Happy New Bloody Year (revisited)

It was six years ago to the day when I launched this blog, at the beginning of 2012. Since then there have been good and bad times, but it does seem that there have been huge demands on my time which have restricted my opportunities to blog, which is a shame for me as I enjoy writing and it always feels very cathartic.

So - it a nutshell - let's look at some of the good things that have happened over the last few years:

a) Sold my business (which was a massive stress reliever for me),
b) Bought a place in Calabria, Italy,
c) Got married (again) to the wonderful Dawn, and
d) Obtained a grandson - Nathan.

So, all in all, I feel pretty lucky and fortunate. There are so many less well off than I am and for that I am thankful.

It hasn't all been roses and champagne though and the trials and tribulations haven taken their toll. I have just made the decision to retire as a musician (something that I have been doing semi professionally since I was 16) and also to come off of social media. I firmly believe that this need to capture every single moment of every day is completely destructive for young people. I have been using it less and less anyway so it is no big deal to stop altogether.

I think I am looking toward a more simple, stress free life as I approach my 60's (I'll be 57 this year) and absolutely hoping to spend more time in Italy over the coming years.

This isn't the end of my writing, but it does seem a poignant time to bring this particular blog to a close. As things settle down for me, keep an eye out for my next writing project.

Thanks for reading.

Another Fine Mess

Yep. Here's another fine mess you've gotten us into, Mr Cameron. What a mess, in fact. The Un-united Kingdom. Throw the England football team in there as well and we are probably an absolute laughing stock at the moment. Could that be Woy and Dave sitting there in the Dunce's caps? Well it should be.

But let's look at Brexit. For me, one big, massive plus was that it proved we actually live in a democracy. The people have spoken. On the morning of the result, Cameron resigned almost as fast as Hodgson, both with clearly pre-prepared speeches (Who knew?) and this sparked speculation of an imminent General Election. The Tories were in turmoil. Step forward Jeremy Corbyn, a man who has split the Labour Party in the same way as Brexit split the country, and within two days Labour had imploded leaving Corbyn to find a new shadow cabinet. Another fine mess.

It was a close vote. A very close vote, in fact. When you bear in mind that London was a Remain stronghold and on the actual day of the referendum there was severe flooding around parts of the Capital, it may have even been that different weather may have produced a different result.

A country's entire economic and political future surely cannot be irreversibly decided on something so fragile.

The vitriol from some Remainers post-result has been massively disappointing and has resulted in equal and retaliatory abuse from Leavers. "Stop moaning because you lost", they say, "the people have spoken. Let's all be friends now and move on." Yeah, right. Because that is exactly what would have happened if Remain had won, wouldn't it? The Leavers were noisier in the lead up to the vote and therefore it's reasonable to assume that they would be just as noisy if it had gone the other way. About 2-3 weeks ago, Nigel Farage even said that a vote of 52-48 would classify as "Unfinished business" and on that single point, he is absolutely right. It is almost a split decision.

On social media, there has recently been a gush of pictures and videos relating to the 100th anniversary of the Somme and how we must never forget the people who lay down their lives for Britain in both world wars. And so we shouldn't. Among my circle, it would appear to be the Leavers who are most passionate about this issue. It is certainly true that, in voting Leave, the elderly did not steal the future from the younger generation, but in fact gave it to them by overcoming the enemy in   1918 and 1945. But bearing in mind that the foe in World War II was Nazi Germany, am I the only one who sees the irony in the fact that the Leave victory has given a platform for the far right in this country to spout their messages of hate? Many of my friends voted Leave and I consider none of them racist. What concerns me is that anyone who is a racist may now think the rest of the country is with them! This is something that we should all unite to stamp out. It has no place in the modern world.

I am also appalled at the lies and exaggeration from both camps. Yes, yes, I know politicians lie, it's part of their job, but just within my friends and family circle I am aware of people who have voted Leave because

A) They thought that it would stop immigration from places outside Europe,

B) They thought it cost £350m a week to be in Europe and if we left then all of that money would be put into the NHS, and

C) They don't like George Osborne.

I also am aware of people who voted Remain because

A) They thought they would not be able to go to Europe any more,

B) They can't stand Nigel Farage,

C) They thought voting Leave would label them as a racist.

None of the above reasons have any basis for a proper informed vote and I also know some people who didn't vote because they didn't have enough information to make a decision. I was very nearly one of them.

So, what are the options now?

