10 Apr 2011

Post 281: Trying to right the ship

It occurred to me a few days ago that the times I have been happiest in my life have been when I literally couldn't give a f*ck what anyone thought of me. This happened to coincide with a time when I felt most able to rely on myself, so my confidence was sky high. Things have done a bit of a volte face since then, I can no longer rely on myself, confidence is through the floor, and I wish I didn't give a f*ck, but sadly I do and seemingly in order to rely on people you have to give a f*ck and I do, bigtime. This doesn't mean to say I was horrible to people and would not fear the consequences like an Aspergers sufferer, I would just roll with the punches – I was relaxed and life was good, it just meant I became my own man, something, despite trying, I don't think I can do now. Sadly I'm not fabulously wealthy, I wish my lottery win would bloody hurry up, so I have been doing what I do best, taking what strength I can from messages of support, which some might deem to call 'sympathy – Sod that, it's support pure and simple – if you think otherwise, p*ss off, get some real friends and go away -'fetchez le Vache, I fart in your general direction etc',[Monty Python] like a friend of mine sensibly said, 'take the positive comments and ignore the rest'. Would that it were that easy. Sadly my skin isn't as thick as it used to be, so the other thing I've been doing to take my mind off all these destructive and frankly disruptive thoughts is my program of getting out trying to enjoy myself and friends dropping by and doing their best to talk me down from feeling rubbish, First were a couple of my old schoolmasters who dropped in on their way to London. I didn't ask, they offered, which is such a kind thing to do, Gibbo and Dave, I appreciate it. Particularly as I was such a precoscious little t*sspot at school Exhibit A. This photo was given to me the other day by the other guy in the photo, Owen, pictured here on Thursday with his Charming father in law Nino, the most English Italian I have ever met. Owen was a good friend of mine at school and tracked me down after hearing some half pissed old boy mention my name on a train, a couple of months ago I took him to see a comedian called Miles Jupp who's show 'fibber in the heat' is based on him blagging his way under false pretences as a cricket Journalist with the England team on their tour of India in 2005. This is right up Owen's street as he always was a bit of a cricketer and his father in law is an enthusiast plus Jupp is the sort of witty, well spoken, fluent story teller whose side you are instantly on (maybe just in this part of the country, he did imply he had had a tougher time up north) – he is the antithesis of a skin-headed tattooed England Football shirt wearing thug, I'm not saying you'd offer your wallet to him but you wouldn't instinctively imagine he'd mug you. No, you'd trust him because he speaks properly and is well mannered, and I don't care how much abuse I get for saying that, you just would trust him, I've tried to use the same principle myself.
So that was Thursday.
On Monday, I went for the 2nd time on his current tour to go and see Britains most popular comedian Peter Kay with my good friend Ben Watson who some might recall I christened Osama Ben Watson for his terrifyingly sharp sense of humour and his inability to suffer fools. His Sister, Eleanor and I keep trying to persuade him that his talents would be better served being an anarchic quick witted slightly nihilistic stand up comedian, but I suspect with his wife due in the summer with their first he'll stick with Equity Sales at UBS and I wouldn't blame him. He had precisely the right attitude for Monday, seeing it as a bit of an adventure and to add to the road-trip vibe, I thought taking along a recent birthday present CD of the 12th Man, where Aussie Comedian Billy Birmingham sends up the voices (via uncanny impressions) of the entire Australian cricket commentary team with some rather colourful language and some well made observations about the delights of Australian cricketing stereotypes. It was a good intro to Kays genius and a sold out Dome in block 105, not my favourite seats but Ben quickly ameliorated this by saying it felt like being in a box with an unobstructed view. Kay was his usual brilliant genius and we loved it right till his 'Sweet Child of mine' encore on his double shovel.
It is nice to feel a bit more in control of life. My friend Rachel and My friend Jo also found the time to pop in for tea this week which makes me feel I'm registering on peoples radar's and that my chat is of some use. I have met both of them since my stroke, which makes me think my life is not lost. I've told Jo to pack in her job and become a counselor, so good is she at listening or pretending to listen to my woes whereas Rachel I can't persuade to not move because she's got a new job as head of Physics at a school near St Albans – Dr Oz (as she styles herself) isn't half clever although I might have let slip my less than complimentary theory on school Physics teachers having had an 'interesting mixed bag' of A-level Physics teachers. Having Rocio (a professional carer) living here helping me out has persuaded me never to have an informal housekeeping arrangement ever again. Having a formal contract with her has meant I can always rely on her and although we have had our disagreements it has kept personal matters completely separate from professional matters. I have even had a care specialist come in and draw up a proper contract for my new housekeepers so keen am I to avoid the mess I had last time. This may have been an expensive experiment but you can't put a price on peace of mind. It's quite simple, I can't be left on my own. I might be habilitated, but I don't think it's realistic for me to be totally rehabilitated and be able to rely on myself ever again, I'm not delusional. I need to be realistic.
A final big thankyou must go to the Angel that is Jatinder, another brilliant person who I've met since my stroke. She came down and took me out for lunch on Thursday and agreed to take me to the Dome yesterday to see honorary national treasure Kylie who for 43 looks just incredible, I think when I was 7 hers might have been the first Album (on cassette) I ever owned! I suspect as straight people we were in the minority which in atmosphere terms is never a bad thing, and I can report it was fanbloodytastic, made all the better by the fact it was the first ever concert Jatinder had ever been too. Seeing her sitting on the edge of her seat drinking in the spectacle and atmosphere made it even better. Kylie really is a pop princess, but I love the way that she has reinvented herself, her sound which when live is thumping electropop but she threw in 'the locomotion just to remind us where she had started. I never thought I'd say this but I love Kylie, her sound and her look.The concert did make me think of what a cross between Madonna, Lady Gaga and Britney Spears might look like, a Greek Temple sort of set, crossed with a bit of a dancing freakshow with the Goddess Aphrodite at the centre of it. to stay top of her game for getting on 25 years is pretty awesome – she was the Scissor Sisters surprise guest at Glastonbury this year – she may bring out the drag queens in their 100s and is not my first choice of music but the Dome is great and she is just amazing. It's nice to be able to take someone who's never been before.

No comments:



View My Stats