And so 2013 is coming to an end
For some, it drove you round the bend.
For others it brought happiness and love
I'm just yet to find that very same dove...
It started off with The Harlem Shake,
There were 4,000 versions for God damn sake...
But faith was restored when the Pope resigned,
Only to be replaced by one just as blind...
The death of Thatcher was celebrated by millions,
apparently she caused misery for her civilians,
But how can one celebrate death,
When Libya and Syria are breathing their last breath...?
There was tragedy in both Boston and London,
Surrounded by bloodshed, terror had begun.
But one brave woman stood out from the crowd,
Ingrid Kennett, in Woolwich, she should be proud.
On a personal level, I can't complain
Its been fun, alarming and quite frankly insane.
Australia was crap, but I won an award,
Just for the opposition that I had outscored.
I've moved out, my parents are happy
To say goodbye to their drunken little chappy,
But living with Abi is pretty damn awesome,
Even if Aussies claim I'm a very bad possum...
The world said farewell to the legend Madiba,
He most certainly had that "joie de vivre"
But life goes on, on the planet he left,
Just a shame the kindness is becoming bereft...
And so to Tom Daley, that brave young man.
Coming out to the world, and to his Gran.
An amazing reminder that it's not what you are,
But what you do, that makes you a star.
Looking ahead to 2014,
Who knows what can be foreseen...
But whatever you do, and wherever you go,
Just remember, to be happy and glow.
Monday 30 December 2013
Saturday 28 December 2013
All Moved Out
Yeah, sorry about that. Bit quiet in this neck of the woods recently, but there is a perfectly good reason for that. I've moved out! And yes.... Internet has just been gained. BT. Thanks for asking.
We've moved to a swanky new flat near town, and this place has already been christened by an outrageous housewarming party and so far, we've had an absolute whale of a time! I reckon we're still in the honeymoon period, and that matched with Christmas equals party time.
Once more, we'll keep it short and sweet. You don't want to hear about how I've been doing the washing up and the purchase of a new TV!
Keep cool.
We've moved to a swanky new flat near town, and this place has already been christened by an outrageous housewarming party and so far, we've had an absolute whale of a time! I reckon we're still in the honeymoon period, and that matched with Christmas equals party time.
Once more, we'll keep it short and sweet. You don't want to hear about how I've been doing the washing up and the purchase of a new TV!
Keep cool.
Saturday 7 December 2013
Fast
These weeks are motoring round extremely quickly. Its 18 days until Christmas, but probably more importantly, its 8 days until I move out. How I haven't mentioned it on here I don't know, for it is a major life event, but that merely goes to show how quickly this has sprung up on us. Me and my bezzie, Abigail, are moving into a snazzy flat near town. I'm really looking forward to it, but pretty relaxed about it all aswell. Times a'changing...
Other topics up for discussion are The Ashes, which I shall avoid altogether, because England have forgotten how to bat and that infuriating mo'd Mitchell Johnson is ridiculously good. Other than that, its countless cards, parcels and airmail stickers at work and a flagrant disregard for the financial restraints of going out, although a Saturday night on the tiles look increasingly unlikely. I'm not sure I can be bothered, and yes, you did read that right. Chances are though, someone will ask me and I'll be unable to say no. Usual.
Other topics up for discussion are The Ashes, which I shall avoid altogether, because England have forgotten how to bat and that infuriating mo'd Mitchell Johnson is ridiculously good. Other than that, its countless cards, parcels and airmail stickers at work and a flagrant disregard for the financial restraints of going out, although a Saturday night on the tiles look increasingly unlikely. I'm not sure I can be bothered, and yes, you did read that right. Chances are though, someone will ask me and I'll be unable to say no. Usual.
Monday 2 December 2013
Why It's Still Important
Inevitably, this post is all about Tom Daley. This morning, he released a video. "Of course I still fancy girls, but right now I'm dating a guy and I couldn't be happier". It was a wonderful, honest video to wake up to on a particularly bleak looking Monday morning, for more reasons than one, and I am very happy he had the confidence and bravery to do so.
I cannot imagine what being Tom Daley must be like. For years, he has had to listen to people taunt his mannerisms, crack jokes about how "gay" he acts, and question his sexuality when he may well have spent some of his thoughts trying to decipher it for himself. For someone who spent years working it out, I can appreciate how difficult it is, but I didn't have millions of people questioning me about it. I'm not sure I would have coped. Yet this young man has. That seriously has to be commended.
And yet, as we get ever closer to the end of 2013, there are still people out there who choose to be evil about it. Yes. Evil. A strong word, but appropriate as its the opposite of love, and that's all this hoo-ha is about. Love.
...
"You just lost a fan. Go to hell!!! Faggot! @TomDaley1994"
"I can't believe Tom Daley is gay, I'm not a fan of his anymore! It's Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve!"
"Told you all Tom Daley was a dirty fag!"
"Tom Daley is gay and I'm now ashamed of our country, we can't have a bloody fag representing us"
...
This hate is why this is news.
Even Mr. Daley said it himself, "This shouldn't matter". But it does. Oh, it really does. I try not to get too embroiled in it, trying to claim that another celebrity coming out isn't big news, because at the end of the day, we're all equal. But then I remember the pure confusion when I was 15 and then the ever-growing and absolute anguish I felt when I was 16 and growing into adulthood. The fear of facing insults and losing everyone simply because of who I am. Because it does happen. In this world of ours, people are disowned, physically attacked and murdered just because they aren't heterosexual. It's a fact. It isn't a problem consigned to the 1970s or other countries. This happens in the UK. In 2013. Everyone knew who Tom Daley was before today. He was the poster boy of London 2012, the first Olympic Games to be held in the UK in 64 years, and a hugely successful one at that. He is very popular, and rightly so, which makes the unfounded and sometimes outrageous abuse he has received from some stand out even more. No one disliked the guy. And now all of a sudden, some do? There's only one reason for that... Before today, Daley was a straight man. And now he's seen as bisexual. People are scared of that, when they have no reason to be.
I read an article earlier by Owen Jones of the Independent who put it just perfectly. "Its news because a millennia of bigotry cannot simply be eradicated in a few decades".
I've tried to stifle the happiness I feel for the guy all day. I've tried to think as if this didn't really matter. I'm like everyone else, and so is he. But I know there are people out there this evening, who have seen his video today and instantly feel more comfortable because of it. I cannot tell you how much that has, and needs, to be appreciated.
I'm more than likely never going to meet him, but if I could, I would shake his hand and say, "You bloody legend."
I cannot imagine what being Tom Daley must be like. For years, he has had to listen to people taunt his mannerisms, crack jokes about how "gay" he acts, and question his sexuality when he may well have spent some of his thoughts trying to decipher it for himself. For someone who spent years working it out, I can appreciate how difficult it is, but I didn't have millions of people questioning me about it. I'm not sure I would have coped. Yet this young man has. That seriously has to be commended.
And yet, as we get ever closer to the end of 2013, there are still people out there who choose to be evil about it. Yes. Evil. A strong word, but appropriate as its the opposite of love, and that's all this hoo-ha is about. Love.
...
"You just lost a fan. Go to hell!!! Faggot! @TomDaley1994"
"I can't believe Tom Daley is gay, I'm not a fan of his anymore! It's Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve!"
"Told you all Tom Daley was a dirty fag!"
"Tom Daley is gay and I'm now ashamed of our country, we can't have a bloody fag representing us"
...
This hate is why this is news.
Even Mr. Daley said it himself, "This shouldn't matter". But it does. Oh, it really does. I try not to get too embroiled in it, trying to claim that another celebrity coming out isn't big news, because at the end of the day, we're all equal. But then I remember the pure confusion when I was 15 and then the ever-growing and absolute anguish I felt when I was 16 and growing into adulthood. The fear of facing insults and losing everyone simply because of who I am. Because it does happen. In this world of ours, people are disowned, physically attacked and murdered just because they aren't heterosexual. It's a fact. It isn't a problem consigned to the 1970s or other countries. This happens in the UK. In 2013. Everyone knew who Tom Daley was before today. He was the poster boy of London 2012, the first Olympic Games to be held in the UK in 64 years, and a hugely successful one at that. He is very popular, and rightly so, which makes the unfounded and sometimes outrageous abuse he has received from some stand out even more. No one disliked the guy. And now all of a sudden, some do? There's only one reason for that... Before today, Daley was a straight man. And now he's seen as bisexual. People are scared of that, when they have no reason to be.
I read an article earlier by Owen Jones of the Independent who put it just perfectly. "Its news because a millennia of bigotry cannot simply be eradicated in a few decades".
I've tried to stifle the happiness I feel for the guy all day. I've tried to think as if this didn't really matter. I'm like everyone else, and so is he. But I know there are people out there this evening, who have seen his video today and instantly feel more comfortable because of it. I cannot tell you how much that has, and needs, to be appreciated.
I'm more than likely never going to meet him, but if I could, I would shake his hand and say, "You bloody legend."
Thursday 28 November 2013
Turnaround
Bearing in mind my top score from the last cricket season (153 not out) was quoted as the reason, I have a life lesson. Getting drunk can win you things. I'm really chuffed this evening, because I have come home from the league AGM (and league awards) with a brand new cricket bat after scooping the Divisional Player of the Year Award for 2013.
I thought one of my teammates had a chance of winning it, as his all-round figures for the season were pretty handy, but I was honestly expecting to hear the name of someone from another club. To hear my name read out as the winner then was pretty damn surprising. Especially as I was in trouble towards the back end of the season for misuse of social media. I didn't think I was in contention at all.
It's really rewarding to be recognised by your peers. I've got a huge smile on my face.
I thought one of my teammates had a chance of winning it, as his all-round figures for the season were pretty handy, but I was honestly expecting to hear the name of someone from another club. To hear my name read out as the winner then was pretty damn surprising. Especially as I was in trouble towards the back end of the season for misuse of social media. I didn't think I was in contention at all.
It's really rewarding to be recognised by your peers. I've got a huge smile on my face.
Wednesday 27 November 2013
Snippet 1
I think I'm going to change the format of this blog for a little while. Instead of "feature length" posts, for want of a better phrase, I'm going to use it to let out little shots of frustration. I've needed to do that this past week, but ended up getting halfway through typing a longer post, and just given up.
Jonathan Trott. I feel so sorry for the guy. I'm not going to inundate these pages with the ins and outs of what I think, because I've discussed it with a lot of different people, all with varying degrees of understanding. But to those of you who cannot or will not understand... Please think about what you are saying, before you say it. Your words could affect a lot of people.
The last couple of days especially have quite frankly been shit. I've been able to do nothing at all, and that's literally NOTHING AT ALL, apart from sleep and just about make it to work. I've had to buy food from work to microwave, killing two birds with one stone, because I haven't had the energy to eat at home. To those same people who cannot or will not understand, that last sentence will make no sense to you. To those of you who know.... You know...
Phase one of what will be many phases this winter. I don't look forward to them.
Jonathan Trott. I feel so sorry for the guy. I'm not going to inundate these pages with the ins and outs of what I think, because I've discussed it with a lot of different people, all with varying degrees of understanding. But to those of you who cannot or will not understand... Please think about what you are saying, before you say it. Your words could affect a lot of people.
The last couple of days especially have quite frankly been shit. I've been able to do nothing at all, and that's literally NOTHING AT ALL, apart from sleep and just about make it to work. I've had to buy food from work to microwave, killing two birds with one stone, because I haven't had the energy to eat at home. To those same people who cannot or will not understand, that last sentence will make no sense to you. To those of you who know.... You know...
Phase one of what will be many phases this winter. I don't look forward to them.
Sunday 24 November 2013
Messages From (Very) Far Away
Its the Ashes again, and Australia have spent the last four days dominating England in every cricketing department imaginable. 1-0 up. Fair play to them. Mitchell Johnson especially was world class. England? Abysmal.
Before this series, Australia hadn't won a test match in 9 attempts, (that's NINE!), losing 7 and drawing two, losing 3 of the last 4 Ashes series by convincing margins. That's a pretty dire record. But its all okay, because they've won a test match, and boy, don't they want us to know about it. Their local media refuse to mention Stuart Broad's name, choosing instead to ghost out his picture. After their (admittedly convincing) victory however, they have gotten incredibly smug about it all. Opening batsman David Warner has come out saying some of the English players are "weak". Captain Michael Clarke spent his entire press conference gloating. Even debutant George Bailey, with a whole 37 test match runs to his name, spent most of England's final innings chirping away whilst stood at short leg.
Welcome to the Australian logic. They cry when they don't get their own way, and then as soon as something good happens, they become unbearably and ridiculously egotistical about it. I have had my fair share of this on a personal level, as I am receiving a fair few messages from Australia myself, most of which are hideously abusive. So much so, that I look forward to receiving them. Each one merely confirms that my decision to come home was the right one. I even got a message saying, "We have some blokes from our club who might pop in and visit your club". Imagine that. Paying money to come and get money that they think they're owed, that you've already lost by getting over here in the first place? Haha. Logic. These guys have bundles of it.
Yes. That's British sarcasm.
In other news, I've overdone it on the Jack Daniels consumption. Not dangerously so, (I don't think), because I've managed to get home in one piece each time, but it is obvious to anyone with half an eye that I am drinking a lot of it. I document it on social media for one thing, as I tend to, but I can also feel it. Its taking longer for me to recover from nights out, (I'm typing this at 11.30pm - still recovering from last night), and I'm thinking I might give my liver a break for a week or two before the inevitable alcohol-consumption-to-the-max period of Christmas and New Year. Then again, come next Friday evening, I might disregard that. It usually happens. Waking up to go and play indoor cricket this morning then, in which we won to make it 3 wins in 4, was highly difficult. I was even tempted to stay in bed and "pie it" as the kids say, but I do have some sort of responsibility to not let my team mates down. I batted well aswell, hitting 30 odd, (the scorebook said 20 - but that had to be wrong as I hit two sixes!) in a reasonably comfortable chase. I'm enjoying indoor cricket. It's very, very hard work, with a lot of sprinting when batting, (especially when I've inevitably been out the night before!), but its good exercise and a good way of keeping the heart working, when the liver is feeling the pain! I'm pretty sure I'll reap the benefits when the proper season comes back round aswell, as I'd have been batting all winter.
Otherwise, its business as usual. Time is going very, very quickly, and soon we'll be knee deep in the tough times. I don't look forward to it, but at the same time, I'm enjoying the here and now. I think that's the best way of doing things.
Before this series, Australia hadn't won a test match in 9 attempts, (that's NINE!), losing 7 and drawing two, losing 3 of the last 4 Ashes series by convincing margins. That's a pretty dire record. But its all okay, because they've won a test match, and boy, don't they want us to know about it. Their local media refuse to mention Stuart Broad's name, choosing instead to ghost out his picture. After their (admittedly convincing) victory however, they have gotten incredibly smug about it all. Opening batsman David Warner has come out saying some of the English players are "weak". Captain Michael Clarke spent his entire press conference gloating. Even debutant George Bailey, with a whole 37 test match runs to his name, spent most of England's final innings chirping away whilst stood at short leg.
Welcome to the Australian logic. They cry when they don't get their own way, and then as soon as something good happens, they become unbearably and ridiculously egotistical about it. I have had my fair share of this on a personal level, as I am receiving a fair few messages from Australia myself, most of which are hideously abusive. So much so, that I look forward to receiving them. Each one merely confirms that my decision to come home was the right one. I even got a message saying, "We have some blokes from our club who might pop in and visit your club". Imagine that. Paying money to come and get money that they think they're owed, that you've already lost by getting over here in the first place? Haha. Logic. These guys have bundles of it.
Yes. That's British sarcasm.
In other news, I've overdone it on the Jack Daniels consumption. Not dangerously so, (I don't think), because I've managed to get home in one piece each time, but it is obvious to anyone with half an eye that I am drinking a lot of it. I document it on social media for one thing, as I tend to, but I can also feel it. Its taking longer for me to recover from nights out, (I'm typing this at 11.30pm - still recovering from last night), and I'm thinking I might give my liver a break for a week or two before the inevitable alcohol-consumption-to-the-max period of Christmas and New Year. Then again, come next Friday evening, I might disregard that. It usually happens. Waking up to go and play indoor cricket this morning then, in which we won to make it 3 wins in 4, was highly difficult. I was even tempted to stay in bed and "pie it" as the kids say, but I do have some sort of responsibility to not let my team mates down. I batted well aswell, hitting 30 odd, (the scorebook said 20 - but that had to be wrong as I hit two sixes!) in a reasonably comfortable chase. I'm enjoying indoor cricket. It's very, very hard work, with a lot of sprinting when batting, (especially when I've inevitably been out the night before!), but its good exercise and a good way of keeping the heart working, when the liver is feeling the pain! I'm pretty sure I'll reap the benefits when the proper season comes back round aswell, as I'd have been batting all winter.
Otherwise, its business as usual. Time is going very, very quickly, and soon we'll be knee deep in the tough times. I don't look forward to it, but at the same time, I'm enjoying the here and now. I think that's the best way of doing things.
Sunday 17 November 2013
Living For the Weekends
Not been blogging at all recently, and there is a perfectly good reason for that. Nothing special has happened, but nothing bad either which is a pretty good recipe for a stable lifestyle. All I've been doing is working my hours in the week, and living it up at the weekends, and that lifestyle suits me just fine.
People go on about "doing damage to yourself" by drinking too much, and maybe they're right, but I don't care. Sounds bad and ... Illogical, I know, but I know so many people who wish they had made the most of their younger years, and that is what I am trying to do, within my means. Friday night and last night were as good as ever, dancing away to songs in the Barley surrounded by friends, old and new, and I love doing that. I look forward to every weekend because of it. I can't imagine being that person who sits in with a takeaway watching The X Factor every Saturday night. That's not me.
One other notable pattern is also the amount of e-mails I am getting from Australia. Yep. Those people. Sending insults and threats via e-mail and Facebook, as if they have any power at all from 10,000 miles away. A few years ago, I'd have been perturbed by such words. Now, I can laugh. All that is past me and I'm prepared for what lays ahead.
