Surviving a Stroke (and sometimes saying too much)

Post 328: Things can only get better

2012-01-29T17:09:00.000Z

Seriously, what is wrong with people? I used to think I was an ok judge of character but again I have been proved wrong. The majority of people I have met since my stroke have been good to me and not seen me as someone to take advantage of but then again there have been one or two that have badly let me down and undermined what slender faith I have in the human race. I try and devote much of this blog to the good stories and nice people but me being human and I'm assuming the several regular readers of this are human, it is sadly some of our worse experiences that stick in the mind. By the way, any non-humans reading this – I think you'd be within your rights to destroy this whole damn planet, there are one or two nice people worth saving but the human race seems to be a bitter disappointment most of the time. All together: 'We're sh*t and we know we are' etcSo the reason for this glum prognosis and my augmented Misanthropy today, if you've been following this blog, my last housekeepers turned out to be the most awful *rseholes. The good news is that they are now gone but they left in a hurry, leaving the parts of the house they lived in as if squatters had been living there.

Of course it's a ridiculous thing to say but it's enough to make you believe what the Daily Mail says, I am certainly starting to mistrust anyone who speaks a foreign language in front of me when they could speak English. This is a patently ridiculous viewpoint but firsthand evidence is what makes me write it. I couldn't care less if I'm labelled racist, I just know how it has made me feel from when I was in hospital and right up to now.Yet another good Samaritan, a lady called Ruth, who happens to be a magistrate has been giving me legal advice about the CAB (Citizens Advice Bureau) action about me withholding payment from my last carers because they did the bare minimum (basically dossing for the last month) and has told me not to mention their names but I will say this, they were clearly running away from their debts after we found TWO letters from debt collection agencies with unpaid bills of over £1000 each in the mess they left. I have copied these and sent them around. I now have to phone up these agencies to stop Bailiffs taking my stuff and I anticipate the credit rating associated with this address is mud. Lucky I don't plan on ever borrowing any money. How anyone would have the balls to try and pursue me for money they didn't even earn while they owe over £2000 is beyond me. This is the 2nd time a carer has run back home from their debts and it is a worrying pattern. I don't subscribe to any religious code of ethics. Instead I subscribe to my own 'don't be a dick' version which is superior in every way and they're being dicksEven if I say it repeatedly, it's obvious how not to be a dick but it's amazing how much of the world just are. There are girls who go on about how they are 'arsehole magnets' when it comes to relationships – sadly, with some notable exceptions, it appears to be like that with me and carers, and the worst thing, it feels like it's my fault. I try as hard as I can to be gracious, to basically not be a dick but people (with the caveat there are exceptions) can't seem to stop themselves. Speaking of exceptions, I've finally managed to get to a gig this month. As gigs go January is like the Sahara desert

without any of the good bits, it's barren because concert promoters quite rightly assume that no-one has got any money and all the sensible people are on detox and going to bed boringly early so there's nothing, ok, apart from Cirque de Soleil and that's hardly pushing the envelope. So I went to see the Maccabees

at a sold out Brixton Academy on Tuesday. Now, I know more about Quantum Mechanics than I do about the Maccabees but I'd heard they were good. It might even have been Nick 'do you know who I am' Grimshaw (a classic twat)

saying something about them on TV that made me take note. It's more because I like going to live gigs by tidy bands at Brixton Academy, it's even better if I can go with a genuine enthusiast. Luckily a lad called Sam

who volunteers for a charity called Remap mentioned that the Maccabees had once showed up at a student party at his house in Bristol. Forget knowing their repertoire, that sort of knowledge'll do nicely, plus he's a new mate and he's the type of guy that seems totally trustworthy despite his passion for Drum and Bass. We have a laugh and we did have a laugh. The Maccabees are an Indie-pop outfit that are good but'll never set the world on fire, a bit like Maximo Park. They'll release another album and keep going for five years, will probably kill it at Glastonbury one year. They'll have a great time!Oh, is that the time? Blah, I'll keep soldiering away at trying to snap out of being a crap human. At least when my new carers start I have some confidence that the house'll not be a pit – that I'll be able to try and live out the next year without worrying I'll be ripped off, forgotten and basically taken advantage of. 2012 will hopefully be a turnaround year and predictions of the end of the world are hopefully exaggerated even if my view of humanity is as lofty as the public's opinion of that woman who put that cat in a bin.Despite being a miserable bastard I'm lucky to still have kind friends like the people I've just had lunch wih, the Tress family

and my fellow fool from university Guy,

who Gina and I have decided (apart from a slightly rounder chin, looks identical to how he used to

although he quite rightly misses his wife and kids who are in the states) (on the Tresses, I've known Gina since university, and she's one of the few girls in the world who can say without any irony 'I need to put some weight on' she's looking 'bang tidy' -an expression normally reserved for tv presenters, models and starlets, her charming husband Olly takes me to allsorts of gigs, their two kids, Bruno and Tallia are damn cool)'bang tidy' is one of my favourite expressions at the moment in the laddish banter I have with my trainer when discussing the merits of TV presenter Holly Willoughby

as 'This morning' tends to be on in the background of my thrice weekly 'torture' sessions. There is a definite sense I have been saved by the 'Iberian connection' of my Spanish trainer Jose and my Portuguese friend Isabel, who between the two of them are kindly covering my mornings and evenings until mid February. I'm having one of those rare episodes: 'I'm lost for words' . this proves how farcical it is to 'mistrust foreigners'. Meanwhile my Aussie weekend housekeeper maintains continuity and keeps me sane. Thankyou Bianca.

Post 327: This adding insult to injury, it's no fun

2012-01-25T18:27:00.001Z

I hate using this as a place to grind an axe but this feels like the only place I have a voice anymore. In the last few posts I have been going on about how dreadful my carer situation is. Now, people can normally get on with their lives after people take the p*ss out of them but if people do it to me instead of me just walking away (the irony), I start wondering about whether in the long term it will impact my ability to survive and on an even more Darwinian level whether we, as a species, prey on those weaker than ourselves to get through life. I hope this isn't true, otherwise I'm f*cked. This delightful train of thought started when I discovered that my old weekend carer

(on the right) was stealing from me. Despite getting rid of him pronto, I haven't bothered getting him on the CRB list because the process is too onerous, the amount is so little and he's going back to Bangladesh. The other Bangladeshi chap in the picture Hassan, and his wife Agnesieka (the blonde lady) are my main carers and have been here since April, now since Christmas they have been doing as little as they can which has not made life easy for me, and it's bloody January

– one small mercy has been that they at least gave me a months notice at the end of December. I can't wait for them to go back to Bangladesh on Thursday 26th although they have been living here doing nothing since Monday (23rd) rather feeling like I've got squatters in the house plus as they live upstairs I can't even confront them, bastards. Here were people I trusted. I have tried to make the terms of caring for me as generous as possible with them living here for free including bills plus a cash 'sweetener' which I used to pay to put the arrangement on a more formal basis and to help cover transport costs to the dayjobs they assured me they'd look for. Instead they've just been dossing upstairs. In fact he is usually in too deep a sleep during the day to ever hear the front doorbell. My weekend carer has got exactly the right idea. She found a job almost instantly and thinks that if she lives here for nothing then she ought to look after the house and the cats and socialise with me a bit. My parents think I'm mad about the main caring arrangement, they thought that living rent free plus bills was more than generous and considering my pension isn't a fortune it stretched my financial capabilities considerably. Anyway, as the payer of this money, I thought I was within my rights to withhold payment since Christmas (not including any food shopping they have done on my behalf) I have actually paid them £190 for three shops despite the fact we appear to have run out of a few quite important things more than once in the last few weeks and everything in the fridge appears to be out of date – I feel like a Daily Mail story about to happen. I am normally in a fairly fraught emotional state which negatively contributes towards the energy I have for doing anything at all with my life and this hasn't exactly been an improvement. To add insult to injury (a phrase I have to use too much on this blog), I got a call from a lady at the Citizens advice bureau saying that she's sitting there with Hassan and Agnesieka saying I have unfairly withheld their 'wages'. Would you pay a plumber who came to 'fix a leak' and it was still leaking after he'd had a go at it while sitting around drinking cups of tea? Same principle. I abhor lazy people, and the reason I agreed to let Hassan live here was he seemed like an industrious, conscientious, tenacious and trustworthy guy – and I thought him and Agnesieka were for a while, but this email I sent to them summed it upFor starters I don't understand how it's got to £640[what he said I owed them], as has alwaysbeen the case, the onus is on you to get your weekly pay and anyreimbursements on Monday mornings, you clearly forgot to do that.I am withholding ANY payment on the grounds of poor performance(basically taking advantage of me). I am a disabled person and I findit disgraceful that in the last few months you think you have done agood job. You know that you don't deserve this. I haven't fired you orformally warned you because the process for finding new carers is tooonerous and I am not in a position to discipline people I rely on somuch. I had hoped you would become more conscientious. Here is thelist I put together. I had hoped you would see these things and do thehonourable thing: Instead you have done quite the opposite1.Not cleaning the house properly (we alluded to this a lot)2.Depriving me of a guest room3.Your mum and sister staying for more than a 'few' days4.Never waking me up at 9am, I always have to ring the bell (Irepeatedly mentioned this - it's in the household manual that it'sbetter to wake me rather than wait)5.Once forgetting to even wake up when the bell wasn't working andleaving me believing there was no-one in the house6.Once leaving me without any towels in my bathroom and not hearing meshouting for help for 20 minutes7.I told Hassan I'd pay for driving lessons so he could swap hisinternational licence -he did nothing8.Not bothering to even look for a dayjob, instead sleeping through the day9.Forgetting to give me lunch on Wed 11/110.Never answering the front door despite the new bell ringing upstairs11.I am grateful you have given me three weeks notice, you havehowever, only been here 8 months, I believe we said 'at least' a year12.Never being up when Tesco deliver despite me asking if you could be13.Not helping to find a replacement – you agreed to screenapplications, contact candidates and arrange interviews -you didnothing saying maybe it was better Bianca did it because you onlycheck your email a couple of times a day and you're usually sleeping15.Talking at 3AM – not loudly but enough to stop me sleeping[repeatedly]16.The last straw – Abeer [the thieving cousin] staying here in secret and even smokingupstairs. Him helping me when you're out is nice but beside the point17.Abeer using my card illegally without permission to purchaselocalphone cards.THIS IS THEFT. I am considering involving the police18.Letting me buy Sonu Nigam [some bollywood star] tickets for you and Agnesieka (£120)knowing full well you weren't going to be here [Not bothering to leave me dinner on two consecutive nights. Instead calling me and asking if I could order a pizza?[are these the actions of 'carers'?]thankfully I have found new carers who I trust, I'm sorry if this feels like a bit of a tawdry saga and 'airing dirty laundry' but I needed somewhere to talk about lifes complexities and to add insult to injury (there it is again) the girl I'd been seeing has just basically said she's 'too busy' to let thinks develop. I'm disappointed and can't not think the stress of this whole situation didn't help. F*CK. Nice girl but being prioritised above anything work related when that person is a teacher during term time is never going to happen. Two learnings:1.Going out with teachers is always going to be difficult2.Always ask potential carers from the sub-continent if they had servants at home. If they did they're likely to be lazy as spit. In fact, employing carers whose first spoken language isn't English and hasn't read any of this is a risk.I worry that I am turning into a difficult person which is what I expend most of my effort trying to avoid.

Post 326: A time to batten down the hatches

2012-01-22T14:48:00.000Z

Does anyone read this anymore? I'm not even sure I even would because objectively I'd think that the writer is a bit of a miserable f*cker. I know I am and one of my main objectives is to one day snap out of this.No-one likes a moaner and no-one really gives a toss about one even if said moaner has got a half decent reason, but it's mitigated slightly as long as said moaner makes things a little bit funny or interesting.Well, it's hard to do either when you feel like you're 100 years older than you actually are.I need other people so much, and moaning and attracting people to be friends are pretty much mutually exclusive and although my sense of humour is mostly helpful it really sometimes isn't. Overly sensitive people can sh*t off for starters. The irony here is that I am a bit sensitive now, and I sometimes upset myself. Luckily, I shake this off by realising what I say can often be a pile of Elephant dung

and I should care about it as much as other people clearly don't!So, what has been happening this week that I could tell you that may pique the January bubble of indifference? My view of humanity has been dragged in different directions recently. My misanthropic view that we're all a bunch of shysters has been given weight by the fact my carers have started to behave like they've got to the end of a job, ie they've started doing the bare minimum, this is why Bianca (my weekend housekeeper) and I can't wait for Gary and Gwen to start. At it's most basic level it is showing human nature at it's worst. People would rather be lazy If there are no consequences so rather than be decent human beings, they're not, they're being dicks and sleeping all day making life tricky for me. This upsets me as it reflects badly on what I'm like to live with. I can understand if they were working for a big company, but this is my life they're making worse – I feel a bit like I've become someone to take advantage of.

I'm not that bloke.Thankfully there is another side to this coin. Gary and Gwen can't actually move in till mid-February, so I was a bit terrified of what I was going to do but I have been saved. Jose, my trainer, is going to do Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings and my new local friend Isabel has offered to do my other weekday mornings and cook my weekday evening meals, she's also asked a mate of hers to do a couple of hours cleaning and laundry a week. She's just one of these people who lives to help people. I am lucky and privileged to have met her. Would that there were more people like that in this world. I have been fortunate to have met a few and as you can no doubt tell I can't say enough good things about them. They know who they are.My other two main objectives have had to run in parallel to this over dramatic and stressful sh*t. These are of course:1.Physical therapy, or 'torture'2.Avoiding boredomOn the first, even though almost all the evidence suggests that improvement is unlikely and that I would be foolish to expect to recover use of my left arm or the ability to walk independently or to feel normal I will never fully close the door because I don't deserve to be like this, I work too hard. To this end a neurophysio, whose practice use that electrical stimulation thingamy that I was thinking of trying to get came and assessed me on Thursday. We discussed options, constraints and objectives, and hopefully he's going to send me a written report. The good thing was he wasn't at all a salesman, and he wasn't trying to hawk me expensive neurophysiotherapy. Instead he was pretty conclusively able to tell me that the electrical stimulation product was not the right thing for me, and he has told me what he'd do. Basically, that's the type of advice I'll listen to. Doubtless it will recommend more training, something that terrifies me because I can't afford it physically, mentally or financially. Fully fit people can barely manage to make it to the gym twice a week – the idea of doing more than my 3 training sessions with the prospect of it making no difference makes the prospect of introducing myself to the tender mercies of beachy head style rehabilitation. Is it wrong to feel this hopeless?Going to see Cirque de Soleil last night didn't help. My sister (over from the States on business)

took us to see Totem

last night at the Albert Hall and as much as comparing myself to Circus Freaks is probably a bit silly, these people are nonetheless humans, everybody including the women had ridiculous six packs, and although I have no desire to balance standing on my hands on a 50 foot pole which is being balanced on somebodies chin, I do have a strong desire to be able to balance on my feet independently. Cirque de Dom if you will. I can just about do ten sit-ups, these freaks look like they'd just be breaking sweat around the million mark. I've been to Cirque most years since I was released from hospital and the evening is made or broken by a couple of things:1.How close to the stage I am (so I can actually see what's happening)2.How much the people I have gone with enjoyed itThis time we were up in the circle. I would normally post a picture but the Albert Hall door robot expressly forbid this before the performance on the grounds of 'copyright'. As far as I'm concerned for £60 a ticket if we want to take photo's he should offer to do it for us and get me a complimentary drink into the bargain!As it was my mother and my sister

were impressed, and my dad and I were quietly understated in our appreciation highlighting a difference to me in how Men and Women react to these things. Women gasp whilst Men think 'show off' while also thinking ' wouldn't it be funny if he smacked himself in the balls doing this' I went to a thing called Varekai at the Albert Hall a couple of years ago and for a Cirque de soleil show it ticked the right boxes. For a start we were close and my companions for the evening, my neighbour Tracey and local mate Sacha loved it.

I actually went to Totem at the Albert Hall last year so my first thought was 'cheeky bastards, they're milking this a bit', my second thought was a message from my mate Steve who was over from Melbourne last January and I'd offered him and his wife first dibs on the tickets. His reply was poetic and further emphasised the difference between men and women (Gnomes is his wife)

LOL, I went once with Gnomes to one of the C.d.S. shows and ranted about how shite I thought it was, but she loves it! If you fancy it then I'll gladly 'take one for the team' coz I know Gnomes'll love it, or we just go to something on at another venue? Brilliant, Anyway, what made the evening was getting to see my sister!Despite being a miserable f*cker I am so lucky to have mates who take me out. It was the Dabbous family

on Saturday who took it upon themselves to take a break from the lack of sleep that seven month old Louis is giving them to take me out for lunch, my anecdote store is feeling a little depleted. Theirs is the sort of life I wished I had. 2 lovely kids and a pretty solid outlook. Bit late for that for me.My other attempt at avoiding the sort of demoralisation you feel at seeing a slightly overweight lady in a Gym has been listening to Game of Thrones on audiobook. The sheer length of it makes me feel like I've seen a size 18 lady in size 8 leggings sweating like a whore in church on a bike that's going nowhere[a Jimmy Carr joke I couldn't resist crowbarring in because it made me laugh]. Anyway, Game of Thrones is book 1 of a fantasy epic 'a Song of Ice and Fire'.

Just to give you an idea of the scale of this thing is it is over 5 books,

each book handily split into 3 8-hour audio chunks. I am nearing the end of book 2 but finding the time and energy has been a nightmare, luckily book 1 was made into a ten part drama by HBO. I was totally addicted to the series and I can see how people turn into Trekkie type nerds and losers – the Wikepedia site is Encyclopaedic! I almost feel like a bit of a gimp having been on there myself. Anyway, what can I say apart from reading simultaneously and ahead in a thing like this is a massive advantage. Series 2 will be unbelievable. It is basically 'the Soprano's' set in middle earth but the gritiness (the swearing,violence and aggression) of it is offset by the utter insanity of life in medieval times and some of the supernatural intrigue ie Dragons, White walkers (murderous creatures that live in the ice and can only be destroyed by fire), Wildlings etc. Are you interested yet? It doesn't take much with me. Another serious piece of advice, never get heavily invested in something that hasn't had several seasons, you end up tearing your hair out waiting for the next one. I'm fed up with waiting, seeing as I've waited 7 years to get better and NOTHING.

