Our National Health Service

Yesterday was a long one.

The fall my Dad had yesterday had caused a broken hip, and meant a trip up to Glasgow for an operation, which he is being carried out as I write. The medical services have all been excellent, but it’s a long drawn out process coming up from Campbeltown, full of protocols and procedures. Ones that at each stage needed, or had to be, repeated.

First the visit and initial assessment from the Campbeltown paramedics. Then the transfer to Campbeltown hospital. Then the transfer by ambulance again to the airport for the air ambulance. Then another ambulance to hospital in Glasgow. And then a host of different nurses in a busy hospital, and the wait for the orthopedic surgeon. And eventually to his ward around midnight.

It was all clearly disorientating for my Dad in the midst of very obvious pain. But mostly necessary, and he bore it all very well I must say. Hard to watch though.

And now the wait.

It bears repeating, even though it’s been said many times before. In circumstances like this, Our National Health Service is just an incredible asset to those of us who are lucky enough to live in these islands. Freely available to all.

I’m a great believer in doing, as individuals, everything possible to avoid having need for these services. But when they are needed they are superb. Everybody on our path yesterday was wonderful, upbeat, and patient.

So a big thank you to all of them.

The Whole Package

I saw my first swallow of the summer as I walked around the local graveyard this morning. And later my Dad took a fall.

I was out when it happened, but thankfully he had just a week ago got set up with the Tele-Care technology which meant that his predicament was immediately signalled through to them, and passed on to us. He may have to travel up to Glasgow. We’re waiting on the doctors verdict.

First swallows of the summer are a sign of warmer days to come. Falls at the ripe old age of eighty five have slightly more chilly implications.

I’m looking forward to the warmer days ahead. And I’m wishing for as much freedom from pain and discomfort as is possible for my Dad.

These are the paradoxical experiences of life.

It’s all a part of The Whole Package.

“Good Morning”

I walked along the sea front this morning and saw somebody. A stranger. It occurred to me that they were as much a part of my conscious experience, no more, no less, than every experience and thought I have ever had. From the most benign and subtle to the most impactful and profound. All appear unbidden, and without preference (including those notions of preference) within my conscious mind.

I said “Good Morning”.

There is a multiverse of conscious life on planet earth. But my own conscious universe is almost unknowable to you. Or to them. And likewise yours and theirs to mine.

We can’t ever get inside each other’s heads, however close we are, even if the appearance of your head, or my imaginings about what you are thinking or feeling, appear in mine sometimes.

It’s always a second hand view we get. At best.

And yet…

….we become friends and lovers. Enemies and compatriots. The liked and the unliked. The team mates and the colleagues. The givers and receivers. The doers and the spectators. The healers and the healed.

We can touch.

There are endless possibilities to the connections we can make with the unknown universes inside each other’s heads. And we can do that simply by sending out signals to one another, like a physicist sending out radio waves, with curiosity, into outer space.

Beep. Beep. Beep. “Good morning”.


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The Gannets

The Gannets are back.

Fishing in the harbour like mad things yesterday evening. I love their rocket dives. Like white cruise missiles hitting the water one after the other. Sometime successful. But not always. There must have been a big shoal of fish in one area not far from the harbour wall, because they were there for a long time.

These gannets are probably breeding on Ailsa Craig, the island that sticks out of the sea like a big fairy cake, about thirty miles away, past the south of Arran and towards the Ayrshire coast.

Gannets were hit particularly badly by the bird flu of a couple of years ago. But birds are resilient. They were around long before us. And hopefully that flock of gannets I saw is the sign of a bounce back. I hardly saw any last year.

They always bring a smile to my face when I do see them.

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Touch The Moon

My good friend Chris Annetts just celebrated his birthday. But he’s far more excited (and rightly so…what’s another year anyway?) about the launch of his new single and his new website.

The latter is, like all these things, a work in progress, but looking good. The former is a beautiful song, fully formed, and lovely to behold.

Chris is a self proclaimed Rag Bag Of Contradictions. But he’s a mighty fine songwriter. And I highly recommend a listen to the new single Touch The Moon.

He got there. He has touched it. Through care, creativity, craft…. and dedication.

