The Performance

What lies beneath the performer’s performance? Whether that be when we stand on a literal stage, or in the performance we give to others in our day to day lives.

I was once at a rock festival where Gary Glitter was on the bill. He was famously later convicted of downloading child pornography and of child sexual abuse. But, watching back then, I can tell you that he put up a great performance.

Of course, if you asked myself or almost anyone now, in the words of one of his songs - “Do you want to be in my gang?” Well, no. That’s a definite no Gary.

Does that mean we should separate the person from the performance? I don’t think so. The Performance is a part of who that person is. But only a part. Even for somebody like him.

Gary Glitter (born Paul Francis Gadd, which already takes a bit of the sparkle away) was an excellent performer, but not a good person. And he’s a classic example of the moral dilemma - Should we listen, can we enjoy their music, when we know the truth?

I’m like most other people I suspect. It leaves a bitter taste in the mouth and, outside of this instance when I’m writing about him, I would never seek his music out. But there will come a time when people will see a Gary Glitter video and not have that connection to his other life in their heads. They may think, watching and listening to I’m The Leader Of The Gang, …. “excellent performer, great glam-rock”.

I was reluctant to listen, but he’s still up there on youtube.

And, personally, I think that’s right. I think we need to make that separation between the art, the performance, and the person who makes it. I think we need to allow people to decide for themselves anyway. As a first step to dealing with this kind of thing in a sane way.

I’m wondering what you think?

In Praise Of My Sister

My sister is very different to me. We’ve generally got on very well, but the differences, perhaps inevitably, can lead to both ups and downs.

Last night my Dad slept in his new studio flat within our house. He’s been living more with us for about three months, and though that has all gone as smoothly as was possible, this slight separation is going to be beneficial for him and for us. We all need help but we all need some privacy and independence too.

The reason I mention my sister is because, without her, it wouldn’t have happened. Though she has had some willing assistants - her good hubby, Ineke, and yours truly - Julie has been the driving force and deserves most of the credit.

Her eye for detail and her organisational skills, as well as a certain amount of creativity and a great deal of hard work and persistence, in amidst the other wee storms that life throws up, have made all the difference.

Dad likes his new place. I like it too. Everything it needs to be. I’m a bit jealous to be honest. He was still sleeping when we first knocked on his door this morning, so I think that’s a good sign.

Thank you Julie. Vive la difference!

Madam Mumro

What is the word for the mother of your daughter-in-law in relation to you?

I’m going to call one of them Mumro from now on. It’s the name that the son of that particular daughter-in-law’s mother, who, remarkably, is also that same daughter-in-law’s brother, came up with. Though he wasn’t trying to answer my question.

He’s made a fantastic little video of the day she completed climbing all the mountains known as Munro’s. Which means, for the uninitiated, every single one of the two hundred and eighty two mountains over the height of 3000 feet in Scotland.

What an achievement!

I’ve been wanting to do the same myself in fact. I’m well on the way. I’ve done four of them! It’s a great way to see our beautiful, Big Country. And to keep fit. The trick, obviously though, is to keep going.

So a massive tip of the hat to Madam Mumro.

Though even finishing such an epic adventure is just another stage in the journey of course.

I wonder what she’s gonna do next?

Progress

This is one of those blogs where I dive deep into my own psyche. These kind of posts I write purely to help myself reflect upon whatever it is I’m working through today. Perhaps it might help other people think about their own shit. I don’t know. But anyway, it feels like a warning is appropriate, in case you’d rather come back tomorrow. But, hey, you’re a free agent!

So…. one of the very unnecessary weights that I sometimes find myself carrying is a heavy sense of something (bad, unfair, hurtful) happening, again and again and again, specifically to me.

This sense has, in the past, completely dominated how I feel. It’s taken over, in a growing tornado of self pity and despair, slowly picking up force until it discards me somewhere bleak, where I gradually pick my life up again.

I obviously survived.

But occasionally I see little signs of the tornado beginning again. It’s happened to me in the last few weeks. These days I really want to do something about it early. And I can now. I’ve got some tools. And a lot more experience.