Post 325: What the Dickens?

2012-01-15T16:35:00.000Z

Another pretty average week if truth be told. The good news is that I have found new carers. They are the South African husband and wife who used to look after my grandmother till she popped off at 96 (quite a lady) and then looked after my aunt's mother so they're practically family which is easily the clincher. Getting people I trust has taken on more meaning in the last few days after I found out one of my carers was using my debit cards without my knowledge. It's the kind of thing you read about in the 'outraged' right wing press. Luckily, not much has gone and most of it can be refunded but it really shows how easy it is to hoodwink vulnerable people – this sort of thing can't really be got away with with me because I've got my wits about me and a father who pores over most of what I spend. I've got a half decent and trustworthy support structure, it scares me how really vulnerable people even begin to cope. It is yet another example of how it is hard to have faith in human decency which is such a sh*te starting point to have but misanthropy seems to be the only logical standpoint, expect the worst of people and you'll not be disappointed (see earlier ). I don't understand the mentality of doing something to anyone that'd make that person mistrust you, maybe I'm being naïve, but people in need of help should get help if you can afford to help them in my world, I'm not just talking financially. Me going all altruistic here ties in nicely with a lecture I went to this week about a great philanthropist and undoubted genius, Charles Dickens

– if there was one person who embodied the definition of genius -1% inspiration, 99% perspiration – then it is he. I make it my business to take every opportunity I can to get out of my house, and my mum's best friend from university, Imogen Barker (who lives down the road) offered to take me to her monthly CODFAS lecture (Cobham design and fine art society I think) ( my mother goes to hers locally, called NADFAS). Now, I would probably have never dreamed of going to such a thing but I will literally go to anything to get out of the house. Now no offence intended, I have always equated these local societies with Womens Institute meetings

for the bored, retired, middle-aged, middle-class ladies of suburbia.Anyway, this is not in anyway to slag them off but as I firmly believe that boredom

is the root of all evil I'm jolly well going to go if someone asks me, plus it would not be polite, Imogen is a nice lady for asking me.Having got Imogen a high-vis jacket we set off down the road to the village hall. I used to do this exact journey during my fruitless attempt to learn to walk again when they let me use the village hall. Anyway, that's a depressing chapter of my life that doesn't bear thinking about.So,Where the Dickens was I, yes Charles Dickens. I've been to one lecture on him before, that my friend Jackie Kennard organised back in March 2008 in aid of the trust.Dickins was clearly a fascinating 'one in a million' character who derived immense gratification from entertaining people. He had incredible energy and used to walk over 20 miles a day just because he liked walking. This explains why he could so vividly portray London because he had seen almost all of it. Most of his drive came from his recollection of the hardship of having worked in a boot factory when he was a boy, and his family being semi-detained in a debtors prison. The lecturer said that despite his gifts he was probably an irritating character to be friends with because he always had to be right. We've never met anyone like that have we? Victorian England must have been a crazy time to be alive, but I particularly like the philanthropic nature of the super wealthy, sure there are great acts of philanthropy today but none was so marked and close to home as in those times, alongside Victorian austerity was some absurd and amusing excess.

Today, the super-rich seem to horde and invest their money so they can buy the latest fast car.

Equally envy, jealousy and even anger towards them seems to be the prevailing emotions, whereas in Victorian Britain respect seemed to be offered particularly to those that had earned it. Actions, more than words defined some of the greatest Victorians. Dickins actions were so much more than the words of his writingsThis all comes under the heading of broadening the mind because I have long said I refuse to sit here and rot – hopefully, the arrival of new carers will further reduce worry in my life and allow me to get on with what I should be worrying about, whatever that is. This is yet more evidence that the key to achievement is drive and energy, neither of which I physically have anymore. What has given me heart though, is one or two of the applications to my gumtree advert have actually demonstrated a bit more gumption than in the past. Perhaps I worded the advert wrongly before but the majority of gumtree applications were from someone who had just read the advert title 'LIVE RENT FREE IN RETURN FOR HOUSEKEEPING/CARING' and spied an opportunity to get something for nothing. I'm not an idiot but the number of chancers who just wrote eg 'I think this be a good opportunity for me'. Pardon me while I swear at the floor for a minute. they'd blindly attach a standard cv that tells me they once had a cleaning job, their English is rudimentary and they know how to use windows, yes and by the way we're still in Bulgaria. DELETE, thanks but no thanks Bogdan.Pardon me if that got me angry, at least this time I got some English speaking applicants who bothered to read a bit of this, had some relevant experience, had a plan, some references and seemed a little bit interested in the person they would be caring for. I apologise to and thank these people but this time circumstance has intervened and we've obviously stopped looking but thankyou to those who bothered to apply properly. I say we because I have been helped by solid gold Sheila, my weekend carer Bianca,

as rude as I am to Australians, there are exceptions that prove the rule. Everything associated with the process is my post stroke Kryptonite. It is so unbelievably stressful and tiring for someone in my state. 'Ah, poor you', I imagine people sarcastically saying but this feels like a matter of life and death...Melodrama aside for a second, Gary and Gwen (the S.African couple who have put my mind at ease and it was good luck they happened to be looking. Hassan and Agnesieka are leaving on the 23rd and Gary/Gwen can't move in until the 17th February which as you can imagine was met by panic but this is where I have been saved. Sam, the kind lad who volunteers for charity Remap said he's got a bit of downtime so he's going to do my mornings until Gary and Gwen move in and Bianca has said she will be about, but if anyone fancies dropping in of an evening after the 26th January you will get the warmest of warm welcomes. I hate having to rely on people this way. 34 year olds ought to be able to look after themselves, the best I can hope for is to be gracious, it's hard to believe I can be sometimes because I was an arse last night because I was tired. I suppose one small mercy is that I am able to recognise this, I only wish I had a bit more control of the exhaustion that causes it -as I'm prone to say 'this f*cking stroke'Also as I'm prone to say, thankyou very much to old friends Caroline and John Jackson

for coming down here yesterday and taking me out to lunch. Caroline is the mother of my oldest Mate Dom Icely, who I've known for more than 20 years, and to someone who's known me slightly less time, sorry if I was grouchy....

Post 324: January, few obvious redeeming features

2012-01-08T16:59:00.000Z

For once, I've taken the advice of someone who has read this before I published it and re-written large swathes of it because even by my standards it was a little depressing but that's January for you and how much I care about her opinion. Usually once I've written something that's it, given how much time and energy writing takes I sometimes think I might as well be chiselling this into a stone slab.

Imagine making a spelling mistake back in those times, it's positively Monty Python-esque!

It's quite sad how apathy seems to have taken over 2012 so far. That's a general observation, it thankfully doesn't apply to the kind people who have been to see me. Firstly (and most surprising were Jackie and Selwyn

(who I thought were saving themselves from the English January in the relative warmth of the Portuguese house they've retired too. It was rather a nice surprise to get the phonecall 'are you in? Well we'll be round in 15 minutes''What, aren't you in Portugal?' -Resistance is Futile, my college mate James (on the left here)

also popped in yesterday for tea, a man who's just written a textbook,

and most important of all the fair Mel

who took me for dinner last night despite me booking a table at the wrong Plough. The evening was saved by going to my old favourite The Bear, in fact I feel silly having even thought of going elsewhere. The bear was lovely whereas the plough had been full of people you could only describe as tw*ts (you know the type in a restaurant that laugh a bit too loudly at everything). Despite this I think it's fair to say I don't feel brilliant about the future, I'm sorry, it's the truth but I figure anyone deigning to read this is grown up enough to understand that a previously happy bloke might be a little bit upset about basically losing everything. There are two schools of thought about the people you meet online. First, that they're bound to be unconfident, depressive types because they're not happy or confident enough to meet people in the normal way, the second is that in the modern world people don't have time to do anything other than meet on facebook or in the chatrooms of websites that represent their interests. Before my stroke it was mainly the latter and I was in no way depressed. Since my stroke it's been the former, I guess my observation here and probably my opinion that it's a bit of both ie that we as a species feel we have less and less time and we're meeting less and less genuinely happy people. I've got no evidence to back this up but I applaud the happiness and positivity of the new people I have met. And this ties back, the happiest people I have met are the busy ones so get busy living, this actually goes a long way to explaining my mum's happiness and general positive demeanour– she's always busy and any downtime is spent complaining about how busy she is, even though it doesn't sound like it, this is some sort of happiness virtuous circle, so, from now on when she's stressed I'm going to give her more to do – it's the kindest thing! Also- another Stroke Surviving Blogger (SSB) who I only know through his blog and facebook but he sounds OK, Matt Padmore once said 'It's nice to feel useful again' I know this is only one datapoint but it makes sense to me. He's not god or anything!

I mention Matt because he's written a book

about life since his Stroke which impresses me a lot. The lovely Mel has bought a copy and is going to read it to me. So, in conclusion, staying busy is the key to happiness but on your own terms. Ie sometimes the busiest you want to be is to lie on a beach and woe betide any f*cker who asks you to do anything so I guess the point I'm attempting to make is we're as happy as how busy we make ourselves so my example about asking my mum to do something doesn't stand – be funny to do though.Anyway, January. The paltry, pisspoor evidence doesn't exactly suggest I'm getting any better and even if there was a way of getting better I couldn't afford it. The trust, which was set up to give me a way of affording therapy so I could maintain some quality of life and hopefully get better, is basically out of money which is such a tragedy because with it goes any hope I have of maintaining any independence or recovery and it's f*cking January, surely the worst month of the year? I paradoxically used to enjoy it though. It's an irritating cliché to talk about turning over a new leaf. Oh, I was that irritating cliché, much as I am now an irritating cliché of a whingeing disabled person – Why? Well, I used to give up booze in January and so staggered was I by the effects, boy did I tell everyone, and boy, must they have thought that I was some sort of alcoholic! Seriously, I even remember talking about it in a job interview, to the extent that one of my friends even told me it was not a good place to mention it. The effects were as I say marked though. I'd find myself waking up on a January Sunday morning at 9am full of energy and not know what to do with myself! I'd find myself emptying out food cupboards, throwing out ludicrously out of date things and running a cloth over the shelf, for a bloke in his 20s who lived on his own, this was weird.At work the effects were marked too. Now, I'm not a slow guy (well, not that slow) but if I was asked a tricky question, the thinking process and the associated chat and patter was on the tip of my tongue; mental arithmetic was fast and largely correct, bullsh*t

was low, well lower than usual. I'm suddenly fearful that I'm making myself sound borderline incompetent, I wasn't. Honest guv'nor – I was just leveraging (a very 00s word) my experience as an analyst in both stockbroking and consulting (both of which I have no doubt will be grouped within 'the bullsh*ting sector' or 'hot air sector' up there with 'consumer cyclicals') , , mark my words, it should be a FTSE sector, kept buoyant by all the hot air, paradigms and synergies it produces, but seriously, it's still January and the hits just keep on coming – the most acute is that my carers are going back to Bangladesh because they need to quite rightly get on with their lives.Seen totally rationally and dispassionately it makes perfect sense for them.From my point of view it feels a bit like starting again and it's hard to not think that's how thing's will go forever. I challenge you not to be a little depressed at the thought. A non-tired me might think 'yay, new people' but the knackered, pathetic me is the one who sadly writes this. I hate that bloke, I am ashamed of myself for so much as thinking a thought that makes you think I'm a dick, well I wasn't being one in my old life (much), but I'm being one now. I felt pretty rubbish going for an MRI scan on Tuesday. I hate these things,

it's like being buried alive in a nuclear bomb. Since re-engaging with a neurologist I'm having a scan twice a year to keep an eye on the thing that caused my stroke in the first place (the AVM

in my brainstem which threatens to kill me (or worse) if it bleeds again). A scan a while ago revealed it was still there. so tick tock it's always nice to be told you've got something life threatening but there's nothing they can do about it. I'm not even sure what the point of 'keeping an eye on it is other than the misery of having to be scanned twice a year at vast expense which thankfully gets covered by my medical insurance. A legacy from John Lewis who I can't even begin to describe how lucky I am to have worked for. I hope I get used as a case-study for why people should work there, at least something good would come of all this. Well actually my friend Vicky Denning (near the end of this post )decided to accept their job offer (among a few) because of the way they had treated me. She is now director of head-office HR.Now a post this down at heel can only be because it's January. One thing that has made me laugh has been finally getting the photo's from Christmas. I can add another Christmas cliché; my comedy uncle passing out after lunch :

Post 323: Some thanks be to everyones favourite time of year

2012-01-02T18:31:00.000Z

Firstly, sorry it's been so long. I'm sure it's actually been pleasant not having any of my guff to harness your grey matter on. This post has been difficult to put together for a variety of reasons but I'll refrain from my usual whinge (about most of the reasons)but the most apparent is I made the schoolboy error of relying on others (who weren't professionals) to send me pictures around which I intended to weave a Christmas post. It's now new year and I am still sans photographic evidence of Christmas.I have to be a little careful with what I say about Christmas at home. Being tactless is one thing and truth be told a bit of a gift, but being a sociopath and hurting peoples feelings is another. Now, I've made no secret of my dislike for his time of year but there are some good things. I have long said that to be 'happy' humans need to be around other humans. To be truly happy you also have to feel safe and when you are surrounded by your family you do feel safe.My state is why I struggle so much with being happy, because I never feel safe. I never feel I can rely on my body to get me out of things, be they a fall on the floor, a tricky conversation/argument you just want to get away from, feeling exhausted but not being able to dig deep, getting a jumper on because it's cold, not being able to do these things at all or for myself stops me being happy and it's pretty obvious there's no point investing the energy ever trying to be able to do these things again because:1.I don't have the energy2.The bits of the brain needed to make these things work and for me to feel normal again have been destroyed.All this talk of 'neuroplasticity' and talk about how 'unused parts of the brain re-organize themselves and take over for your lost function' is all vague hypothetical horsesh*t – I'm sorry brainscientists, you know nothing – the brain is too complicated an organ, it is acknowledged to be the most complicated (and valuable) object in the universe (even the cybermen

know that) and mine is beyond repair. Everything I now do is to try and make my current situation as bearable as possible for my friends, carers, family and myself (in that order). I am 100% convinced that most people in my situation wouldn't have bothered to do anything like what I have done if they'd had a stroke like mine so my mum (or someone) reading an article in the 'Daily Mail' about some lady who recovered is NOT the norm, it is wonderful copy but that's it. People who have recovered have won the lottery.

People telling me to behave like these people is like saying 'put every pound you make into buying lottery tickets, that's sound financial planning. THAT WOULD BE INSANITY.Instead, I try and make as much as I can out of the small mercies I have left: My remaining dignity and my wish to have a normal life;My friends; my family; my carers; my remaining intelligence and sense of humour; my integrity and morals; my material things, etc, etcChristmas for me, is about getting as far away from Material things as possible, even if it is a religio-retail festival -present giving in our family is a rather sweet formality of the proceedings, there are zero expectations unlike when I was an awful indulged child and I would hope for ridiculous things.

The thing that pisses me off about the outlandish expectations of spoilt b*stards and b*stardesses at Christmas is it's always about want rather than need, and the only thing I need is something money can't buy, that is my health and my old life. Since these aren't available at any price and no 'expert' can conclusively tell me what is the right thing to do I seem to be asking an impossible question which I think is [How best do I apply my limited material resources in using my sh*tilly fragile physical and pathetically shaky emotional attributes to recover from what seems to be an irrecoverable injury?]. So that says to me that I'm never going to get what I really need so Christmas is purely about the unmaterial things -namely, the company. Now, as much as I love my family and love seeing them, it is still an endurance event. Most things are these days.Christmas at my 'rentals is all about small talk and 'nailing the clichés' that I associate with a middle-class Christmas that fails to see a shred of irony in anything about it. Everything seems to be taken far too seriously. I.e The turkey barely fitting in the oven causes a row, rather than it being a ridiculous cliché we should chuckle about. Cliché and irony are hand in hand at this thing, it is immense. I can imagine less planning went into the invasion of Iraq! When I had the inspiration for this I thought about calling it 'The twelve Clichés of Christmas' but I'm not clever enough to be able to put that together as strewn as Christmas is with predictable nonsense. But for example, the one that really got me going was lighting the Christmas pudding, walking it around the dinner table,

taking pictures of it while everyone sang 'we wish you a merry christmas' OH MY GOD! What? Why? The food is to be commended of course, mum has this down to a fine art – it is a masterpiece of planning, timing and skill and of course Delia ahem f*cking Smith. I reckon if there was a league table of middle-aged ladies who do this she'd be top 5 in the world and top 3 in Britain. It is amazing. Other Christmas clichés inspired mixed emotions which I'm sure you can infer: Not being able to use the main room before people arrived on Christmas day because it was being used for other things (to play annoying computer games in this instance) – ffs, my sisters kids weren't even here this year

;Everyone being forced to watch the Queen's Speech

despite it not being interesting or relevantIt being pointed out in the Queens speech 'doesn't she look good' anyone at that age would look good if they'd led such a ridiculously pampered lifestyle – I'd be surprised if she even wipes her own arse;Being told to shush when taking the piss out of the way the queen says 'often' 'orrfen'. I may be a bit posh but that is absurd. Anyway that is all I will say about Christmas, although I am upset at the allegation that 'at times you appear to be ungrateful' which was levelled at me by my parents, and the reason they said this was 'at times you appear to be in a bad mood' – I wonder why that is? My Dad also told me to change the way I use my chair, ie to stop using it's most useful feature as it might damage the chair and you can't afford the repairs, anyway, despite these being the two most insensitive things they could have said, I'll try and remember this Christmas for how adorable my cousin Julie's one year old son Barney was.