Publish

I often have ideas for this blog when I walk. Usually I forget them. That’s fine. I actually prefer to sit down with nothing planned at all. There is fun to be had, as a clueless creator, sat in front of a blank page. The mystery, as always, of what will emerge. Something always does. Sometimes good, sometime Meh. But something.

Sometimes I have to wrestle with that something until it looks like a something with which I’m not too uncomfortable pressing the “Publish” button for. It’s that button which turns the something in our heads into something that everyone can see.

It happens when we write. When we sing. Whenever we open our mouths and say something.

It never stops being a vulnerable moment.

But until we do that, in one way or another, we remain as isolated islands, locked in by the surrounding sea, into a community of one.

And that can be fine and enjoyable for a while. Some of us like, even prefer, our own company. I happen to think though, that we’ve all got something to share with the world that could make it better. Sometime the quiet ones in particular have something we need to hear.

So sometimes, even if only occasionally, that button might be better off getting pressed.

ps. are there times when we regret pressing the button? YES! Are there people we wish wouldn’t press the button nearly so much? YES! (Keep it to yourselves if that last one’s me! ;-)

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What If We Tried It This Way?

I’m the son of a preacher man.

And it’s inevitable that some of that preachy vibe rubs off on the offspring, whether from the genetics or from the, y’know….preaching.

So I have sometimes noticed that about myself down the years. Never really liked it, even as a believer, and I’ve generally tried to avoid being it and doing it. Nobody likes to be preached at. Well, I suppose the exception might be those people who go to the church or the mosque every week. And even then my anecdotal evidence would suggest that many if not most of the sermon listeners are either disagreeing internally, or not really listening.

No pulpit or position ever invented makes the person who stands in it, or holds it, the bearer of truth. Nor does it give them authority over anybody. Authority is an arbitrary thing that we hand out to people. Or they hand out to themselves. Sometimes it seems fitting. Many times not.

And it seems that many of the worse things that happen in the world, happen when “TRUTH” is used as a weapon to attack, or a wall to keep out, or as a reason to look down upon.

But it doesn’t have to be:
“This is the truth. Believe or be damned!”

Why not just appeal to our listener’s imaginations?

We’d all rather be volunteers than automatons, right?

If we have an idea to share, a simple “What If We Tried It This Way?” is a far better way forward because it puts the power in our hands. `

And I can tell you that with absolute, one hundred percent, certainty.

Or be damned!

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You Make Everything Better

Just a quick blog today. Home again, and I released my monthly song yesterday.

This one is called “You Make Everything Better”.

So thank you whoever you are. I’ve spent today in bed with some virussy thing, and knowing YOU are there, perks me up.

Brief Glimpses

I did see my first dolphins.

Brief Glimpses of black silhouettes appearing above the waves on a windy day, close to the shore. A mother and baby apparently.

It’s funny how these experiences in life matter. David Attenborough and the Beeb can provide me with incredibly intimate views of dolphins and pretty much any other kind of creature I want to view, from the comfort of home, and with detailed explanations of any behaviour witnessed. And I love those kind of programmes.

But still these briefer glimpses continue to matter somehow.

That was two days ago. Today I have only hazy memories of brief glimpses. That seems to me a good description of everything we experience.

And though that perspective can makes life appear ephemeral, when all we are wanting is solid ground to stand upon, still the truth can be liberating.

What are we glimpsing now?

Black Isle

We’re on the Black Isle. It’s not an island. Nor black. But that’s the only real criticism. In every other respect it is lovely.

It’s our first time here. And being somewhere for the first time is always a very pleasant occurrence in life, I find. All that undiscover-ness has a special quality.

Also, the new in-laws to be are very nice. They don’t have fangs or spit fire or any of those frustrating little behaviours that can put you off people. Which is just as well, considering that we’ll be a part of each other’s extended family’s. We’re getting on very well.

Ooh, and there is chance that we might get to see dolphins, as this is one of the top places in the whole of Britain for seeing them. Even living in Kintyre, I’ve never seen one, so that would be exciting.

And that’s your travel update today.

Now back to the studio.


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One Thing Leading To Another

We’re meeting the new in-laws to be this weekend for the first time. The parents of our youngest son’s fiancee. These are the two people who came together many years ago and brought into the world the little girl who would grow into the woman who would like the picture of our son Eryn on Tinder ,or some such dating app, and especially like the fact that his picture included a cat.

