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7 Apr 2013

Post 391: Indecision, confusion, doubt


You (hopefully plural), whoever it is that reads this, are probably fed up with me never having the answer to anything, week in bloody week out. Let me just say that I’m pretty damn apologetic for making everyone endure me (especially since my stroke). I do believe that the measure of a person is doing what they can for the people who genuinely care for/about them. I’m sure I’ve said this before which is why I don’t think writing is quite going to be the thing for me. No, I need a plan, and not a Blackadder style cunning one and no, I’ve never considered a career in the church!
What I have been considering is getting out of this damn country, if mainly to stop me complaining about the weather but because if you’re forced to live in a wheelchair, it has to be somewhere warm! Now, I do worry about being able to cope in a strange land – but realistically being in the countryside has been a bit like being in a faraway land, except with the British weather, which as we all know is unacceptable. It would only be for 3-5 months of the year and only as far as somewhere like Malaga where the spoken Language is pretty much English. This is a fairly terrifying prospect but I’m pretty sure I can afford it, I wouldn’t be living like a Russian oligarch –but for being able to even think about this I am fortunate and grateful. In a strange kind of way even thinking of buggering off like this may at first sound a bit self-serving but I think further out of sight is further out of mind and at least if people want to drop in there’ll be some Winter sunshine and they’ll be on holiday. I know my mum’d be all over that and there’s some great golf so Dad’d be happy. It’s not the stupidest idea I’ve ever had too which is reason enough to give it a go.
Speaking of my parents, you know how I’m always so polite and complimentary about them – well I’m gonna become unbearably sycophantic because I learned last night what high esteem they are held in when they had a drink’s party to celebrate their golden wedding anniversary(that’s right 50 years), and my old man gave a brilliant heartfelt totally off the cuff speech, and there was I cynically thinking he’d be far too pissed by them, SHAME ON ME! By today’s standards being married 50 years is hard to imagine. Ryan Giggs, Wayne Rooney, Cheryl bloody Cole and even f*cking Princess Di have pretty much taught us that marriage is an excuse for a party and written words on a piece of paper. I suppose I’m quite old fashioned, in that if I ever got married (which let’s be honest isn’t looking likely) then that would be the only person I would devote myself to and it would always be my mission to do anything I could for that person. I already try to do that for my friends and family but this would be different. You can be as cynical about that as you like, I don’t give a sh*t – I really don’t. There are obvious faults with my parents generation, not least that they’re fuddy-duddy, a bit divorced from the real world and a bit reactionary, tending to take at face-value a lot of the sh*t that gets written in the Daily Hatemail but they know how to behave, they have decent manners and they understand that they have responsibility for their families and friends. I’m not saying that lower class people don’t, I’m just saying that that generation seem to get what the ‘greater good’ is better. I’m slightly conscious I’m going a bit ‘Big Society’ here but I’m going on how much safer I felt among a bunch of old farts. I really am conservative with a small c.
Someone else who would broadly share such sentiments was Comedian Simon Evans who I went to see at Farnham Maltings on Thursday with my mate Ched who lives down the road. Ched and his wife Terri are real ‘go to’ people because not only are they local and reliable, we know a lot of the same people and are interested in loads of the same stuff. The Ched’s also don’t seem to find me as tedious as I know the post-stroke me can be. That’s why I take in so much live stand up. I’ve seen Simon Evans about 4 times, apart from being brilliant and not being afraid to call an Oik an Oik, he’s described as a ‘fearsome iconoclast’ which I’ll be honest I had to look up, it is someone who attacks/debunks cherished beliefs or destroys religious idols ie a heretic who would probably have been burned at the stake a few hundred years ago – excellent, my kind of guy – anyone who says that ‘football draws the poison from the high street and corals the underclasses in huge out of town holding pens where they can go at each other based on the colour of the shirt someone is wearing’ gets my vote.
Hardly iconoclasm. Champagne socialists, Guardian readers and lefties will call it snobbery and tell me I’m frightfully unpleasant. Watch me care!
There seem to be a few counter-examples to how tedious I am – firstly, a new mate from the area who I hadn’t seen for aaaages had arranged to take me out for lunch on Tuesday. The reason I don’t see the lovely Rachel ‘Dr Oz’ is that she got offered a job as head of Physics at a school near St Albans so unsurprisingly she upped sticks from Leatherhead and her and her partner Matt live near there. What I (usually just me) finds hilarious is that said school is a Catholic school so I can’t resist making endless nun based puns. What can I say, it’s a bad habit! In my head she dresses like a mother superior which is obvious nonsense! She’s not in the least bit religious (I reckon being a religious physics teacher might be a bit tricky. ‘now the reason that bulb goes on children is because of the magic light angels sent by god when you press the switch’ Anyway, the fact that people like Rachel bother being friends with me helps alleviate a little self-doubt. I said a little. I am doing my best at trying to piece together the logistics for when Gwen and Gary are away. It seems to be harder than finding Lord Lucan.

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