He stayed awake and didn't cry for the whole of Christmas day. He makes me want one of my own.Seeing as I predicate my life on being insanely grateful to anyone who is kind to me but also tell people who aren't to 'sling their hook' I feel insanely grateful to some close friends of mine for inviting Mel

and I around to lunch on new years eve. Now, I have been round to Nick and Sal's before but in order to get in through the front door I have to leave my chair, with the help of Nick and Kocen

(here with his lovely girlfriend Freya)for support I walked through their front door, and was sat in a normal chair. The Icely's (Alice, several month old Arden,

her husband Dom and 2 year old Freddie) It's Nic and his 4 year old Oscar in this photo, as always I failed to get decent photos because my camera is kept in my f*cking wheelchair although I did manage a lens smashing cheesy grin with with the hostess,

anyway it was so good to be invited and to see my favourite ladies,aren't they wonderful,

still as gorgeous as when they were at college back in the 90s

and the happy gathering was completed by Gluckers,

a man who now has his own architecture firm,

oh how time has marched on. I'm glad that Mel seems to like everybody (obviously the praise for her is deafening, as it should be) even if she has been rushed headlong into an onslaught of posh people. My only disappointment was that I wasn't in any fit state to accept my friend Isabel's

kind invite to see in the New Year with her and her friends. I would have been lousy company. The best I managed was watching the London fireworks

in bed (alone). They were so good I was prompted (slightly cynically) to post this on facebook the next dayI saw the Westminster fireworks on the Telly and thought they were incredible -immediately followed by the thought 'economic crisis - what economic crisis?' Despite the somewhat serious nature of all of this I had my attention drawn to an internet clip that I dare you not to find funny I think we can all laugh at that sort of misfortune, especially if it happens to posh people.And finally another Stroke Surviving Blogger who I'm in touch with through the magic of facebook appears to have written a book – Halfway gone by Matt Padmore,

available on Amazon.

Post 322: The bad dream before Christmas

2011-12-24T15:34:00.000Z

When adults are happy for the same reason Children get happy, that's when Alarm bells start ringing and I think there need to be more men in white coats around not because I like the idea of living in some Orwellian nightmare but I have laboured the point enough that living in reality, as grim as it sometimes is, is where we have to be. We take every opportunity we can to escape reality, some take holidays, some drink, some people become smackheads. Now I can't go on holidays, being a smackhead requires two hands, my drinking is luckily confined to the occasional sociable glass of red wine, – which leaves me stuck in reality which is why I am at best, lukewarm on Christmas. Perhaps lukewarm is a bit disingenuous, perhaps saying I f*cking hate it is closer. I hate saying I hate things, I'm not one of 'those' people,

although believe it or not I have sometimes been accused of being a 'bit negative' (perish the thought) since it happened (my stroke or my f*cking stroke to give it it's full title) reasons to be cheerful haven't exactly been in abundance but have nonetheless existed in the last week although I am slightly concerned that the last post was a bit depressing, or as I like to say, realistic. Having a plan has always been quite vital to feeling like I'm getting somewhere. Trouble is having a plan necessitates being able to pay for it. I talked in the last post about an electrical stimulation thingamy

to help exercise my left arm as I am getting fed up with my left arm not pulling it's weight (so to speak). I went to lunch on Sunday with my new friend Isa

and her mischief of a 12 year old son Kevin. We went to the Nando's in Walton. What a treat for me. I love Nando's.

For Isa and Kevin it's a bit like having an interactive two year old along for the meal, I hope more of a 15st wheelchair bound Stewie Griffin

(less evil,obviously) rather than a 34 year old who behaves like a boring two year old and good old Isa has said that me talking about that machine in the last post has given her something to aim for when she runs her triathlon for the trust later this year. Pardon Me but how f*cking brilliant of her! She doesn't think I'm a lost cause! Please Sponser her.The other strand of my plan go's something like this -after 3 odd years of killing myself doing assisted walking practice I never felt like I was getting any better at it -I certainly never felt like I was getting any more independent or feeling any better (in fact it made me feel worse, much worse) so I'm not doing walking practice like that anymore, but in a similar way as with my arm, I can't face never walking again so my idea is to install some parallel bars

in the newly vacant garage

at the end of my garden. It's at the idea stage now but it's the best one I have! I figure the alternative (of never walking again) is just too terrifying to contemplate at my age, as for the fatigue, I just am going to continue feeling like sh*t everyday and hope gradually feeling better beats me working out how to get to Switzerland. I apologize that this isn't the most upbeat thing to say but the reality of my situation sometimes spills over into this.Since my stroke I have always had a special place in my heart for the friends and family who have stuck with me, seeing this happen to me must have been awful, but I have an even more special place in my heart for the new friends I have made, people who have got to know me through the hearsay of others or through photos and stuff I have written on here or other websites. I really feel that these people are angels and have given me a chance, people like Isabel (who I talked about earlier) –Sacha,

who granted me an audience last week for tea ( put like that because she is understandably the busiest person in the world) (hilarious people like her often are) - Jo and Suzanne

(who had a horrible long journey from and to deepest Essex) to take me to see the Manic Street Preachers at the Dome last week. They both must have battled extreme tiredness to make that Journey, but it was so worth it when I got this message from Jo'Thanks again for last night, it was the best gig I've been to for a very long time.' and to see how talented James Dean Bradfield actually is: He is a funny little Welshman who looks more like a supply teacher than a genius.

He plays lead guitar unbelievably

(while singing as well as Lang Lang

plays Piano, speaking of which don't you think LL sounds like he should be a Panda!)It's comments like Jo's that make expending the time and effort (oh yeah, and the money) for everything (not just sorting out these events) worth it. I'm sure there are those reading this who think that just giving up going to gigs would solve any money worries I have and may help my tiredness a bit, trust me, it's a calculation I have done in my head and despite often dreading how tired it'll make me it give's me some sort of life – but more importantly a connection to what must be my life-force (which I reckon is everybodys life-force) – spending time with people who you care about (and vice versa). Why do you think facebook has got so massive? It is also People like Graham, who took me to the Hammersmith Apollo on Tuesday

for a charity gig for homelessness Charity Crisis that make life ok. When you book to go to a gig like this you book it because of the artists and the message of the charity often hits home at or after the event, ok it didn't for the Friends of the Earth thing a few weeks ago because I'm not much of an Environmentalist (i.e the planet is beyond repair and every vain effort we make is dwarfed by China's productivity 'miracle'- the planet is trying to kick us off anyway – it's like whispering in a hurricane, but being homeless, hungry and cold are among my biggest fears so what Crisis stands for and does does move me a bit, well quite a lot actually and saying this from my warm house makes me feel pretty fortunate. Charity aside I think it worked out rather well. Ross Noble

as compere showed he's a funny guy when he doesn't have the opportunity to be so weird that he ends up being sh*te, Jo Brand

was funny, Graham Coxon was sh*te, Tim Minchin was genius

as always and Paul Weller absolutely smashed it,. I saw him in Hyde Park back in June http://survivingastroke.blogspot.com/2011/06/sorry-itll-be-up-monday-afternoon.html and he was nothing like as good then (I suppose it's the difference between warming up and headlining) but the key thing was Graham saying (who I think grew up with Weller and 'the Jam' and the 70s mods) 'It was worth it for just that one song', F*ck knows which song but the Apollo was really humming by the end. Anyway, here's the point – Graham is a new friend, someone who enjoys our evenings out and can be relied upon – a diamond geezer if you're a cockney and realizing I'm not thinking he's a good egg is more appropriate, the real find of the last few years has been the amazing Mel

though, owner of one of the loveliest smiles I've ever seen,

a top bird who drives, lives nearby, loves gigs and even though I am absurdly down on myself at times she has the rare ability to look past it and see the good in me which is a great gift. She even took me to Nando's after we watched the new Sherlock Holmes movie on Wedensday. Nandos is difficult to fault despite it being a bit hard to eat comfortably in the Epsom branch and Holmes has morphed into an action Hero, I always saw him as more Poirot than Arnie. You win some, you lose some with Movies. Getting out of the house with Mel was the winner. Her sense of humour is well explained by the fact she gave me this,

to remind me that whingeing will quite rightly be met by people playing small violins as a response to 'woe is me' nonsense. She gave me another present, appealing to my love of T-Shirts with slogans.

I think she's found my level. Speaking of which, I got an amazing on spec visit from the entire Denning family (PJ and Gemima,

Vicky and Milly)

yesterday – Vicky is one of my best mates from college, sort of like the sister my age I never had, despite thinking 'she looks tidy' on day one at college there has never been even so much as a 'frisson' between us, probably why we're such good mates now – when we were housemates in London we used to drink cans of Stella and smoke fags with our feet on the coffee table like something out of 'Men behaving badly', the bizarre story about how I knew her husband, PJ, before her is here Even though I try not to do this here's a rather cute picture of my favourite (of my 3 cats) Ham,

taken yesterday.Now to survive Christmas! I'll doubtless have something to say about it but have a good Christmas everyone!

Post 322: I have a dream: Hope it doesn't snow!

2011-12-17T14:48:00.000Z

I worry that people reading this might think that life for me is a never-ending stream of friends, gigs, training sessions and no real work. Well, let me re-assure you I've never had to work so hard in my whole life, and it's not work for any financial reward. Everyday is a fight to actually feel like I'm doing something with my f*cking life. I refuse to be like one of the cast of Shameless

or like Charlie Buckets Grandparents in Willy Wonka

and sit around watching daytime TV or lying in bed. I tried to get myself better until it became clear I wasn't getting any better. Instead I've been throwing the resources at my disposal (which I acknowledge are more than most) into maintaining what pathetic physical independence I have (which without maintenance would waste away in a few short weeks). No-one tells me I'm doing the wrong thing, although plenty of people seem to find the time to imply that I don't deserve what I have i.e to be alive which infuriates me. I'm probably over-reacting because that's what exhausted people do.I also hate sounding all 'woe is me' whiney because that's not me, Speaking of which, my friend Simon said to me on Wednesday 'I can hear your old voice through your blog' THIS IS THE EXACT REASON I WRITE IT – As much as I can speak now – it is not the voice anyone who actually knows me recognises. Even though speech therapists told me over five years ago that 'your voice will come back just from talking' -well, I have done more talking than most, most of it 100 times harder than talking ought to be, and has my voice returned to how it was? Has it f*ck, on a similar principle, too many occupational and physio-therapists told me that my left arm/hand would recover feeling/movement if I used it – this has been an area where I've been a bit stubborn – I have actively avoided using my left hand because it doesn't work properly and it doesn't have any feeling. Paradoxically, it does move with huge amounts of tiring concentration as long as I can see it, so it feels like I'm putting in loads of effort and getting nothing out of it, and why? Based on the same sort of 'expertise' as the speech therapists who told me my voice would come back. As far as I'm concerned I seem to have saved myself a lot of exhaustion and anguish by deciding my arm is 'not fit for purpose', when I've been forced to use it and some have brainlessly said 'you have no use in it, because you haven't used it' - er can you prove that?, it is hideously slow and I have no idea where it is most of the time unless it's in direct sight, I often think I'd be better off amputating it. So what has prompted this angry discourse? Because I'm not sure people understand how broken I am. I'm exhausted but far from ending it all, I'm always on the lookout for things that might help and on one of my many web trawls I turned up an electrical stimulation machine which is designed to help people with paralysed limbs exercise their f*cked limb. As usual I had my sceptics hat on. I think I just did the calculation in my head that I'm not going to live with a useless left arm for the rest of my life, I have to try something, so I got in touch with the company that sells it to check they're not snake oil salesman – I then emailed a neurophysio to see what he thought and unsurprisingly he cited there being little evidence to support getting it, that's because in this game there is little evidence to support anything, but the overriding thing that has permeated my psyche is there's very little evidence for improvement this long after a stroke period, any opportunity is in the months after a stroke blah blah etc. I am now almost six years post, so everything I do is a guess, and to make matters worse, this machine, this thing

is an eye-watering £2700. I think there are a few hire plans, where hiring it for a year is approx £1500, so me being me, having evidence is of course nice and rather than writing it off, I need to have some sort of plan so naturally I got them to come and demonstrate it and I was a bit blown away by the test -after putting a few electrodes on my arm and turning on the machine, my left wrist cocked involuntarily. I also need to be sure that this won't be another expensive bit of equipment just sitting in the corner gathering dust. But I have two physical therapists who between them I see 5 times a week so they could hook me up to it, this could help, BUT, and there's always a but, the trust is too low on funds to commit to that sort of expenditure, I would try and contribute but given how rubbish I am at balancing my books anyway I can hardly be relied on. Anyway, food for thought. It's hard to end a blog post not on a cliché. Ending on a cliché or pointing one out is practically one. A guilt-trip however.....It's not all bad though, my neighbours (Ian and Tracey) offered to come round with a delicious Thai takeaway and drink mulled wine last night and the marvelous Mel came and joined us – it was a lovely evening – the food was great, the mulled wine was delicious and possibly quite strong and the company stellar. If I were to plan something these days, it wouldn't be much different from that, even if the mulled wine made my slurred speech even slurrier. It's so much better than being surrounded by strangers in some sh*tty overpriced London bar!

The other thing I managed to do this week was go to the Dome with Simon and Mel

to see probably my favourite band of the last decade, Kasabian.Before it Simon had even written on facebook how much he was looking forward to it, prompting me to respond:I've seen Kasabian live twice and they are pretty hard to better, now in my favourite seats,at my favourite venue - Should be awesome To be fair, I think awesome is the correct description but I had one or two thoughts:I've never really been a massive fan of the whole 'Laddy Indie Rock' thing.i.e I once went to an Oasis concert and hated the whole testosterone and alcohol fuelled aggressive atmosphere of the place, like I imagine a football match to be, a part of British Culture we should all be ashamed of, even if alcohol has been removed from that particular equation – admittedly, I dislike Oasis on the principle that I can't stand the Gallaghers, I think Noel might have some talent but Liam is the type of animal that makes me wish Australia was still a penal colony. The last time I saw Kasabian was in August 2010 and reading that makes me think a few things, that deep down if you're a genuine enthusiast (and not a wheelchair using one) the Brixton Academy is just unbeatable for sound and atmosphere but for spectacle and bone crunching loudness and sound clarity the Dome wins every time, seeing as I am a wheelchair user and a fan of spectacle and loudness it's not rocket surgery I love the Dome but deep down we all know I'll go to any old sh*t if it means I get to treat and see my friends and get out of the house...My 2nd observation is that Serge

is the real talent behind Kasabian and the longer Tom

stays on the Greggs diet rather than on 'Gillian McKeiths Skoje Berry and no cocaine'[NMTB] diet, the more they'll realise that Tom is not Mick Jagger and never will be.

Post 321: Trust Drinks 2011

2011-12-14T15:21:00.000Z

A big part of this blog since I worked out how to do it has been putting up pictures, and arguably the most important event that makes me feel useful, the Trust Christmas Drinks took place last week. The reason this post is a bit late is I've been waiting for the photos from my lovely mate Becky Litchfield

[no, not related to Patrick Litchfield, the photographer]she's just got the right name considering she is a rather talented professional photographer. The only reason I can remotely afford her is she gives me 'mates rates' and why, you may ask do I need a photographer? Well:1.I'm a vain b*stard2.I take sh*t photos and so does my poor mum+we're too busy talking 3.It eliminates so much stress+we're busy trying to remember what we're saying which is harder than you might expect4.Becky's photos are so much better

(as you can see)5.er6.that's it7.Do I really need to explain myself?So this post is likely to be a bit photo-heavy, surely a good thing, given my pre-disposition for rambling.My first point I want to make was how humbled and thrilled I was by the turnout.

I often moan about how forgotten I feel, and this event helps me feel a bit less so, I only understate it because this is one night in the year and convalescence is a lonely 365 day a year business. My first specific thanks go to my carers who all came along (who I couldn't survive without), from the left Bianca (who has just moved in to replace Abeer), Agnieska, her husband Hassan and Abeer

– Finding people that I trust has been hard, but I feel that I'm there now. They are practically my new family (almost) Nothing can however replace my actual family who's involvement since my stroke has kept me going and stopped what is left of my brain eating me whole. They maybe old-fashioned and a little eccentric, and perhaps take what the Daily Mail says a bit literally but they are good people, there's Mum,

Dad

(who was actually a bit unwell, which is why he looks a bit red-faced, well pissed and my brother Chris

(we sometimes don't see eye to eye but know that we're brothers, without him I'd be in deep trouble – so would our family, he often forgets how much people value his talent, he's a rare breed, a builder you can trust! I always bang on about how this occasion brings a weird, mixed bag of people together. The biggest group are probably my university mates like Richard Rous,

Alex,

Will

(who has just revealed his wife is expecting), Guy and Tristan,

great university mates who have both been involved with the Trust, little Sara who is not becoming of that title anymore, beautiful young lady Sara

is probably closer, my best mate Tony,

who barely has the time to tie his own shoe-laces letalone take care of his lovely girlfriend Kate.

I am so grateful for the support he gives me through running the trust, here seen running the raffle and my favourite student president Helen.

Another heroic Helen, who's help I couldn't live without is the eponymous HVJ,pictured here with her kid sister

– see the likeness? Speaking of which, one of the star prizes in the raffle was a bottle of Champagne autographed by the ever popular leader of our land David Cameron. A spontaneous protest by my more left wing friends was I'm sure narrowly avoided, this touchpaper prize was generously donated by my good friend and former housemate Matt,

the now Tory MP for a safe seat in Suffolk (I still find this hard to believe) – If anyone needs an understanding of the current financial mess, he's your go to guy, he's even written a book about it.