This is when we need real information, not lies and propaganda. There is no longer the need to win a vote, so now let's have - as far as we can - proper and factual information, like for instance - 

Is the referendum legally binding or is it, in fact, just a huge opinion poll?

Do we have to repeal the 1972 European Community Act before Article 50 can be invoked?

Can Europe kick us out regardless?

What will happen to the European immigrants already living and working in the UK?

As the Republic of Ireland is a member state, does this mean our borders have to stay open for free movement of labour if we want to have access to the single market in any way, shape or form? (In other words, even if we leave, the immigration issue will not change).

How much does it actually cost us to be in Europe (this must be a matter of fact rather than opinion; it's a maths thing and the Treasury must have the figures).

Are we going to actually be able to negotiate new trade deals with the EU during our exit or do we have to wait until that has been finalised before starting?

Will Scotland be allowed a second referendum and what effect will that have if they leave the UK and stay in the EU?

Pretty much everything else is conjecture, but the above is the absolute minimum that we are entitled to know.

Will we have a second referendum? Who knows. But even without the above, how we reunite this divided Union is a conundrum that will test the very, very best of men. Perhaps tackling racism would be a start. Find some common ground that the majority agree with and work from there. 

However, there doesn't appear to be anyone in line to pick up the baton. 

Frankly, I'm scared.

And Breathe... - 2015 - A Year in Review

August/September 2015 – Part 9 of 12

Things now felt different.

After the funeral, we started to get used to Dad not being around. The adrenaline that kept us going through the darkest hours had now subsided and reality started to kick in. As mentioned in the last blog “Life After Fred”, we’d booked a late holiday at a very unexpected discount, one weeks All-Inclusive to Es Cana in Ibiza at 40% off. That sort of reduction in High Season at the last minute is practically unheard of; it was as if it was there just for us. Thank you, Mr Universe. Rude not to take advantage, eh?

It was well needed and deserved, the only down-side being the fact that the food wasn’t great and that aside from the beer, the all-inclusive drinks were appalling and served in tiny plastic cups, plus no matter how many people were waiting to be served, if there was a regular customer at the “cash” end of the bar, they were seen immediately. On occasion it took over 20 minutes to get a drink.

We love Ibiza though and the weather was decent enough, plus we went on an Island cruise and saw a beautiful sunset, absolutely stunning.

In addition, we saw a HUGE Yacht, British registered, it's own Jet ski deck, giant slide... amazing.

Elsewhere, my work routine was starting to get back to normal and to my dismay, BT Openreach had not exactly been doing their job, Since May we had been waiting for a link line to BTMK’s Southend office and the Fibre Optic cable had been delivered tantalisingly close to the building – the box outside in fact – but because we were on the first floor, we had to have a hoist to get the cable from the ground floor to our level and that still hadn't happened. The reason for this was that there was only one hoist in Essex and because of our location, the work needed to be done on a Sunday, the one day that the hoist operator didn't work. No – I'm not joking.

This was slowing us up massively as the Southend office needed to use our system and could only log in to it via regular broadband which made it SO SLOW! It was literally taking 5 times longer than it should to get the work done; not great.

Generally though, Dawn and I felt that we really were entering a new era, that all the stresses over the year had come to a head and that we could now push on and get on with the rest of our lives.  

Life after Fred - 2015 - A year in review

July 2015 - Part 8 of 12

Arranging a funeral is not a fun thing. Your life is on "hold" as this day looms ever nearer, clearly not a day that you would be looking forward to.

We had used Stibbards Funeral Directors, the last real family undertaker in the area and ones I was very familiar with through work. Their service was excellent and they look a lot of the weight off our shoulders as they arranged for everything from the Order of Service to the Obituary in the paper.

That whole period is bizarre; everyone who knows you and is aware of your loss offers condolences but many are almost too embarrassed to engage in conversation. Those who don't know and who enquire as to how things are are immediately overly apologetic that they didn't know and had raised the subject in the first place. My most oft used phrase was "Don't worry, it's fine, we knew it was inevitable and life goes on."

But there is a huge sense of loss that such a large piece of your life is no longer there and you have to get used to being without it and getting on with stuff.

To be honest the period in between Dad's passing and the funeral is a huge blur and I remember very little aside from going to see him one final time in the chapel of rest. I'm not sure I was ready for the fact that he would be so cold - obvious really but not something that actually crosses your mind - and it could just as easily have been a stone statue of him. A sad, sad day.