I do have to face more and more of people judging me for my weekend lifestyle however. This picture doesn't help:
People go on about "doing damage to yourself" by drinking too much, and maybe they're right, but I don't care. Sounds bad and ... Illogical, I know, but I know so many people who wish they had made the most of their younger years, and that is what I am trying to do, within my means. Friday night and last night were as good as ever, dancing away to songs in the Barley surrounded by friends, old and new, and I love doing that. I look forward to every weekend because of it. I can't imagine being that person who sits in with a takeaway watching The X Factor every Saturday night. That's not me.
One other notable pattern is also the amount of e-mails I am getting from Australia. Yep. Those people. Sending insults and threats via e-mail and Facebook, as if they have any power at all from 10,000 miles away. A few years ago, I'd have been perturbed by such words. Now, I can laugh. All that is past me and I'm prepared for what lays ahead.
I do have to face more and more of people judging me for my weekend lifestyle however. This picture doesn't help:
 |
How cool is this though?
|
Monday 4 November 2013
I'm Quite Alright Here
Been a while.
People ask me. "Don't you regret coming home from Australia? Surely it's amazing out there..."
Simple answer. No. Not one bit. Its got to a point now that I'm not allowed to complain about life here, just like every other Briton seems to do, in a way that only Britons can, because I could have the alternative. Australian sun, cold beer and a tan. I don't even like beer. But the fact of the matter is, I do love where I live. Sure, Bedford was voted the unhappiest place in the whole of the UK, but I quite like it. If you look hard enough, there are things to do, although I could easily disprove that theory after the evening I had. It involved aimlessly walking around town listening to my iPod. I'll get to that in a minute...
I'm quite proud of my wee little hometown. On the cover, it seems to be your bog-standard town. A high street, a rowdy and arguably dangerous façade on a Saturday night and an Aldi. Every place has its down sides, but get to know the right people, and its quite a marvellous little community.
You can see I'm making a deliberate attempt to be positive can't you? I've been doing it all day, because, ever since Saturday, I've felt it coming. November has hit, and its getting ever closer. I make no bones about it, the next few months will be difficult. I'm not entirely sure I'm tackling it in the best way, as I continue what I have done all Summer. Work in the week, and live it up at the weekends. Drink a lot of JD and forget about whatever is coming. Oh dear, that sounds like the words of an alcoholic...
But its true. Sure, I made a valiant attempt at improving my evening earlier, although no one else wanted to play ball and it ended up being a walk to town for a McDonalds and a half-price box of Milk Tray before walking home again. I just didn't want to stay in the house really. I've learnt that that really isn't a good thing to do. I have learnt a lesson or two. At least I can say I am making an effort to try and improve things in the upstairs department. I have another counselling session in a couple of weeks. A one-on-one session to discuss my 'perfectionism'. I know. Apparently, I set myself impossible goals, and always feel like I've fallen short when I don't reach them. Its a fair diagnosis that one... I can't really argue against it, as I know they're right.
And yet, I know I'm not the only one. Its literally dawned on me in the past few weeks, that so many people think the same way. Or at least similar. There are so many people out there who want to be perfect. But who is? Really? I have a job that includes the word 'Manager' in it, at 22 years old. My Area Manager was visibly delighted when I got back from Australia. I am wanted. I have a lot of friends who love me, and I love them. Perspective...
I quite like One Direction's new song. 'Story of my Life'. The video is actually brilliant aswell. Its on repeat. Judging not allowed.
I'm moving out. I'm banking on landing a new role at a bigger post office branch in the new year, something that isn't guaranteed by any stretch of the imagination, but the time has come for me to leave this house. I can't really imagine living anywhere else. 22 years, 5 months and 14 days I've lived here. I've laughed in here, shouted in here, and cried in here... A lot of memories reside in this place...
We live on. Another day tomorrow. Lets see what it brings...
People ask me. "Don't you regret coming home from Australia? Surely it's amazing out there..."
Simple answer. No. Not one bit. Its got to a point now that I'm not allowed to complain about life here, just like every other Briton seems to do, in a way that only Britons can, because I could have the alternative. Australian sun, cold beer and a tan. I don't even like beer. But the fact of the matter is, I do love where I live. Sure, Bedford was voted the unhappiest place in the whole of the UK, but I quite like it. If you look hard enough, there are things to do, although I could easily disprove that theory after the evening I had. It involved aimlessly walking around town listening to my iPod. I'll get to that in a minute...
I'm quite proud of my wee little hometown. On the cover, it seems to be your bog-standard town. A high street, a rowdy and arguably dangerous façade on a Saturday night and an Aldi. Every place has its down sides, but get to know the right people, and its quite a marvellous little community.
You can see I'm making a deliberate attempt to be positive can't you? I've been doing it all day, because, ever since Saturday, I've felt it coming. November has hit, and its getting ever closer. I make no bones about it, the next few months will be difficult. I'm not entirely sure I'm tackling it in the best way, as I continue what I have done all Summer. Work in the week, and live it up at the weekends. Drink a lot of JD and forget about whatever is coming. Oh dear, that sounds like the words of an alcoholic...
But its true. Sure, I made a valiant attempt at improving my evening earlier, although no one else wanted to play ball and it ended up being a walk to town for a McDonalds and a half-price box of Milk Tray before walking home again. I just didn't want to stay in the house really. I've learnt that that really isn't a good thing to do. I have learnt a lesson or two. At least I can say I am making an effort to try and improve things in the upstairs department. I have another counselling session in a couple of weeks. A one-on-one session to discuss my 'perfectionism'. I know. Apparently, I set myself impossible goals, and always feel like I've fallen short when I don't reach them. Its a fair diagnosis that one... I can't really argue against it, as I know they're right.
And yet, I know I'm not the only one. Its literally dawned on me in the past few weeks, that so many people think the same way. Or at least similar. There are so many people out there who want to be perfect. But who is? Really? I have a job that includes the word 'Manager' in it, at 22 years old. My Area Manager was visibly delighted when I got back from Australia. I am wanted. I have a lot of friends who love me, and I love them. Perspective...
I quite like One Direction's new song. 'Story of my Life'. The video is actually brilliant aswell. Its on repeat. Judging not allowed.
I'm moving out. I'm banking on landing a new role at a bigger post office branch in the new year, something that isn't guaranteed by any stretch of the imagination, but the time has come for me to leave this house. I can't really imagine living anywhere else. 22 years, 5 months and 14 days I've lived here. I've laughed in here, shouted in here, and cried in here... A lot of memories reside in this place...
We live on. Another day tomorrow. Lets see what it brings...
Sunday 20 October 2013
Anxiety, My Fight - A Guest's Story
For the first time ever on this blog, I have allowed someone to write their own story. A guest post. To show that there are others out there who struggle with mental illness. The response to my post last week was extraordinary, and thank you to all who commented. Your response means the world to me.
I hope you can take this brilliant person's story and accept it with the grace. It sure does deserve it.
..................................................................................................................................
I have used no names for my own reasons. People may recognise the story. They may not. My aim is not to identify anyone through this account. It isn't necessary.
This is dedicated to all those who have suffered with anxiety and depression, all those who suffer in silence, all those who took their choice to end their fight on their terms. I am right with you all.
My story begins in February 2009. I was 21 years old. I received my official diagnosis at this point, but in reality, I had suffered along on my own in silence for far longer.
Still to this point, 5 years later, I hate February. I am so grateful it only lasts for 28 days. I have many reasons to love February. My first niece was born on 26th February, my Mother's birthday is on 6th February, I met my now wife on 4th February. I have many reasons to hate other months too... But I don't. From the 1st to the 28th, and for Christ's sake occasional 29th. Every second of this month kills me. This is completely irrational and detrimental to my mental health, but its the case. Its me. Its part of my fight, a fight that, like so many other people know, will never be won. It just gets easier.
If we go back even further, I can now see signs in myself that my depression and anxiety issues started in my teens. This is common and many teenagers grow out of it. Puberty is a tough time as it is, but I found it harder. I convinced myself that I was ugly and useless and had made myself a victim of certain personalities in the school who wanted to hurt me. This made the next four years fairly fucking awful, but I survived them. I spent a lot of that time off sick or smoking weed and committing pointless, immature crimes like a lot of teenage boys do where I grew up. It was what we had to do, so we did it.
I left school at the time I met my first girlfriend. This was hard. I had never had a mature relationship before. Being 17 I thought this was a serious relationship, not some dumb kid type boyfriend/girlfriend crap. I convinced myself it would last forever. It didn't, and looking back with experience of age, it was clear it never would. I spent the entire six months of that relationship jealous and anxious that she would leave me, and she did because she couldn't handle the jealousy and anxiety. Fair enough.
Problem with that is, it enforces the doubt I had in myself. Everyone I knew said it would be alright, and that we weren't right together. That's obvious now, but at the time, she was the one. I fell into a black hole. Many sufferers will understand this term. I felt like there was nothing to get up for, no point in trying and that I was a waste of life. This is depression. It sounds pathetic to those who do not understand, but do not doubt the power that this feeling musters. It is all enforcing and soul destroying. It takes your energy, your motivation, your ability to feel anything other than sorrow.
Luckily for me, this was my first recognisable battle with depression and for me, time and drugs were a great healer. I mean drugs as in narcotics, not prescribed medication. I made my own prescription and took silly amounts of drugs to fuel my way through the next two years.
I damn near killed myself more than once through drugs. I dosed up like I was bulletproof, and took the come downs as the punishment a waster like me deserved. I hid a lot of this from a lot of people. Mental health sufferers are some of the best actors in the world. You ask if we're ok, and we can fake a yes pretty fucking well I can tell you.
Oppositely, I flaunted my habit to those I knew it would hurt or who I felt didn't deserve. I wanted to alienate people who cared for me to continue to prove to myself that I was a waste of space and no one could care about me. Luckily for me, no matter how hard I tried, my friends would never give up on me. They should have hated for me for the many things I did to them, but they didn't, they refused to and saw something in me that I didn't. During this time, I did a lot of stupid shit, a lot of which I regret enormously. Especially all of the girls I hurt. I hurt a lot. I reflected my pain on to you and took advantage of your sympathies and treated you like dirt. I am not proud. I had started to self-harm at this point but managed to hide that from nearly everyone. I did this only a few times, and the rush was exceptional, but my means of escape had always been drugs and I always push things too far. I knew my limits with drugs but was scared of seriously hurting myself and people finding out what I was if I kept cutting. The cutting stopped and the drugs continued. I had begun to slow down because I had met a girl and applied for a job...
I started another relationship and got myself cleaned up a bit through the help of my friends. I found a job in a bank, and for a while, things looked good. I was enjoying myself most of the time but occasionally I felt moments of the darkness creeping up on me. I would have days where I just wanted to be alone. I worked in Bedford until 2009, when I got a promotion to Milton Keynes.
In that concrete city, my world fell apart.
I started the job with two weeks away in Gloucester which were fun. I loved it, I was alone in a hotel room for two whole weeks. I had to spend 7 hours a day with people and the rest of the time I was left to my own devices. I craved that being alone. I felt I needed it, to be a recluse in my own little room, away from the world and hidden from all the pain I cause others.
Eventually my two weeks were up and I returned to the real world. I started my job and almost immediately felt something was wrong. I felt so scared of something but didn't know what. I felt terror like I had never experienced before. I spent my lunch breaks in my car crying, wishing to die or have a car plough into mine with me in it. Anything to happen just so that I didn't have to go back into work. I had started some exams that were necessary for my promotion and aced them, but on the last one, I ran from the examination hall crying, got in my car, forgot work and just drove home. This was the first time anyone saw what I was like. My parents were worried and rang work. I said I was just worried about the exam and now I knew I had passed, I would be ok. Its amazing how easy it is to make people believe total crap when you really need them to.
I carried on going to work, crying at lunch and not reaching the targets I was meant to for work. I would get home and cry, weight fell off me. I wouldn't eat or go out. I couldn't sleep and when I did it was full of nightmares.
My first panic attack was terrifying. I was imagining an interview I had the next day. I went through the whole thing in my head and simply stopped breathing. I couldn't breathe. I have asthma, and no attack I have ever had been like this. It felt like my stomach had been ripped out and writing this now I can feel the sensations starting.
...
I have just come back from a break. Even putting this in words is hard. People won't understand but this is more than an illness to me. It is a part of me. A part I hate.
I went to work after this panic attack and that was the last full shift I ever did. Or at least the last I remember.
I went to the GP's the next day and fell on the floor of the office crying, begging to not go back there. I was signed off and given my first prescription. Fluoxetine 25mg. This tablet made me gain weight, lose my ability to gain an erection or when I did it prevented my climaxing. All of these things DO NOT HELP DEPRESSION!! Eventually, the side effects wore off and I improved. I improved even more so when I found a new job working with adults with learning disabilities.
At this point, I felt the entire episode was a one off and down to the job, the location and the people I worked with and what was expected of me. I felt happy in my new role, to the point where I was eventually taken off my meds. For the next six months, things were going well. I had ups and downs like we all do, but for the whole felt pretty good in myself.
In February the following year I began feeling low again. I had doubts in my relationship and went about dealing with them terribly. I treated people like dirt and worked myself into the ground. I was pulling 100 hour weeks to avoid having to see people. I started using drugs again as a coping mechanism. My then current manager took me aside and spoke with me. She said she had noticed me feeling down and showing worrying signs. She made me see my GP. He made me attend counselling.
I attended CBT, (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy). A type of self-help scheme. Understand the way you think and make yourself think differently. Oh, if only it were that easy. During the therapy I was with similar people fighting the same fight as me. This made me feel good and outside of the sessions, the world felt better. However, six sessions doesn't solve a lifetime of issues, no matter how small. I was discharged and within weeks had fallen back into the same pattern. The single most upsetting thing then happened to me in relation to my diagnosis. Throughout the entire thing, you are told to not be ashamed. The stigma shouldn't exist. People won't judge you... Bollocks. I had received a leaflet which became like a bible to me. Dealing with Anxiety. It had never given any advice that had helped me but having that little folded piece of paper stating exactly what was wrong with me somehow made me feel better. It kept me away from the empty and terrorizing feeling of despair which had swallowed me time and time again. It had prevented the feeling of oncoming doom with no idea why you feel that way. Knowing I was sick and not just broken had helped me. It was a real, tangible thing. I wasn't crazy. My ex asked me to hide it because her family were coming over. At this point I fractured. I felt my love for her ebb away. I felt shame I have never felt comparable to. It damn near fucking killed me. But I hid it. Another issue many with anxiety have is not just a crushing lack of confidence but an inept ability to avoid conflict and do whatever it takes to make others happy even at the detriment to their own health. So hide it I did.
The relationship lasted another year with me back on medication and ending with me being thrown out of my parents house. It had been a shit year. It ended February 2011. I went home with my Dad taking me back in and all had been forgotten. I had met my now wife. Things were looking better. I felt stronger.
I went to a gym and shed five and a half stone. I got fit. I moved in with my now wife. I took work by the scruff of the neck and spent a year working hard to earn a promotion and am now sitting pretty and in a good place.
I put myself through counselling and had ten sessions of talking one-on-one and just getting everything off my chest and it felt amazing.
I still have ups and downs. I still have dark days but these are much fewer and are becoming more often just dark moments. I am on the highest prescribed dose of my current medication and I use this as a stick to lean on and I am anxious about it being stopped or even reduced. My GP wants to reduce it but I have told her no. Citalopram is my coping mechanism now.
Even when I blew my back to pieces, I felt ok about it most of the time. I lost my ability to work out like I had and it affected my ability to do a job I loved, but rather than break down as I would have previously, I battled through. I am still battling.
I am happy but I am anxious. I will always be more anxious than other people. Tiny things can make me anxious. I often feel like I let people down. I often feel a failure. I often feel I am not good enough for people, especially my wife.
I spent the first year of our relationship convinced she should and would leave me. She didn't; she stuck with me and understood my affliction. She is my rock.
People who say suicide is the easy way out are wrong. Here is why.
Suicide. The hardest thing a person can do. Anyone in my shoes has contemplated it. Fuck it, I have nearly done it. You think about all the people you let down, you hurt, you make their lives worse. The pain you feel imagining all of that is more hurtful than any other pain I have experienced. Making a decision you believe improves the lives of everyone else you know is the single bravest thing anyone can do, even if it is misjudged.
Beating anxiety and depression. I feel lucky in a way that I tend to suffer with anxiety and not depression or both together. I am prone to depression but usually I feel anxious and combat that with an activity, be it a run or cleaning. I have spent so long cleaning before, it has now resulted in me having a confirmed diagnosis of OCD, (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). But my OCD helps me beat my anxiety. It also stimulates it when something is wrong, i.e. out of place, but am unable to fix it that very second. However, I have other ways to help myself. Firstly;
Tell someone how you feel. Anyone. A friend, family, pet, whoever. Just talk. It helps a lot.
Seek out help. See a GP or seek counselling or call MIND, (0300 123 3393). Do not go it alone. You will make yourself worse by fighting alone. You start self-fulfilling prophecies that make issues greater still.
DO NOT TAKE DRUGS OR ALCOHOL. This will make things a shit load worse. I tried. It briefly helps, but multiplies greatly. You will alienate everyone and lose the support you have.
Take medication if you are offered. It isn't a bad thing. I thought that. I hated being on it. I'm glad I did it and will never judge anyone who takes medication again. Some people require it. Its not their fault, they just need it.
Surround yourself with people who understand the issue and love you anyway. Avoid toxic people who don't understand or don't give a shit.
It's not a fight you can win, but you can beat it down and manage it with the right tools.
This is only a brief account of my tale despite the length. I have a million individual stories which make up this story as a whole. Each individual day, incident, interaction is a story. I remember a lot of them, but have forgotten a whole lot more. I know why my anxiety is there. Counselling helped me discover this. That is mine to know. It won't be the same as yours, it never is. But our paths may not be that different, so before crashing off yours, remember I made it a lot further down mine so far and I'm gonna keep on going. You can to.
- X -
I hope you can take this brilliant person's story and accept it with the grace. It sure does deserve it.
..................................................................................................................................
I have used no names for my own reasons. People may recognise the story. They may not. My aim is not to identify anyone through this account. It isn't necessary.