So I look at that sense of “poor me”. That’s all it is. It’s real in my head of course. But that makes it something which is within my control. In fact the ONLY thing that is in my control.

And the memories that provide evidence for that sad heaviness (just a sense) are also just that. Memories. They refer to something in my past. They are gone. But they still pop up in my consciousness. Perhaps because of something that has happened more recently. Which is itself only a memory now.

And all those senses and memories are something that I have the ability to do something about in the moment. If I look at them, if I choose to look at them, I’ll notice that they will and do fade away. If not immediately, certainly at some point. Everything does.

After recognising that, I choose to look at something else. Something a little bit more solid and which is actually happening right now. To help the process. Meditation practices often suggest a focus on the breathing….because it’s such a regular feature of simply being alive. So I focus on that, or on sounds that pop up, or on something visual. It doesn’t matter what.

But the darker thoughts will probably come back. Often quite quickly when that particular “sense'“ is in the room. Why? I don’t know. But I look at them again, notice them just as the mere appearance in my conscious, which they are. And I see that they will fade away once again, just as every single other thing in there fades away.

I don’t feel bad (I choose not to judge myself) because these negative thoughts keep popping up. They do so completely of their own accord. I really don’t actually have any control over when or where that happens.

But I can stand back from them. I don’t try to attack them head on. That never worked.

And usually the thoughts will still return yet again, when this particularly heaviness is upon me. But they continue to exist simply as the neurons in my head, doing their thing, with the material they’ve been given. It’s nobodies fault.

And I return again to focussing on the breathing or the something else that is physically available to my senses in the present.

Gradually the gusts of “sense” and “memory”, become wisps, and they lose any of the power they seemed to have. The heaviness turns lighter. The tornado, thankfully, doesn’t materialise. And that whole adventure in my head is now “something else that happened”. Thankfully, it didn’t dominate me, or take over my life, in the way it has before.

I have in fact simply begun again. And though I will need to go through this process continuously, and I may fail again in the future, I have still made what I believe is technically referred to, in The Manual Of Life, as Progress.

Stories

Stories draw us in. We’ve all got one. I listened to two this morning from complete strangers, both, in their own way, compelling and inspiring.

Some people aren’t shy about telling you their story. Some thrust theme selves forward. That tells its own story.

The most interesting tales though, are the ones which take time, patience, and even a degree of love, to uncover. And friendship. Stories that aren’t easily revealed by the teller. Either due to shyness, humility, or because of their private nature.

It’s such an honour to hear those ones. They are my favourites.

Blog Writer

I started this blog partly on the advice of another Blog Writer. He suggested that a daily blog was a very good thing to do. Not for the audience, but for the writer themselves.

Maybe nobody would read it. But the act of writing something every day, with an audience in mind, would, he suggested, change the writer for the better.

That has been my experience.

The daily habit of:
- processing my thoughts
- finding something new to say
- repeating myself in an unfamiliar way-
- making myself accountable

…and doing all of that, usually, at the beginning of the day, has been, for me, transformative.

So let me pass on the recommendation. Why not try writing a daily blog yourself?

And if you do, please send me a link.

Copy Cat

The Dutch, as you may know, are mad for cycling. I’m mad for cycling when I’m in the Netherlands. Apart from the fact that it’s generally a flat country, the cycle paths make it all such a relaxing pleasure.

I took my last bike ride here yesterday. I was on my own because Ineke was off on a jaunt to the Big City (Rotterdam) with her sisters.

I was behind a mum cycling, with her toddler in the seat at the back. A very common sight. She indicated to go left, and the little fella indicated along with her. It was the cutest thing.

More than cute though, it was absolutely the best way for him to learn.

Best way for us to learn too. Simply to copy somebody else who is older, or wiser, or better, or smarter. Just somebody who knows something that we want to know.

No shame in being a Copy Cat. And very lucky you, if you have got somebody worth copying. Especially when you’re young.