The funeral itself went very well, fabulously well attended at the chapel (standing room only) with estimates of around 200 people. There was a burial with family only at the graveside and afterwards a super Wake put on by Sandbank restaurant in Leigh, Mum and Dad's favourite restaurant.

I will share one true black comedy style moment from the graveside, When the coffin was being lowered into the ground (it was a double plot so probably 10 feet deep) the trestles supporting it were removed and placed on the floor. I had failed to notice one and as I stepped forwards with a handful of earth to throw onto the coffin I nearly tripped over it, stumbling head-first towards the grave! It does seem a bit disrespectful to laugh at a graveside but it was unavoidable and provided an unintentional moment of light relief amongst the sadness.

Many thanks to Matthew and Sam Locker for catering for us at the restaurant on their day off. We got through it well I think, Mum was amazing and I do feel that a Wake provides the balance; the funeral service is sad and the Wake is a celebration. That's how it felt and how it should be.

The funeral was on July 13th, exactly one week before my birthday which as you can imagine was somewhat subdued. Dawn and I decided to book a late holiday as a week's complete rest was required. Mum and Dad's favourite place was Tintagel in Cornwall and I offered to take her there, but it was too soon and she declined. As it was, we managed to get a late deal to Ibiza - really unusual in August - and had that to look forward to.

All we had to do now is adapt to life after Fred.

The inevitable happens - 2015 - A year in review

JUNE - Part 7 of 12

One of Dawn’s contacts in Italy had seen her plight on social media and had really kindly invited us out to her Yoga Retreat centre for some R&R over a long weekend in the Sabine hills outside Rome. Four days of nothing, no internet or mobile signal… this was absolute heaven and in the most tranquil and beautiful surroundings imaginable, just what the Doctor ordered. I was certainly fairly relaxed when I went for the ECG and blood test results pretty much as soon as I had returned.

Of course, I had already done what any other person would have done and googled details of symptoms I could/may have and what they could/may mean… within five minutes I was convinced I would be a Type 2 Diabetic being rushed into hospital for an emergency operation to have stents put in!

As I lay on the couch being wired up for the ECG, the nurse made pleasant, idle conversation. My heath wasn't discussed at all really. At the end she just said “Well, that’s all normal. No problems there.”

Really?  Wow.

My blood pressure was now a much more regular 115/75 and I waited for the final verdict; the blood test results. These weren't immediately forthcoming and so I had to actually ask for them.

“Oh, hasn't anyone told you? It’s all good. Your cholesterol is a touch high but cut down on your carb intake and you should be fine. Maybe take some exercise as well. Give my best to your parents.”

So after everything I’d been through, my cholesterol is a tad high and my blood pressure is very high but under control. Result.

So now to Dad, still in discomfort and with us trying to get him into Havens Hospice for pain control, but sadly without success. They did however come round to see him to try and prescribed “Oxynorm”, much stronger pain relief which had to be administered in very low doses and gradually built up due to the fact that his body had only been used to Panadol. Fortunately there was no side effects but there was also no pain relief either; therefore, after a few days of this, they said his body could probably take the increase. Father’s Day, June 14^th, was his last good day and he was surrounded by his family again and he loved this picture with his grandchildren.

The day after, Dad deteriorated and it was clear Mum needed more support. Dawn was incredibly supportive, moving clients around to accommodate the situation and without her it would have been impossible. She had a "dance" with my Dad in the lounge, supporting him as he moved slowly and slightly from side to side, a touching gesture to make someone in the latter stages of their life very happy. I also changed my working pattern and BTMK were great, allowing me as much time as I needed. I still saw clients, but only worked early mornings and in the evening, spending lunchtime and the afternoons with Mum and Dad, doing whatever was necessary.

On Monday 21^st, he took his usual afternoon nap but  really struggled to get his legs working and wasn’t able to properly wake up. It took Mum 40 minutes to get him about 10 feet to the loo and Dawn and I 30 minutes to get him out again. The Ambulance was called.

After over an hour(!), a Paramedic arrived and immediately diagnosed the problem; Oxynorm is effectively medical Heroine and his body was unable to take the increased dosage so he had to be treated for an accidental overdose. Here was my 88 year old Dad, who had never smoked, taken any sort of drugs or excess alcohol, being given the same treatment as a junkie.

The antidote was impressive; a small vial of liquid, about 5 ml I guess, injected into the bloodstream.

“What does that do then?” I asked the medic.

“Well, without getting too technical,” he replied, “the drugs attach to the blood cells via a receptor and this makes them become unattached.”