This is dedicated to all those who have suffered with anxiety and depression, all those who suffer in silence, all those who took their choice to end their fight on their terms. I am right with you all.
My story begins in February 2009. I was 21 years old. I received my official diagnosis at this point, but in reality, I had suffered along on my own in silence for far longer.
Still to this point, 5 years later, I hate February. I am so grateful it only lasts for 28 days. I have many reasons to love February. My first niece was born on 26th February, my Mother's birthday is on 6th February, I met my now wife on 4th February. I have many reasons to hate other months too... But I don't. From the 1st to the 28th, and for Christ's sake occasional 29th. Every second of this month kills me. This is completely irrational and detrimental to my mental health, but its the case. Its me. Its part of my fight, a fight that, like so many other people know, will never be won. It just gets easier.
If we go back even further, I can now see signs in myself that my depression and anxiety issues started in my teens. This is common and many teenagers grow out of it. Puberty is a tough time as it is, but I found it harder. I convinced myself that I was ugly and useless and had made myself a victim of certain personalities in the school who wanted to hurt me. This made the next four years fairly fucking awful, but I survived them. I spent a lot of that time off sick or smoking weed and committing pointless, immature crimes like a lot of teenage boys do where I grew up. It was what we had to do, so we did it.
I left school at the time I met my first girlfriend. This was hard. I had never had a mature relationship before. Being 17 I thought this was a serious relationship, not some dumb kid type boyfriend/girlfriend crap. I convinced myself it would last forever. It didn't, and looking back with experience of age, it was clear it never would. I spent the entire six months of that relationship jealous and anxious that she would leave me, and she did because she couldn't handle the jealousy and anxiety. Fair enough.
Problem with that is, it enforces the doubt I had in myself. Everyone I knew said it would be alright, and that we weren't right together. That's obvious now, but at the time, she was the one. I fell into a black hole. Many sufferers will understand this term. I felt like there was nothing to get up for, no point in trying and that I was a waste of life. This is depression. It sounds pathetic to those who do not understand, but do not doubt the power that this feeling musters. It is all enforcing and soul destroying. It takes your energy, your motivation, your ability to feel anything other than sorrow.
Luckily for me, this was my first recognisable battle with depression and for me, time and drugs were a great healer. I mean drugs as in narcotics, not prescribed medication. I made my own prescription and took silly amounts of drugs to fuel my way through the next two years.
I damn near killed myself more than once through drugs. I dosed up like I was bulletproof, and took the come downs as the punishment a waster like me deserved. I hid a lot of this from a lot of people. Mental health sufferers are some of the best actors in the world. You ask if we're ok, and we can fake a yes pretty fucking well I can tell you.
Oppositely, I flaunted my habit to those I knew it would hurt or who I felt didn't deserve. I wanted to alienate people who cared for me to continue to prove to myself that I was a waste of space and no one could care about me. Luckily for me, no matter how hard I tried, my friends would never give up on me. They should have hated for me for the many things I did to them, but they didn't, they refused to and saw something in me that I didn't. During this time, I did a lot of stupid shit, a lot of which I regret enormously. Especially all of the girls I hurt. I hurt a lot. I reflected my pain on to you and took advantage of your sympathies and treated you like dirt. I am not proud. I had started to self-harm at this point but managed to hide that from nearly everyone. I did this only a few times, and the rush was exceptional, but my means of escape had always been drugs and I always push things too far. I knew my limits with drugs but was scared of seriously hurting myself and people finding out what I was if I kept cutting. The cutting stopped and the drugs continued. I had begun to slow down because I had met a girl and applied for a job...
I started another relationship and got myself cleaned up a bit through the help of my friends. I found a job in a bank, and for a while, things looked good. I was enjoying myself most of the time but occasionally I felt moments of the darkness creeping up on me. I would have days where I just wanted to be alone. I worked in Bedford until 2009, when I got a promotion to Milton Keynes.
In that concrete city, my world fell apart.
I started the job with two weeks away in Gloucester which were fun. I loved it, I was alone in a hotel room for two whole weeks. I had to spend 7 hours a day with people and the rest of the time I was left to my own devices. I craved that being alone. I felt I needed it, to be a recluse in my own little room, away from the world and hidden from all the pain I cause others.
Eventually my two weeks were up and I returned to the real world. I started my job and almost immediately felt something was wrong. I felt so scared of something but didn't know what. I felt terror like I had never experienced before. I spent my lunch breaks in my car crying, wishing to die or have a car plough into mine with me in it. Anything to happen just so that I didn't have to go back into work. I had started some exams that were necessary for my promotion and aced them, but on the last one, I ran from the examination hall crying, got in my car, forgot work and just drove home. This was the first time anyone saw what I was like. My parents were worried and rang work. I said I was just worried about the exam and now I knew I had passed, I would be ok. Its amazing how easy it is to make people believe total crap when you really need them to.
I carried on going to work, crying at lunch and not reaching the targets I was meant to for work. I would get home and cry, weight fell off me. I wouldn't eat or go out. I couldn't sleep and when I did it was full of nightmares.
My first panic attack was terrifying. I was imagining an interview I had the next day. I went through the whole thing in my head and simply stopped breathing. I couldn't breathe. I have asthma, and no attack I have ever had been like this. It felt like my stomach had been ripped out and writing this now I can feel the sensations starting.
...
I have just come back from a break. Even putting this in words is hard. People won't understand but this is more than an illness to me. It is a part of me. A part I hate.
I went to work after this panic attack and that was the last full shift I ever did. Or at least the last I remember.
I went to the GP's the next day and fell on the floor of the office crying, begging to not go back there. I was signed off and given my first prescription. Fluoxetine 25mg. This tablet made me gain weight, lose my ability to gain an erection or when I did it prevented my climaxing. All of these things DO NOT HELP DEPRESSION!! Eventually, the side effects wore off and I improved. I improved even more so when I found a new job working with adults with learning disabilities.
At this point, I felt the entire episode was a one off and down to the job, the location and the people I worked with and what was expected of me. I felt happy in my new role, to the point where I was eventually taken off my meds. For the next six months, things were going well. I had ups and downs like we all do, but for the whole felt pretty good in myself.
In February the following year I began feeling low again. I had doubts in my relationship and went about dealing with them terribly. I treated people like dirt and worked myself into the ground. I was pulling 100 hour weeks to avoid having to see people. I started using drugs again as a coping mechanism. My then current manager took me aside and spoke with me. She said she had noticed me feeling down and showing worrying signs. She made me see my GP. He made me attend counselling.
I attended CBT, (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy). A type of self-help scheme. Understand the way you think and make yourself think differently. Oh, if only it were that easy. During the therapy I was with similar people fighting the same fight as me. This made me feel good and outside of the sessions, the world felt better. However, six sessions doesn't solve a lifetime of issues, no matter how small. I was discharged and within weeks had fallen back into the same pattern. The single most upsetting thing then happened to me in relation to my diagnosis. Throughout the entire thing, you are told to not be ashamed. The stigma shouldn't exist. People won't judge you... Bollocks. I had received a leaflet which became like a bible to me. Dealing with Anxiety. It had never given any advice that had helped me but having that little folded piece of paper stating exactly what was wrong with me somehow made me feel better. It kept me away from the empty and terrorizing feeling of despair which had swallowed me time and time again. It had prevented the feeling of oncoming doom with no idea why you feel that way. Knowing I was sick and not just broken had helped me. It was a real, tangible thing. I wasn't crazy. My ex asked me to hide it because her family were coming over. At this point I fractured. I felt my love for her ebb away. I felt shame I have never felt comparable to. It damn near fucking killed me. But I hid it. Another issue many with anxiety have is not just a crushing lack of confidence but an inept ability to avoid conflict and do whatever it takes to make others happy even at the detriment to their own health. So hide it I did.
The relationship lasted another year with me back on medication and ending with me being thrown out of my parents house. It had been a shit year. It ended February 2011. I went home with my Dad taking me back in and all had been forgotten. I had met my now wife. Things were looking better. I felt stronger.
I went to a gym and shed five and a half stone. I got fit. I moved in with my now wife. I took work by the scruff of the neck and spent a year working hard to earn a promotion and am now sitting pretty and in a good place.
I put myself through counselling and had ten sessions of talking one-on-one and just getting everything off my chest and it felt amazing.
I still have ups and downs. I still have dark days but these are much fewer and are becoming more often just dark moments. I am on the highest prescribed dose of my current medication and I use this as a stick to lean on and I am anxious about it being stopped or even reduced. My GP wants to reduce it but I have told her no. Citalopram is my coping mechanism now.
Even when I blew my back to pieces, I felt ok about it most of the time. I lost my ability to work out like I had and it affected my ability to do a job I loved, but rather than break down as I would have previously, I battled through. I am still battling.
I am happy but I am anxious. I will always be more anxious than other people. Tiny things can make me anxious. I often feel like I let people down. I often feel a failure. I often feel I am not good enough for people, especially my wife.
I spent the first year of our relationship convinced she should and would leave me. She didn't; she stuck with me and understood my affliction. She is my rock.
People who say suicide is the easy way out are wrong. Here is why.
Suicide. The hardest thing a person can do. Anyone in my shoes has contemplated it. Fuck it, I have nearly done it. You think about all the people you let down, you hurt, you make their lives worse. The pain you feel imagining all of that is more hurtful than any other pain I have experienced. Making a decision you believe improves the lives of everyone else you know is the single bravest thing anyone can do, even if it is misjudged.
Beating anxiety and depression. I feel lucky in a way that I tend to suffer with anxiety and not depression or both together. I am prone to depression but usually I feel anxious and combat that with an activity, be it a run or cleaning. I have spent so long cleaning before, it has now resulted in me having a confirmed diagnosis of OCD, (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). But my OCD helps me beat my anxiety. It also stimulates it when something is wrong, i.e. out of place, but am unable to fix it that very second. However, I have other ways to help myself. Firstly;
Tell someone how you feel. Anyone. A friend, family, pet, whoever. Just talk. It helps a lot.
Seek out help. See a GP or seek counselling or call MIND, (0300 123 3393). Do not go it alone. You will make yourself worse by fighting alone. You start self-fulfilling prophecies that make issues greater still.
DO NOT TAKE DRUGS OR ALCOHOL. This will make things a shit load worse. I tried. It briefly helps, but multiplies greatly. You will alienate everyone and lose the support you have.
Take medication if you are offered. It isn't a bad thing. I thought that. I hated being on it. I'm glad I did it and will never judge anyone who takes medication again. Some people require it. Its not their fault, they just need it.
Surround yourself with people who understand the issue and love you anyway. Avoid toxic people who don't understand or don't give a shit.
It's not a fight you can win, but you can beat it down and manage it with the right tools.
This is only a brief account of my tale despite the length. I have a million individual stories which make up this story as a whole. Each individual day, incident, interaction is a story. I remember a lot of them, but have forgotten a whole lot more. I know why my anxiety is there. Counselling helped me discover this. That is mine to know. It won't be the same as yours, it never is. But our paths may not be that different, so before crashing off yours, remember I made it a lot further down mine so far and I'm gonna keep on going. You can to.
- X -
Monday 14 October 2013
Quite an Ironic Acronym...
It's getting to that time of year again...
Me being me, I am about to explain, once again, a personal part of the life of Mitten, in a blog post. I might well be the only person that does this, instead of just talking. But I find I explain it better by writing about it...
In the coming months, you will notice a downward trend in my mood. During the times I do appear on any social scene, you may notice me being distant, disinterested or indeed just not bothered. I don't mean to be mean, as it were, but I think its time I actually told you all about what happens to me during the Winter. It will help me no end, as I will now know that you have had the opportunity to know me a little bit more, and to understand why I can be a bit of a dick during the Winter months. And it will help you, as you can now put some of my behaviour down to what I am about to tell you, instead of wondering what the hell has gotten into me.
Some of you may have been reading my blogs for months, even years, and noticed a trend. Some of you may be wondering what the hell I'm talking about. But mental illness shouldn't be the stigma it is, so I am not scared of telling you all about me. I have, almost ironically, something called S.A.D, and quite a severe dose of it at that. It stands for Seasonal Affective Disorder, and is a type of depression that most likely, and certainly in my case, occurs during the Winter months. When I first realised I had this disorder, I was incredibly scared to tell anyone about it. My initial reaction was that people will just think, "Ahh well, that's stupid, everyone feels a bit more glum in Winter!", but this is somewhat different. If you read back on my blogs, just one from July and one from December/January, you might well notice a distinct change in tone, and that is this illness. During the Summer, I am the best 'me' imaginable. During the Winter, I am the worst 'me'. I tend to think of it is as being "seasonal bipolar", although that might be a disservice to people who genuinely have bipolar. I'm waffling.
What is S.A.D? I have already briefly explained it, but it is a form of depression linked with the releasing of chemicals in the brain and a reaction to the exposure of sunlight. The names of these chemicals escape me, but as the nights get shorter, so does my "mood fuse", (that sounds a bit strange saying that doesn't it...) It comes to a peak at around Christmas time, when the world turns happy and I just feel like I should be bothered about being cheery and merry, but I'm just not. Christmas and more recently, New Year have become quite a difficult time for me, and those around me, and I'm afraid this year will most likely follow the same pattern. It isn't something I can just cure, or fix. Control? Manage? Maybe... But fix? No.
The old adage of 'Blue January' hits home for a lot of people, but more so for me, I'm afraid. January and February don't go down too well in my brain of all brains, so once again, I apologise in advance if I act like a moron during these times. I'm inclined to think its all my fault, but it really isn't. I don't want to sound like I'm making excuses, but this is me. I'll be fine again come March/April. Its just how it is.
I will be purchasing my 'light box' in the coming weeks, which will trigger that sensitive part of my brain that likes light and hopefully helps with the drop in mood. Hanging back on the alcohol might be a good idea aswell, and that is something I can certainly control, even if I don't like that idea very much. I feel the need to apologise for having to tell you this, in a form you are most likely not used to, (in some random blog in the far reaches of the internet), but I just feel like it would be better if you all knew.
In many ways, I am very lucky. I only have this for selected months of the year. If you read this silly little blog regularly, you'll know the Summer months have been amazing. They always are. I tend to try and make the most of them, as I know that the Winter will bring completely the opposite. I can't imagine what that feeling is like all-year round...
Mental illness is real. It isn't a story, or an excuse. It is incredible how many people have symptoms of this, that or the other, and so many people don't or can't talk about it. The stigma is unreal, and I hope this little post can help relieve that, even a little bit.
The countdown is on...
Me being me, I am about to explain, once again, a personal part of the life of Mitten, in a blog post. I might well be the only person that does this, instead of just talking. But I find I explain it better by writing about it...
In the coming months, you will notice a downward trend in my mood. During the times I do appear on any social scene, you may notice me being distant, disinterested or indeed just not bothered. I don't mean to be mean, as it were, but I think its time I actually told you all about what happens to me during the Winter. It will help me no end, as I will now know that you have had the opportunity to know me a little bit more, and to understand why I can be a bit of a dick during the Winter months. And it will help you, as you can now put some of my behaviour down to what I am about to tell you, instead of wondering what the hell has gotten into me.
Some of you may have been reading my blogs for months, even years, and noticed a trend. Some of you may be wondering what the hell I'm talking about. But mental illness shouldn't be the stigma it is, so I am not scared of telling you all about me. I have, almost ironically, something called S.A.D, and quite a severe dose of it at that. It stands for Seasonal Affective Disorder, and is a type of depression that most likely, and certainly in my case, occurs during the Winter months. When I first realised I had this disorder, I was incredibly scared to tell anyone about it. My initial reaction was that people will just think, "Ahh well, that's stupid, everyone feels a bit more glum in Winter!", but this is somewhat different. If you read back on my blogs, just one from July and one from December/January, you might well notice a distinct change in tone, and that is this illness. During the Summer, I am the best 'me' imaginable. During the Winter, I am the worst 'me'. I tend to think of it is as being "seasonal bipolar", although that might be a disservice to people who genuinely have bipolar. I'm waffling.
What is S.A.D? I have already briefly explained it, but it is a form of depression linked with the releasing of chemicals in the brain and a reaction to the exposure of sunlight. The names of these chemicals escape me, but as the nights get shorter, so does my "mood fuse", (that sounds a bit strange saying that doesn't it...) It comes to a peak at around Christmas time, when the world turns happy and I just feel like I should be bothered about being cheery and merry, but I'm just not. Christmas and more recently, New Year have become quite a difficult time for me, and those around me, and I'm afraid this year will most likely follow the same pattern. It isn't something I can just cure, or fix. Control? Manage? Maybe... But fix? No.
The old adage of 'Blue January' hits home for a lot of people, but more so for me, I'm afraid. January and February don't go down too well in my brain of all brains, so once again, I apologise in advance if I act like a moron during these times. I'm inclined to think its all my fault, but it really isn't. I don't want to sound like I'm making excuses, but this is me. I'll be fine again come March/April. Its just how it is.
I will be purchasing my 'light box' in the coming weeks, which will trigger that sensitive part of my brain that likes light and hopefully helps with the drop in mood. Hanging back on the alcohol might be a good idea aswell, and that is something I can certainly control, even if I don't like that idea very much. I feel the need to apologise for having to tell you this, in a form you are most likely not used to, (in some random blog in the far reaches of the internet), but I just feel like it would be better if you all knew.
In many ways, I am very lucky. I only have this for selected months of the year. If you read this silly little blog regularly, you'll know the Summer months have been amazing. They always are. I tend to try and make the most of them, as I know that the Winter will bring completely the opposite. I can't imagine what that feeling is like all-year round...
Mental illness is real. It isn't a story, or an excuse. It is incredible how many people have symptoms of this, that or the other, and so many people don't or can't talk about it. The stigma is unreal, and I hope this little post can help relieve that, even a little bit.
The countdown is on...
Sunday 6 October 2013
Observations
It is quite astounding how one can be the topic of conversation pretty quickly. People know that being talked about when it comes to something negative isn't the nicest of feelings, but when its someone else being talked about, its just easy to get involved and not actually think about how the other person feels.