And then she swiped left or right, or whichever way you’re meant to swipe in order to say…”Mmmm…he’s a possible”. And of a course a similar process happened the other way round.

Those are just a couple of the basic happenings among the infinite multitude of happenings that had to happen for this weekend away to happen. Everything an intricate web of connections.

One Thing Leading To Another.

And the crazy thing is that today we will be adding to the chain and causing more as yet unforeseen future happenings.

It’s quite beautiful really. We are fully part of it, and yet able to appreciate it in the moment, with a sense of awe and wonder.

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Comfort Zones

Was just reminded of the time, the one time, when I sang in a choir.

It was the biggest singing challenge I’ve faced. I can’t say I learnt to read music, but I learnt to read the music of the songs we were singing. And I sang in three languages. Again, just for those songs. Sadly I still can’t speak fluent Latin or Tuvaluan. My English is getting there though.

I think my biggest take away from that experience was to get more focussed, less haphazard, about singing the right notes with the right tone. Previous to this, my biggest gift to the world when singing was probably the passion, and sometimes the sheer volume, with which I sang.

But it’s obviously better to do something better. And, for me, singing in a choir, though just the once, helped me to sing better.

Testing and challenging ourselves, out-with the normal Comfort Zones, will always up our game, whatever the game might be.

ps. The accompanying photo is obviously not me playing in a choir. It’s Chris Annetts playing in Carradale!


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Spludge

Spludge.

I heard someone say that Van Gogh might have said, that the first thing he did, when presented with a blank sheet of paper, was to make a pencil mark in the middle of the sheet.

Then the damage is done. A start has been made. The creation has begun.

And chances are it can only improve.

Or, to quote Cecily from our online songwriting sessions:

”If you’re struggling to write a good song, write a crap song”.

And take it from there.

The Meaning Of Life

What is the point?

Of this blog, for a start.

Well, on the one hand, does it need one?

On the other hand … could be the left hand or the right, it doesn’t really matter, but it definitely depends upon which hand you used first … as I’ve continued writing the point has become, in my mind at least, simply to look at this thing we call Life, and to see it more clearly, and to appreciate it more fully.

I can’t really put it any better than that. Sorry.

I was always the kind of dude who was looking for meaning. The Meaning Of Life. It was always out there somewhere in the distance.

But life itself was always here. With me and in me. In one sense, as far as my own experience apply’s, I am life. And the looking for its meaning was probably the main cause of any pain or suffering I experienced.

Because it seemed to be always out there in the distance. Somewhere else entirely. Something I was missing.

But, yeah, turns out it’s here. Who would have thunk it?

(Shout out to all those peeps who manage to work this simple truth out without getting all Esoteric or Spiritual or Philosophical or Theological or Born Again or Clinically Depressed).


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Smiley

Twelve year old Smiley
Never saw Thirteen.
Never had a snog.
Or smoke a crafty cigarette
Before thinking better of it.
He never had to sit an exam
Lucky thing.
Never drove a car.
Never went with his pals
For his first pint in a pub,
Like a real adult does.
He never had sex.
Never lived to have regrets
About the way
He repeated
Some of the very mistakes
That were made on him.

He never held his own son, and wondered what that boy would become.

I’ve done all of these things. And I have no reason, no reason whatsoever, not to smile on Smiley’s behalf.

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The Rain Pours

The Rain Pours
The sun shines
The lark in the blue sky sings.
The west wind batters
The summer breeze whispers
And these are a few of my favourite things.

British weather is a metaphor for everything. But it’s not an excuse for bad poetry. That’s on me. And a rapidly approaching deadline.


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Not Very Much

I gaze at the wall across from the window. It’s Not Very Much to look at.

On closer inspection however, if I sit and watch for a while, it becomes full of shapes, colours and patterns. It has a history too. And a possible future. Change the way I look at it, and suddenly I start noticing imaginary creatures and storylines.

And all of that despite the fact that I’m not a very visually orientated being.

Boredom is the state in which we wish we had something more interesting to look at or to occupy us. I’d rather not be here - the place where I actually am. I’d rather be somewhere else please.