The 2nd group of people are those who I know since my time as a little-known DJ(an understatement – I hardly did any weddings or Bat-Mitzvahs ), it's great to see some of this lot -Adam,

Simon

(who's always looked out for me and is in fact taking me to see Kasabian tonight) Daegal

(who was flying out for his wedding in New Zealand the next day, really good of him to come, Fi and Kat

(Queen and princess of mischief back in the day) and Gaelle

(Still a princess). The 3rd lot are going to be my former colleagues and people I met through work, First up are Champ and El,

now married to different people but a bit of a power couple back in 2000, the people I worked with at John Lewis were also in evidence

(LtoRSimon, Dave, Ed and Justine) and on that note I run dry of photos of my old colleagues but also need to thank some other very good friends who made the effort to be there, old family friends John and Caroline Jackson,

and Caroline's daughter Clare,

who believe it or not I used to throw snowballs at 25 years ago because her skiing was 'slow and girly', I'm not laughing now. It was also cool of my old schoolfriend Owen to turn up, here talking to my cousin Danny,

who was actually a couple of years below us at school. There are more photos (I'll put them all on facebook) but as much as I'd love to talk about them all, I can imagine there are some pretty bored people. I think I've made the point in a pretty roundabout way as usual – thanks for coming, it makes me feel that living is worthwhile. As you've probably noticed I get down a little bit these days, it is an evening where the people who know the real me don't give me a chance to get depressed – which is what I need! I'm bound to have forgotten someone but the evening was the important bit – even if I am a bit 'bah, humbug'

about the whole thing - have a great Christmas everyone! Despite this - I can't stop myself looking half-asleep,

pathetic!

Post 320: No time, no energy, no pictures, no proper post about the xmas drinks (yet)

2011-12-11T13:54:00.001Z

I'm going to be writing a proper post after the weekend but the Christmas party worked out really well. Lovely venue (the waterfront in Battersea) + good turnout = a cheered up me and hopefully the same is true of everyone who came. Pictures to follow. Here is the message I wrote for lucky people to take away:“Firstly, thankyou for coming this evening, I hope you've had a good time and had a chance to see people you just don't have the chance to see much anymore – it's a dull cliché to bemoan the fact no-one gets the chance to see each other now we're all getting older and so is moaning about getting older – but seeing as tedious dullness is my stock in trade these days it would be remiss of me not to mention them! Tedious or dull are words that spring to mind when I think of 2011, I'm sorry if it was a watershed year for you, but it was as dull as a shed full of water! However this is one of the few evenings that breaks the cycle. It's the people behind the Trust, people like Tony Reid and Helen Vaugh Jones+the other Trustees and any loyal friends who make a point of not forgetting about me. If I do anything (and I can't do much) – I hope I provide a bridge to keep friendships going, an excuse for you to see people that you otherwise wouldn't and being a bit flagrant here : Be a charity case that's a bit closer to home: Please read on. I know that Money is pretty tight for everyone but the trust is running on fumes. Every penny is spent wisely on stuff that is directly aimed at my recovery/longevity, e.g. my wheelchair or therapy to help maintain or improve my independence. I wouldn't have survived without it's existence. Seriously. I try and avoid seriousness most of the time. I think THAT PHILOSOPHY gets us all through the day. I do sometimes feel at the sharp end. Put those violins away.”The other good news was that I went to see Penn & Teller at the small arena at the Dome, Indigo2

on Tuesday. My Consort for the night was great lad and amazing Magician Chris Dugdale

who had actually appeared on Pen & Tellers show It's rather awesome having a mate like him because he's properly down to earth and very much just 'one of the guys' but his magic really is incredible. We were just chatting in the Dome Pizza Express when he actually went to fetch Penn and Teller (who had been interviewed on stage by Jonathan Ross)

to come and say hello.

It was an awesome moment. I was pathetically starstruck even if I look asleep (I always look asleep!). Well, I'm off for some comedy at the brilliant Soho Theatre with my lovely new friend Mel. Basically, thank f*ck for friends. Speaking of friends, Mel did take me to the Soho Theatre last night and made a fine effort of taking me to what is probably the hardest venue to park at. After she had dropped me at the theatre the poor girl turned up after taking an HOUR to find a disabled space, and guess what? We still got given a ticket because it was the wrong type of disabled space. Grrrrr, parking regulations of any type seem to be designed to deliberately confuse and therefore make money. F*ckers.We didn't let these nightmares spoil it though. What almost did was that a spelling mistake meant that the rather trendy looking box office guy had never heard of Dom Pardey, instead someone with a suspiciously similar sounding name,

by Pure coincidence a wheelchair user had a reservation. Luckily 2+2 for once made 4. The evening was called setlist

where totally random subjects would flash up every minute for the comics to make up any old funny sh*t they could think up off the top of their heads sounds like a nigtmare. Indeed it was, particularly for a young lady called Tiffany Stevenson

not helped by some wheelchair bound nonce in the front saying 'a bit to loud 'she's not funny at all' a very unfair thing to have said given how hard I genuinely thought this was, it didn't help being sandwiched between some genuine comedy gods: Rich Hall (who we'd hassled in the bar beforehand);

Dave Gorman;

and Andrew Maxwell

(who's TV appearances are what made me come to this), that, and (apart from the parking) – I love the Soho Theatre. Mel is also great news.

Post 319:December: Pish or Piss-Ups?

2011-12-04T17:58:00.001Z

Another week, another existential quandary – or in Laymans terms – what is the f*cking point? Well, as a representative of the male of the species I wish I was as easily pleased by gadgets as I used to be, but sadly most modern gadgets

are prohibitively expensive and designed for people with perfect eyesight and the co-ordination of a kung fu expert. Actually that's not true, any coordination except that of a stroke survivor. Everyone else can enjoy the benefits of a smartphone but Even texting is a bit beyond me now so I set my sights a bit lower. However they clearly don't make many sales at the company that make my wheelchair and they make up for this by ripping the eyes out of their customers. I'll give you an example. With Christmas approaching I thought I might be in the market for a new attachment (or something) to my wheelchair and they had mentioned a coffee tray at one stage – although it sounds bland something like this might significantly improve the quality of my life so I asked them for a picture and to send me a quote – Now I suspected it might be expensive because of a time I'd once been to their workshop and their engineers had actually had a joke about how much modifications cost and came out with the immortal words 'you would have thought the chair was made out of solid gold' which in fewer words is 'we're a rip off'. The quote for the tray, this thing,

was over £300.By a happy coincidence a few weeks ago in the 'challenge and support group' I go to run by my counsellor Cathy,

a group I go to every month to discuss stuff with some other brain-injury survivors, one of the other members told me about a charity called Remap

that specialises in making bespoke things for people with disabilities. It took the nice chap (Brian, a retired engineer) a matter of days to knock this up for the princely sum of £20.

A charity that I really want to shout about (other than that done by or for the trust of course, especially the kind people who take pity on me and come and see me, by a process of deduction people who know about what has happened to me but can't be arsed should either just be ashamed of themselves or come clean that they can no longer be bothered to be my friend anymore). How brilliant Remap have been doesn't end there though: Being able to take good photos at events is a big part of my life. Sadly, I don't have the steadiest of hands these days

so Brian knocked up this,

I think it's fairly self explanatory, there's also a younger chap Sam, who is more of a technical guru, who is doing some research for me on a couple of everyday problems – this sort of help is gold, and just this second, a new local friend Isabel,

just sent me a message offering to put herself through the London Triathlon in the summer to raise money for the trust. To sponsor her get in touch with me and I'll put you in touch. Isa also cooked dinner for me on Saturday night and invited me to a houseparty she was having. Meeting new local friends is a key part of settling into this substandard invalid life – I try and stay philosophical, this is probably preferable to pushing up daisies. This comes at a good time, it's been a while since someone did a sponsored event for the trust (not since my mate, the beautiful Carly

ran the insane tough guy anyone who has put themselves in harms way to raise money for the Trust, it always moves me that people offer to do this, I find it so touching. Every Penny pays for physical therapy that although torture-like helps me maintain what independence I have. Without the Trust it's quite simple, I'd end up in a care home where I'd have to be under 24 hour suicide watch, and worse than that Carly's moved to Australia

to wrestle Crocodiles (or something) because being a parole officer in south London wasn't enough of a challenge(probably) -she's well 'ard. But thanks to Isabel who started this train of thought. If anyone is contacted by a nice Portuguese lady, please sponsor her. I hope I didn't spoil her party by making her have to worry. I think she's coming to the Trust Christmas drinks – people can meet her there. As well as lovely Mel

who just took me out for lunch at the Bear. Having people nearby really helps. Luckily Mel is a 'recovering Vegetarian' ;-)so was able to have a proper meal plus I was able to relay my displeasure to the Manager about not being able to go there for a couple of weeks because when I've tried to book it's been full. I now have a batphone ( or more accurately his private e-mail address).One of the other scant things that has cheered me up no end is despite my often sunny disposition I'm nowhere near as bad as Frankie Boyle who still makes me laugh even though listening to his latest book 'Work,Consume,Die'

made me realise how evil and messed up he really is, and he has no obvious excuse. I genuinely think his wordplay is clever but there are only so many times you can admire the wordplay among the many times he tries to make light of such joyous topics as death, rape, pain and poverty, it's like saying you admire the Nazi's for their 'organisation' . It's more of that Schadenfreunde psychology I'm so proud of. Ie you feel better because you're not as badly off as somebody else.He does come out with some funny and quite clever sh*t, his name for 'the big society' is 'work for free until you die', in general the way his mind seems to work is: Think of a subject; any subject; think of the least appropriate thing to say, and then verbalise it. That's fine, if like Frankie you're past caring about anyone's feelings. I'm never going to get there, I won't stand on ceremony but I rely on other people for too much. Boyle has publicly said that every penny he earns, he'll spend on drugs and prostitutes hopefully so he says until he dies of a drug-fuelled sex heart-attack! that's pretty ambitious for a Glaswegian! What disturbs me is he somehow has a partner and kids. I'm no social worker but there are a lot of questions, if not alarm bells. The story that sticks in my head is the one my ex-girlfriend told me in hospital. She used to occasionally do some work in Edinburgh and apparently one week she was up there and her parents came to have a weeks holiday and towards the end of the week as the Edinburgh Festival happened to be on she took them to go and see Frankie Boyle, now I personally can't think of anything more heinous -I don't know what possessed her?, perhaps Tim Minchin's 'Pope Song' with my parents or anything by Jim Jeffries might be worse. My parents are quite old fashioned. She just told me that everytime Frankie used the 'c' word (which I imagine was a lot) her mum looked like she had been 'shot between the eyes'. I would have wanted the ground to open up and swallow me! Once have I been in a worse position but you'll have to ask me – this post is already too long. From fairly challenging comedy to lighter stuff. My mate Jo (as she has often done) saved the day on Tuesday when my plans to see rising star Jason Manford at the Dome

unravelled. You would have hoped I'd have learned by now. Trust me when I say organising transport is bloody hard(especially on weekdays), which may explain why I get so stressed about it – I try and organise to go to good things but the majority of people just want to do nothing or perhaps that is preferable to an evening with me? Luckily that doesn't appear to be true but it's hard not to think that when you get left here with some non-refundable tickets.Anyway, I'd worked out this was the 5th time I've been to see him since my first time (in November 2008) Some of the jokes haven't changed but neither has the young Mancunian. His tour may now be ending at the Dome instead of the Bloomsbury theatre but it's still the same Fat Michael Owen

delivering funny stories and great observational jokes. He is so normal but also comfortable and affable -he is quietly confident and effortlessly banters with the front rows even in a venue as big as the Dome (which understandably had it's top tier closed off but the rest was full=~8000 people.

I know some people find it boring the way I write about stand up comedy but I'm not persuaded that writing about anything other than the stuff I go to see will be any better. Next time it'll be details/pictures from one of the events which reminds me I might still have a reason to live: The Trust Christmas Drinks.On a totally unrelated note and in my capacity as a true public spirited guy. I am in the process of giving up cows milk

as I've heard enough stories about it containing all sorts of things that aren't good for you or just don't sound very nice and I'm substituting it with rice-milk and Oat-milk which are better for you, less fattening and taste better, another tip I was also given is if you're going to fry anything, instead of oil,use unsalted butter – apparently, the butter is more stable and doesn't break down into toxic byproducts. I can't get over how useful I've been today.

Black FridayPost318:, what's that?

2011-11-27T14:48:00.001Z

This is going to be mercifully shorter than the last post (phew!). Something has changed about this blog. I started doing it in January 2008 as a way of trying to let people know I still existed. I didn't really know what to expect. What I do know is when people have been nice about it, it has made me feel a bit more useful, I have always wanted it to inspire debate, one of the things I said in my first post was that I barely had the energy to write this, letalone argue and I didn't mind the odd hostile comment but then this started linking to facebook and hostile comments became vicious arguments. I don't expect people to agree with me but I expect people to realise that the only reward I get from all this effort is the perception that people are reading it and feeling thanked, enriched or occasionally amused although my idea of what I think is vacuous crap elicited some vicious responses, I wanted people to feel that I have got a brain inside of my head, and apart from occasional falability and fragility of my arguments, it is a force for good, particularly when I'm encouraged however if all people want to do is aggressively argue with and make me feel 'pathetic' then what's the point of going to this effort? Especially if I thought those people were my friends. I want this to be thought provoking and not provocative, Plus no-one should care enough about the thoughts of a disabled guy whose minute to minute worries are about whether I can navigate my bloody wheelchair to the loo in time or that his carers (who I rely on 100%) are happy. I also want to avoid just writing a blog about things I hate, every so often there are times when it's appropriate and a lot of modern comedy is about bad things, you just have to read the papers or watch the news or satire shows, and I have to admit I haven't been able to resist the frankly asenine and nihilistic humour of people like Frankie Boyle, Jimmy Carr and Charlie Brooker who in reality are probably complete tw*ts. The bottom line is rather simpler in my view. Anyone should be able to laugh at whatever they find funny – I find it rather ironic that I'm trying to say, laugh at whatever you find funny' and I'm sitting here with a frown so big it's laughable!Anyway, enough of that, we're approaching my (least) favourite time of year. My American ( or at least English friends in America) started talking about preparing for 'black Friday', this isn't as apocalyptic as it sounds, it's what we at John Lewis (probably) would have considered an RLN or Retailers Logistical Nightmare, one day of sales madness to kickstart the christmas spending spree, where customers sharpen their elbows

so they can make sure that they get the latest or last years home cinema system 25% cheaper than anyone else. We humans love a bargain, in England we'll pay whatever it costs as long as it's cheaper than such and such had to pay. Schadenfreunde shopping, so much so that in America there was a story about people being pepper sprayed

out of the way, which for insanity has got to be up there with someone being trampled to death in the Stampede for bargains at the new Edmonton branch of Ikea

(in North london) By anyones measure that's a pretty bad day. People go MENTAL for bargains. People lose all sense of dignity or humanity. It's terrifying, and it's not even that people are scared for their lives. I sometimes wonder if I am confronted by a fire if my legs would suddenly decide to work again? And then I think 'of course they wouldn't you fool, things don't just work. It's like a few times recently, my internet dating has meant I've been faced with a beautiful girl that I've just wanted to kiss, if only I could look normal, get out of my chair and seduce her, but no – I'm afraid all they see is Dom, the disabled git. Another thing I need to stop on this blog is the 'Woe is me' moments -but I can't help the buggers happening. Anybloodyway the good news (the What?) is that details for the Christmas drinks

have been finalised. These – apart from my birthday are the most important event for my mental wellbeing every year. It serves to remind me I'm not quite ready for the knackers yard yet (despite what I sometimes say). If you need details because facebook's not your bag drop me an email.The final good news is that old friends still sometimes drop in on me. This week it was Becky Morrison with her twin almost three year old girls who have now turned into proper people, pictured here being distracted by the 'toddler crack' that is Peppa Pig

It reallw was amazing how a frankly scary looking cartoon character can do this. Aren't they proper people compared with the babies I have occasionally seen over the last few years.

Good old Becky – I've said it before but people making the time and effort to come and see me keep me alive. Speaking of which my lovely old mate the gorgeous Alex J

just left after coming down and having lunch. Thank goodness there are people in this world who can be bothered to do things. People who are always too busy because they can't be bothered to make time should be ashamed!

Post 317: Should I not care about other people liking vacuous crap??

2011-11-21T14:51:00.001Z

I probably need to be starting this with a couple of apologies which'll come in a bit, but I thought we'd better start with a laugh!I've always loved having a go at Australians because they're always having a go at us and this really tickled me: As much as when Derek (a Nurse in my last hospital ward) gave me a demonstration of his elementary Swedish, the fact that Swedes aren't lying around kicking themselves in puddles of their own drool is a miracle to me. The Swedish Chef

from the muppets is funny, but the actual Swedish language is killer. ANY swedes reading I would be sorry for my lack of sang froid but I used to work with a swedish guy who was so unpleasant because he took himself so seriously that I fear a large proportion of the Swedish people maybe like him (except the ones who look like Britt Ekland!

Oh god where was I? Taking the piss out of the Australians. Here you go (I dare you not to laugh) -

The apologies I was in the middle of making:1.This wasn't up first thing monday morning (for reasons I'll explain)2.It's so bloody long. I appear to have an attack of verbose diarrhoea, it just sort of happened I spent most of sunday writing and even though I knew full well in the morning I was supposed to be going out in the evening, to Jeremy Paxman's

book launch at the Richmond Theatre

when my lift and compatriot showed up it felt like I had no idea. This has happened several times and must be an impact from the Stroke. My mind is playing annoying tricks on me. As it was it was a very interesting evening with Paxman talking us through his book about The impact the British Empire has had on us as a nation. Well timed as I am in the middle of an anti-vacuous crap drive. My ally for the evening was my former housemate and now Tory MP for somewhere in Suffolk, Matt Hancock.