As adults it might not always look so cute when we copy somebody … we need to be prepared to show a bit of humility, and look undignified at times … but it’s really a very good way to move forward in life at any age.

ps. On that same bike ride, I happened to pass a wild pig trundling happily along on the cycle path. Didn’t seem bothered by me at all.

Creased And Wrinkled

My brain is still losing cells, despite the Sudoku puzzles.

My knees are still hurting. Despite the leg strengthening exercises.

One thing doesn’t automatically lead to the other. There isn’t always a solution to the problem. Or, if there is, it’s not always easy to find.

My hands are still creased and wrinkled, despite the Oil of Olay.

That ones a lie actually.

But they are Creased And Wrinkled.

Are You Sure?

If you hear me say “I’m Sure” about anything, feel free to ask:

”Are You Sure?”

I’ll understand. I just said I was sure, but I can tell you now, I am telling you now, and you’ve probably realised, that my levels of “sureness” have dropped considerably over the last number of years.

So if you’re gonna bet on my chances of REALLY not being sure, when I said that I’m sure, then the odds are in your favour.

Of course, being aware of the fact that, more often than not, I’m not sure, might push the odds back in my favour. Because as a result I’m actually less likely to say “I’m sure”.

To be honest though, betting is a mugs game.

But, if you do bet on my surety , or even twist on my sobriety, it doesn’t mean I’m calling you a mug. Let’s be definite about that.

Anyway, have I cleared anything up yet?

Are you sure?

My Very First Day In Iran

Can I blow my own trumpet for a moment?

Thanks!

Well, I’m quite proud of the fact that, during my long and illustrious life, I have, at various times, managed to make people laugh in languages other than my own native English.

Yeah, I know quite an achievement, huh?

I was doing it yesterday in fact. Making my in-laws laugh. In Dutch. I’ve been doing that for years. And not just by speaking it badly! Oh no. I’ve made them intentionally laugh, and I have sometimes used the correct and proper words while doing so.

You’re impressed, I can tell.

But making people laugh in Dutch isn’t my greatest comedic achievement. Nor are the times when (I’m sure this must have happened, coz I’m a very funny guy, but I can’t quite remember when it was) I did the same with my school boy French.

No. My greatest language related comedy moment occurred on the day I spoke some Farsi in the middle of a car journey from Tehran to Isfahan…

….we were visiting a family of some good Iranian friends, whom we had got to know when one of them had been studying at Nottingham University. They had regularly invited us to stay with them, and we did so a few years after they had returned to Iran. I decided beforehand that I was going to learn some of the lingo. It was in the days before Duolingo (other free language courses are available) and leading up to our visit I splashed out £70!!! on some Farsi language learning CD’s. And, for a few weeks, I studied intensely.

The concept that you can learn a language in a few weeks is, of course, a complete and utter myth. But I learned a little bit.

So I was ready and primed.

We flew to Tehran, and then, on My Very First Day In Iran, in a cafe on our journey to Isfahan, I managed to make some witty comment about a gold fish that was swimming in a bowl next to our table. Don’t ask me what the funny bit was! But I definitely did it, it was definitely made in (bad) Farsi, and it made my friends laugh!

I’m sure Hossein and Pooran don’t remember the moment. But I do.

So thank you for your close attention. My apologies for the lack of the Farsi punchline, but I don’t make this stuff up you know. And try finding anecdotes like this on other blogs if you can! :)

ps. Also, please don’t ask me to make you laugh in Farsi if we meet. It’s all gone now, I’m sad to say. That’s £70 I’ll never get back…

A Couple Of Angels

We’ve got a very big garden area. It came with the big place we needed to live in when we had four long term foster children, and two of our own, living with us.

In the beginning we kept on top of it. I had romantic ideas of becoming the small-holding, green fingered creature that I had never ever been. And Ineke was very good at just working damn hard.

The latter is still true. But I never became that imaginary small-holder. It wasn’t for lack of trying. We also tried to find other folk locally to use the land. That didn’t happen either, and gradually it all got out of control and became a source of depression. A sign of my own inadequacies.

I’ve managed to get over that crappy notion of myself mostly. I love doing other things, and I work hard at them. But none of that stopped the majority of the garden getting more and more forlorn.