I was on the bus the other day, staring out the window, contemplating the events of the last few days, and I could see people walking past. On their way to town, picking children up from school, going shopping or simply out for a stroll. One does not know their inner feelings, or their problems, for no ones life is concocted of the perfect recipe. People have their own problems, all different and unique to the person, and everyone should know that. People react differently in different situations, and everyone should know that. Everyone is unique. And everyone should know that too.
I went out last night for Abigail's birthday. I was seriously tired, and all over the place, but one of my best friend's birthdays is something I cannot miss if it is possible to make an appearance. Her family were as welcoming and comforting as ever and we enjoyed a top night. No talk of the past few days. No talk of negativity, or questioning. Just having fun. That is how it should be.
There's an elephant in the room.
Why have I suddenly gone from talking cricket in Melbourne to enjoying nights out in Bedford? Yes, I'm home. Facing inevitable questioning from everyone as to why I've, "come home from the trip of a lifetime", "bottled it" and "thrown away a huge opportunity". As I say, everyone can have their opinions on what they think I've done, but none of them were actually there. None of them felt what I felt, and none of them experienced what I experienced. Its extremely easy to sit in front of your keyboard or stand at the bar and say I've been an idiot, and if you are one of these people, you should be ashamed. A lot of people have simply accepted that I'm home, and we can now carry on with our lives. Good. That is how it should be. However, some people jump straight in with uninformed opinions and jump straight in with their observations as to what I've done without knowing facts.
So what are the facts? You don't need to know. Events happened, and as my sister says, "Everything happens for a reason". I'm starting to come around to that form of thought. People jump to conclusions, presuming I quit Melbourne like I quit uni, when that isn't true at all. Yes, I suppose you could say I "bottled" uni, but there was a story behind that. Just like there is a story behind this. However, I am now a branch manager, and not in debt. Quitting uni worked out well for me. Maybe this will trigger similar positive results. Who knows.
But people shouldn't bother so much. Human beings have a strange tendency to gossip about others, whilst forgetting about their own problems. Almost as if others problems are a distraction from their own. For, as I said earlier, everyone has their own problems. This is an inescapable fact.
“If someone isn't what others want them to be, the others become angry. Everyone seems to have a clear idea of how other people should lead their lives, but none about his or her own.”
- Paulo Coelho
Mr. Coelho's thoughts are extremely appropriate...
I was on the bus the other day, staring out the window, contemplating the events of the last few days, and I could see people walking past. On their way to town, picking children up from school, going shopping or simply out for a stroll. One does not know their inner feelings, or their problems, for no ones life is concocted of the perfect recipe. People have their own problems, all different and unique to the person, and everyone should know that. People react differently in different situations, and everyone should know that. Everyone is unique. And everyone should know that too.
I went out last night for Abigail's birthday. I was seriously tired, and all over the place, but one of my best friend's birthdays is something I cannot miss if it is possible to make an appearance. Her family were as welcoming and comforting as ever and we enjoyed a top night. No talk of the past few days. No talk of negativity, or questioning. Just having fun. That is how it should be.
There's an elephant in the room.
Why have I suddenly gone from talking cricket in Melbourne to enjoying nights out in Bedford? Yes, I'm home. Facing inevitable questioning from everyone as to why I've, "come home from the trip of a lifetime", "bottled it" and "thrown away a huge opportunity". As I say, everyone can have their opinions on what they think I've done, but none of them were actually there. None of them felt what I felt, and none of them experienced what I experienced. Its extremely easy to sit in front of your keyboard or stand at the bar and say I've been an idiot, and if you are one of these people, you should be ashamed. A lot of people have simply accepted that I'm home, and we can now carry on with our lives. Good. That is how it should be. However, some people jump straight in with uninformed opinions and jump straight in with their observations as to what I've done without knowing facts.
So what are the facts? You don't need to know. Events happened, and as my sister says, "Everything happens for a reason". I'm starting to come around to that form of thought. People jump to conclusions, presuming I quit Melbourne like I quit uni, when that isn't true at all. Yes, I suppose you could say I "bottled" uni, but there was a story behind that. Just like there is a story behind this. However, I am now a branch manager, and not in debt. Quitting uni worked out well for me. Maybe this will trigger similar positive results. Who knows.
But people shouldn't bother so much. Human beings have a strange tendency to gossip about others, whilst forgetting about their own problems. Almost as if others problems are a distraction from their own. For, as I said earlier, everyone has their own problems. This is an inescapable fact.
“If someone isn't what others want them to be, the others become angry. Everyone seems to have a clear idea of how other people should lead their lives, but none about his or her own.”
- Paulo Coelho
Mr. Coelho's thoughts are extremely appropriate...
Sunday 29 September 2013
Fight and Long Flight
Good afternoon from the eastern suburb of Lysterfield in Melbourne. I've been here for 3 days now, trying to acclimatise and settle in. It is as difficult as I predicted, with some up and down moments already to speak of, and I am under no illusions how difficult the next week or two is going to be.
Leading up to Wednesday morning, I was surprisingly not very nervous. I typed out my last post with the thinking that I might not actually need it, (that turned out to be false), and the nerves only hit when my Dad left me at Heathrow Airport at roughly 7am, giving me one last hug before I walked through to departures. Sitting there, I was in high spirits. I was about to leave on the adventure of a lifetime. What was there to be nervous about? When I finally made it on board my first flight, EY012 to Abu Dhabi, I was excited. My one and only time on a plane was 12 years ago, and I couldn't remember what the take off was like. It wasn't even much of an anti-climax either as I officially left English tarmac and high into the air. However, that was where the magic ended. The flight wasn't great, with Etihad Airways not offering much in the way of leg room. I was sitting next to the window, with a Japanese woman knocked out on sleeping pills next to me, so it was quite hard to get her to budge so I could walk around. For 7 hours, I was cramped in a small space with only the in-flight "E-Box" to keep me entertained. 'After Earth' was the only good film they had. I couldn't put up with much more than 10 minutes of 'The Internship'.
Disembarking at Abu Dhabi International Airport then was a blessing, with legs aching and pins and needles setting in, I needed a major walk around. I was already way further than I had ever been before, all on my own and with next to no experience of how airports actually worked, I basically followed two people who I had overheard were also going to Melbourne. Walking through security, I was tired and a little agitated, especially after I threw all my belongings in one of those trays, walked through the detectors, and to the other side, to find my iPod had somehow vanished. Great.
The three-hour wait was okay as I was able to jump on the internet and chat to a few people from home. Soon though it was time to start the 2nd leg of the journey. Which was quite possibly the worst 14 hours of my life. I was sat in an aisle seat this time, so it would be easier to get up and walk around, but whilst being packed in like sardines, the flight just went on and on and on and on... I had purchased some sleeping pills from Heathrow, and in a last-ditch attempt to try and make the time disappear, downed a couple and felt myself sink into the rather uncomfortable chair I had been provided with...
Waking up, I could see the sun bursting through the small crack in the window that the Australian lady sitting next to me had left whilst pulling the blind across. It had worked. The sleeping pills had done their job, as I had gone to sleep with 11 hours of the flight still remaining. Logging in to the E-Box in front of me, I was hoping to see that there was a couple of hours remaining and I would be there.
Clicking on 'Flight Path' with my heart jumping out my chest, I watched the loading bar get to 100% before the time remaining section flashed up.
8 hours 20 minutes remain. You have got to be kidding me.
Landing in Melbourne then was something I thought was never going to happen. I was firmly convinced I was going to be in the air forever. But when the plane did eventually land, I was extremely tired. Tired and very nervous. I had been speaking to the two guys who were due to pick me up from the airport, but it suddenly dawned on me that I was about to meet them. What do I say? What do I do?
This was when the irrational side of me kicked in. I suddenly found myself in the back seat of the car, driving past the city of Melbourne on the way to my new home for the next six months. Apparently, a lot of the players from the club I'm playing for were waiting for me in the clubhouse. Upon arrival, my heart rate was through the roof and walking in through the front door to find 30 faces looking in my direction made me feel a bit like a celebrity. There was a moment of silence before something inside me said, "Ice Breaker... Ice Breaker..."
"F**k me, someone get me a beer!"
I don't even drink a lot of beer. A few laughs circled the room as I went round shaking people's hands. I might have come across as someone who was uber-confident, but inside I was absolutely shaking. Someone then tapped me on the shoulder and gave me a can. Of Jack Daniels and Coke. Bliss. It was just what I needed. I had about 4 or 5 cans, becoming naturally more and more sociable after each one, with someone even offering a night out in the city. It was tempting, but even I wasn't going to stretch that far, as we made our way to my abode for the next 6 months.
This house is unbelievable. Its very common for houses in Australia to be big, and this one is no different, with a large garden and a pool. I have my own room on one side of the house, with a size about 4 times as big as my own room at home and a very comfortable double bed that came in handy as I crashed upon getting in from the introductions at the clubhouse.
Since then, I've been fighting. Fighting with my own insecurities to get settled in and feel comfortable. I constantly walk around, struggling to find things to do and I feel very quiet and reserved. Anxiety and jetlag are not a good combination. The only time I felt at least a little bit at ease was yesterday, during AFL Grand Final Day. A huge day in the Aussie sporting calendar, the grand final of the premier Aussie Rules competition brings Australia together. These guys start drinking at midday and carry on until they can't pack any more away. Despite tiredness, I got involved and bought a crate of cans (JD and coke cans - of course), and it was a good day. I eventually got the hang of the rules after the 1st quarter, and backed the underdogs, Fremantle, (affectionately known as 'Freo' by the Aussies who have a habit of shortening everything!), but they ultimately lost. Not that it mattered. It was a good day of socialising, with me, making sure not to go overboard on the alcohol, merely laughing at a few of the others, who did.
I got home at roughly midnight and crashed in my bed again, but it was only a couple of hours before I was completely awake. A sudden feeling of fear had washed over me, and an irrational thought process began in where I contemplated why I was out here. It was a rough time last night, about 5 hours of negative thinking and battling the demons. I was expecting them, but nothing can quite prepare you for the strength of the thoughts. I can imagine these thoughts will come and go within the next couple of weeks. And its not going to be nice. The main problem is the Aussie sense of humour. They like to crack a joke, "take the piss" and "banter". Its all they do, and for someone who is new to the situation, its hard to know when they are being serious. There was a moment during Friday when I laughed at what I thought was a joke and it wasn't. Frankly, I'm bordering on being a nervous wreck.
I just have to keep reminding myself that things are going to get better. My first training session is on Tuesday, followed by a probable indoor game on Wednesday, another training session on Thursday and the first league game on Saturday. Hopefully, I can immerse myself fully in these activities and all of a sudden, I'll be well on my way.
But right at this moment, I am struggling. I was always going to wasn't I...
Leading up to Wednesday morning, I was surprisingly not very nervous. I typed out my last post with the thinking that I might not actually need it, (that turned out to be false), and the nerves only hit when my Dad left me at Heathrow Airport at roughly 7am, giving me one last hug before I walked through to departures. Sitting there, I was in high spirits. I was about to leave on the adventure of a lifetime. What was there to be nervous about? When I finally made it on board my first flight, EY012 to Abu Dhabi, I was excited. My one and only time on a plane was 12 years ago, and I couldn't remember what the take off was like. It wasn't even much of an anti-climax either as I officially left English tarmac and high into the air. However, that was where the magic ended. The flight wasn't great, with Etihad Airways not offering much in the way of leg room. I was sitting next to the window, with a Japanese woman knocked out on sleeping pills next to me, so it was quite hard to get her to budge so I could walk around. For 7 hours, I was cramped in a small space with only the in-flight "E-Box" to keep me entertained. 'After Earth' was the only good film they had. I couldn't put up with much more than 10 minutes of 'The Internship'.
Disembarking at Abu Dhabi International Airport then was a blessing, with legs aching and pins and needles setting in, I needed a major walk around. I was already way further than I had ever been before, all on my own and with next to no experience of how airports actually worked, I basically followed two people who I had overheard were also going to Melbourne. Walking through security, I was tired and a little agitated, especially after I threw all my belongings in one of those trays, walked through the detectors, and to the other side, to find my iPod had somehow vanished. Great.
The three-hour wait was okay as I was able to jump on the internet and chat to a few people from home. Soon though it was time to start the 2nd leg of the journey. Which was quite possibly the worst 14 hours of my life. I was sat in an aisle seat this time, so it would be easier to get up and walk around, but whilst being packed in like sardines, the flight just went on and on and on and on... I had purchased some sleeping pills from Heathrow, and in a last-ditch attempt to try and make the time disappear, downed a couple and felt myself sink into the rather uncomfortable chair I had been provided with...
Waking up, I could see the sun bursting through the small crack in the window that the Australian lady sitting next to me had left whilst pulling the blind across. It had worked. The sleeping pills had done their job, as I had gone to sleep with 11 hours of the flight still remaining. Logging in to the E-Box in front of me, I was hoping to see that there was a couple of hours remaining and I would be there.
Clicking on 'Flight Path' with my heart jumping out my chest, I watched the loading bar get to 100% before the time remaining section flashed up.
8 hours 20 minutes remain. You have got to be kidding me.
Landing in Melbourne then was something I thought was never going to happen. I was firmly convinced I was going to be in the air forever. But when the plane did eventually land, I was extremely tired. Tired and very nervous. I had been speaking to the two guys who were due to pick me up from the airport, but it suddenly dawned on me that I was about to meet them. What do I say? What do I do?
This was when the irrational side of me kicked in. I suddenly found myself in the back seat of the car, driving past the city of Melbourne on the way to my new home for the next six months. Apparently, a lot of the players from the club I'm playing for were waiting for me in the clubhouse. Upon arrival, my heart rate was through the roof and walking in through the front door to find 30 faces looking in my direction made me feel a bit like a celebrity. There was a moment of silence before something inside me said, "Ice Breaker... Ice Breaker..."
"F**k me, someone get me a beer!"
I don't even drink a lot of beer. A few laughs circled the room as I went round shaking people's hands. I might have come across as someone who was uber-confident, but inside I was absolutely shaking. Someone then tapped me on the shoulder and gave me a can. Of Jack Daniels and Coke. Bliss. It was just what I needed. I had about 4 or 5 cans, becoming naturally more and more sociable after each one, with someone even offering a night out in the city. It was tempting, but even I wasn't going to stretch that far, as we made our way to my abode for the next 6 months.
This house is unbelievable. Its very common for houses in Australia to be big, and this one is no different, with a large garden and a pool. I have my own room on one side of the house, with a size about 4 times as big as my own room at home and a very comfortable double bed that came in handy as I crashed upon getting in from the introductions at the clubhouse.
Since then, I've been fighting. Fighting with my own insecurities to get settled in and feel comfortable. I constantly walk around, struggling to find things to do and I feel very quiet and reserved. Anxiety and jetlag are not a good combination. The only time I felt at least a little bit at ease was yesterday, during AFL Grand Final Day. A huge day in the Aussie sporting calendar, the grand final of the premier Aussie Rules competition brings Australia together. These guys start drinking at midday and carry on until they can't pack any more away. Despite tiredness, I got involved and bought a crate of cans (JD and coke cans - of course), and it was a good day. I eventually got the hang of the rules after the 1st quarter, and backed the underdogs, Fremantle, (affectionately known as 'Freo' by the Aussies who have a habit of shortening everything!), but they ultimately lost. Not that it mattered. It was a good day of socialising, with me, making sure not to go overboard on the alcohol, merely laughing at a few of the others, who did.
I got home at roughly midnight and crashed in my bed again, but it was only a couple of hours before I was completely awake. A sudden feeling of fear had washed over me, and an irrational thought process began in where I contemplated why I was out here. It was a rough time last night, about 5 hours of negative thinking and battling the demons. I was expecting them, but nothing can quite prepare you for the strength of the thoughts. I can imagine these thoughts will come and go within the next couple of weeks. And its not going to be nice. The main problem is the Aussie sense of humour. They like to crack a joke, "take the piss" and "banter". Its all they do, and for someone who is new to the situation, its hard to know when they are being serious. There was a moment during Friday when I laughed at what I thought was a joke and it wasn't. Frankly, I'm bordering on being a nervous wreck.
I just have to keep reminding myself that things are going to get better. My first training session is on Tuesday, followed by a probable indoor game on Wednesday, another training session on Thursday and the first league game on Saturday. Hopefully, I can immerse myself fully in these activities and all of a sudden, I'll be well on my way.
But right at this moment, I am struggling. I was always going to wasn't I...
Monday 23 September 2013
Motivational Speaking
This post might come across as a bit stupid. However, I shall type it out for use in the next couple of weeks. I am excited about Australia, but it is guaranteed that there will be a stage where anxiety and/or homesickness threatens to get the better of me in the initial stages I am in Melbourne. So this post is for me!
...
Yo Mitten. It's Mitten. Bedford Mitten. The Mitten excited about Australia. You know when you typed this out, (last Sunday after the pub quiz where you burnt your mouth on a vegetable samosa), but you might just be needing a little reminder of what you're missing out on in B-Town. Here goes.
- In England, its Winter. It's fucking cold, and if you were in England, you'd have nothing to do. You know exactly what Winter does to you, don't you... Any feelings of homesickness or anxiety that you're feeling right now simply cannot match up to those feelings you experienced last Winter. You know that.
- There's no cricket in England. Sure, there's the indoor league, but that's early on a Sunday morning, and you don't want to be getting up early on a freezing Sunday morning to go and play cricket inside, right?
- People are jealous of you. Everyone said it before you left. "I wish I was you, going to Australia" ... "Can you put me in your suitcase too?", (I don't think there's a euphemism there!) You don't want people to ask questions if you come home after one or two weeks. That would be embarrassing.
- Can you imagine being at work in the lead up to Christmas with the shit you'd be dealing with that I mentioned in point 1? It'd be horrible. Just like it always is.
- As your sister said, if you ever feel down and out, just step outside and feel the Australian sun on your face. And then think about the cold in Bedford. Which is better?
- A reason to stay in Melbourne is the Boxing Day Test Match. Seriously, that's iconic. You will never get the opportunity to see an Ashes Boxing Day Test Match ever again. Certainly not for free!
- GIVE IT A CHANCE! If your brief uni experience taught you anything, you should know that things will settle down. You will find a job and you will be fine. I promise you. Just imagine the feeling of achievement when you score a ton in Australia. How awesome will that be... It doesn't get much better...