It rather throws me to think that I'm here blogging and he's sitting in the house of Commons. Anyway I was rather impressed by the wily old silver fox who talked through the book

in the first half and threw it open to questions in the 2nd half. People seemed keen to get his predictions for the future, and he seemed very reluctant to chance his arm saying that he was just a journalist, Writing this book makes him a historian as far as I'm concerned, and the type of guy who's always going to be asked his view on what's going to happen. Being interested in this sort of sh*t is bound to make some think 'pretentious b*stard' Think what you like – I have to find things to do that don't make me feel grubby and suit the people who can take me. My goal is to find a partner who'll want to go to the type of things we'll both like half the time, I'll take my friends the other half. Does that sound like a reasonable plan? Anyway this was the original starting point.I had been thinking of writing this post for ages – One of the things that seems to frustrate me is the amount of time many of my close friends whose intelligence I respect spend a lot of time caring about vapid things, it does feel like my purpose in life is laughably these days to spend time on facebook and get in unwinnable arguments which is no bloody good and not a life to be proud of, again it seems to be one of those things that gets filed under the burgeoning heading 'Something to do'. In the days when I used to be able to live life normally, going on bulletin boards or social networking was frowned upon by some of my friends, if not banned completely by work, so using those sort of websites was either a stealth exercise or something confined to non-work hours. Well, in my last few jobs before my stroke I had sworked out that companies were pretty sharp on pornography

and not much else, and if bulletin boards and social networking have taught us anything it is that we like chatting to our friends more than anything else. I used to spend what was probably a 'sackable' amount of time chatting to my friends and winding up idiots on a clubbing bulletin board because that was where my mates were and somehow I also did my work. What I do know is my work probably would have been better and more voluminous but somehow I never got more than the occasional dissaproving look from my boss and co-workers. It's quite simple really, as long as you balance the amount you 'take the p*ss' with doing a good job you'll be ok. The advent of facebook must have been a nightmare for global productivity. I remember being visited in Hospital by a friend of mine from John Lewis, in fact, a glorious girl who used to work for me called Harriet (now happily married and sprogged up with a lucky b*stard).

She said the immortal line 'everyone tries to get away with logging onto facebook' and if you can believe it I said 'what's that?' and I wasn't delirious or being facetious which is rare for me. Anyway – looking back on that it really explains to me how chatting to our friends is what we want to do, the majority of good memories (not a large cache)of my time in hospital were when friends came to see me, what we (humans) enjoy doing with our time is not swimming with f*cking dolphins, it is spending time with our friends. I have lost count of the number of dating profiles that say 'I enjoy spending time with my friends' obviously what they are too scared to say 'I enjoy spending time with my enemies, noting their weaknesses and plotting their downfalls' To be honest you don't see a lot of that! I've gone off on one -where was I? Ah,yes.Annoyingly, having paid gainful employment is what gives our life a purpose and that purpose is to earn enough money to live and keep up with our peers and friends. My life wasn't cheap. I had a pretty big mortgage, neither DJing and clubbing were cheap things to like, I probably ate out/ordered in too much, my girlfriend had a well paid city job which meant more expenses (funny how that happens) and on top of all this it's difficult to shakeoff the fact that London can often be 'take the piss' expensive. Luckily, I loved my job and I earned enough to afford that life. The job was challenging and I loved working for John Lewis – I think if I'd had been at one of my earlier jobs for longer the weakness in my brain would probably have haemorrhaged earlier, so, I have pretty much decided that my stint at JL enabled me to have a decent 2004-5 but a chance at post-stroke life too. I'm sure I've probably said all this before but if anything's worthy of repeating. this is. Anyway where was I: Yes, my lack of patience with vapid, stupid things. See for yourself, I wrote this on facebook early last week:“Is dissapointed at the popularity of some rubbish things (particularly when they get defended by intelligent people) 1. x-factor 2. Football 3. Eastenders 4. Snow Patrol and this isn't just taste - it should be objective fact.OK, so I don't think I can set what is Objective fact, I just strongly believe these things and at the time I was feeling confident -sometimes I think 'Why don't you just leave it Dom? In fact should I just leave it? A little later a friend of mine quite rightly pointed out“Nothing wrong with being intelligent and watching rubbish things - it's called entertainment. It is only a problem when you start watching TV instead of doing the things you should really be doing. That is so right, but 'in for a conversationally awkward penny, in for a socially crippling pound'[a genius phrase from my favourite Comedian Daniel Kitson ] my further objection is that people start having opinions about these things as if it's an important cornerstone of the quest for moral truth. Maybe I'm being a Killjoy who needs to embrace a new golden age of vacuous crap but Things are bad enough *thanks* without accepting that a bunch of awful people have so much influence on our thoughts and tastes. Maybe I ought to care more/(or is it less) about 'pop culture'?. My position has never been 'it's popular therefore it must be good'. The last thing I'm trying to do is be 'contrary' or 'alternative' People who are like that are almost without exception dicks. I don't pretend to know what's 'right' or 'wrong', I'm just trying to be helpful. I hope that I can't easily be run rings about (which is ironic given that next doors nine year old can ACTUALLY do just that). My time is instead spent exploring culture from a fairly cynical viewpoint i.e. with Xfactor I don't see any talent. I see Simon Cowell

saying 'excellent' and wringing his fingers like Mr Burns

except it's not funny I only let my self get involved with popular culture which has some actual talent or substance behind it. Take TV, I've almost always avoided Soaps or 'Talent shows' or things like Football which has so many reasons for me to actively hate it rather than passively dislike it (being passive has pretty much always been the default position that you should have until you're convinced enough to commit yourself to the firing line where 'the firing line is a euphemism for a place where people can't resist disagreeing with you (usually aggressively online)(maybe it's just me).If I get sucked in at all by TV it's for decent comedy or drama series, I just can't do soaps. Is there anyone in Eastenders I can actually relate to or actually imagine being friends with? I'm afraid the answer is no. They're all the sort of scum who'd say -Oi, who you looking at? The answer is:I'm sorry, they don't label sh*t like you. I have a similar issue with a couple of the drama series I watch. The first is the Sopranos (which I briefly talked about (here) I watch it because it's well acted and well written and unlike Eastender's you can imagine their emotions but sadly like Eastenders I find myself really disliking all the characters (even more than Eastenders because they all speak so aggressively to each other and there are a few characters who are unbelievably nasty pieces of work:1 Tony Soprano:There's no warmth to his character at all

2 Paulie, Just because of the way he shouts, swears and grimaces at everyone, he's also thick too, badmouthing Snakes because they're sometimes Hermaphroditic 'how could you ever trust something that could literally 'go f*ck themselves' – unflappable logic and intelligence there

3 Silvio – As nasty as Paulie -says less but grimaces more

4 Carmella Soprano – apart from being more of a stereotype Italian-American blonde lady than you can imagine (big hair, permanently wearing a shiny shoulder-padded trouser suit she spends all her time worrying about and nagging her kids about whether they are they educationally, culturally or socially 'doing the right thing' when it's blatantly obvious her husband is a gangster.

No wonder it's depressing viewing.I could go on but I think the point is made, I know it's only TV but I think it's safe to assume that the Mafia are nasty b*stards, Eastenders are to but not as murderous. I'm not sure I'm going to bother with The Soprano's for much longer because there's no single character you really feel you can support or get behind. I have recently watched all 8 seasons of Entourage (previous thoughts ), a comedy-drama followingly the lives and loves of a fictional A list actor Vincent Chase (based on Mark 'Marky Mark' Whalberg)and his hangers on).

The show has been tagged as 'Sex and the City' for blokes and this is where I'll play my 'it's vacuous but it's entertainment' card. It's funny the way they take the piss out of each other and from time to time it is touching the things that they do for each other but I have my criticisms which I've written about before, but I was talking about them with friend (and fellow Entourage fan) Oli

and I said it pissed me off that Vince, despite earning $1m+ per movie couldn't even be arsed to get out of bed or answer his phone himself. Again I know it's only TV but there are probably people who behave like this. My point ended with a flourish 'it just annoys me the way he needs help to do things'. Oli shot back instantly shutting me up 'isn't that a bit ironic'. It is of course but at least I need the help. It kills me that I can't help myself. But at least help is mostly there when I need it. At least I do get to go out, although this week I won't be my usual positive(!) and complimentary self about the gig I went to although catching up with old mate Simon Champ was a pleasure. He is an interesting and charismatic bloke, whose northerness and continued association with the city I can forgive purely because of his storytelling ability and his sense of humour. On Wednesday we went to the Brixton Academy to go and see a band that were bigger than big in the 90s - the Smashing Pumpkins. On paper this looked awesome, but in actuality it was quite sh*te, Champ, a veteran of many gigs, even revealed to me on the way there that he had seen 90s indie rockers James 34 times(!) in his life and he'd been to the 'last ever' Smashing Pumpkins gig in South Africa in 2000 ( bands are always doing this 'last ever' crap). I went to two 'last ever' gigs by A-Ha , 1 in October 2010) and the other in November 2009 ) - mad. What helped the evening was the imagined attractiveness of the bassist,

imagined because of my rubbish eyesight (but proved when I looked her up on the internet) .

Call me shallow, but at the end of the gig I was going out through the bar when this blonde angel came up to me and asked me what I'd thought and just wanted to see me smile. Incidents like that lift my heart and make life worthile.God she was pretty and smelt so nice! Musically, it was just a weird gig, the Smashing Pumpkins were always quite dark and heavy but this has never been a substitute for the odd tune – even heavy metal bands know that. Here is conclusive proof that it failed to capture the imagination of the place

and Champ is probably looking so sleepy because he has to get up at ridiculous O'Clock to get to work in the City which must be just awful at the moment as uncertainty about the survival of the Euro means nobody is trading or willing to invest in anything European.So, from a sh*te music gig to a slightly below par comedy gig. On Friday my legend of a Uni mate Guy took me too a charity comedy show at the Hammersmith Apollo called 'laugh or the Polar Bear gets it'

organised by a brilliant young comedian called Dan Antopolski who I had seen quite a while ago in April 2009 -Ostensibly, this was a show in aid of 'friends of the earth' a charity/pressure group with a decent message who are probably just a bunch of unkempt time wasting idealist anarcho-hippies trying to keep warm huddled around a computer, or maybe I'm being unfair or cynical. Anyway, an enormous man who's having an enormous year Greg Davies

did a creditable job as compere introducing some rather varied acts. First up was Richard Herring who I've seen several times at several charity comedy gigs. It doesn't matter that it's been over several years, the jokes are still the same – I suppose you don't expect Paul McCartney to sing ABBA (and nor should you EVER) so it sort of makes sense, but the piece de la resistance was Tim Minchin

whose piano talent alone is worth the ticket price. After a bit of his typical fractious stand up he did his Pope Song whose sentiment I broadly agree with but still maintain it is the thing I'd least like to see with someone who is easily offended. My other takeaway from this and other events is I'm still a little perturbed that of all the events I go to I have rarely not been the most disabled person (why do you think there are so few pictures of me on here?) On the brightside (lightside?) I seem to be one of the few people in a wheelchair who has kept some control of their weight. I would hazard a guess (a very un PC one) that the main reason the other wheelchair user at the Apollo was in a wheelchair was that she was overweight. Does anyone else think this is wrong? And not just me saying this, the reason I am saying it was her carers (yes, there was more than 1) were bringing her chocolate and snacks to tuck in to during the show. The next time somebody tells me or implies I'm not trying hard enough because I've been convinced walking again is beyond me I'll remember my self imposed diet, giving up sweets, puddings and giving up eating between meals. I'm no supermodel, and bulimia will never be an option. All I know is I can still laugh despite there not being much to laugh about, and vacuous crap can f*ck off.

Post 316: Is caring or worrying too much just going to make me angry?

2011-11-13T14:37:00.001Z

I go on quite a bit about how post stroke life is a lot about the avoidance of boredom. I can't work and because there aren't 'real jobs' that would be suitable for a bloke in my condition – I want to be a writer but an idea for something remains elusive so I write this – which is not a real thing to do!I guess it's all to do with, do I feel like I'm worth anything to myself and to others?And this is what I do everyday. I continually ask myself this question at the same time as trying to avoid boredom, it's a shame it's such a boring question. I probably used to do this before my stroke -christ, I'm sure we all do it. Do we? Or is it just me? I'm sure there are some people who think they're great, well, bully for them - we can't all be sociopaths! People who merrily cruise through life without realising that we're only worth what other people think of us and there's no arbitrator which means life seems to be one big guestimate and becomes more of a guess the stupider you get. This seems to stand up to critical reasoning. Crap, I think too much, which for a bloke who tries not to take life too seriously is a bit tricky, a lot of the things I used to laugh at about myself don't seem so appropriate to laugh about anymore but I have a go.I try and avoid being too inappropriate by distracting myself – pre-stroke it was about solving a seemingly endless supply of problems (good old John Lewis), I suppose I'm still trying to solve problems now, it's just they're different and less structured and who knows who the boss of me is now? I fear it's the hardest person for me to please. ME. Simple Question: Why can't I stop worrying about it? Why do I care about this? Have you met the people whose Genes I've inherited? Plus they always tell me off when I say 'I don't care'. It goes without saying I love them very much and as much as I've got a lot of good stuff from them, any misanthropy (see previous post ) coupled with their capacity to worry makes things a bit harder than they need to be. It does prepare you quite well for inexplicable histrionics which until it's an Olympic Sport are a bloody waste of time and energy. Mum's efforts will have to go unrewarded, although she's a clear gold medal contender!There are people who bleat about how unfair society is. We all want want more equality and fairness but I also know with a more equal society I'd be living in a bloody awful care home in South London or not living at all. I have been extremely lucky not to have to rely on state support or my parents financially – everytime I have ever asked the state for help since my need for critical hospitalisation they haven't even had time to open the door before slamming it shut. What's that? I know strictly speaking you can't slam a closed door but you get the drift, because I used to have a job and pay tax and I own a property because critical illness cover paid off my mortgage and the company I used to work for pays me a disability pension that gets taxed? (this allows me some sort of life – it pays for my food, heat, carers and concert tickets) but that makes me a privileged b*stard, I'm sorry – state help is out of the question for people like me, it says here I'm on my own – it says I can 'jolly well rely on my friends, my elderly parents and myself – good luck and goodbye. Actually, they don't wish you luck. In practice it's just another means testing form that my long suffering dad has stopped filling in because I'm not destitute enough to get any state services and before my lefty mates say 'well, it's this tory coalition – I'd like to point out this has been happening since before the election.No wonder I've got esteem issues if the state I've paid loads in tax to doesn't seem to give a sh*t, but it can spend £18m evicting some gypo's from a piece of land they decided to illegally park their caravans on one day.

Pardon me if I feel a bit annoyed and with the politics of those whose bleating about 'equality' and 'fairness' has redistributed my tax pounds for someone to spend on fags (maybe) or cheap lager from Wetherspoons (possibly). Pardon me if I'm not thrilled my tax money ended up in the pocket of someone who doesn't care if I live or die, probably someone who thinks I'm posh. If that person is able to work, they don't warrant a penny of other peoples tax money. I have no objection to my tax being spent on hospitals, schools, the disabled or the elderly but beyond that people should look after themselves. People who make the effort should be rewarded . It should be about reward for making effort for the people you care about, and who you care about should be people who care about you. I care about the dignity of humans but this runs out on humans who don't care back.I apologize if this isn't 'light and airy' enough or too serious – I just hope it shows some depth to my unstructured rantings and some underlying evidence for my 'anger'. If it's no structure you want then I'll oblige, despite all this I've seen some good comedy in the last few days, firstly last Sunday at the Dome,Alan Carr,

a man who's slowly turning into an old woman – in fact I would hazard a guess that he wouldn't have to spend long in make-up to become Mrs Merton,

and seeing as I'm a former politics student there will only ever be one AC!

Anyway, he's good enough, he's basically an amusing 'chatty man', I say man, there were a couple of times he even told himself off for over mincing or being too camp. He basically transfers his TV persona to the stand up format but he camps it up more (if you can imagine that's even possible) although I believe he was a stand up first. His audience was an interesting juxtaposition of 30something fabulous gay men and a high number of 20-50 women who love chat shows skewed because of the Dome's unfortunate location (sandwiched as it is between Essex, Kent chav central and the East End) meaning that there were a lot of high-heeled boots

and ill-fitting leopard print leggings

or 'muck'.

You take the rough with the smooth going to the Dome. It's a great music venue but I'm reminded of Tim Minchins words 'stand up comedy is killed by arenas'. As it was thankfully I was taken by a mate who'd never been to the Dome before, Danny Legg,

so what the show lacked in hilarity was made up by his impressedness at the scale of the place

although Danny's a fairly sanguine bloke.So that was last Sunday, on Tuesday my friend Jo had discovered original 'cheeky chappy', cockney legend and one of her hero's Lee Hurst was touring and hitting the bright lights of the Redhill Harlequin Theatre.I must admit, stand up at close quarters

is rather better - in the silken words of Reginald D Hunter ' stand-up comedy is art, [appearing on] Television is business'. although parts of Hurst's show Man v Woman bordered on the misogynistic which Jo can happily handle but I am reminded of being at college during a particularly right-on phase when the womens officer had nearly succeeded in cancelling the college subscription to The Sun on the grounds that 'page 3 was degrading to women'.Sense was seen in the end and our subscription stayed but it was an odd time at college. Perfectly reasonable women would treat all men 'as potential rapists' and political correctness [spastic gaytalk] was rife.As you become a bigger name on the Comedy circuit it's about crafting a show that suits the size of the venue you play which is why the show I went to see on Wednesday worked so brilliantly.A few months ago the mother of a friend introduced me to a friend of hers called Graham

whose job it is is to help disabled passengers onto planes at Gatwick. For some reason she figured we'd get on although he must be fed up with disabled people, I know I'm often a bit fed up with myself. In August Graham and I went to the Dome . Because he lives on the way to Brighton he suggested that I look at events there, the combination of sea air, amazing fish and chips and a decent show might be just the ticket for blowing a few cobwebs away (which I badly need to do), and as luck would have it, the show in question was a gently modified version of one of my favourite ever stand up DVDs Dandelion Mind by genius and my hero Bill Bailey. A friend of mine once wisely observed 'he's like a favourite uncle' I had first seen this DVD back in December last year so Bill has been [milki...] touring it for quite some time and why not? It is one of the funniest things you'll ever see. I was literally crying with laughter at some points. Because Bill is a musical comedian, a larger venue with big sound and a big stage rather suits the show

(The Brighton centre is not intimate or remotely inspiring

with Bill taking the piss quite liberally out of this latter fact). It is clearly quite a major venue though as yesterday I managed to get tickets for Graham and I to see the 'big yin' Billy Connolly

in March next year. He (Billy) must be getting on a bit now, I saw him in January 2010 and he was so good I have vowed to try and see him whenever I can.And finally, I went to go and see Jack

Whitehall at the Hammersmith Apollo with my old schoolmate Owen,

the unanimous decision was that he is rather good although having half of his old school, Marlborough college there made it feel a bit like the House of Lords, speaking as a former public school dweller myself a big gathering of male public school types is not the most welcoming atmosphere but there were hundreds of them (and I had forgotten my grenades). This Irony/Hypocrisy isn't lost on me but putting it into words isn't happening. As much as this feels a bit like a flounce, my brain just won't do it. Tiredness is sh*te.An unexpected bonus was running into old friend Matt Clarke

at the end.. Not quite the lady of my dreams, but I've been told to keep looking, she is out there.Since my stroke, I have often been called brave. I'm not brave, I just somehow go about my life. Today is armistice day

and the real people who are brave need to be thought about today I was watching a program last night about 'the battle of the Bulge' in WW2 and I can't even begin to comprehend the terror and hardship those guys faced Standing up to that is bravery – the same can be said for Afghanistan and Iraq, it must be even harder to be brave when it's not exactly clear what you're doing there – fighting an invasion is at least clear. Being nice to someone who you suspect doesn't want you there and would happily kill you painfully must be awful. That is proper bravery.