While we’ve been away though, a miracle has occurred, which has brought both a smile to my face and a tear to my eye. A couple of friends we know (A Couple Of Angels), have visited the garden on several occasions and, basically, tidied things up. It has involved an awful lot of hard work on their part, and it is an amazing act of kindness.

You know who you are.

Thank you so much.

A Little Bit More

What for Homesong these days?

Is the vision of a world full of homes hosting small gigs, featuring original artists of all kinds, dead in the water?

Not at all. Not in my head, anyway.

But I haven’t got a grand plan really anymore. To “move things forward”. I’ve let go of any sense of control I had in that regard.

I’m very much going at things “organically”. At the snail’s pace that feels comfortable. When opportunities appear I take them. I’ll still be looking out for opportunities for others too, and I’m very much into sharing the journey. I’m still planning to host more Homesong’s in my own home, but in a more relaxed way.

But I’m not trying to “drive” things forward. It always felt very unnatural for me when I did try to do that, and I can’t keep that kind of “market orientated” attitude up for very long.

I hope this site will be a resource for people who bump into it. (I need to do some Homesong Site housekeeping I think). I hope this blog will also be a tool in some small way. I hope to spread the word, face to face, when I get the chance. And I hope that other people do too.

I will keep on making music, writing about it, playing, and spreading the word.

Homesong is an idea that is at least out there A Little Bit More. Which is not the way that great empires, big corporations, and strong nations were ever built, of course. No shame in that.

All of which is a way of saying that I’m trying to work at a pace that I can manage to keep up indefinitely. Or until I’m deid.

Three Sisters

Three Sisters in the room. Ineke is one of them.

A little refreshing cloud (clouds don’t always have to represent something bad!)carrying a shower of laughter, comfort, and catching up.

It’s something to witness from a small distance. Not something you could ever quite be part of.

Others, me included, are still welcome to join in. This little cloud is not excluding or exclusive. But it changes if anybody else (me included) enters the fray. It becomes something else then.

The Three Sisters don’t need any help. They just are. Themselves.

Complete.

Somebody Else’s Grief

I struggle with watching The News.

It’s almost always bad news. It’s been very bad over the last few days. And knowing everything about something we can do nothing about is not conducive to positive action or good mental health.

Seriously. What can each of us actually do to help the situation in the Middle East right now, other than take sides (amazingly some people use tragedy mainly as proof that they are right about this, that or the other…I’ve been that person and I never liked that version of myself) or make minor adjustments to our own viewpoints? Or perhaps put some coins in the particular charity box that is being thrust in front of us?

The News is almost always biased.

Hundreds or thousands of people losing their lives in one part of the planet is seen as more important than when the same thing happens in another part of the planet. For instance. Sometimes just one death in our part of the world, or on “our side” is seen as far more newsworthy than some tragic disaster, involving many times that number, in a far off place.

And we end up giving all of our emotional attention to the one tragedy at the expense of all the others that didn’t make the cut today. But those tragedies, however “small” or “irrelevant” or “far away”, still mattered just as much to the people involved. And in truth we are almost always very distant (i.e. we have absolutely no direct personal connection) from everything that we hear about.

When The News isn’t bad, it’s almost always trivial. Good news is treated as fluff. Something to give a bit of levity to the bad news. Not as a serious matter in itself. What does that say about our concept of the word “News”?

I’ve said all this before, in one way or another, I’m pretty sure.

Yet I still take the news, in all the many forms it comes at us these days, very seriously. And I’m trying to work out a reliable, constructive, and enabling way to digest what is happening in the world.

It’s a struggle.

For now though, I still don’t often watch.

But when I do I really don’t want to be the fella staring at the accident, goggle eyed, curious (nosy), helpless and slightly relieved that it wasn’t me, as I pass by Somebody Else’s Grief.

If I can’t help, it’s not helpful.

The Pressure’s Off

That sense of So Much To Do, So Little Time…

…another unhelpful myth I tell myself.

It’s really - Precisely Enough Time To Do Everything I Can Do.