- You don't have to stay out here. I know everyone is saying, "You'll love it so much, you'll want to stay", but that is not up to them. It is up to you.
Remember this. This experience is pretty much FREE. You are being paid to go out there, to do what you love doing. This really is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. You don't want to look back on this in 20 years time, when you're paying a mortgage, and think, "I wish I'd stuck it out".
Be yourself. Don't feel the need to appease your Australian team-mates by being more "blokey" or anything similar. They will expect you to take time to settle in. Do what YOU are most comfortable with.
And if the worst comes to the worst, and this little attempt at motivation hasn't helped one bit, just stick it out. Life is testing sometimes, but as the old adage goes, things do get better. You know this too.
Please please please stick it out.
You get to come home in March. 6 months is not a long time in the grand scheme of things. Once the cricket season starts, you'll be fine and dandy.
The human brain is designed to fall back on the easy option. As someone said to you last week, the "status quo". This is an adventure doing what you love doing.
ENJOY IT!
Mitten. Good luck. From the Mitten in the status quo.
...
Yo Mitten. It's Mitten. Bedford Mitten. The Mitten excited about Australia. You know when you typed this out, (last Sunday after the pub quiz where you burnt your mouth on a vegetable samosa), but you might just be needing a little reminder of what you're missing out on in B-Town. Here goes.
- In England, its Winter. It's fucking cold, and if you were in England, you'd have nothing to do. You know exactly what Winter does to you, don't you... Any feelings of homesickness or anxiety that you're feeling right now simply cannot match up to those feelings you experienced last Winter. You know that.
- There's no cricket in England. Sure, there's the indoor league, but that's early on a Sunday morning, and you don't want to be getting up early on a freezing Sunday morning to go and play cricket inside, right?
- People are jealous of you. Everyone said it before you left. "I wish I was you, going to Australia" ... "Can you put me in your suitcase too?", (I don't think there's a euphemism there!) You don't want people to ask questions if you come home after one or two weeks. That would be embarrassing.
- Can you imagine being at work in the lead up to Christmas with the shit you'd be dealing with that I mentioned in point 1? It'd be horrible. Just like it always is.
- As your sister said, if you ever feel down and out, just step outside and feel the Australian sun on your face. And then think about the cold in Bedford. Which is better?
- A reason to stay in Melbourne is the Boxing Day Test Match. Seriously, that's iconic. You will never get the opportunity to see an Ashes Boxing Day Test Match ever again. Certainly not for free!
- GIVE IT A CHANCE! If your brief uni experience taught you anything, you should know that things will settle down. You will find a job and you will be fine. I promise you. Just imagine the feeling of achievement when you score a ton in Australia. How awesome will that be... It doesn't get much better...
- You don't have to stay out here. I know everyone is saying, "You'll love it so much, you'll want to stay", but that is not up to them. It is up to you.
Remember this. This experience is pretty much FREE. You are being paid to go out there, to do what you love doing. This really is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. You don't want to look back on this in 20 years time, when you're paying a mortgage, and think, "I wish I'd stuck it out".
Be yourself. Don't feel the need to appease your Australian team-mates by being more "blokey" or anything similar. They will expect you to take time to settle in. Do what YOU are most comfortable with.
And if the worst comes to the worst, and this little attempt at motivation hasn't helped one bit, just stick it out. Life is testing sometimes, but as the old adage goes, things do get better. You know this too.
Please please please stick it out.
You get to come home in March. 6 months is not a long time in the grand scheme of things. Once the cricket season starts, you'll be fine and dandy.
The human brain is designed to fall back on the easy option. As someone said to you last week, the "status quo". This is an adventure doing what you love doing.
ENJOY IT!
Mitten. Good luck. From the Mitten in the status quo.
Tuesday 17 September 2013
The Countdown
It still hasn't sunk in yet. I can't get my head around living on the other side of the world for six months, in BLOODY AUSTRALIA!
This isn't going to be a big post. Just an update really. For, if I begin ranting, I will merely talk about how I expect to have a tough first couple of weeks but am hopeful it will work out. Lets just wing it right? I have everything I need. Aussie dollars in abundance, a suitcase (might be useful), could do with a few more summer clothes yes and a credit card. Oh yes, I have a credit card. Only to be used in "emergencies" ... We'll say no more on that one.
But I'm not nervous. Not yet anyway.
I've just got back from Wales, where I spent a weekend watching England beat Australia at cricket in the sun. In between two days of absolutely horrendous weather. That was a lucky break. This was after getting in at 2.30am on Saturday morning from the aftermath of what was a pretty eventful Bedford CC Awards Evening. It started at 6:45, and the actual award-giving didn't start until about 8:15. In that hour and a half, I'd had a bit of Jack Daniels, but then I realised I actually had to head up the prize-giving. I think its safe to say it didn't go swimmingly! But never mind... I won the Best Batsman Award, (which was voted for by the players!) which was a nice touch. I was leading run-scorer at the club with 903, and after my abysmal start to the season, which left me with an average of 1.5 by the end of May, I reckon that wasn't too bad!
 |
| Bedford CC Best Batsman 2013. I scored 903 runs with an average of 32.25. Not bad considering I'd scored a whole 7 runs by the end of May! |
My final week at work begins tomorrow... With this Australian adventure coming round awfully fast, I have a feeling this week might take a while to complete...
Sunday 8 September 2013
Stay Grounded
"I'm trying to stay as calm as possible and focus one day at a time, but when reality sets in, I feel everything: anxiety, excitement, nerves, pressure and joy."
Apologies for an apparent silence. Just... Everything is Australia at the moment.
I've been pretty quiet on here, in an attempt to play down the Australian trip. I have figured that the more I think about it, the more scenarios I can create in my head, and logic dictates that not all of them will be positive. At cricket the other day, I had to walk out the changing room as the topic randomly changed to deadly spiders in the middle of the tea break. I swiftly change the subject whenever the word 'Australia' pops up at work, and I find myself doing that with alarming regularity. It is true though. It is pretty difficult to escape.
However much I try, I cannot get it out my head. True, some might be asking, "Why would you even want to?", but I have delusions of grandeur when it comes to landing in Melbourne. I imagine myself stepping off the plane into the crescendo of heat and I'm the most confident person on the planet, but its not going to be the case. After the (very) brief honeymoon period, I am going to be terrified. This is a fact. I have yet to fully accept this, much like how I have yet to fully accept I am going at all, and quite frankly, I am going to need every little ounce of willpower I have to get through that initial period. As silly as it sounds, there is a real possibility that I might come home within a couple of weeks. Let's not beat about the bush here. This might happen. I hope it doesn't. But it might.
And the idea of that scares me also. The idea that the thoughts of what it might be like may well probably be completely different to what its actually going to be like. That's unimaginably scary... The thought that I might well end up throwing away the most perfect of opportunities because I panic. It is easy just thinking about it, but actually DOING it will probably be a different challenge altogether.
Right here right now however, I have a more immediate problem. Its safe to say that I like a drink every now and then, (when the weekend comes around!), and it is quite amazing how much I can get through on your average weekend. Barring bank holidays, (where one tends to go out on Friday and Sunday), I worked out yesterday that my last Saturday night in was way back in April. More often than not, I have backed that up with a night out on Friday aswell and every single time I go out, I drink most of a bottle of Jack Daniels before leaving for town where I consume even more. This weekend, I really did push the boundaries of how much I can drink on a night out. I went out on Friday and eventually went to sleep at 6:40am, and yes, you've guessed it already... I had work in the morning. 2 whole hours later, I was in my office physically falling apart at the seams.
And yes, I also went out last night. As if it needed saying. Despite illness, a headache, sore throat and the rest of man-flu like symptoms, I "manned up" and got on with it. Seeing off the majority of a small bottle of Jack Daniels and a few shots followed by what some people call a "session". Now, usually, I wouldn't bother about thinking about the effects of heavy drinking, but last night was the first time I actually stopped and thought about what the hell my liver is going through.
I can feel it right now, physically disintegrating.
And what's more, people are starting to judge me for it. I can feel the words of, "What an idiot, wasting his money like that", and I'd like to say they don't effect me. They don't really, but at the same time I'm not saying, "Don't care what you think!"
One more thing. I think I'm getting a bit ... Arrogant. Big-headed. I can feel myself walking along the streets thinking that I'm better than some other people. That's wrong isn't it? Why am I thinking that?
Oh. Australia. Of course.
Apologies for an apparent silence. Just... Everything is Australia at the moment.
I've been pretty quiet on here, in an attempt to play down the Australian trip. I have figured that the more I think about it, the more scenarios I can create in my head, and logic dictates that not all of them will be positive. At cricket the other day, I had to walk out the changing room as the topic randomly changed to deadly spiders in the middle of the tea break. I swiftly change the subject whenever the word 'Australia' pops up at work, and I find myself doing that with alarming regularity. It is true though. It is pretty difficult to escape.
However much I try, I cannot get it out my head. True, some might be asking, "Why would you even want to?", but I have delusions of grandeur when it comes to landing in Melbourne. I imagine myself stepping off the plane into the crescendo of heat and I'm the most confident person on the planet, but its not going to be the case. After the (very) brief honeymoon period, I am going to be terrified. This is a fact. I have yet to fully accept this, much like how I have yet to fully accept I am going at all, and quite frankly, I am going to need every little ounce of willpower I have to get through that initial period. As silly as it sounds, there is a real possibility that I might come home within a couple of weeks. Let's not beat about the bush here. This might happen. I hope it doesn't. But it might.
And the idea of that scares me also. The idea that the thoughts of what it might be like may well probably be completely different to what its actually going to be like. That's unimaginably scary... The thought that I might well end up throwing away the most perfect of opportunities because I panic. It is easy just thinking about it, but actually DOING it will probably be a different challenge altogether.
Right here right now however, I have a more immediate problem. Its safe to say that I like a drink every now and then, (when the weekend comes around!), and it is quite amazing how much I can get through on your average weekend. Barring bank holidays, (where one tends to go out on Friday and Sunday), I worked out yesterday that my last Saturday night in was way back in April. More often than not, I have backed that up with a night out on Friday aswell and every single time I go out, I drink most of a bottle of Jack Daniels before leaving for town where I consume even more. This weekend, I really did push the boundaries of how much I can drink on a night out. I went out on Friday and eventually went to sleep at 6:40am, and yes, you've guessed it already... I had work in the morning. 2 whole hours later, I was in my office physically falling apart at the seams.
And yes, I also went out last night. As if it needed saying. Despite illness, a headache, sore throat and the rest of man-flu like symptoms, I "manned up" and got on with it. Seeing off the majority of a small bottle of Jack Daniels and a few shots followed by what some people call a "session". Now, usually, I wouldn't bother about thinking about the effects of heavy drinking, but last night was the first time I actually stopped and thought about what the hell my liver is going through.
I can feel it right now, physically disintegrating.
And what's more, people are starting to judge me for it. I can feel the words of, "What an idiot, wasting his money like that", and I'd like to say they don't effect me. They don't really, but at the same time I'm not saying, "Don't care what you think!"
One more thing. I think I'm getting a bit ... Arrogant. Big-headed. I can feel myself walking along the streets thinking that I'm better than some other people. That's wrong isn't it? Why am I thinking that?
Oh. Australia. Of course.
Monday 26 August 2013
The EPOU on No Sleep
I really hate that how people have hijacked the phrase, "YOLO". On paper, it is a good description of life as a young adult. If you still live at home, with a full-time job, you can really go for it. Live life to its fullest extent, without the repercussions of falling behind on rent or the washing. It was a great description, until school kids stole it and overused it until it became infuriating. People running around shouting, "Yolo!" in a high-pitched voice, it just got so annoying. But if you stop and think about what it actually means, the acronym has a meaning behind it. It's actually brilliant.
In exactly a month's time, I will be on a flight to Australia, and even now, I'm inexplicably nervous. I shed a tear earlier at the very idea of leaving behind my family and friends for a whole six months, but I just know I have to do it. A free trip to Australia to play cricket, (bar the visa - which I have to pay for) is quite literally my dream come true. I cannot explain in words how I've dreamt about batting under Australian sunshine. Christmas on the beach followed by a Boxing Day Ashes Test match is just absolutely surreal, that I simply cannot get my head around doing it. Christmas in my eyes is all about snuggling up in bed on Christmas Eve, in freezing temperatures until Christmas morning, where you end up putting a dressing gown and slippers on before shivering your way downstairs. I can't imagine a scenario where I end up sweating for the night before putting a pair of board shorts on, opening a few presents and heading my way to the beach for the day. How much of a mind fuck is that going to be?
Oh, Australia. I haven't even entirely accepted that I'm going yet. It all seems too good to be true...
I'm on such a high at the moment though. So much so, that I've got home from my customary Saturday night out at 5am and I've decided I'm just going to stay awake until 8.30. I'm due to play in a bit of a fun 6-a-side cricket day and due to be picked up in a few hours time. I'm on such a high that I'm not entirely fussed if I end up falling asleep out in the middle. It's one of those events where no one really cares if you play good or not - It's just going to be a laugh. Whether or not I'll be in a fit state to have a laugh, I don't know, but its worth a shot, right? I don't want to go to sleep. It reminds me of my BP days. Get in from work at 6am on a bit of a high for cricket later, that I just don't go to sleep. If I remember correctly, on one occasion, I didn't sleep and took two outrageous slip catches and scored 64, so sometimes it works.
Anyway, I'm getting side-tracked. I am scared about Australia. Scared and excited. Most of my awake moments are spent thinking about the ups and downs of the trip at the moment. It's taken over my life. I've been telling people that there might be a possibility of me staying in Australia permanently, but in all honesty, I simply cannot imagine not seeing my friends ever again. I love them so much, that its almost an impossibility.
...
That is the point in proceedings where I fell asleep at the keyboard. By the time I came round, roughly 20 minutes later, my laptop had run out of charge and I was feeling the effects of the hangover kicking in. The time was roughly 7am, so I didn't bother going back to sleep, choosing to go downstairs instead and indulge in coffee aswell as walking round the shop to get some Red Bull. I was going to need it.
Right now, its bank holiday Monday afternoon and the last of my days off. It's been a good and eventful week, but the next few weeks at work are going to be tough as I train up the person who is replacing me for 6 months. I've just started completing my visa, thinking it was going to be a long, drawn out process, but 10 minutes later, I found I had finished it. I'm pretty sure there is more to complete... It can't be THAT easy...
Yesterday was actually really good fun. When we turned up to the Annual Southill Sixes Day, it was cold and foggy with a bit of drizzle in the air, and due to my very obvious lack of sleep, I did wonder whether it was going to be a very long and dull affair. Especially as we sat in the clubhouse waiting for the fog to ascend, I thought about locking myself in a changing room to catch some shut eye, but as soon as the call for a coffee and a cooked breakfast came, I jumped up faster than a gazelle on speed and was the first inside to feast upon bacon, eggs and the rest. That seemed to wake me up, and the weather followed suit as the first game got under way. The 6s format is pretty simple. 6-a-side, 5 overs each and each player has one over, (apart from the wicket-keeper). As it was a fun end-of-season event, most of the players donned fancy dress, and halfway through the first game of the day, our team swanned off to the changing rooms to get changed. Our team name was 'EPOU' and no one could work out what it stood for. After all of us had donned our outfits though, it became obvious for those that love the game who we were.
As we walked out into the middle for our first game, people were amazed at the efforts. Watty had created proper umpires attire, (with Fly Emirates logo) and despite it being quite difficult to bowl in, plus very hot when batting especially, (the sun had finally come out!), it was a pretty fantastic effort by him.
We won 2 games and lost 2 games, but didn't make the final. Watty had to shoot off at the end of the round-robin games regardless so it was probably best that we didn't, and I was relieved by that stage as I was really, really struggling through lack of sleep. How I used to go whole weekends without any sleep at all I don't know, but by that stage, I had been awake (pretty much) for 29 hours on the bounce.
This coming weekend is the final weekend of the English season, a detail I now have to point out as I will be flying off to the beginning of another one not long after. We have an important game on Saturday, as we look to avoid relegation straight after being promoted, followed by a dead-rubber on Sunday where we can enjoy the end of the season. I think we're drawing the batting order out of a hat!
Yet, all of my thoughts belong 10,500 miles away...
In exactly a month's time, I will be on a flight to Australia, and even now, I'm inexplicably nervous. I shed a tear earlier at the very idea of leaving behind my family and friends for a whole six months, but I just know I have to do it. A free trip to Australia to play cricket, (bar the visa - which I have to pay for) is quite literally my dream come true. I cannot explain in words how I've dreamt about batting under Australian sunshine. Christmas on the beach followed by a Boxing Day Ashes Test match is just absolutely surreal, that I simply cannot get my head around doing it. Christmas in my eyes is all about snuggling up in bed on Christmas Eve, in freezing temperatures until Christmas morning, where you end up putting a dressing gown and slippers on before shivering your way downstairs. I can't imagine a scenario where I end up sweating for the night before putting a pair of board shorts on, opening a few presents and heading my way to the beach for the day. How much of a mind fuck is that going to be?
Oh, Australia. I haven't even entirely accepted that I'm going yet. It all seems too good to be true...
I'm on such a high at the moment though. So much so, that I've got home from my customary Saturday night out at 5am and I've decided I'm just going to stay awake until 8.30. I'm due to play in a bit of a fun 6-a-side cricket day and due to be picked up in a few hours time. I'm on such a high that I'm not entirely fussed if I end up falling asleep out in the middle. It's one of those events where no one really cares if you play good or not - It's just going to be a laugh. Whether or not I'll be in a fit state to have a laugh, I don't know, but its worth a shot, right? I don't want to go to sleep. It reminds me of my BP days. Get in from work at 6am on a bit of a high for cricket later, that I just don't go to sleep. If I remember correctly, on one occasion, I didn't sleep and took two outrageous slip catches and scored 64, so sometimes it works.
Anyway, I'm getting side-tracked. I am scared about Australia. Scared and excited. Most of my awake moments are spent thinking about the ups and downs of the trip at the moment. It's taken over my life. I've been telling people that there might be a possibility of me staying in Australia permanently, but in all honesty, I simply cannot imagine not seeing my friends ever again. I love them so much, that its almost an impossibility.