Post 315: Misanthropy: Better than cynicism

2011-11-05T18:41:00.000Z

Someone told me not to bother talking about how I physically feel as it'll drive people away – I think this attitude is a bit of a shame because how I physically feel is a lot to do with what I say, either on here, or out in the world -feeling tired is the #1 cause of 'being in a bad mood'. I think how we physically feel defines most of who we are. I struggle to describe what it's like to feel like this when I talk to people; anyone, be it friends, family or strangers, I rather hope they can work it out. I've probably tried too many times on this blog and people (at least the crueller ones) just go 'yadda yadda, whatever, he's just seeking sympathy'. Well, that may be so, do you know why? Because it makes me feel a little better. I have to live with feeling like this everyday and perfectly ok people, people who can walk, drive and feel normal tell me off, I'll not mention names because I don't do that but if you're reading this and it feels like I'm having a go at you I probably am because I'm not a 'group hug' kind of guy – especially not these days. To be clear I never was, but I did find seeing the lighter side of life easier than I do now. I'm not going to pretend everything was once perfect because I used to have a mortgage and had to work pretty hard but I'd go back six years in a flash without giving it a second thought, yes, there are a few people I have met since my stroke who have been a pleasure to meet and be friends with but without exception the old me would have been a better, funnier, happier friend so I rationalise that what you don't know can't hurt you – this works both ways. Fundamentally, I learnt going to see yet another comedian what type of person I was then and what I am now. It's one of the reasons I do these things – not only because laughter really does make you feel less bad (putting it like that may not be linguistically the most positive way of putting it but saying 'feel better' is a disingenuous misnomer. Obviously 'to feel better' is the goal but every attempt I've made in the last six years has been ineffective, try finding something positive about that positive nazis?! Anyone I've had harsh words with, I shouldn't gloat about this, it's just hard to invent something positive in something that has nothing truly positive about it! I better quit while I'm ahead. The comedian in question was a guy called Alun Cochrane

who seems quite happy to play up to the stereotype of dour northern bastad when he revealed quite early on that in his spare time he enjoys walking his whippet in his flat cap!

It was his normality and down to earthness that I really liked, his description of how a mortgage and wife keep him trying to be funny to both provide for his family and his mental wellbeing. It's not exactly a massive intellectual leap to realise that maintaining a sense of humour is the essential ingredient for maintaining your mental wellbeing and the mental wellbeing of every relationship/friendship you have or have ever had!He also managed to take a great weight off my shoulders. For a long time now I've been concerned and feeling a bit guilty that I might be a bit too cynical or mildly nihilistic for my own good. I had temporarily felt a bit better when comedian Marcus Brigstocke

said 'he'd be out of a job' if he ever stopped being cynical, this is not to say I'd be 'out of a job', I haven't got a frigging job to be out of – just that one of the more fundamental features of what made me, well me was fundamentally something that a lot of my generation find undesirable, certainly female internet daters all go on about how 'positive', 'optimistic', 'happy', 'upbeat', 'fun-loving' and 'easy-going' they are – I'm sure they're not a cadre of 'happy spastics' (a term I am terrified of using) but am I living on a different planet? I believe that people who didn't feel a bit cynical about the world are 'bloody fools'. Turns out that I'm not as cynical as I thought, I'm just a mysanthropist, a word that sounds far more serious than it is – having looked it up on Wikipedia it just means someone with a generalized dislike, distrust, disgust, contempt or hatred of the human species or 'human nature'-or someone who goes into the 'quiet carriage' on a train and expects the worst. So, I'm mildly misanthropic – I have been let down enough to only really trust someone who is either a friend or family member or someone who has been kind and continues to be kind. Having been on a trip to Bluewater

last Saturday (prompted by me but thanks so much to my friend Jo (someone kind) for taking me and putting up with me and the crowds. I can confirm that Misanthropist is correct, I have no idea how families survive a day at a shopping centre! It really makes me appreciate how wonderful Amazon is , and this from a retailer who spent his first three weeks with John Lewis at John Lewis Bluewater! It took me two years (well actually a few days of those two years) in Hospital to work out that anyone who does nursing is just the most incredible, brave person and my time in Bluewater in 2003 to realise what a genuinely tough job it is working on a department store shop floor. I can imagine that if everyone worked for one day in a call-center no-one would ever be rude to them again!To me, learning about misanthropy has been a much better analysis of what has been going on inside my head for years. I personally think this is a rather better basis for viewing the world. It's probably better to mistrust human nature than to think 'everything's sh*t' sadly something it's difficult to avoid if you've had a stroke – people now think I'm some sort of over-analytical, judgemental bore now. Judge (and analyse) for yourselvesWhatever: Thanks to Alex and her husband Will

for taking me to the Bloomsbury Theatre on a Wednesday. I thought my old College housemate Alex (being from Leeds) would appreciate Cochranes northerness. She pointed out she has been down South a good few years now. Touché Speaking of being from the North, on Friday night, I am going to see Mancunian relative newcomers Hurts.

Now a little while back I actually flagged on facebook how much I liked their music, and since then (obviously not as a consequence) they have won several awards. I would describe their stuff as a cross between the Human League and the Pet Shop Boys (In a less overtly gay way), so I anticipate they'll be f*cking brilliant. I forgot to thank my mate Oli on here (who's taking me to see Hurts) for taking me to see Reginald D Hunter in Woking with my cousin Dan

a couple of weeks ago. Ok, so I've been to see Hurts now and have good things to report.The lead singer Theo Hutchcraft has an utterly incredible voice. They must be good because they have an enormous gay following and the gay community seem to have an enlightened taste in music – as if to prove my point about their huge gay following Kylie

made an unexpected appearance – I've never really worked out why Kylie is such a gay Icon? Even though her more recent music is pretty good, her early stuff and her 'acting' was hardly the stuff of folklore!

Same goes for Madonna and her 'acting' is shameful.

So once again Brixton Academy produces the goods and Oli and I

have another brilliant Gig etched in the memory. We had a laugh on the way remembering old friends, particularly the legend that is Paul Reeves who despite now being a fine upstanding father of two between the two of us we rechristened him, Paul 'I know it's a first date but would you mind wearing the ball-gag?

' Reeves. I near soiled myself!

Post 314: Hating feeling like I'm now an object of disdain.

2011-10-30T16:43:00.000Z

In the last six years I have always been looking for signs or signals that the post stroke me isn't someone who gets looked on with disdain which is a good reason not to internet date because no matter how many people appreciate my honesty there are a majority of others who just ignore you 'the silent majority' and trust me when I say that people ignoring you when you try talking to them is the most soul destroying thing in the world. In real life it's awful, online it is bad, especially for someone who was never used to being ignored. I don't arrogantly think I should just deserve attention, I just don't believe in being rude to someone, unless they're bloody rude first or there's good reason or perhaps being ignored as often as I do doesn't feel right given the effort I make, but f*ck it, the world's never been fair. I accept that, I'm not an idiot.However, it's always best if no-one's rude, I'm neither a pacifist or an apathist, I'm certainly not a happy-clappy moron who thinks 'we should all just be friends' – I just believe in not expending one's energy wastefully, something particularly true since my stroke robbed me of most of mine. Anyway my point was that if anyone bothers to invest their energy in communicating with you – doing a Madonna,

Naomi Campbell,

Simon Cowell

or Elton John

is never acceptable. Have some bloody manners! Anyone who behaves like they're too important or above you should just be flung off the planet. Like the other day when Claudia Winkelman

said she would ignore anyone that used an exclamation mark. What a dreadful tw*t of a thing to do! I feel sadder already! There I go again. I deserve to be shunned. Stranger things have happened – I read the other day on someone's dating profile that they had decided to give it a go because a friend had selected someone's husband from an online profile just from the fact that he had used an apostrope correctly. As someone who writes ok English (Probably). I still don't seem to have a chance because physically, I am obviously a letdown. That said the signals that have given me heart in a gig-free week (not including last weekend) have been about how people who I have met since my stroke have made the effort to come and see me. Even though I can never be the most fun bloke in the world to spend time with, which implies I once was: NOT TRUE; FACT, my mate Rachel took advantage of the fact it was half term to take a break from being head of Physics

at the new school she is teaching at near St Albans to come down and do lunch in her former Pizzeria in Leatherhead, the rather excellent Prezzo. I know Pizzas aren't on the diet approved list but getting to see Rach is a special occasion.The new job sounds good for her but it's sad she's no longer up the road. It sounds exciting for her and her other half Matt that

they're buying a place together near St Albans, Oh for that sort of normality! My comparative news (it's not really comparable) is that my new housemate who's going to do my weekend housekeeping/caring who's moving in in early December has just got herself a job in town during the week which is precisely the way it's supposed to work. Nice one B!In other good news, the Mauritian couple (Jean-Michel and Annelise)

who used to live here came to see me yesterday and we had a good chat and laugh about life, the universe and everything and we even had a rather good Thai takeaway meal in the evening. Again, as they've only ever known me since my stroke, they seemed so pleased to see me, I think I can't be all bad. That is reserved for how I feel in myself.

In an example of how concert going and organising is supposed to work, my oldest friend, Dom Icely

mailed me and offered his driving skills and company if I get tickets for the mighty Orbital

playing at the Albert Hall

in April next year, (tickets I have just got, yay) I don't know if Orbital playing at the Albert Hall sounds mental to anyone else but I'm all for it! It'll be immense. Considering the last thing I saw there was the extraordinary Carmina Burana

last Saturday, Orbital might be a bit different! I've now seen Carmina Burana 4 times, 3 with my parents and it is pretty amazing, one of the most eccentric and schizophrenic pieces of music in existence, yet it is about as powerful as music gets. There's a vast choir (>400 voices) Some of it's in Latin, some's in German, some's in Portuguese, there's a solo from a counter tenor too, a guy who sounds like he was a tenor until someone castrated him. A soprano has to sing so high that she's in dog hearing territory – I reckon the composer, Carl Orff was having a laugh, and seeing what he could get away with, but the chorus takes the roof off, and seeing as my parents have sung it before, they are the natural choice to take me.

How much they love these concerts is as worthwhile as taking people who've never seen the Albert Hall before.On Sunday I made a discovery, that I need to go to the New Victoria Theatre in Woking more often because it's rather convenient and rather splendid for stand up comedy.

It was the Third time I've been to see Reginald D Hunter

and his brand of laid-back observational philosophy is always intelligent and funny. As per two of the times I've seen him the first half was done by the brilliant Steve Hughes whose observations about the world border on genius, I can't do justice to how brilliant he is here. I always suggest that people download an audio version from itunes of his stand up material 'Heavy Metal Comedy'.

Not mincing words, it is some of the funniest stuff I've ever heard! I don't know how Reg can follow him. So after Steve's brilliant comic deconstruction of much of the worlds political structures Reg spends an hour just talking to the audience about how the world would be a better place if women didn't give men such a hard time. Now, there might be some feminists who disagree with this, I'd like to respectfully disagree with them. Reg works from the premise that Man and Woman are happier together, something I totally agree with – and he gives a list of funny examples of how women make the relationship harder than it could be. I like this sort of cerebral observational totally non-confrontational material(unlike say Dylan Moran who says essentially the same thing in the style of an aggressive drunk irish pub philosopher). Reg is almost horizontally laidback when he talks, so there were people saying they were 'a bit disappointed' on the way out. I restrained myself from saying, 'well go and see f*cking Lee Evans'

who as we all know is comedy for thick people. Admittedly it is well done but if you like to see a small cockney monkey play an imaginary drumkit while sweating and gurning you should get into hard house.I continue to do what I think is the right thing by my friends and family and even people I haven't met yet so I can squeeze the best quality of life I can out of this shitty world. Finally, finally, a few weeks ago I went to the funeral of an old family friend, Ian King-Holford – apparently there was a memorial service for him a couple of days ago and for starters there was no access to the church – they never mentioned disabled access in the bible! And the church was too packed for me to even have had anywhere to even park – anyway, I clearly made it on the right day, the reason I bring it up is that I hope when the time comes I have a similarly well attended memorial.Her he is pictured with his widow, the formidable Jinks and their adopted daughter, and my now good friend Rosie.

The thing that gets me is that this post is yawn-inducingly long and I still haven't had the chance to thank all the people I want to and how middle class does this blog make me? It's basically one continuous public thankyou letter and what defines being middle class? Bloody thankyou letters! Someone the other day actually accused me of not being grateful. I was more than furious, because I have always been grateful, perhaps not so good at writing thankyou letters, I'm always either specifically or generally grateful because I'm really not stupid or arrogant enough to not know that I can't survive without help, as pathetic as that sounds.

Post 313: 'It's not great but it'll have to do' apart from Mel's wedding which was awesome!

2011-10-21T14:01:00.001+01:00

'It's not great but it'll have to do' is sadly the mantra I have to live by these days. The lengths I have to go to to do quite routine things is a little scary. The routine thing I did this week which represented getting frighteningly tired was going to my old college friend Mel's wedding near Ledbury in Herefordshire.

Now, in the olden days this would be an adventure involving staying in some quaint old pub, drinking in the beauty and peace that comes from being in the middle of nowhere, and probably making wild kama Sutra-esque love with my other half in the hotel room, very little was better than a dirty weekend combined with a stonking party! However, I don't care what Freud says, my mum was the driver/carer this weekend! She was actually bloody nervous because she'd never driven my van before and was a bit terrified at having to help me do my transfers, because after all I'm a 6'3” heavy b*stard and she's a 72 year old lady. For a start it was the most perfect autumn day, my van is great at eating up motorway miles too, a lesson learned there, although off the motorway at the mercy of bumpy roads it's awful. For my holiday plans for next summer. Jose, my trainer, is up for driving me somewhere (possibly in France) where we could do a combined physio/getaway break, damn I need that holiday! –I have digressed I was glad my mum could make this

because weddings are a bit of a speciality of hers, she just loves being around people and she is great with my friends, in fact one of them said of her recently 'she's so friendly and upbeat', rather a special and unique lady my mum even if she can be a rather easy target to take the p*ss out of, I made her promise before this weekend that she wouldn't get stressed out by irrelevant little things that she could do nothing about and it seemed to help! Even Stopping a couple of times at M4 motorway services (or Cathedrals of despair as Bill Bailey calls them) were relatively stress free which almost never happens! The automatic door mechanism on my van helps a lot (now it's working),there was a very slight chill in the air but in the sun, it was perfect, rather fitting I thought for such a perfectly suited couple. I first met Lucas (Mel's now husband) back in October last year when him and Mel took me to Lunch The writing was on the wall when in our email exchange afterwards Mel sounded like an excited schoolgirl about Lucas. When you find someone special it is difficult to explain that feeling of excitement and nervous anticipation – it's not something I've had for years, but good for Mel and Lucas. Mel looked great in her dress – I don't remember her being as buxom so good work there, and Lucas is a bit of a Greek god! I feel like I've ruined this photo!

But huge thanks for inviting Mum and I, sadly there are no pictures of her highness because she was on photography detail!I have known Mel since we were at Oxford from 95-98 (so a long old time ago). Dear old Mel, she was always the super intelligent girl, always slightly out of breath and always late, running from one thing to another and apparently her driving is Lethal!. She'd always get the best internships and there was an inevitability she'd get a 1st, she's basically the type of person it was an honour and a privilege to be friends with, the same is true of most of them be they from then or since or from whichever walk of life. That is where I note one of the few positive impacts of this stroke, and I know I've said it before, but it really makes you appreciate your mates. I didn't start this blog to be a fawning sycophant but they deserve appreciation for putting up with me before and since my stroke. I stubbornly refuse to forget my mates from all walks of life as long as they haven't forgotten me or turned their backs on me. Luckily, this is mercifully few people especially from the University lot who all seemed to be there

and were glad I'd made it.

it made for quite an occasion! I'm glad I made it. Plus in the last few minutes I've hopefully found an ideal housemate/housekeeper/carer for the weekends and I think she'll be great because of the way she got on with Hassan and Agnesieka (who in my view are worth their weight in gold) – given how quickly I get tired knowing that the atmospere here is going to be relaxed already makes me feel more at ease about next year. Since my weekend jaunt, I had a couple of things in my diary to go to, the first of which was to go and see Aussie comedian Adam Hills at my local theatre in Epsom.

