As Bad Habits Go
It’s that time of year when the cold showers in the morning start to feel really cold. The reservoirs feeding the mains have started to feel the winter chill. It’s colder getting up. The ice cream head arrives a lot quicker, as I stand beneath the icy flood.
Why would anyone do that to themselves? I hear you say.
Well, I’m sure you’ve got some bad habits too!
Also, in the aftermath, when I do my warming up exercises and then get dressed, there is a certain kind of calmness and anticipation of the day ahead, which I don’t get in any other way.
It’s not for everyone, but, As Bad Habits Go, I could do worse.
(Ok, I have done worse!)
But right now, getting my coffee fix, that six o’clock wake up call is merely a distant memory. I’m warm and on it.
Almost Every Day
A cold easterly wind blowing a wee breeze, or a gale, along the shoreline this morning, according to your perspective.
According to the perspective of a particular oystercatcher, it was simply another good day for having a refreshing wash of the old feathers. Preening didn’t gain any new meaning for her by virtue of the weather. It was simply the usual routine.
I continue to feel the personal benefit in doing some things Almost Every Day, regardless of….the weather, or the mood, or the circumstance.
I say almost. Because I’m not as consistent as an oystercatcher.
Monday Morning
It’s Monday Morning
The sun is rising
As it does on other mornings.
It appears, in fact
To be exactly like other mornings
But we call this one Monday.
Monday Morning
The sun is not rising.
It’s in exactly the same place
As it was on other mornings.
Apparently we’re the ones who are changing.
Which is why we call this one Monday.
Monday Morning
The sun says “hello”
As it did on other mornings.
Just like it did on Sunday morning.
But yesterday we gave ourselves a chance to rest
And we call this one Monday.
Monday Morning
The sun is still there, behind the clouds
As it was on all the other mornings
Wondering why we are tensing ourselves.
Unresting.
Before we begin doing the things we are about to do.
Relax. We call this one Monday.
Absolute Certainty
I’m reading a novel by Robert Harris called Act Of Oblivion. It’s about a manhunt for two of the Regicides (the men responsible for bringing about the death of King Charles the First, during the time of Oliver Cromwell) in the seventeenth century. Very good it is too. My knowledge of history is fairly non-existent, and these kind of novels are a good way for me to chop away a tiny chip of ignorance.
Cromwell, as you’ll no doubt know, was a Protestant, who stood against the Catholic royalty. Both of these factions were convinced that their particular form of Christianity was right, and both of them were very comfortable with the idea of killing and often horribly torturing the “enemy”.
Anyhow, a particular sentence at the end of one chapter struck me deeply. With sadness mainly, because of the truth it contained, both about those times and about our modern age.
Ned is one of the Regicides, hiding in America, and living a very difficult life of ongoing vagrancy for years, because of his involvement in the death of the King. He had been there at the demise of Charles Stuart. And he had heard about the murder of some of his fellow Regicides once the royal throne had been reestablished. In his last years he starts to write down his memoirs, and recalls that the King, just like Ned’s colleagues, the Kings enemies, had all died very bravely -
”It was only then that it occurred to Ned that the King had died exactly as the Regicides had many years later - in the Absolute Certainty that he was right”.
My own observation is that when large swathes of people choose to believe in the righteousness of their tribe, and their tribe only, then, just like Ned, we are living in dangerous times.
Something Cheerful
Unless you’re a very well known writer/performer, thrust before the massing hoards on the cyclone of social media, you won’t tend to get too much harsh criticism flying in your direction.
Mainly, it’s the odd nice response from the people who really like your output, or from folk who know you, and are just being polite. It’s one of the benefits of being obscure. People save the nasty negative attacks for those famous people who need, apparently, to be brought down a peg or two.
After my very first gig though, many years ago, there was a slightly negative back drop to a mainly nice response I got from a listener in the pub.
“That was quite good, but you should play a happier tune as well. Like American Pie”.
Well, that’ll be the day that I die
———————
Bringing everything right up to date, a little closer to the day that I do die - and to carry on the theme - last night I heard, second hand, from a fairly reliable eavesdropper, a damning commentary on the really depressing nature of my music.
That old classic…. “Songs to slit your wrists to”.
Actually I was quite surprised the person in question had even heard anything of mine. Which in itself is always something to be grateful for, I think.
But the truth is (and this applies to McCartney, Prince, Swift and Sheeran, as well as lil’ ole me) most people, even if their opinions aren’t this stark, are going to let our music walk on by.
It might be for somebody, but it’s not really for them. Even if they don’t actually hate it.
———————
But, Hhrmmmphh!
For the record, and I’ve put a lot on record, “songs to slit your wrists to” does not sum up the whole of my musical back catalogue. Please check them out if you doubt me! Even if it’s to prove my bloody critics right!
Although, if it’s for that reason, please stay away from sharp implements.
——————-
Anyway, I got that off my chest. But it’s all still food for thought ain’t it? And all input has some validity. I’m going away to write songs with friends again soon, and I can see myself making a concerted effort to create Something Cheerful now.
Honestly, the things you have to do to please some people….
The Art Of Cooperation
Thanks for the responses to my “all that glitters is not gold” conundrum yesterday. The concensus so far mirrors my own thoughts really - that the art should stand alone from the artist. But I’ve got a pal coming round who wants to talk about that blog as well. I’m interested to hear his take.
It’s not surprising that the difficult topics muster the most conversation. They always involve our lives together as humans and, as humans, the only way we can solve them is to talk about them.
In a podcast yesterday, I heard someone say that THE most important issue we face globally, outside of our ability to manage our own personal lives and mental states, is the need to learn the skills involved in cooperating with other people.
This might seem obvious. And we all recognise the achievements that come when people work together, despite and through their differences. They occur daily and many of them are truly amazing.
So we might think we’ve mastered The Art Of Cooperation.
But everything that is wrong in world society, as we experience it, is down to a failure to cooperate. There are some pretty tragic and global examples of this staring us in the face right now. And some of the examples could potentially be fatal to our survival as a species.
So, I’m with the lady on the podcast. Anything that helps us to cooperate better is a step in the right direction.
Talking about difficult subjects, with freedom and flexibility, is a vital one of those steps.
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.