...
That is the point in proceedings where I fell asleep at the keyboard. By the time I came round, roughly 20 minutes later, my laptop had run out of charge and I was feeling the effects of the hangover kicking in. The time was roughly 7am, so I didn't bother going back to sleep, choosing to go downstairs instead and indulge in coffee aswell as walking round the shop to get some Red Bull. I was going to need it.
Right now, its bank holiday Monday afternoon and the last of my days off. It's been a good and eventful week, but the next few weeks at work are going to be tough as I train up the person who is replacing me for 6 months. I've just started completing my visa, thinking it was going to be a long, drawn out process, but 10 minutes later, I found I had finished it. I'm pretty sure there is more to complete... It can't be THAT easy...
Yesterday was actually really good fun. When we turned up to the Annual Southill Sixes Day, it was cold and foggy with a bit of drizzle in the air, and due to my very obvious lack of sleep, I did wonder whether it was going to be a very long and dull affair. Especially as we sat in the clubhouse waiting for the fog to ascend, I thought about locking myself in a changing room to catch some shut eye, but as soon as the call for a coffee and a cooked breakfast came, I jumped up faster than a gazelle on speed and was the first inside to feast upon bacon, eggs and the rest. That seemed to wake me up, and the weather followed suit as the first game got under way. The 6s format is pretty simple. 6-a-side, 5 overs each and each player has one over, (apart from the wicket-keeper). As it was a fun end-of-season event, most of the players donned fancy dress, and halfway through the first game of the day, our team swanned off to the changing rooms to get changed. Our team name was 'EPOU' and no one could work out what it stood for. After all of us had donned our outfits though, it became obvious for those that love the game who we were.
 |
| Left to Right: Billy Bowden (Watty), Simon Taufel (Me), Steve Bucknor (Saggers) Aleem Dar (Kenny) and Rudi Koertzen (Oli) The Elite Panel of Umpires CC! |
We won 2 games and lost 2 games, but didn't make the final. Watty had to shoot off at the end of the round-robin games regardless so it was probably best that we didn't, and I was relieved by that stage as I was really, really struggling through lack of sleep. How I used to go whole weekends without any sleep at all I don't know, but by that stage, I had been awake (pretty much) for 29 hours on the bounce.
This coming weekend is the final weekend of the English season, a detail I now have to point out as I will be flying off to the beginning of another one not long after. We have an important game on Saturday, as we look to avoid relegation straight after being promoted, followed by a dead-rubber on Sunday where we can enjoy the end of the season. I think we're drawing the batting order out of a hat!
Yet, all of my thoughts belong 10,500 miles away...
Monday 19 August 2013
The Idiot Gets a Daddy Ton
It's been a bit of a weird week this one. It's the same recipe of cricket and alcohol, but in a strange order that left me feeling on the brink of collapsing.
I've been a bit of an idiot this week aswell. Jumping past the news that I may well be in trouble again for misuse of Twitter, (haven't we been there before?), I have spent the week absolutely blowing my earnings on ... Well... Nonsense. It's a case of not learning lessons, both with Twitter and with alcohol, as I spent what can only be described as a gargantuan amount of dosh on Thursday night. Yes. Thursday. It was A-Level results night, and as soon as someone mentioned it last Saturday - Conveniently, whilst we were celebrating our Twenty20 Finals Day victory - there was always a 0% chance of me not attending. The idea of me being bored at home whilst people I know are living the party life really is an idea that fills my heart with sadness. Call me a party animal, an alcoholic, whatever... I couldn't care less.
After this week, my liver has handed in its notice. It wants to change jobs.
I thought I'd had a really awesome night without spending a lot on Thursday, a brief thought that was completely scuppered when it came to the tiresome long day at work on Friday when I found a receipt for £56.70 in my wallet. Nope. That's not a typo. I had genuinely spent £56.70 on SIX WHOLE FISHBOWLS. Who even does that? Even when their drunk? Who? I was on my lunch break when I found out this fact, and nearly choked on my chicken mayo and bacon baguette as I saw it. I had to ask someone what I had bought, (which proves how much I had to drink that night), but when I found out... I simply laughed. I think that goes down as the biggest waste of money I've ever spent. Thursday night really was a brilliant night though, and congratulations to all who got their results. I'm sure you loved your relatively free night as I paid for all your drinks...
Friday is hardly worth mentioning. I was a write-off from the first coffee of the day to the twenty-first, and when the time finally came for me to make the weary walk home, I lasted a whole hour before I simply crashed on my bed. Not even I could have managed another night out on Friday evening as I enjoyed 14 hours of blissful sleep up to my final Saturday morning shift before my week off work.
Saturday eventually came round, and after a pretty uneventful morning at work, I was on my way to the first of two weekend games. We were playing Langford (again), and proceeded to completely screw it up. Whether we were thinking the rain was going to come so there was no point in playing I don't know, but it never did, and when we were 76-7 we decided we really should try and do something about it. I was long gone, nicking behind off their admittedly good opening bowler who accounted for our top 3 batsmen, all of which are in pretty good form. Being bowled out for 103 then wasn't ideal.
During the tea break, Monty, (keen to make up for his lack of runs!) tried persuading me to open him with the bowling aswell. Being a spinner, his argument was that the Langford openers wouldn't be expecting it. After much deliberation, I relented and agreed. I then decided to go the whole hog and properly attack. I walked out to the middle with borrowed pads under my trousers and underneath a helmet. I had never fielded at short-leg before, (a position suicidally close to the batsman to catch any balls that come off bat and then pad). But 2nd ball, the batsman did exactly that, prodding at one that turned, hitting his glove and then pad and then ballooning up into the air for me to pouch the easiest of catches. As soon as the umpire put his finger up, we went mental. Our plan had worked. And what's more, Monty got another wicket soon after to leave them 9-2. We were buzzing as we tried to prize out batsman number 3, but it never happened. Not until it was too late anyway.
One more thing happened in this match that wasn't exactly ideal. After Langford had recovered somewhat, to leave themselves on 60-odd for 2, I bought myself on to bowl. Not a rarity these days, but for some reason, I just couldn't do it properly. I just bowled short long hops that kept getting despatched. Apart from one. Which the batsman missed. Bearing in mind he missed it, the ball carried on travelling and planted into the middle of his eye socket. Despite a shaken batsman, and a cut eye, he seemed okay to carry on, and did, but it left me apologising profusely. He looked like Robert Sheehan aswell. I had basically injured one of the best-looking guys I had faced all season. Any plans to ask him out for a drink had been scuppered due to my dodgy bowling!
And then Saturday night came round... Before I go any further, I promise I had nothing planned. I had enquired as to someone wanting a night out, but wasn't expecting them to say yes. I spent my evening walking to the shop to buy a couple of birthday cards and then delivering them, only to be persuaded into attending their birthday function at the local pub. "Ok", I thought. "Its only a few at the pub, this won't develop into anything further".
I really should know by now how that never, ever happens.
How wrong I was. The friend I texted had replied saying, "Of course I'll go out, stupid question!" and when she did, I had been bought drinks left, right and centre at this function leaving me a little worse for wear as I travelled to Abigail's for her pre-drinks in the summerhouse. I love that summerhouse. Just chilling in there with a few drinks and a bit of music, reminiscing over past events and talking over the present day, there really are few things better in life. When we left for town, we enjoyed a really, really good night, camping it up in the Barley Mow, before deciding we were going to carry on at someone else's house when the time came for closing.
This is the point where my 2nd stage of idiocy happened. I won't go into details, but I went against what I think is right and I am very disappointed in my behaviour then. It wasn't anything illegal (before you say anything!), I was just being a general moron. It's against my character I suppose. We all make mistakes though, and its important to appreciate that. From that stage of idiocy, I stumbled in the front door at 6.30am. The sun was up. I eventually got to sleep at 7.30am. Whoa.
Just three hours later, I was awake for the 2nd instalment of the weekend's cricket. With nothing to play for on Sundays, it was almost not worth turning up. I just couldn't be bothered. Sleep was a much more appealing option, but not turning up is never an option at the best of times, even more so yesterday - because we were due to turn up with just 9 players. I had a feeling it was going to be a thrashing...
And it was.
We batted first, and padding up going out to bat was quite difficult in itself. I could feel my head spinning and I felt a bit sick. I didn't tell any of the other guys this in fear of being ripped apart, but as I was heading out to bat, I got the impression I might be walking back in again pretty quickly...
Their opening bowler was pretty handy, but otherwise, they didn't have much firepower whatsoever. A fact made more palpable by the fact that, after 40 overs, I found myself unbeaten at the crease having scored 153 runs. Again, that is not a typo. At the beginning of my innings, I may well have still been drunk, but I genuinely scored 153 more runs than I had expected. That's a new record. Finding the boundary 24 times is also a new record. 153* is the 5th best performance in the whole league structure this season, and the 1st best in our division. It propels me to the top of the club standings for runs scored and for the first 10 overs of that innings - I was still drunk.
We won convincingly. Having scored 292-2 as a team, we bowled them out for 126, and a winning margin of 166 runs. I had scored more runs than their whole team whilst drunk and then heavily hungover and then I went home, cramped in the back of the car with a lot of kit, with a rather bemused smile on my face.
What a strange day... What a strange week...
I've been a bit of an idiot this week aswell. Jumping past the news that I may well be in trouble again for misuse of Twitter, (haven't we been there before?), I have spent the week absolutely blowing my earnings on ... Well... Nonsense. It's a case of not learning lessons, both with Twitter and with alcohol, as I spent what can only be described as a gargantuan amount of dosh on Thursday night. Yes. Thursday. It was A-Level results night, and as soon as someone mentioned it last Saturday - Conveniently, whilst we were celebrating our Twenty20 Finals Day victory - there was always a 0% chance of me not attending. The idea of me being bored at home whilst people I know are living the party life really is an idea that fills my heart with sadness. Call me a party animal, an alcoholic, whatever... I couldn't care less.
After this week, my liver has handed in its notice. It wants to change jobs.
I thought I'd had a really awesome night without spending a lot on Thursday, a brief thought that was completely scuppered when it came to the tiresome long day at work on Friday when I found a receipt for £56.70 in my wallet. Nope. That's not a typo. I had genuinely spent £56.70 on SIX WHOLE FISHBOWLS. Who even does that? Even when their drunk? Who? I was on my lunch break when I found out this fact, and nearly choked on my chicken mayo and bacon baguette as I saw it. I had to ask someone what I had bought, (which proves how much I had to drink that night), but when I found out... I simply laughed. I think that goes down as the biggest waste of money I've ever spent. Thursday night really was a brilliant night though, and congratulations to all who got their results. I'm sure you loved your relatively free night as I paid for all your drinks...
Friday is hardly worth mentioning. I was a write-off from the first coffee of the day to the twenty-first, and when the time finally came for me to make the weary walk home, I lasted a whole hour before I simply crashed on my bed. Not even I could have managed another night out on Friday evening as I enjoyed 14 hours of blissful sleep up to my final Saturday morning shift before my week off work.
Saturday eventually came round, and after a pretty uneventful morning at work, I was on my way to the first of two weekend games. We were playing Langford (again), and proceeded to completely screw it up. Whether we were thinking the rain was going to come so there was no point in playing I don't know, but it never did, and when we were 76-7 we decided we really should try and do something about it. I was long gone, nicking behind off their admittedly good opening bowler who accounted for our top 3 batsmen, all of which are in pretty good form. Being bowled out for 103 then wasn't ideal.
During the tea break, Monty, (keen to make up for his lack of runs!) tried persuading me to open him with the bowling aswell. Being a spinner, his argument was that the Langford openers wouldn't be expecting it. After much deliberation, I relented and agreed. I then decided to go the whole hog and properly attack. I walked out to the middle with borrowed pads under my trousers and underneath a helmet. I had never fielded at short-leg before, (a position suicidally close to the batsman to catch any balls that come off bat and then pad). But 2nd ball, the batsman did exactly that, prodding at one that turned, hitting his glove and then pad and then ballooning up into the air for me to pouch the easiest of catches. As soon as the umpire put his finger up, we went mental. Our plan had worked. And what's more, Monty got another wicket soon after to leave them 9-2. We were buzzing as we tried to prize out batsman number 3, but it never happened. Not until it was too late anyway.
One more thing happened in this match that wasn't exactly ideal. After Langford had recovered somewhat, to leave themselves on 60-odd for 2, I bought myself on to bowl. Not a rarity these days, but for some reason, I just couldn't do it properly. I just bowled short long hops that kept getting despatched. Apart from one. Which the batsman missed. Bearing in mind he missed it, the ball carried on travelling and planted into the middle of his eye socket. Despite a shaken batsman, and a cut eye, he seemed okay to carry on, and did, but it left me apologising profusely. He looked like Robert Sheehan aswell. I had basically injured one of the best-looking guys I had faced all season. Any plans to ask him out for a drink had been scuppered due to my dodgy bowling!
And then Saturday night came round... Before I go any further, I promise I had nothing planned. I had enquired as to someone wanting a night out, but wasn't expecting them to say yes. I spent my evening walking to the shop to buy a couple of birthday cards and then delivering them, only to be persuaded into attending their birthday function at the local pub. "Ok", I thought. "Its only a few at the pub, this won't develop into anything further".
I really should know by now how that never, ever happens.
How wrong I was. The friend I texted had replied saying, "Of course I'll go out, stupid question!" and when she did, I had been bought drinks left, right and centre at this function leaving me a little worse for wear as I travelled to Abigail's for her pre-drinks in the summerhouse. I love that summerhouse. Just chilling in there with a few drinks and a bit of music, reminiscing over past events and talking over the present day, there really are few things better in life. When we left for town, we enjoyed a really, really good night, camping it up in the Barley Mow, before deciding we were going to carry on at someone else's house when the time came for closing.
This is the point where my 2nd stage of idiocy happened. I won't go into details, but I went against what I think is right and I am very disappointed in my behaviour then. It wasn't anything illegal (before you say anything!), I was just being a general moron. It's against my character I suppose. We all make mistakes though, and its important to appreciate that. From that stage of idiocy, I stumbled in the front door at 6.30am. The sun was up. I eventually got to sleep at 7.30am. Whoa.
Just three hours later, I was awake for the 2nd instalment of the weekend's cricket. With nothing to play for on Sundays, it was almost not worth turning up. I just couldn't be bothered. Sleep was a much more appealing option, but not turning up is never an option at the best of times, even more so yesterday - because we were due to turn up with just 9 players. I had a feeling it was going to be a thrashing...
And it was.
We batted first, and padding up going out to bat was quite difficult in itself. I could feel my head spinning and I felt a bit sick. I didn't tell any of the other guys this in fear of being ripped apart, but as I was heading out to bat, I got the impression I might be walking back in again pretty quickly...
Their opening bowler was pretty handy, but otherwise, they didn't have much firepower whatsoever. A fact made more palpable by the fact that, after 40 overs, I found myself unbeaten at the crease having scored 153 runs. Again, that is not a typo. At the beginning of my innings, I may well have still been drunk, but I genuinely scored 153 more runs than I had expected. That's a new record. Finding the boundary 24 times is also a new record. 153* is the 5th best performance in the whole league structure this season, and the 1st best in our division. It propels me to the top of the club standings for runs scored and for the first 10 overs of that innings - I was still drunk.
We won convincingly. Having scored 292-2 as a team, we bowled them out for 126, and a winning margin of 166 runs. I had scored more runs than their whole team whilst drunk and then heavily hungover and then I went home, cramped in the back of the car with a lot of kit, with a rather bemused smile on my face.
What a strange day... What a strange week...
Wednesday 14 August 2013
A Letter to Straight Pride UK
I have just sent an e-mail, (not a letter!) to Straight Pride UK, which is a project that claims to "campaign for heterosexual rights". I shall not comment further on their aims, but instead show you what I sent them. I will not be publicising their answers, as I saw a troubling case against someone else who did the same thing. These are merely the questions I asked.
If you wish to know what they reply, feel free to ask and I shall tell you in private.
...
Dear Sir/Madam,
There has been a lot of coverage lately on social media of your Straight Pride project, and I have a couple of questions and concerns that I wish to raise with you. Please note, before you continue reading, that I intend the answers to this email to be strictly private between myself and the person who replies. I will not publicise, write or publish your answers in any way shape or form and I hope this feeling will be mutual.
I am a gay man, and I do believe that I was born gay and discovered it rather than it being a lifestyle choice. I can't really get my head around how someone would choose to be a minority with risks of rejection and bullying instead of being straight. I do however feel strongly in freedom of speech, and respect your opinions on the matter of homosexuality, even if strongly disagree with them. Before I raise my concerns and ask my questions, I would like to point out that I do actually agree with one of your points. I have read a couple of articles recently on the notion of "gay-only" hotels, which in my opinion is wrong. If hotel/B&B owners are at risk of being sued by turning away homosexual couples, then others shouldn't be allowed to turn away heterosexual couples. Yes, I am in agreement with you on this point alone. Equality should indeed be a two way street.
However, now we come to my concerns and questions, and I'm afraid there are a few.
1) I have seen a few of your tweets, (At the moment, I am confused as to where your official Twitter feed is), but on Monday at least, I saw a long list of tweets on your account about people's stories of "coming out as straight". To me, this sounds like mocking the very difficult personal process of "coming out" as we know it by its original context. I do hope you appreciate that admitting ones sexual orientation is a difficult process. Regardless of whether you think it is a choice or not, the fact remains that almost all LGBT people risk rejection by their family, peers, friends, colleagues and indeed society for doing so, as there are people we share this planet with who are traditionalists. Rejection is not a nice feeling, and I do hope you realise this.
If we look further afield, we see that LGBT people in Russia are being physically tortured for it. Can you tell me if you condone such acts? Causing physical harm is wrong, regardless of the situation. Surely you can see that? In your opinion, if Russia is so adamant that they do not want LGBT people in their country, what should they do?