Now I've seen Hills three times before and normally I'd try and rope together a pretty big group but the idea of trying to sort everyone out and coordinate it all scared the sh*t out of me, as trying to just sort out someone who can be bothered to drive me is terrifying enough. Such is life (fear is exhausting)Anyway, Jose took me, and Hills was as usual inspired. Guttsy thing he does. He has decided in his head that Celebrities get far too much attention and that normal people are much more interesting. The show 'Mess Around' is literally just that. He turns up with no prepared material and just talks to people in the audience, and because he's a nice man he doesn't tear a strip off anyone, although my mate Nick is probably still reeling after Adam phoned his wife Sally live on stage after admitting in front of the audience that he was a hedge fund manager and Sally wasn't there because she was at home 'looking after the kids'. Poor Nick was mortified after he was booed. Jose

and I sat deliberately in the back row. Hills was genial and charming (odd for an Aussie) but we certainly laughed. Mission accomplished. On Wednesday I went to something quite different. Being a passionate Atheist I wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to see best known atheist in the world, Richard Dawkins, talk about his new book, 'the magic of reality' at the Albert Hall.

I'm glad I did because I have softened my stance on Dawkins, I remain as fervent an Atheist. I've got plenty of respect for the guy but I have often thought he's a bit pompous, prickly and earnest. I think he's a bit more 'human' now, the ' Magic of reality' is Dawkins explaining evolution in a way that can be easily understood, rather than the usual 'rip out the jugular' of religion -big thanks to Olly Tress

for taking me – him taking me see the modern philosopher and atheist intellectual Sam Harris back in April inspired going to this. On another note, Judge for yourself -at Mel's wedding one of my friends took issue at this comment, made in my last post:Approximately 150 years ago musical entertainment was Tchaikovsky writing swan lake, now we have the f*cking x-factor. (my immediate thought after seeing Swan Lake)

Apparently this makes me pretentious. Does it f*ck – In my book I just despise the X-Factor as a pisspoor attempt to make us consume mindless low quality tat in some form or other. A good friend of mine (Steve Williams)

has been putting up a few of his old photos – what a trip down memory lane. I think I was about 27 in this, (not 15)

I couldn't have been happier or healthier! On another note I can offer precious little defence of dying my hair again other than boredom and the fact that I can. I am aware that this is the sh*t stage but it gets less bad. Anyway, having a 'challenging' haircut is the least of my problems.

Post 312: A Kooky week without being strange

2011-10-14T20:21:00.000+01:00

I like to comment on my mate Lou's blog everytime he posts it, this week I found myself writing this:

Lou, you may envy the gigs I go to but I envy the peace, relaxation and equilibrium you have developed in your post stroke life, each time I read your blog I feel you are more settled. I never seem to get more settled or relaxed, which seems to be the curse of my physical condition. I think not having a proper holiday in 5 years is also a big issue – you have inspired me to find somewhere to go (that I can be driven) next summer. If I haven’t found some way out of this terrible fatigue by the end of next year I fear for my sanity. My other point is amoret [Lou's wife] sounds like Gold – she is the most valuable thing in your world. Take good care of her.
I write this, not to suck up to him, but because I say what I see. Our stroke's may have affected us in totally different ways (him on the left side of the brain, affecting his speech and vocabulary and mine in the back right brain stem, which affects my movement). So even though we're quite different people from different generations who've had quite different strokes, we seem to see in each other a shared attitude and sense of humour in approaching post stroke life. As I recall I believe he once told me that reading this inspired him to write his post-stroke blog – another person with verbal diarrhoea ;-), whatever, he seems to be a thoroughly nice chap! I hope he thinks the same of me. I've always been the sort of person who probably cares a bit too much about what others think, probably because it is what others do that determines almost every emotion I have in my post stroke life. When I was independent I lived by the same rule but I always had myself to rely on if I ever got let down. To me this guarantees that you'll get a decent outcome, which is why now, I put myself in peoples hands and hope they are kind and by and large people have been decent to me, and honest which most of the time has been appreciated, sometimes it's been painful for me to accept that I'm no longer the sort of tough logical guy who refused to let emotions takeover the decision-making process while recognizing how important emotions were to some peoples characters. I'm an easygoing guy but I can't let stupid or illogical things pass me by, you've probably noticed! In this context I always try to choose good stuff to go to because people's time is precious, and I don't ever want to be a waste of time. I once made the error of asking someone to take me to something they had no interest in and it was excrutiating – never again. I may plead for lifts at the last minute but people have got to want to go (which by volunteering they're implying) as there's nothing worse (in this context) than sitting next to someone who's not enjoying whatever it is and is feeling resentful I've taken up their time. It makes me feel like sh*t!I had to make one of my last minute pleas this week and it worked out superbly! Again it was a midweek music gig at Brixton Academy by a band I suppose not everyone has heard of 'The Kooks'. These things are notoriously hard to get anyone to show any interest but the academy is seriously one of the most awesome venues in this country, if not the world for live music - as a wheelchair user it's probably one of the most challenging, from the bloody awful steep ramp up the steps to get in to the fact that they won't post tickets, we have to always pick them up there which can be quite inconvenient despite there being a piss-taking £6 transaction fee plus getting to/from the disabled section is an utter mission, through a crowd, in the dark on a side-sloping floor – those who've ever been to Brixton Academy will know what I mean – as a venue, it really is an incredible place, outside, apart from the rather cool listed front steps

(apparently, hence the precarious temporary ramp which once caused me to fall out of my chair rather ungraciously last year). In the atrium (which has a lot of marble ) there are some very grand stairs up to the balcony which has a pretty amazing view, the view from the stage must be something!

I've noticed and talked before about the eccentric art-deco styling of he main room

but off to the side of the stage there appears to be a sort of mock Greco-Roman villa

complete with columns. Architectural oddities aside, the main stage is vast and they are obviously accustomed to putting on quite a show.

It was at this point that Michael and I fell into the classic trap that must have happened to thousands of concert goers who've ever gone to the concert of a band they're not all that familiar with, mistaking the support band for the main act.

Michael and I were both nodding at each other saying 'hmm, not bad' while scratching our chins like experts. I was just assuming they were leaving their well known stuff till the end. Then abruptly at 9:30 they filed off. 'Hang on, it's too early, that must have been the 2nd support act, they were quite tidy' I said feigning a complete lack of surprise. I should have known better, I've been to the academy beforeand I should have known there'd be quite a show for the headliners. There was and we weren't dissapointed.

The Kooks sound a lot like Razorlight, which is no bad thing. Their Indie Rock Pop sound is not overly challenging but they were a lot more energetic than I thought they'd be. Obviously their big hits 'Oooo, La' and 'she moves in her own way' were exceptional but a lot of their new album 'junk of the heart'

is very very good (Obviously I've now bought it) – my textbook way of doing things, I'd also like to doff my cap to guitarist, lead singer and frontman Luke Pritchard

who is clearly very talented and has somehow found the time to go out (and keep out of trouble) the lovely Mischa Barton.

They have obviously now split up. But the real hero is of course Michael Lewis

who volunteered to take me because he said it had been ages since he'd seen me and he agreed that going out to see live music at one of the best venues in the world was better than sitting at home on a Tuesday. I wish more people had this attitude rather than worrying that it might make them feel a 'bit tired' the next day. I'm exhausted every day

and it was nice to hear from an old friend who said 'am so impressed with all you do manage to do, which is actually more than most who can run around'. I've said it before, but I refuse to mope for any longer than I absolutely have to, eg because I am bored with feeling like this, I have just had my hair blonded again so if you fancy a laugh come and see me, like you needed an excuse.I also got a list from an internet blogging service entitled 15 reasons to be depressed by today's music industryHere are the edited highlights plus a few of my own entries:The cast of “Glee” has had more songs chart than the Beatles.People actually bought Billy Ray Cyrus' album “Some Gave All…” 20 million people. More than any Bob Marley albumCeline Dion's “Falling Into You” sold more copies than any Queen, Nirvana, or Bruce Springsteen recordThe Black Eyed Peas' “I Gotta Feeling” is more popular than any Elvis or Simon & Garfunkel songLed Zeppelin, REM, and Depeche Mode have never had a number one single, Rihanna has had 10Approximately 150 years ago musical entertainment was Tchaikovsky writing swan lake, now we have the f*cking x-factorHave you listened to anything by Snow Patrol? They're like Coldplay without any good songs and their lead singer fancies himself as some sort of quasi-intellectual more than Chris Martin doesJustin Bieber exists, so does Simon CowellOK, so those last few might have been contributed by me! My point being - what's wrong with the world?My final point is to all people I've ever met with sociopathic tendencies. Just f*ck off - stop loving yourselves and start living for more than yourselves. I'm just angry with one or two self-centred people this week.

Post 311: A monologue, but not that of a super-villain

2011-10-08T14:17:00.000+01:00

It's October and finally starting to behave like October despite the bizarre heatwave we had last weekend. It actually was rather fortuitous as I had a rather nice visit on Sunday from a bunch of my former colleagues and their families. Now usually a Sunday lunch has us bound for the Bear but muggin's here had neglected to book. Imagine my shock when I phoned up 30mins before wanting to eat and them saying they were full, a table for 4 adults, two hyperactive kids, a baby and a wheelchair bound moron who should have booked wasn't going to happen! Who do they think they are? Anyone might think they're easily the best pub in the area and it wasn't a surprise that they were full on such a glorious day! At this point we noticed the absurd unseasonal weather and decided that takeaway Pizzas and beer on my terrace was the order of the day, Paul

observed 'it's like something out of men behaving badly' – it was this sort of lateral thinking and laddish humour that made Paul stand apart as a merchandiser at John Lewis but particularly his bufoonish sense of humour that attracted Anna to him, that, and deep beneath that Brummie exterior he is capable of some unmatched classics like the best closing line I have ever ever heard to a grooms speech at his wedding to Anna

(another John Lewis Merchie) in December 2009 , Their original boss and mantend of mine (not something dodgy, a cross between mate, mentor and legend) Simon Dawes had also come along with his gorgeous (and ginger) wife Yvonne and their two kids Joseph and Isabel

(who are hilarious). Paul and Anna have just had their first, Emily,

and Simon had said on email that he was going to bring along his slightly older examples as a warning of the dangers that lay ahead. Now, I'm not the most positive person about noisy children but Simon and Yvonnes two are so funny. The bit when Simon made Joseph stand in the corner after he tried to make my office chair on wheels

into a rollercoaster was priceless! So that ended up being a good day! Given the amount I have spouted about these guys it's small wonder I didn't/couldn't put this in last week. This week has been about trying to get a replacement driver to take me to the Albert hall on Wednesday, where the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra were playing a Tchaikovsky portrait.

Now, I would describe the music of Tchaikovosky as like turning up to a knife fight with a machine gun, or turning up to a pub quiz with Stephen Fry, whatever happens it'll be a good result! I'd originally persuaded an old University mate (and concert pianist) Richard Rous and his wife to take me to listen to 'a bit of gay Russian' but it transpired after closer inspection and due diligence of the itinerary that the timings were never going to work, so I hastily assembled one of my panic emails which was heroically answered by my university friend Tristan,

sadly his wife was busy so given my utter antipathy towards wasting tickets I hastily invited the kindly, random Aussie girl who applied for the role of weekend housekeeper , Sadly my reliance on email meant we misunderstood the timings and missed each other so the ticket went to waste. Gah! You can't win 'em all, a subject I'm an expert in. Finally, I had further evidence last night that in my pre-stroke life I can't have been all bad when I had a visit from Gav. He maybe a bit far away these days (living in Norfolk with his wife and 3 children) but between us we worked out we had been mates for 20 years and in that time we have had some ridiculously ridiculous times, from meeting because of our mutual family friends the King-Holfords back when we were 13, (sadly it was Ian King-Holfords funeral last week) to our twenties when I would frequent the clubnight that him and Cathy (his wife) ran and the hilarious skiing holiday in Italy in about 1998 where so much booze was consumed we were lucky not to acquaint ourselves with the Italian police, we were saying last night how many people met their lifelong friends or partners through the clubnight and the ripple effect

it had. Basically, it rocked a lot of peoples worlds, mine included -I played my first gig there. Even though I was so tired I could barely speak we still managed a few glasses of fine wine and a way above average amount of laughter. Usually I crash into bed at a rather pathetic 8pm, instead I prevailed till 10 and last night I went to see my favourite comedian Daniel Kitson do one of the London shows (at a sold-out National Theatre)

of the dramatic monologue he had performed at this years Edinburgh Fringe, here is a review I found that will give you a pretty good idea of what this is. It's not stand up comedy, instead it uses his skill as an orator and his lexographical athleticism to completely capture the audience's attention for well over an hour as he tells a fictitious story he has totally written himself. This is the third one of these I've seen him do and without exception, they have been brilliant. I would go as far as to say this could be a new form of expression. I've probably overstretched my genre defining credentials there but given what I've seen in my life, I'll sit by it. I have Jose to thank for driving me and his sister Sue to thank for coming along too, sadly another ticket got wasted because of yet another communication blunder. This sort of cock-up would have been standard fodder before my stroke, now it feels like a painful waste, luckily it wasn't the driver. The other thing I am glad about is that on Friday morning my Dad and my sister popped in en route to Heathrow and got to see most of one of my thrice weekly training sessions which I'm pretty sure convinced them how hard I work. I may have changed the structure of my physical training but I'm far from allowing myself to start letting people down.

Post 310: Summer ends, but with uncommon warmth

2011-10-02T11:38:00.000+01:00

I wanted to devote quite a bit of this post to seeing a lot of the people I care about last Sunday at Peter and Imogens leaving drinks. I did mention this cursorily at the end of my last post but now I have a bit more time. I have been friends with Pete for over ten years since meeting him (like many of my other friends) as a fresher in my first week at Oxford. I've rather prided myself in having some top friends, almost always people who have made me laugh or bought me a drink. Pete as a Northern Irish lad was fond of a drink but I wouldn't say he could take his drink, many was the time he'd be found wandering the front quad slightly the worse for wear forlornly lamenting a failed Romance. Not that this would happen now because he's found Imogen and they are understandably, boringly happy, the only acceptable form of boredom. As indeed are a lot of my friends. Pete and Mo are proper 'salt of the earth' folk, people who have visited me in hospital

and have stuck with me, whether it be Pete getting me a new computer mouse in hospital in late 2007 or was it early 2008 or Mo writing me one of her long emails detailing how their lives are going, as having two daughters makes them very busy. I love these emails (anybody else who's been scarce take note) a long enlarged double spaced email with a couple of photos feels a bit like a hug from a friend. It is sad to see them go to California but the pastures are greener, not for long though, for Pete's job with Chevron doubtless involves finding every last drop of oil on this planet and making sure it is profitably used for making Chevrons Shareholders rich. As a capitalist: Gawd bless capitalism. It's not perfect but it's less worse than a lot of the other flawed ideologues out there.

Anyway, I digress, their leaving do was nice, lots of people I knew showed up and demonstrated that growing up is less about friends but more about family, particularly about having children.

This is why I often feel like I'm pissing against the wind trying to persuade some of my married with kids friends to make the time for me. They're understandably far too busy, which is why I hope my house is a fun place for young families, on a nice day the slide out in the garden is a big hit apparently.

I still have hopes of 'one day' having a family of my own, be they fruit of my own loins or because the lucky girl comes with them. I am willing and able to support them. I don't want to be a c*** all my life. If you're the kind of person that gets offended by that then I'll guess we wouldn't make very good friends. Incredibly I still bother with internet dating, in fact I've recently found a new site where incredibly one of the options in the personal profile under 'do you drink' is 'No, and I hate drinkers' – you clearly have to be a special kind of zealot to put that, I pass on profiles where the person is remotely religious, is vegetarian, doesn't drink or doesn't like cats because that eliminates too much common ground. Also People that bang on about positivity and happiness all the time, it's not the real world, sadly, if it is to them they're missing something – I really would give anything to be positive and happy but I am desperate to live in the real world, I aspire to be as normal as my friends, people like Danny (on the right),

another friend from Uni, who drove me on Sunday to Peter and Imogen's leaving do, or Simon,

who took me to Brixton Academy to see 'the Wombats' on Wednesday

and has agreed to come and see my favourite comedian (who very rarely shows in London) Daniel 'the kitgenius' Kitson

next friday or my friends Richard and Annabel Rous who after much confusion with the tickets and Logistics have agreed late notice to take me to a Tchaikovsky gala at the Albert Hall on Wednesday with the immortal line in his email reply 'we love a bit of gay Russian'. Rous. Ever the musician. I take solace in the fact that Most of what I do these days is with other people in mind, and I hope that that isn't too Vomit inducingly nice for anyone. I'm not a c***, that's all.My friend Jo visiting yesterday helped me believe this. She's of the same opinion as me, if you've got no plans and you know a friend who's got no plans it's better to do nothing together, as it was she turned up about lunchtime and taking advantage of the ridiculously late and warm Indian summer we went and explored Cobham, found their Pizza Express, had a snack, observed that the Children of Cobham Parents were the most screamy/shouty in the world and that my way of clearing the Dale farm Gypo's near where she lives involved a flamethrower! I'm not serious but do sometimes wish Australia was still a penal colony! I've also been reminded via the medium of online chat and photographs of some of the ridiculously good times I had in 2003/04 when I felt freer than at anytime in my life – 2004 at the first sw4 music festival,

and in Ibiza

or here (in 2003) with Natasha

(the girl who broke my heart). It has been bittersweet to say the least, particularly difficult, although I don't begrudge my friends a good time, it's hard to see photographic evidence of it when I was in hospital.What was even tougher was going to the funeral of a guy called Ian King-Holford – a great guy who had treated me like a son, even more disturbingly, I had thought he was at least 80 and it turns out he was a month younger than my dad!Another guy called Gav

(another chap who Ian also used to treat as a son, in fact I am Gav's son's godfather)

had been slated to drive me but he got unavoidably detained by work so my dad stepped in, literally the night before. I can't explain how important it was I was there to both Jinx (his wife) and Rosie (his daughter), and for me to pay my respects to a great man.