“Oh, ok, how long will that take to work?”

“About 20 seconds.”

“Wow, what will happen?”

“He’ll wake up.”

And, true to his word, about 20 seconds after being injected with the antidote, Dad woke up, completely confused as to what was going on, but back in the room, so to speak.

He needed to go to the hospital – the antidote only lasts 7 minutes, so he gave Dad everything he had, which was almost an hours worth - before regaling us with comical stories of junkies falling over shortly after being treated and refusing hospital admission. Dad made so such refusal of course, to be honest he didn't have much choice.  After several hours of waiting in A&E (Monday is the busiest day in the NHS and they were swamped - our ambulance team had come from Colchester, 40 odd miles away), Dad was admitted to Southend hospital, which is where he stayed.

He was moved to a general ward on Tuesday and then to a private room for a while before Havens Hospice had a vacancy became available. They got him comfortable and his sister and other family members came to see him on Thursday 25th, as did the staff from the office, and then he went to sleep, never to wake up and subsequently passed away in the early hours of Sunday morning, 28^th June.

His eldest grandchild had been the last to see him, calling in on his way home from work as a barman at midnight and staying for an hour, singing my Dad his favourite songs before saying goodbye. An absolutely touching and emotional scene and one that brings tears to my eyes just writing this.

At around 4:30 am, Mum got “the call” and we immediately went round. Despite my job working as a Probate lawyer, I had never actually seen a corpse and it was surreal. It wasn’t my Dad laying there, it simply couldn’t be. But of course, it was.

The staff were as respectful and as helpful as they could be and I wasn’t really sure whether to stay or go. They made the decision for us, ushering us out after around 20 minutes.

We got outside, completely numb. The sun was just starting to rise. Mum made the decision there and then that the first Hymn at the funeral would be “Morning has Broken”.

A monumental month, episode 2 - 2015 - A year in review

THE SECOND HALF OF MAY - Part 6 of 12

The Doctor I saw was new to me, but it was the same surgery that treated my parents. They were well known up there as my father was the most sensitive person to medication that they had ever encountered and for months, pretty much all the GP’s there had been putting their heads together to try and find something that made my Dad more comfortable, so far without success.

“You and your Mum have had a trying time looking after him, haven't you?” he said. Yes, I guess we had, so I could do no more than agree.

“Well, it's taken its toll on you. Your blood pressure is very high, 155 over 95. I’ll put you on some medication to bring that down, plus I want you to do a fasting blood test and then an ECG. We’ll give you a bit of an MOT. In the meantime, try and take it a bit easier.”

So that was that. He said I had to take the tablets for a few months, probably NOT for the rest of my life, but certainly for the short term. I booked in for the blood test there and then, with the ECG being early in June.

Take it a bit easier… yeah, right. I had a new department to grow, elderly parents to look after and also a Wembley play-off final to attend! I also was concerned about how my new employers would view this; they’ve only just taken the firm over and within three days they could have had the quickest ever “Death-in-Service” claim in history, plus now someone that they have invested in has high blood pressure and orders to “take it a bit easier”. Hmm.

Well, I did try. A bit.

The play off final against Wycombe at Wembley on May 23^rd however was hardest. I just wanted a nice, non-eventful day with either team (preferably Southend, obviously) getting a comfortable win so there was no repeat of the semi-final drama, which clearly was the event that tipped me over the edge.

As it transpired, the game itself (or at least the first 90 minutes of it) did it’s best to accommodate my condition by being fairly staid and boring. I think at one point the commentators described it as “one of the worst games to grace Wembley” and it certainly wasn't edge of the seat stuff. We had a goal disallowed and a strong penalty claim denied, whilst our keeper made a decent save a few minutes from the end. That was about it. Tense? Yes. Exciting? Well, no, not really.

It was in extra time where Wycombe upped the ante by scoring first, the ball trickling over the line – but only just – via our keeper’s backside as the ball came down from the crossbar. Neither team looked much like scoring after that and so most thought that our goose was cooked with us being destined to spend another dreadful season in League 2. Wycombe were exhausted and trying to slow the game down by wasting time and falling over at every opportunity. There was only 20 seconds of extra time left when Southend's on-loan striker Joe Pigott fired into the net to send every Southend fan into delirium. I actually thought I was going to pass out. Wycombe were literally on their knees and there was only sufficient time to restart the match before calling time and signalling a penalty shootout. Oh. My. Word.