2) On your website, it states that homosexuals have "the right to dress ridiculously and parade with danger and contempt". I have two questions in regards to this. The first is: Do you think there is a connection between dress sense and homosexuality? I could show you countless examples of heterosexual people "dressing ridiculously" at a parade if I wanted to. I can't really see the logic behind that statement. Secondly, as we are talking of parades, do you think other parades not associated with the LGBT community should be banned aswell? What about the Notting Hill Carnival? Coming up on the August bank holiday, the Notting Hill carnival will see many, many people dressing inappropriately, banging drums, drinking a bit and generally having fun. Is this wrong aswell?
3) Again on your website, you claim that you need to "raise awareness of the heterosexual part of society and assure that their presence is known and their views are heard." Why do you think this is necessary? Even though things have improved in the last few years, the LGBT community have spent their entire existence battling against prejudice and bullying. This has never been the case for heterosexual people, (apart from a very, very rare couple of examples in regards to "gay only" places - as mentioned earlier). For every one case of heterosexual prejudice, (or heterophobia), there have been literally thousands of homophobic incidents. This is a fact. And this is not equality.
I do hope you find it in your hearts to reply sincerely, and without mockery or contempt. I do get the impression that this project of yours is poking fun at the LGBT community, but if it is indeed a genuine attempt to raise heterosexual rights, then I fear you are fighting a battle that has already been won.
Once again, I reiterate that I will not be publishing your answers on any sort of media platform.
Regards,
Tom Carr
If you wish to know what they reply, feel free to ask and I shall tell you in private.
...
Dear Sir/Madam,
There has been a lot of coverage lately on social media of your Straight Pride project, and I have a couple of questions and concerns that I wish to raise with you. Please note, before you continue reading, that I intend the answers to this email to be strictly private between myself and the person who replies. I will not publicise, write or publish your answers in any way shape or form and I hope this feeling will be mutual.
I am a gay man, and I do believe that I was born gay and discovered it rather than it being a lifestyle choice. I can't really get my head around how someone would choose to be a minority with risks of rejection and bullying instead of being straight. I do however feel strongly in freedom of speech, and respect your opinions on the matter of homosexuality, even if strongly disagree with them. Before I raise my concerns and ask my questions, I would like to point out that I do actually agree with one of your points. I have read a couple of articles recently on the notion of "gay-only" hotels, which in my opinion is wrong. If hotel/B&B owners are at risk of being sued by turning away homosexual couples, then others shouldn't be allowed to turn away heterosexual couples. Yes, I am in agreement with you on this point alone. Equality should indeed be a two way street.
However, now we come to my concerns and questions, and I'm afraid there are a few.
1) I have seen a few of your tweets, (At the moment, I am confused as to where your official Twitter feed is), but on Monday at least, I saw a long list of tweets on your account about people's stories of "coming out as straight". To me, this sounds like mocking the very difficult personal process of "coming out" as we know it by its original context. I do hope you appreciate that admitting ones sexual orientation is a difficult process. Regardless of whether you think it is a choice or not, the fact remains that almost all LGBT people risk rejection by their family, peers, friends, colleagues and indeed society for doing so, as there are people we share this planet with who are traditionalists. Rejection is not a nice feeling, and I do hope you realise this.
If we look further afield, we see that LGBT people in Russia are being physically tortured for it. Can you tell me if you condone such acts? Causing physical harm is wrong, regardless of the situation. Surely you can see that? In your opinion, if Russia is so adamant that they do not want LGBT people in their country, what should they do?
2) On your website, it states that homosexuals have "the right to dress ridiculously and parade with danger and contempt". I have two questions in regards to this. The first is: Do you think there is a connection between dress sense and homosexuality? I could show you countless examples of heterosexual people "dressing ridiculously" at a parade if I wanted to. I can't really see the logic behind that statement. Secondly, as we are talking of parades, do you think other parades not associated with the LGBT community should be banned aswell? What about the Notting Hill Carnival? Coming up on the August bank holiday, the Notting Hill carnival will see many, many people dressing inappropriately, banging drums, drinking a bit and generally having fun. Is this wrong aswell?
3) Again on your website, you claim that you need to "raise awareness of the heterosexual part of society and assure that their presence is known and their views are heard." Why do you think this is necessary? Even though things have improved in the last few years, the LGBT community have spent their entire existence battling against prejudice and bullying. This has never been the case for heterosexual people, (apart from a very, very rare couple of examples in regards to "gay only" places - as mentioned earlier). For every one case of heterosexual prejudice, (or heterophobia), there have been literally thousands of homophobic incidents. This is a fact. And this is not equality.
I do hope you find it in your hearts to reply sincerely, and without mockery or contempt. I do get the impression that this project of yours is poking fun at the LGBT community, but if it is indeed a genuine attempt to raise heterosexual rights, then I fear you are fighting a battle that has already been won.
Once again, I reiterate that I will not be publishing your answers on any sort of media platform.
Regards,
Tom Carr
Monday 12 August 2013
Twenty20 Finals Day
Last year, I went to the SWALEC stadium in Cardiff to witness the English professional version of cricket's Twenty20 Finals Day. The sun was out and it was a marvellous day, but I couldn't really get my head around the pressure of the day itself. Its easy sat in the crowd, just witnessing it, but some of the shots that were played were remarkably crazy. Sat on the 2nd row of blue seats near the boundary, you had to question what these pros were playing at...
This Saturday however, I got a feeling of why that can happen. Sure, we're not pros, but at the beginning of July, we managed to get through to the Bedfordshire Invitational League Twenty20 Finals Day. It was an event that was firmly out of my mind until a couple of weeks ago, but since then, all the focus has been on it. All the chatter and conversation had been based around what Saturday may bring, and finally, after what felt like months of waiting and the slowest Saturday morning at work imaginable... It was here. Finals Day had arrived.
On the smallest of car journies to our home ground, the host for the day, I felt nerves I had never experienced on a journey to a cricket match. We wanted to win this so badly. The night before, I had quite literally dreamt about taking a leaping one-handed catch to win the final by 3 runs. It had dominated my thoughts for the week, and here I was, travelling to find out the fate of our team. We hadn't won a top-flight tournament since way back in 2006, a whole 7 years, and I would do absolutely anything to change that. And Saturday was our chance...
Due to work, I turned up at just gone 1pm, towards the end of the first semi-final between Pavenham and Houghton. Houghton was the scene of the carnage a few weeks ago when the game was abandoned due to stump-wielding chavs, so they're not too popular in my books. Pavenham however, after plundering 221 in their innings, (a huge, huge score for those of you not clued up on this wonderful sport), were home and dry and became the first team to qualify for the final. We were up next. Bedford vs Langford in the 2nd of two semi-finals... The nerves were flying...
We had lost to Langford the week before, by a measly 8 runs, in a game we had played horribly bad in. I got a first baller, but both teams had better sides out for Finals Day. We lost the toss, (No, I'm not the T20 captain, so I didn't lose it!) and we were put into field. I was quite pleased about that. I could get into the day relatively comfortably without having to feel the added pressure of opening the batting. I had secured the opening batting spot after scoring an unbeaten 82 in the warm-up game a couple of weeks beforehand, so I suppose I brought that pressure on myself! As the game started, you could feel the energy in our side. An energy absent from any "normal" game. It was absolutely obvious that every single person on that pitch wanted to win, and it was an amazing thing to be a part of, whatever the result. We did very well indeed in that fielding effort, with every person committing 100% to every ball, as we restricted Langford to just 120 in their 20 overs. It was a below-par score on a good pitch and we were extremely confident in overhauling it.
But padding up, the butterflies notched up to another level. I had been telling myself all morning to keep the nerves under control, as it would not be helpful when the time came for me to bat. Batting requires a modicum of concentration and focus, and you have to keep emotions under check. Go out to the middle too high on adrenaline, and you might play a wild shot and get out. Go out to the middle too nervous, and you might not be committed enough to a shot and get out. You have to get it right. So, what did I do?
"Whatever happens here today, that first JD and coke tonight will be a good one. It always bloody is!"
The words of an alcoholic I'm sure, but they did the job and I calmed down. Despite a couple of early wickets, we were always going along at a pretty nice rate. I had reached 18 off about a run a ball though when I rocked back to pull a short ball and just didn't get hold of it and planted a catch straight to the fielder. It was 45-2 when I got out, so at the time, I was apoplectic. Smacking my left pad with my bat as I trudged off, I was very disappointed. I even had to tell myself to not do anything stupid as I walked into the changing room. I'm not usually one for angry reactions, but with the scoreboard now at 45-3, it was a time of the game where anything could have happened. Luckily, next in was star man Ben Woodcock, who was as determined as anyone to succeed. He is a very classy player and he and skipper Boon did very well in getting us to the target and we ended up winning pretty comfortably by 6 wickets. Result. We were into the final.
Before the day, my minimum expectation was to get to the final. Without trying to sound arrogant, although it might well be, a team like ours should be beating Langford every time we step out on to the pitch to face them. It was a solid performance to get to the final, and I was pleased we had reached it. We now had a very, very tough ask against a confident Pavenham side. We had a small half an hour window to chill out, have a burger and a J20, (The JD was very much on ice... Just in case...) before the big one. The final.
Boony actually won the toss, (probably the first toss won for Bedford in a good couple of months!) and all of a sudden, I was out batting again. It's a strange feeling getting out and then padding up to go back out to bat again, but that is what I was doing! It wasn't a good start either... Determined to not play a stupid shot like I did in the semi-final, I was forced to defend a series of balls from their brilliant opening bowler who bowled like a metronome. He put it on the perfect spot EVERY SINGLE TIME, and I just could not do anything with it except knock it back to him. Another couple of quick wickets had fallen again, and all of a sudden we were 14-2 after 5 overs. A quarter of the innings down, and we needed something pretty drastic to claw ourselves back into a respectable position. Myself and Abid were in the middle, and after the 5th over, I realised we needed to do something.
"Look, this is shit, I'm just gonna go for it. If I get out, at least Ben can work some magic."
I was facing the metronome for the 3rd over of his spell, and my mind switched from "mildly attacking but not stupid" to full on Twenty20 mode. I had seen enough of his bowling now to know where he was going to put it, so looking around the field, worked out a quick strategy and attacked it with everything. Sure enough, the first ball of his over was on the exact same spot that the previous 12 had landed, but I had walked across my stumps to expose the leg-side. After some quick hands across the line of the ball, (again - for those of you clued up on the game - a risky ploy), felt the ball connect with the middle of the bat and fly between two fielders for 4 runs. Good. The next ball was slightly wider, and with the full force of everything I had, absolutely farmed it across to the leg side again for 4 more. It was an horrendous shot, and I hadn't got all of it, but it was another welcome boundary. We were still under pressure however, so needed some more exuberance, but I nearly got it so wrong on the next ball. The bowler, aware to what I was doing, bowled it wider down the off-side this time, and I managed to get bat on ball into the widely vacant off-side area. Calling Abid through, I shouted "Two!" and succeeded pretty successfully, but an absolute mad moment ensued when I saw the fielder briefly stumble on the ball. I called Abid back for a third run. I put my head down and sprinted to the non-strikers end, but three-quarters of the way down the wicket, I looked up to find Abid looking at me, completely still. He hadn't moved.
Shit.
I had to stop from a full-on sprint, turn round, and sprint back to the strikers end, and with the ball whistling in from behind me, felt as if I was on the verge of a pretty embarrassing run out in the biggest game of the season. I tried not to concentrate on that though, and had my mind fixed firmly on the white line of the crease and dived full length to reach my ground. My God, it hurt. The ground at this time of the year is not very forgiving, but thanks to a slightly wayward throw, I JUST made it home. Phew.
From then on, I had a ridiculous headache. Whether it was the impact of the dive I just don't know, but soon after, I got cleaned up by an admittedly very good yorker and before I knew it, I was on the sidelines once more, watching my team mates as they tried to claw a respectable score from an unfavourable position. Once again, Ben was absolutely class, as he dismissed the first two balls he faced for two boundaries, and well supported by brutal hitting by Abid and then by the captain, we managed to clamber our way up to 143. It wasn't a bad score by any means, and a couple of the lads seemed to think the new pitch, created especially for the final, was harder to bat on than the one played on in the semi-finals. We were quietly confident.
That was until the end of the 1st over of their reply, which was nonchalantly despatched to all parts of the ground for 16. While we were 14-2 after 5 overs, they were 16-0 after 1. Stood at short third-man as they comfortably saw out the next few overs whilst compiling a good amount of runs, I did wonder whether all that pressure of the day was going to amount to nothing. These guys looked as if they were going to knock off the runs with apparent ease and then jaunt on home again...
That was until, a moment of madness from them opened the door for us. Their opening batsman had decided he wanted to end the game early, so slashed at a ball that wasn't there to be slashed. The ball flew high into the sunny sky. Stood under it was Mr. Flynn. I'm sure he'd tell you himself that he isn't the best fielder in our side, but as soon as he easily clung on to a good catch, we were up and running. Pavenham still looked extremely comfortable, but at least we were on the board. A few balls later, the new batsman did the same, but he had got a bit more of it... It flew towards the confident Ben on the boundary and he took a very, very good pressure catch. All of a sudden, two new batsmen were at the crease, and we had two wickets... I wonder...
From then on, the energy in our team grew and grew... We had gone from complete dejection in the ranks to a promising glow of hope within the team circle as another new batsman walked to the crease...
This new batsman was a good player. He was the guy that bowled me, and I remember from the games we played against them earlier in the season that he had the ability to end the game there and then. How he managed to do this first ball, I will never know, but he leathered into a good length ball. However, he hadn't managed to get hold of all of it. The ball flew once more towards the grasp of Ben, who managed to take the catch. We all ran towards him screaming, before realising he had trodden on an escaped section of the boundary rope. It wasn't out. And what's more, it was 6 runs. The batsman then hit the next delivery for 4. I was stood at short third-man, head in hands, wondering if that was all our excitement done for the final.
It wasn't. In the next over, the batsmen skewed the ball to skipper Boony at point to make it 3 down and then not long after, the ball flew once more towards the boundary where a good catch from Arjun meant that Pavenham were 4 wickets down. Because of the regular wickets falling, their run rate had dropped pretty dramatically, and they were 55-4 after 8 overs. We were back in it. A passage of play then followed, where Pavenham kept level with the pace as we tried to squeeze and put pressure on them. I moved from the long-on boundary to my post at short third-man, not really being involved all that much, but feeling immense pressure all the same. I could feel the buzz of the game surrounding the air as if we were enclosed in an imaginary bubble. I was concentrating so hard, I was unaware of the music playing from the boundary, or the hoards of people who had come in to watch and my Dad, walking around the edge of the pitch, keeping a keen eye on proceedings. This was as tense a sporting event that I had ever been involved in...
It had got to about 14 overs gone, with the match still level-pegging, when Shaun came on to bowl. Shaun "Coppers" Copperwheat is 16 years old, and the youngest player in our side. I've been very impressed with him this season, but this was a pressure situation. How would he handle it? He answered that question emphatically with his first ball, as the batsman played a straight drive back over his head, only to see Coppers claw it out the air one-handed and throw it straight back up in celebration. We sprinted towards him in jubilation, safe in the knowledge that Pavenham were 5 down and didn't have much batting to come. Suddenly, it felt as if we could see the trophy appear on the horizon. This was ours for the taking... It had to be...
Coppers finished a brilliant wicket maiden over to hand the initiative back to us. Pavenham needed about 40 runs off the last 4 overs. It was possible, but we were in the ascendency. Rob Flynn, who had taken that catch to start it all off, came on to bowl, and after a couple of wides, knocked the bails off to give us our 6th wicket before doing the same in his next over and with Pavenham getting nowhere near the required amount of runs to give them a chance of victory, it was ours. Barring anything stupid, we had done it. Pavenham needed 23 runs off the final over of the whole day, and despite a couple of streaky boundaries, the final ball was bowled by Arjun, and it was confirmation. We had won it. By 13 whole runs, we had won Finals Day! I sprinted in from the boundary edge, letting out all the built-up emotion in a huddle in the middle with the rest of the team. It felt so, so good...
Getting back into the changing room, we all let out huge cheers of delight. After the trophy presentation, where many a photo was taken of our winning team, we went back into the changing room amidst smiles, cheers, hugs and pure ecstasy. This was amazing. I threw my wallet at Robbie, and told him to get a few JD's in, (I told you it was on ice!), and for the next 3 hours, we all sat in the clubhouse and enjoyed the moment.
Those three hours were my most enjoyable time as a cricketer.
Just the memories of the day, everything from Ben's funny reactions when he makes a mistake, to Robbie triggering a batsman despite being bowled and Manvir's desperately bad day with the bat. We made a joke out of it all as we sat around and had a few drinks and reminisced. Me and Robbie led the way as we worked our way through a bottle and a half of JD between us and by the time we left, I was pretty merry and Robbie was almost on the floor... That night was pretty special as we cheered and sang our way through a celebration and a half.
After 7 years, Bedford CC have won a top-flight tournament, and I couldn't have been happier on that Saturday evening. Hopefully its the springboard to bigger and better things. That's what I wanted when I took the plunge to take over the senior setup at that club, and Saturday was the first of what I hope will be many more successes for the future.
Full speed ahead.
This Saturday however, I got a feeling of why that can happen. Sure, we're not pros, but at the beginning of July, we managed to get through to the Bedfordshire Invitational League Twenty20 Finals Day. It was an event that was firmly out of my mind until a couple of weeks ago, but since then, all the focus has been on it. All the chatter and conversation had been based around what Saturday may bring, and finally, after what felt like months of waiting and the slowest Saturday morning at work imaginable... It was here. Finals Day had arrived.
On the smallest of car journies to our home ground, the host for the day, I felt nerves I had never experienced on a journey to a cricket match. We wanted to win this so badly. The night before, I had quite literally dreamt about taking a leaping one-handed catch to win the final by 3 runs. It had dominated my thoughts for the week, and here I was, travelling to find out the fate of our team. We hadn't won a top-flight tournament since way back in 2006, a whole 7 years, and I would do absolutely anything to change that. And Saturday was our chance...