Finding something to be “Interesting” is a task for the imagination, and it can be developed. In an age in which nearly everybody owns their very own Personal Distraction Unit … a smartphone …. it is probably becoming more important than ever to set time aside to learn to find something interesting in not very much. You never know when that particular skill might come in handy.

Best not wait till the battery is dead to practise.

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Jenny Wren

I posted a picture and a story of a wren a while ago on this blog. This week in our online songwriting circle we’ve been challenged to write a song about nature and our fragile relationship to planet earth.

The picture of the little wren that had been stunned by a car was the first spark, the doorway into my song. Then I recalled the story about the wren who was able to fly higher than an eagle by cadging a lift, without his knowledge, upon the eagle’s back.

I had wanted to include a simple guitar picking technique, which I had just been practising, into a song. And so that was how things kicked off musically, using the same chord loop I been practising with. The melody fitting awkwardly (as usual with me) around the words at the start.

And after that the story developed. And it gradually became clear, to me as I was writing it, that this was a song about perspective, and the way in which all of our point of views so often become skewed. The story is about the true heroes in life and how we should never rule out the value of those invisible ones and the unseen sacrifices they make. And, of course, a reflection about how easy it is, to take our home, this planet, for granted. How much have we messed it up?

I’m just describing the process as it happened for me. Part of why I’m doing that is to note that it is our subconscious that will do the heavy lifting when it comes to creating anything. Whether or not it produces something good (and that is never a guarantee) we need to learn to handle the material lightly and to enjoy and appreciate the journey, the road, that the song takes us down.

Hopefully that doesn’t sound too highfalutin’. Below is the lyric part of the song that emerged on this occasion. It made me cry.

Jenny Wren

Jenny Wren
She hangs on for dear life
Flying high
On the back of the eagle
Rising up 
On the thermal winds

Her tiny heart
Is pumping oxygen
Can’t be far
To the stratosphere
Where she can gaze
Back towards planet earth

And it looks smaller from there 
Than it does from here
Smaller than she is 
Smaller than all of us

Jenny Wren
Is praying for good days
Like a nun
In a holy cathedral
Rising up
On the thermal winds

Now and then
She glances down
To the blue azure
From far up on high
But she’s not sure
If that’s really planet earth

It looks purer from there
Than it does from here
Purer than heaven
Purer than all of us


And while she sings like
An angel of the dawn
She carries 
The poison
Of the world

Jenny Wren
Is about to take off
Flying high
On her final journey
Rising up
From the back of an eagle

Tell me when
She jumps up and flys
A little higher
To the stratosphere
And say goodbye
From me and the planet earth

She looks bigger now
Than she did from here
Bigger than Jesus
Bigger than all of us

Jenny Wren
Jenny Wren
Jenny Wren

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Restlessness

When Restlessness moves in the very first step in the right direction is … to rest. In case that isn’t patently obvious, which it quite often isn’t with me.

Restlessness is a state in which a million thoughts and feelings collide, without settling, constantly flitting, one to another. They flit so quickly, that it can take a while to even notice that it’s happening.

Upon noticing though, the way forward, I find, is to say to oneself…

”Ah that old chestnut! It’s OK. No rush to get out of here. It’s the rushing that’s keeping me here. Look, I can’t even see what is beneath this little cyclone of mental activity at the moment. Something is. So just slow down. Yep. Nothing to get sorted. Just stop a moment. Ah, I see … that thing has floated to the top. I think it’s that which is bothering me. Or anyway it’s the one I can see. Well the good thing about THAT thing, is that it’s not EVERYTHING. Which already feels more manageable. And, actually that thing is something that I can look at or let go of, like everything else. But it’s a lot easier to look at or let go of on it’s own, than it is to attempt the same with everything else”

And, really, by this point the restlessness is gone. It’s not possible for it to remain. Because I’ve narrowed a million down to one. Not by working through them all, but by simply accepting the situation of restlessness as it is. And then selecting the one thing that comes at me first.

One at once is really the only way I have managed to find rest.

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Quiet As A Stone

Walking through the local graveyard this morning I was enveloped by a peaceful tranquility.


To which birdsong was the gorgeous soundtrack.


Everybody else was Quiet As A Stone.


The time to sing is now.


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