boundaries or ‘dwellings’ were all seated around the edges of the room. Our little area formed the shape of a U with the bright blue fabric chairs. Though it started this way it would later take on the shape of an O. It wouldn’t take a top psychologist to tell what exactly going from a U to an O meant in social behaviours. However the most natural thing in the world is cliques to form, especially in high school. Unfortunately usually after the initial greeting period elapses, the gates usually close and we shut ourselves off. That is not to say we were antisocial bastards who would only talk to people with the membership card (we did not have said card however we may as well have…. actually maybe we should start that….) we talked anyone, after all we all had different class schedules so couldn’t exclude ourselves too much, but once we got into the O shape of those bright blue fabric chairs, we may as well of been shut off from the world.

Those days became the most fun and we all look back I’m sure very fondly on them. My favourite time was usually a free period when we were all there. It was quite rare with conflicting schedules however during lunch we would all reconvene, grab some pasta or lexxy would have her per ordered sandwich, and we would fill everyone in on the scandal of the day. Their would always be some romantic scandal, unfortunately for Big Girl it would usually be her. We always used to joke about her relationship blunders. To the point it became a running joke. I miss us all sitting around as Big Girl recalled her recent dating disaster, or Lexxy relating a story about how her teachers were idiots. Billy would fill the group in with some random sexual exploit, often involving the most bizarre scenarios. None of us were shrinking violets so I’m sure the laughter could be heard across the whole room.

Mummy noticed a change that year. Instead of the car journey filled with silence as it had been for the past two years, That year was different. She would hear stories of the weird and wonderful, more often weird. She would sit in the car listening to her son telling his tales and just smile. That lovely smile of hers. Always beaming like the cheerleader she was.

I’ve been very fortunate in my life to have many lasting friendships. These would be the foundation that every other was marked against. With so many stories so share from this time It will be fun recalling each and everyone of them, and I hope you all getting to know the ‘ladies; just a little better. As each and every one of them has had a part in forming who I am today. They also shared so many memories with Mummy and she loved them all.

Ok so I’m currently at sparkle with a face full of glitter, having an awesome time with awesome ppl- see Facebook for photos xxx

The ladies journey will continue tomorrow, however tonight I’m taking a little break as I think I have sun stroke from the unseasonal warmth. I’m warm, sticky and I’m absolutely knackered. I can hear what Mummy would say “switch your fan in in your room to get it cool”, bless her but that’s not really how they work. She repeatedly said it however I wouldn’t dare correct her with a physics lessons about how the air was being circulated around the room however not actually cooling it. Did it really matter. Not in the slightest. She would always look out for my best interests and I hers. Tonight I could imagine her saying, “you don’t have to chat tonight as I know you are tired, as long as I hear from you that’s all that matters”. This conversation happened many a time as I was often too tired to have a long chat with her.

I would love to have a long chat now, no matter how tired I am.