Due to work, I turned up at just gone 1pm, towards the end of the first semi-final between Pavenham and Houghton. Houghton was the scene of the carnage a few weeks ago when the game was abandoned due to stump-wielding chavs, so they're not too popular in my books. Pavenham however, after plundering 221 in their innings, (a huge, huge score for those of you not clued up on this wonderful sport), were home and dry and became the first team to qualify for the final. We were up next. Bedford vs Langford in the 2nd of two semi-finals... The nerves were flying...
We had lost to Langford the week before, by a measly 8 runs, in a game we had played horribly bad in. I got a first baller, but both teams had better sides out for Finals Day. We lost the toss, (No, I'm not the T20 captain, so I didn't lose it!) and we were put into field. I was quite pleased about that. I could get into the day relatively comfortably without having to feel the added pressure of opening the batting. I had secured the opening batting spot after scoring an unbeaten 82 in the warm-up game a couple of weeks beforehand, so I suppose I brought that pressure on myself! As the game started, you could feel the energy in our side. An energy absent from any "normal" game. It was absolutely obvious that every single person on that pitch wanted to win, and it was an amazing thing to be a part of, whatever the result. We did very well indeed in that fielding effort, with every person committing 100% to every ball, as we restricted Langford to just 120 in their 20 overs. It was a below-par score on a good pitch and we were extremely confident in overhauling it.
But padding up, the butterflies notched up to another level. I had been telling myself all morning to keep the nerves under control, as it would not be helpful when the time came for me to bat. Batting requires a modicum of concentration and focus, and you have to keep emotions under check. Go out to the middle too high on adrenaline, and you might play a wild shot and get out. Go out to the middle too nervous, and you might not be committed enough to a shot and get out. You have to get it right. So, what did I do?
"Whatever happens here today, that first JD and coke tonight will be a good one. It always bloody is!"
The words of an alcoholic I'm sure, but they did the job and I calmed down. Despite a couple of early wickets, we were always going along at a pretty nice rate. I had reached 18 off about a run a ball though when I rocked back to pull a short ball and just didn't get hold of it and planted a catch straight to the fielder. It was 45-2 when I got out, so at the time, I was apoplectic. Smacking my left pad with my bat as I trudged off, I was very disappointed. I even had to tell myself to not do anything stupid as I walked into the changing room. I'm not usually one for angry reactions, but with the scoreboard now at 45-3, it was a time of the game where anything could have happened. Luckily, next in was star man Ben Woodcock, who was as determined as anyone to succeed. He is a very classy player and he and skipper Boon did very well in getting us to the target and we ended up winning pretty comfortably by 6 wickets. Result. We were into the final.
Before the day, my minimum expectation was to get to the final. Without trying to sound arrogant, although it might well be, a team like ours should be beating Langford every time we step out on to the pitch to face them. It was a solid performance to get to the final, and I was pleased we had reached it. We now had a very, very tough ask against a confident Pavenham side. We had a small half an hour window to chill out, have a burger and a J20, (The JD was very much on ice... Just in case...) before the big one. The final.
Boony actually won the toss, (probably the first toss won for Bedford in a good couple of months!) and all of a sudden, I was out batting again. It's a strange feeling getting out and then padding up to go back out to bat again, but that is what I was doing! It wasn't a good start either... Determined to not play a stupid shot like I did in the semi-final, I was forced to defend a series of balls from their brilliant opening bowler who bowled like a metronome. He put it on the perfect spot EVERY SINGLE TIME, and I just could not do anything with it except knock it back to him. Another couple of quick wickets had fallen again, and all of a sudden we were 14-2 after 5 overs. A quarter of the innings down, and we needed something pretty drastic to claw ourselves back into a respectable position. Myself and Abid were in the middle, and after the 5th over, I realised we needed to do something.
"Look, this is shit, I'm just gonna go for it. If I get out, at least Ben can work some magic."
I was facing the metronome for the 3rd over of his spell, and my mind switched from "mildly attacking but not stupid" to full on Twenty20 mode. I had seen enough of his bowling now to know where he was going to put it, so looking around the field, worked out a quick strategy and attacked it with everything. Sure enough, the first ball of his over was on the exact same spot that the previous 12 had landed, but I had walked across my stumps to expose the leg-side. After some quick hands across the line of the ball, (again - for those of you clued up on the game - a risky ploy), felt the ball connect with the middle of the bat and fly between two fielders for 4 runs. Good. The next ball was slightly wider, and with the full force of everything I had, absolutely farmed it across to the leg side again for 4 more. It was an horrendous shot, and I hadn't got all of it, but it was another welcome boundary. We were still under pressure however, so needed some more exuberance, but I nearly got it so wrong on the next ball. The bowler, aware to what I was doing, bowled it wider down the off-side this time, and I managed to get bat on ball into the widely vacant off-side area. Calling Abid through, I shouted "Two!" and succeeded pretty successfully, but an absolute mad moment ensued when I saw the fielder briefly stumble on the ball. I called Abid back for a third run. I put my head down and sprinted to the non-strikers end, but three-quarters of the way down the wicket, I looked up to find Abid looking at me, completely still. He hadn't moved.
Shit.
I had to stop from a full-on sprint, turn round, and sprint back to the strikers end, and with the ball whistling in from behind me, felt as if I was on the verge of a pretty embarrassing run out in the biggest game of the season. I tried not to concentrate on that though, and had my mind fixed firmly on the white line of the crease and dived full length to reach my ground. My God, it hurt. The ground at this time of the year is not very forgiving, but thanks to a slightly wayward throw, I JUST made it home. Phew.
From then on, I had a ridiculous headache. Whether it was the impact of the dive I just don't know, but soon after, I got cleaned up by an admittedly very good yorker and before I knew it, I was on the sidelines once more, watching my team mates as they tried to claw a respectable score from an unfavourable position. Once again, Ben was absolutely class, as he dismissed the first two balls he faced for two boundaries, and well supported by brutal hitting by Abid and then by the captain, we managed to clamber our way up to 143. It wasn't a bad score by any means, and a couple of the lads seemed to think the new pitch, created especially for the final, was harder to bat on than the one played on in the semi-finals. We were quietly confident.
That was until the end of the 1st over of their reply, which was nonchalantly despatched to all parts of the ground for 16. While we were 14-2 after 5 overs, they were 16-0 after 1. Stood at short third-man as they comfortably saw out the next few overs whilst compiling a good amount of runs, I did wonder whether all that pressure of the day was going to amount to nothing. These guys looked as if they were going to knock off the runs with apparent ease and then jaunt on home again...
That was until, a moment of madness from them opened the door for us. Their opening batsman had decided he wanted to end the game early, so slashed at a ball that wasn't there to be slashed. The ball flew high into the sunny sky. Stood under it was Mr. Flynn. I'm sure he'd tell you himself that he isn't the best fielder in our side, but as soon as he easily clung on to a good catch, we were up and running. Pavenham still looked extremely comfortable, but at least we were on the board. A few balls later, the new batsman did the same, but he had got a bit more of it... It flew towards the confident Ben on the boundary and he took a very, very good pressure catch. All of a sudden, two new batsmen were at the crease, and we had two wickets... I wonder...
From then on, the energy in our team grew and grew... We had gone from complete dejection in the ranks to a promising glow of hope within the team circle as another new batsman walked to the crease...
This new batsman was a good player. He was the guy that bowled me, and I remember from the games we played against them earlier in the season that he had the ability to end the game there and then. How he managed to do this first ball, I will never know, but he leathered into a good length ball. However, he hadn't managed to get hold of all of it. The ball flew once more towards the grasp of Ben, who managed to take the catch. We all ran towards him screaming, before realising he had trodden on an escaped section of the boundary rope. It wasn't out. And what's more, it was 6 runs. The batsman then hit the next delivery for 4. I was stood at short third-man, head in hands, wondering if that was all our excitement done for the final.
It wasn't. In the next over, the batsmen skewed the ball to skipper Boony at point to make it 3 down and then not long after, the ball flew once more towards the boundary where a good catch from Arjun meant that Pavenham were 4 wickets down. Because of the regular wickets falling, their run rate had dropped pretty dramatically, and they were 55-4 after 8 overs. We were back in it. A passage of play then followed, where Pavenham kept level with the pace as we tried to squeeze and put pressure on them. I moved from the long-on boundary to my post at short third-man, not really being involved all that much, but feeling immense pressure all the same. I could feel the buzz of the game surrounding the air as if we were enclosed in an imaginary bubble. I was concentrating so hard, I was unaware of the music playing from the boundary, or the hoards of people who had come in to watch and my Dad, walking around the edge of the pitch, keeping a keen eye on proceedings. This was as tense a sporting event that I had ever been involved in...
It had got to about 14 overs gone, with the match still level-pegging, when Shaun came on to bowl. Shaun "Coppers" Copperwheat is 16 years old, and the youngest player in our side. I've been very impressed with him this season, but this was a pressure situation. How would he handle it? He answered that question emphatically with his first ball, as the batsman played a straight drive back over his head, only to see Coppers claw it out the air one-handed and throw it straight back up in celebration. We sprinted towards him in jubilation, safe in the knowledge that Pavenham were 5 down and didn't have much batting to come. Suddenly, it felt as if we could see the trophy appear on the horizon. This was ours for the taking... It had to be...
Coppers finished a brilliant wicket maiden over to hand the initiative back to us. Pavenham needed about 40 runs off the last 4 overs. It was possible, but we were in the ascendency. Rob Flynn, who had taken that catch to start it all off, came on to bowl, and after a couple of wides, knocked the bails off to give us our 6th wicket before doing the same in his next over and with Pavenham getting nowhere near the required amount of runs to give them a chance of victory, it was ours. Barring anything stupid, we had done it. Pavenham needed 23 runs off the final over of the whole day, and despite a couple of streaky boundaries, the final ball was bowled by Arjun, and it was confirmation. We had won it. By 13 whole runs, we had won Finals Day! I sprinted in from the boundary edge, letting out all the built-up emotion in a huddle in the middle with the rest of the team. It felt so, so good...
 |
| Skipper Nick Boon with the T20 trophy! For a guy with 80-year old knees, he was immense in the field and with the bat plus kept a cool captaincy head. |
Getting back into the changing room, we all let out huge cheers of delight. After the trophy presentation, where many a photo was taken of our winning team, we went back into the changing room amidst smiles, cheers, hugs and pure ecstasy. This was amazing. I threw my wallet at Robbie, and told him to get a few JD's in, (I told you it was on ice!), and for the next 3 hours, we all sat in the clubhouse and enjoyed the moment.
Those three hours were my most enjoyable time as a cricketer.
Just the memories of the day, everything from Ben's funny reactions when he makes a mistake, to Robbie triggering a batsman despite being bowled and Manvir's desperately bad day with the bat. We made a joke out of it all as we sat around and had a few drinks and reminisced. Me and Robbie led the way as we worked our way through a bottle and a half of JD between us and by the time we left, I was pretty merry and Robbie was almost on the floor... That night was pretty special as we cheered and sang our way through a celebration and a half.
After 7 years, Bedford CC have won a top-flight tournament, and I couldn't have been happier on that Saturday evening. Hopefully its the springboard to bigger and better things. That's what I wanted when I took the plunge to take over the senior setup at that club, and Saturday was the first of what I hope will be many more successes for the future.
Full speed ahead.
Thursday 8 August 2013
And Away We Go...
YouTube is a wonderful place isn't it. I've always thought about doing a video blog instead of writing as a way of expressing myself. It just seems more personal, doesn't it? One person talking to another instead of words written down, left for the onlooker to decipher the tone themselves. The one problem I'd have though is that I'd find it extremely off-putting talking to a camera. Then again, I find myself talking to the screen as I type regardless...
I'm drifting. I saw a video earlier from Troye Sivan, who is a charming young Australian, (born is South Africa - I think), who also happens to be a movie star. I've caught a few of his videos before as they are good fun to watch, and the end music is really damn catchy, but today's video really took me by surprise. I'm not sure it should have caught me by surprise, but his 'Coming Out' video was one of the best stories I've ever listened to. Again, I reach out to the minority in perusing over how difficult this journey is, but it took me back to the time I told my own story back in November 2012. How nerve-wracking and mind-blowing it is to finally let loose those feelings... It's an emotion difficult to describe, but an emotion put so perfectly by Troye that it brought a tear to my eye. It just made me realise how short life is to live it as yourself, and to take every opportunity that comes your way. Every surge of ambition and inspiration needs to be acted upon. It was a rush of adrenaline and a brainstorm that helped me to type out my coming out story in November and then post it to every social media site going. Maybe it was the same for Troye. Maybe not. For we are all different.
It was also a rush of adrenaline to go for this Australian journey. 6 whole months plus a 24 hour flight from London to Melbourne seems like an eternity for someone who is not well travelled. To be going on my own adds a whole new meaning to 'jumping in at the deep end', but I have finally decided that I am going. In October, (roughly), I will be on a plane to Australia all by myself, ready to meet brand new people, in a brand new climate, in a brand new country. I have learnt lessons from previous escapades, and appreciate that it will be momentously difficult to begin with. By jove, (sorry for the overload of Britishness), the first couple of weeks might well be Hell on Earth and I'll be stuck on the other side of the planet, a very lonely person indeed. However, I simply cannot look back and wonder what could have been. If I don't go, I just know it'll be something I will regret for the rest of my eternity, and I cannot be having that. What I hope is going to happen is an adventure that will shape me and my life and finally propel me to new heights. I've been waiting for the right opportunity for years...
I am scared. Oohhh yes, I am very nervous. Even thinking about it now sends my stomach into an ill-sounding frenzy of butterflies, but that is simply a side effect of what has to be done. Sure, I'm excited aswell. Going to play cricket in Australia is, quite literally, my dream come true, but this mixture of fragmented nervousness and extreme excitement is quite a concoction to deal with on a daily basis - two whole months before I leave. I simply cannot imagine the state of affairs once the calendar ticks over to the 10th month...
But, right now, I suppose I shouldn't be concentrating on it so much. I have a job to do, (of which I have been granted 6 months off for) and an important weekend of cricket in the UK to concentrate on as we tackle the madness of Twenty20 Finals Day on Saturday. I am really looking forward to what Saturday may bring. If we win, the carnage that follows will be indescribable...
Then again, every single action of my life takes me back to one moment. I can remember what life was like before the moment I "came out", and how life-defining that (drunken) conversation with my Mum at 5am that Sunday morning was...
"What if I can never do it?"
"What if everything falls apart?"
"What if .... What if... What if..."
And then I remember the tears streaming down my face as I stepped in through the front door to Mum's hugs at the end of that fateful weekend in Manchester. The huge smile plastered across my face on that Monday morning when I had received that barrage of support from one simple Facebook post. All the personal messages I received from people who hadn't spoken to me for years. And it changed me.
I hope Australia takes that a step further. I hope Australia changes me again. For the better.
...
Troye Sivan's Coming Out Video - A Must Watch: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JoL-MnXvK80
I'm drifting. I saw a video earlier from Troye Sivan, who is a charming young Australian, (born is South Africa - I think), who also happens to be a movie star. I've caught a few of his videos before as they are good fun to watch, and the end music is really damn catchy, but today's video really took me by surprise. I'm not sure it should have caught me by surprise, but his 'Coming Out' video was one of the best stories I've ever listened to. Again, I reach out to the minority in perusing over how difficult this journey is, but it took me back to the time I told my own story back in November 2012. How nerve-wracking and mind-blowing it is to finally let loose those feelings... It's an emotion difficult to describe, but an emotion put so perfectly by Troye that it brought a tear to my eye. It just made me realise how short life is to live it as yourself, and to take every opportunity that comes your way. Every surge of ambition and inspiration needs to be acted upon. It was a rush of adrenaline and a brainstorm that helped me to type out my coming out story in November and then post it to every social media site going. Maybe it was the same for Troye. Maybe not. For we are all different.
It was also a rush of adrenaline to go for this Australian journey. 6 whole months plus a 24 hour flight from London to Melbourne seems like an eternity for someone who is not well travelled. To be going on my own adds a whole new meaning to 'jumping in at the deep end', but I have finally decided that I am going. In October, (roughly), I will be on a plane to Australia all by myself, ready to meet brand new people, in a brand new climate, in a brand new country. I have learnt lessons from previous escapades, and appreciate that it will be momentously difficult to begin with. By jove, (sorry for the overload of Britishness), the first couple of weeks might well be Hell on Earth and I'll be stuck on the other side of the planet, a very lonely person indeed. However, I simply cannot look back and wonder what could have been. If I don't go, I just know it'll be something I will regret for the rest of my eternity, and I cannot be having that. What I hope is going to happen is an adventure that will shape me and my life and finally propel me to new heights. I've been waiting for the right opportunity for years...
 |
| The only time I've been on one of these was a 45-minute flight to Jersey... And back... Obviously... |
I am scared. Oohhh yes, I am very nervous. Even thinking about it now sends my stomach into an ill-sounding frenzy of butterflies, but that is simply a side effect of what has to be done. Sure, I'm excited aswell. Going to play cricket in Australia is, quite literally, my dream come true, but this mixture of fragmented nervousness and extreme excitement is quite a concoction to deal with on a daily basis - two whole months before I leave. I simply cannot imagine the state of affairs once the calendar ticks over to the 10th month...
But, right now, I suppose I shouldn't be concentrating on it so much. I have a job to do, (of which I have been granted 6 months off for) and an important weekend of cricket in the UK to concentrate on as we tackle the madness of Twenty20 Finals Day on Saturday. I am really looking forward to what Saturday may bring. If we win, the carnage that follows will be indescribable...
Then again, every single action of my life takes me back to one moment. I can remember what life was like before the moment I "came out", and how life-defining that (drunken) conversation with my Mum at 5am that Sunday morning was...
"What if I can never do it?"
"What if everything falls apart?"
"What if .... What if... What if..."
And then I remember the tears streaming down my face as I stepped in through the front door to Mum's hugs at the end of that fateful weekend in Manchester. The huge smile plastered across my face on that Monday morning when I had received that barrage of support from one simple Facebook post. All the personal messages I received from people who hadn't spoken to me for years. And it changed me.
I hope Australia takes that a step further. I hope Australia changes me again. For the better.
...
Troye Sivan's Coming Out Video - A Must Watch: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JoL-MnXvK80
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