Now The Pressure’s Off.

A Precarious Dance

Power.

Our electricity and gas here in the Netherlands are both off at the moment.

We are very often dependent upon the power that somebody else controls. On the way here we were caught in bad floods and got a flat tyre on a very long and wet drive south. We needed the power held by the Ferry owners and Green Flag to help us out.

We are dependent even as we strive for independence - the ability to control our own destinies and our own bodies. But we need other people. To help us. And not to take advantage of us.

And yet we don’t, or can’t, always trust that that will happen. Or not happen. Yet the power dance has somehow got us, as human beings, through to where we are today. It is A Precarious Dance, and it often causes us to feel, and indeed be, very vulnerable.

The only thing, the ONLY thing, that makes it work in the long run, is the kindness, empathy, and understanding that most of us bring to the dance, at least some of the time.

When the levels of those qualities drop, then things go awry.

But, unlike power, you can never have too much of them.

Hanging Over Me

This cloud Hanging Over Me…

the difficult situation imminent

or the bad thing that just happened.

They are, literally, figments of my imagination.

They may have happened in the past and they may happen in the future. But at the moment they simply exist in my head, to the extent, for a good or a bad vibe, that I allow them to.

A Daffodil In My Hat

I told somebody yesterday that I had only ever performed one cover song. I’ve remembered another. Actually it was the very first time I performed. Before I had even imagine or conceived of myself as a songwriter.

I was at college and performed, with A Daffodil In My Hat as a possible nod to Morrissey or something, John Denver’s, Take Me Home, Country Road. I looked very much like him at the time. So it was bit like “Tonight Matthew, I’m going to be….”. Before that was even a thing either.

I’m listening to it now just before we begin our journey to the Netherlands for our first proper holiday in 35 years without any lovely children and foster children.

It’s brought a dang tear to my eye.

The Freedom Of Now

We give a lot of weight, we often anchor ourselves, to the experiences we just had. Especially the ones that affect us in deep emotional way, whether positive or negative.

But often we wake up the next morning and, for a while, we’re not feeling the weight, whether good or bad, of yesterday’s experience at all.

It is as though nothing happened.

We’ve forgotten.

And then suddenly we remember and, if you’re anything like me, all of the emotion can come flooding back too.

But skip back a moment. Before we remembered, it was “as though nothing happened”.

And in fact, if we so choose, it can remain like that. Reality is right here, right now. We can begin again, because what is in our heads is all there really is.

Maybe we would find this ability helpful when it comes to letting go of the truly useless bad emotions and memories that can hang around and haunt us forever, if we let them. Instead, they can become the bare whisper of a cloud, which wanders into our conscience, and straight back out.

In fact that is what those memories and emotions really are, when we don’t try and fight them, or block them, but simply acknowledge them without embrace.

But it’s also just as helpful to take the same approach to the memory of good experiences. Clinging on to them, can also be a kind of prison.

Anyway, that’s what I’m finding. The amount of time I spend anchoring myself to anything that has been and gone, is time I don’t have to experience The Freedom Of Now.

Mercy And Grace

It makes a difference when someone tells you not to sweat it. When they just take you as you are, wrinkles and all. When they don’t judge.

It should be the default position for all of us, but still we quickly jump to the higher place (in our heads) and make our commentary on the world, other people, our friends, and our family, from there.

But truthfully, we are ALL down here. In the mud.

Nothing wrong with mud. It’s full of life. No need to distance ourselves.

From it, or from them.

Because we all got what we got, including the abilities and characteristics and environment as we grew to make the most (or not) of what we got.

In a very real way, none of us could be a different person than who we are right now. And even if we could have been…well, we can’t now.

So, yeah, a bit of Mercy And Grace to our fellow travellers. It’s worth passing some of that on. Thank you to those who do so for me.

I’d like to be a bit more gracious myself, sometimes.

ps. None of this, of course, means we shouldn’t help each other to become better versions of what we are now, in the future.

Also, today is the fourth of the month and here is my one hundred and thirty seventh Fee Comes Fourth song - The Lemon Yellow Curtains