Fair play to all participants on both sides, a better set of penalties would be hard to imagine. Pressure? Barely, certainly none that was evident, although eventually it got to one of the Wycombe players as Southend's young keeper, Dan Bentley, threw himself to his left to palm his penalty onto the post and away to safety. Southend had won and were promoted!

It was a full 5 seconds before I realised what had happened. With a fuzzy and confused head, I managed to eventually get out of my seat before disbelievingly looking at the celebrations going on all around me. Realisation and joy then set in as the drama ceased; the game had become one of the most dramatic finals ever to grace Wembley, quite a contrast from the commentators comments made less than an hour before.

And so my mad, manic, monumental month drew to a close, me still in one piece and not yet halfway through the year.

Surely June must be a little less stressful? Although I do have the blood test and ECG results still to come…

A monumental month, episode 1 - 2015 - A year in review

THE FIRST HALF OF MAY - Part 5 of 12

So, where to start in a truly monumental, massive month where so much went on…

Well, as the song goes, let’s start at the very beginning. May 1^st, takeover day and the day I become an employee again. It was a Friday and largely uneventful, the day being taken up with administrative stuff, making sure all clients’ money was sent across accurately and reconciled correctly. After work we all toasted the 28 years of FWG and welcomed in the start of a new era.

May 2^nd saw Southend United’s day of destiny in the North West of England with their trip to Morecambe and the Globe Arena. Weather wise, it was absolutely not May 2^nd unless you happen to be in the Russian district of Oymyakonsky (officially one of the coldest permanently inhabited locales on the planet) and it rained constantly, making it an even more “interesting” experience. Without going into massive detail, we went 1-0 down early, equalised, threw everything at Morecambe only to get caught on the break – twice – and lost 3-1. This would have been enough to secure promotion if Bury had lost, but surprise, surprise, they didn't. Play-offs for us then. We did have a good day out though and the match shall be forever known as “The game what we lost” (see what I did there?).

The weather down south was distinctly different and on the Sunday, Dawn suggested a walk in the woods as she had a bit of a headache. Off we went on this bright, early summers day, chatting, carefree, contemplating Southend’s play-off chances and the potential General Election result when all of a sudden,.. BANG! CRACK!

Then a scream.

I got up from the deck to discover a pile of debris on the floor next to me with Dawn on her knees a few feet away, clutching her skull and in obvious agony. Some dead wood had fallen from the boughs of the tree, some 30 feet or so above us, landing straight on top of us as we walked underneath. I escaped with a couple of scratches but Dawn got clumped “good and proper” on the noggin, meaning a trip to A&E with her neck being put into a brace. This also meant she missed taking her eldest, Megan, out for her 18^th birthday meal we were due to have later that day.

This confined Dawn to bed for a few days where she was able to fully take on board how lucky she had been and also consider the plight of the poor Nepalese people who had their habitat decimated in the massive earthquake the month before. She used her enforced non-working time to pull together as many people as she could to put on a fund raiser for Nepal, which raised nearly £4000. A cracking effort.

As for Dad, he was going along as before and had had some railings installed in the garden so he could walk up and down without fear of falling, he really was getting frail now.

Southend's first play-off semi-final came around and they eked out a 1-1 draw at Stevenage, with the second leg being at Southend's home, Roots Hall, on May 14^th. This was an incredibly tense affair, with Southend initially going 1-0 down, equalising and then missing a last second penalty to send the game into extra time. In one of the most dramatic matches I have ever witnessed, we eventually wrapped up a 3-1 win and won through to get to the Wembley play off final against Wycombe on May 23^rd, but not before some major scares!

No liquid celebrations took place that night – save that for winning at Wembley - and I went to bed, delirious on the ecstasy of what I had witnessed earlier.  The following morning I awoke, and the room immediately went on tilt. I felt incredibly dizzy for a few seconds, and then it passed. Thinking maybe I had got up too quickly, I carried on and got ready for work, but this pattern continued throughout the day. I called my GP (a very rare occurrence I might add) and spoke to the receptionist, with the conversation going something like this :

Me – “Can I make an urgent appointment to see the doctor please, I really feel quite odd.”

Receptionist – “I'm sorry, appointments are about 7-10 days away unless it’s an emergency. Is it an emergency?”

Me – “Well, all day I have felt dizzy and swimmy, the room keeps going sideways and I haven't had anything alcoholic to drink. You tell me; is that an emergency?”

Receptionist – “Hang on.”

<Pause>

“Doctor says come in immediately.”

Bloody hell.