Post 309: Always trying to do the right thing

2011-09-25T19:41:00.000+01:00

'Wake me up when September ends', so the song goes, so......Not really much to report this week, it's been one of those weeks you get in convalescence, Mum and Dad and my brother have gone away so I feel if anything goes wrong I'm a bit stuck which at my age feels like an emasculation! Freudian psychology aside I still crave independence but I've accepted it's never going to happen ever. I cannot cope now without my housekeepers/carers and I realistically know that my left side and my walking have topped out. My relentless training stops me going backwards now, a fact I have grimly accepted, it has been staring me in the face since I plateaued in hospital 4 years ago. At the time I assumed it was a temporary setback, after 3 years of hard work and not feeling any difference except to realise hard work on the diet and training have helped me shed almost 20kgs. Recovery now is about achieving the best quality of life I can and by trying to achieve the best support I can from friends, family, acquaintances and strangers by keeping a sense of humour and what physical abilities I have left and by doing my best to persuade people I'm still worthwhile. This is my challenge. It sounds reasonable I think. This is part of what Omar ( my neurologist) said, 'medical research is always making advances and you want to be in the best shape you can be in case'. Hmmm, sounds a little bit like I'm clutching at straws, well, it's the best I can hope for, I'm not a blind optimist (or what I call 'a moron'), I'm a logical realist, some might say a bit of a 'cynic' . Any cynicism is based on the fact that everytime I've tried something new, it hasn't worked, like my latest attempt at an anti-fatigue drug, the best I can say about it is it didn't have any side-effects. I prefer 'realist'. I take what I can and try and make things happen, sadly there have been a few things this week that have gone against me. Firstly, my friend Jo drove all the way down here from Basildon on Monday to take me to some local comedy at what I can only describe as a 'dive' in Kingston called the Fighting Cocks pub

to see latest 'big name in comedy', Carl Donnelly,

to be told 'sorry, it's sold out' now, considering the last time I'd been there in (August last year) I'd tried to book and they'd never heard of me when I got there (and the line-up was bigger then) I thought I was on safe ground just turning up, just to be sure I even called them and there was no answer – so Monday was a shocker, to add insult to this I'm still trying to find a home for two tickets to see Julian Lloyd Weber play some Elgar with the RPO at the RAH on Saturday, I should be doing that right now, not this (as things are now, not finding anyone to take me is an admission that life is failing) Which is probably why I get so stressed about it. By the time I publish this I hope there's been some good news. Well, actually there has, although my housekeepers had offered to take me, my parents got back from holiday in the morning. As much as I'd love to treat my housekeepers (they deserve it, and Agnesieka hasn't been to the Albert Hall, however there is some niggling doubt over whether the insurance would be valid with Hassans driving licence, so it's better to be safe than sorry, so my parents stepped in and as ever we had a very nice time, infact during Elgar's Nimrod, one of the alltime great pieces of music, I saw my father wipe away a tear, he wispered in my ear 'your mother came down the aisle to this ' and that was in 1963.'Wow, a seminal moment right there. Sadly there is a slight spoiler to this, I tried to get Coldplay tickets for them playing at the Dome in December and they had sold out in an hour. I like their music but agree with Liam Gallagher

(probably the only thing I agree with him about) "That lot are just a bunch of knobhead students - Chris Martin

looks like a geography teacher. What's all that with writing messages about Free Trade on his hand when he's playing. If he wants to write things down I'll give him a pen and a pad of paper. Bunch of students.”He also more famously said that “Chris Martin looks like a bedwetter”I just think he's a bit self righteous, earnest and worthy, or 'going down the Bono route' as it's known, also given his dress sense and world view had he not started Coldplay I strongly suspect he would have been a Hipster dickhead, but I'll entertain music by Coldplay and U2, but not Oasis because Bono and Martin are not nasty like Liam, they're just tools. As I'm on rock, I did manage to get tickets to see Kasabian on Wednesday 14th December at the Dome in the good seats. Now, I'm at a loss to know who'll be up for this as Olly Cassidy, my usual partner in crime is cavorting around the Far East . Kasabian are brilliant live but last time I saw them (at Brixton Academy)http://survivingastroke.blogspot.com/2010/08/post-230-some-gigs-again-kasabian.html there was about one girl in the whole venue (a real sausage factory as I believe it's known). I want to take two keen people, as this is likely to be great. I'll see if I get any takers as a result of this. I won't hold my breath. If people can go to bars and pubs to see their lower maintenance friends, they will. I would have probably been the same although it does surprise me how little people are willing, or worse, they say they are, but change their minds leaving me up a proverbial creek without the proverbial feeling like post-stroke, what's the point?I can't tell you how much I put into this.Sadly it's a bit late on Sunday now and I think I'll save it till next week to talk about Peter and Imogen's leaving gathering. I'm going to miss them and they should be rightly proud of the turnout, what got me is everyone it seems has 'accessories' now, you know, the adorable little ones that mean you never have to speak adult English to another adult ever again it seems. I love them really, but I'm never going to love them more than the adults who've inflicted them upon us.

Post 308: No to Hipsters, Yes to Engagements

2011-09-18T13:40:00.000+01:00

I was slightly saddened on Monday by the ending of a TV series that has rather captivated me and TV doesn't really captivate me these days because even though I've got large TVs, the stroke has really buggered my eyesight, and wearing glasses doesn't help, see this very early post for why , plus concentrating on something on TV seems to be a million times more tiring than it should be. I'll watch a decent film but I'm unwilling to waste my time on TV. Why? Because I don't feel it's a good use of my time, given my fatigue and physical limitations, I figure I should be resting, exercising , staying in touch with people or writing this crap. I've always figured that letting this ethos slip is a slippery slope towards watching the Jeremy Vile show,

I know I'm officially an unemployed pensioner age 34 but I refuse to behave like I'm on the dole! And I said 'WATCHING the Jeremy Vile show', you have to be a serious wrong'un to appear on it. Luckily the series I was talking about is on in the evening. It is one of those US HBO imports called 'Entourage'

that is supposed to be loosely based on the life of Mark 'Marky Mark' Wahlberg

when he lived in LA. In it a guy called Vincent Chase

(the Wahlberg-alike) pads around LA with his group of mates in tow, with women falling at his feet seduced no doubt by his charm, looks, (and as it's LA) seemingly endless wealth and A-list movie-star credentials, the good news for me is I've only seen season 8, so I need to rent/buy seasons 1-7, although I'm not thrilled at the prospect of all that telly watching, how exhausting it'll be scares the bejesus out of me, I appreciate this is not a typical reaction to a boxset marathon, but that's how it is these days. The answer is having someone to watch TV with but people are busy and I fear I'm much less fun than I used to be. Blah, what 'happy clappy' (usually deluded) 'positive police' type people describe as 'wallowing in self pity'. Fine, if observing that post-stroke life is infinitely (to the power n) sh*tter than pre-stroke life, I'm wallowing in self pity, sorry for not being out of touch with reality, like I say all the time, you can only be positive all the time if you're healthy and feel well, eg try and be positive when you feel like you've had flu for 6 years and might feel like that for the rest of your life, think about this before lecturing me on the benefits of 'being positive'. I agree it's much better to be positive but being positive for positive's sake and (even worse) lecturing people from your anionic (positively charged) ivory tower makes you a c***. Some folks I have a lot of time for fall into this category, but mostly these are just social network internet acquaintances (religious nuts or 'support' group types desperate to stay positive at all costs otherwise people who they've never met and will never meet might think less of them.The thing that struck me about 'Entourage' (excellent subject change I thought) was that although Vince is a bloody good lad it is disturbing the way that he resorts to his money to keep his friends happy, eg he gives $100,000 to a charity to secure his brother an acting role, he casually just hands over his credit card when the Jeweller announces that the engagement ring he's looking at is $1.4 million dollars (he just says 'yeah, fine' when she tells him the price) and he charters 2(not 1, but 2) private jets to fly him and his entourage to Paris, the 2nd jet is so his mate and girlfriend can 'fly anywhere in the world' in order to rekindle their romance, despite this ostentation annoying me, the thing that the show did teach me was how utterly important the right girl can be. My favourite character Ari Gold jacks in his job and business in such a funny way so he can spontaneously move to Florence to stop his marriage ending

and it seems that his business is everything to him, but the love of his life is more important. I hope I don't sound like a broken record but I would literally give all my worldly goods to find the right girl. I know this may sound like a 'mopey guy' kind of thing to do but I've said it – it's that important.Time for another sharp subject change I think, although it's been going on for years I'm starting to see a real backlash against dickheads who think bad things are somehow cool. 'Trying to be cool' has been a phenomenon going on since time immemorial, although the backlash is epitomised (I think) by 'the dickhead song' that a friend alerted me to quite some time ago. At the time it just made me laugh, little did I know it would set me off now. The thing that gets me about this is the notion that bad things are somehow good and therefore 'cool'. Forgive my old fashioned grasp on things but bad things will always be bad in my world, in a similar way good things will mostly always be good. I couldn't give a f*ck about trying to be cool, jesus, even before my stroke. In fact isn't 'trying to be cool' in itself not 'cool', that's another thing that winds me up, the notion that by wearing something bad 'ironically' you're somehow being cool. No you're not, you're deliberately wearing/doing something bad, that makes you a dick at worst, a fool at best. What was even funnier was I was alerted to this website Look At This F*cking Hipster , after a little discussion on facebook – I couldn't stop myself writingLook At This F*cking Hipster and the dickhead song go together, why do people wear 'crap glasses'; wearing stupid things because you're 'being ironic' makes you a c*nt. In a similar way so does having an ironic haircut, I thought being 'cool' was about being laid back about your style and carrying off an image effortlessly – I can tell you right now it takes quite a lot of effort to maintain a sh*t haircut (speaking from experience, how uncool is it therefore to make sure your ironic mullet is looking its er, worst so you can look cool.

Mullets are a disgrace, full stop.Like being a post-modern vegetarian because when you eat meat, you do it 'ironically' [thanks Bill Bailey] I won't even get started on that. What I think is that Modern Artists have a lot to answer for, my thoughts on some of their work is pretty clear from my post on my visit to the Tate Modern, where it's safe to say the high point of the day wasn't the art. I think this was a movement sprung up by idiots who decided to see what they could get away with. It makes me a bit mad. Look for Nathan Barley

on youtube and feel your anger rising while you laugh which seems to be how humour works these days. Sigh. What I do love is how this seems to fit with my whole 'Don't be a dick' philosophy Aside from finding ways to laugh through this, if you read last week's post you'll remember that people offering to drop in on me is what makes me tick, so yesterday (Saturday), the Tress family (Olly, Gina, Talia and Bruno)

had offered to come and see me. I used to go to University with Gina and she tracked me down after going on a family holiday with one of my good friends, her charming husband Olly, and I, now go to quite a few events together, as he's in retail and I was a retailer we have a few interesting discussions but mostly he's just a good lad who's kind enough to take me out, anyway, it was a joy to see them, they must be busy people, them making the time to see me is indeed an 'Honour and a Privilege'. I'll just mention briefly the engagement party I was lucky enough to go to yesterday of a mate of mine I used to DJ with. A kiwi guy with the most unusual name in the world, Daegal Brain – it prompted me to write this on facebook:So good to go to Carla & Daegal's Engagement, great to see some familiar faces and thanks for inviting/putting up with me. Special thanks to Adam Symbiosis [and his wife Susan]

for looking after me. Very moving speeches from the bride and groom.

[Going to these things will always be worth the effort]. Thanks to Jane [from local agency Karen's Angels] for driving. Thanks to the Tress family for coming to see me first. I hop this hasn't been too long.

Post 307 (at a guess):A week where it's been about people coming to see me

2011-09-11T17:31:00.002+01:00

I've said it before and probably bang on about it far too much but before my stroke I used to appreciate how much people liked being dropped in on at home. Now the logistics just prevent me jumping in the car or nipping on a tube/train that sort of thing is basically finished. The reason people do anything spontaneously is to surprise others and themselves. There is something chemical about the way your body reacts to a positive surprise, things like getting better than expected exam results, getting a promotion, winning a competition, being surprised at a surprise birthday party by a good friend who's travelled from Australia. The reason I mention this last example, was that a good friend of mine did just that this week, appearing by surprise at the Surprise 50th birthday party of the best man at his wedding. (Pablo in the middle, Steve on the right)

It prompted me to write this on facebook:'Has been really moved by the way Steve Williams came all the way over from Melbourne for Pablo Pabs surprise 50th birthday, I'm quite surprised the big fella didn't keel over in shock. I was just sorry I couldn't be there to see it. I can imagine Pablo going 'I recognise that shirt, there can't be two of them' What I'm thinking now is, 'Steve can get here from Australia and I couldn't even make it from inside the M25!', I'm sure Pabs'll be ok, in fact I know he will, well, since then he's said that the evening plus seeing Stevie 'was the best night of his life', and here's a man I'll hazard, has had a few immense evenings! It reminded me of the time my dad had gone to visit his best friend in a French hospital a few years ago. It didn't sound good for my dad's friend but I've seen Stewart since and the recovery he has made is remarkable. Obviously, Stewart's recovery is testament to his toughness but I can imagine that seeing that a friend had made all that effort to be there must be a real help. Pablo must have felt that when he saw Stevie, I got a similar feeling when people came to visit me in hospital or people come to see me full stop, people making the effort for you is what gives people strength. I don't devote enough time on this blog these days to 'bigging up' my parents about the sheer time and effort they have made. I'm convinced they think my whole post-stroke fatigue thing is something I save up and they get the worst of. I can assure them that's not true. They have been heroes.The upshot of the whole 'Stevie story' was that I got to see him (on Tuesday) out of the blue, I knew he'd made the journey from Melbourne by then and I know how many people he knows, so for him to have come and seen me was pretty bloody kind, the last time I'd seen him had been in January An added bonus was getting to see Jo Butcher and her daughter Sophia who I hadn't seen since February It was indeed an honour and a privilege.

This is pretty much true of most people who make the effort to come and see but few more so than one of my old colleagues, Carole, retired director of John Lewis' biggest business, Furniture, Textiles and Lighting. She emailed me and said it had been far too long and could she come and cook me lunch? On the basis that it is such an 'honour and privilege' to be visited by such a legend, she visited on Tuesday.

She's full of stories (usually about the adventures she goes on) now she's actually got the time. I was not disappointed, this time it was about a narrow escape from a charging elephant in Tanzania. People 15 years younger than ME wouldn't have her get up and go. It's small wonder her and my mother instantly got on famously when they met each other. It didn't end there though, on Thursday I got dropped in on by the Lee's (Pete, his wife Imogen and their two little girls, Beth and Ginni)

in advance of their having to move to California in a month because of Pete's job as a geologist for a US oil company, all I can think is how grown up and what a big step. A big step for me is getting out of the house for an evening out. Even better was Pete had offered to cook Fillet Steak,

after the 'Spiritual' sirloin Kocen cooked me last week this fillet steak was bound to be 'pretty ok', and so it was. Pete and Mo are great company and even though the Steak was great it just feels nice that people do this for me. It will be their leaving bash in a few weeks time and even though they're not leaving forever I know it won't be just me that misses them. So after half a cow, I was lucky enough to be taken to the Bear Yesterday by a lovely couple whose incredible wedding I'd been lucky enough to go to back in august 2009. . So, Jon and Megan, thankyou. Since then they have had a son, Isaac,

who is very well behaved (by which I of course mean he's quiet, it goes without saying he's cute). It may appear to some, that I'm letting my diet slip and I'm letting my tastebuds trump managing my waistline. This is probably partially true but there are worse things to have as a vice, plus Jose (my trainer) records my weight every week and I appear to be keeping it under control. Next week, I'll probably give my views on 'the Inbetweeners'

movie which didn't just have all the funny bits in the trailer and a couple of drama series I've been glued to, 'Entourage'

and 'The Borgias',

I highly commend them both, both beauts from Sky Atlantic.

I'm not much of a TV watcher because it feels like wasted time and my eyesight makes it difficult but there are exceptions.

Post 306 (I think):Some reprieves, I could never be vegetarian

2011-09-04T19:12:00.000+01:00

Another week where some last-minute saves made life bearable. Being clear, people coming to see me in Oxshott (and offering to do it rather than me badgering people to do it) is still the most life affirming thing that happens in this life of convalescence I'm now faced with. Today (Sunday) I'm expecting Paul Reeves in a minute, sadly the weather and his motorbike conspired to make that not happen and my mate Jo is taking me out for a late lunch, seeing people like this does help me feel like I'm doing something, for both myself but also for them – it makes my loneliness just 'bad', not 'unbearable'.What especially eats me is when I'm left with tickets to some show or other and no-one to take me, I get so stressed out by that happening and trying to find a replacement especially when my best laid plans fall through at the last minute. I'm sure I've moaned about this before, bound to have.On Tuesday this week I had it all arranged to go to the Proms ( virtually over for 2011, it's the last night on September 10th (I've missed out on tickets this year, primarily (I think) because on the day they went on Sale was the day I got ambulanced to hospital with Appendicitis, actually f*ck it, I would probably have missed getting tickets because getting them is like stumbling on Lord Lucan)

So my plans had gone awry. A panic email to my friend Richard Lloyd (my uni friend and the vicar of the neighbouring village) saved the day. Now we're friends because we were mates at Uni, not to do with religion (in fact, nothing could be further from the truth). I told him about the online spat I'd been having with some god-botherers and we proceeded to have an interesting chat about how Christianity when mixed with Conservative republicans in the US (lets label these people 'imbeciles') produces an aggressive, uncompassionate, literal take on the bible) which in Richard's view couldn't be further from what he believes Christianity stands for (then and now) I'm far from being a convert but this level-headedness and his ability to understand his audience is why people (not just me) hold him in such high esteem. As it was we were treated to a superb evening, with a Piano Concerto by Mozart in the first half and Bruckners 8th Symphony in the 2nd half. Both were awesome displays of talent but I remembered the words of my friend Richard Rous (himself a proper concert Pianist) 'that Mozart was a bit too obvious, safe and therefore dull' perhaps to him it is – to me and the Lloydster – it sounded pretty good. Bruckner's 8th was even better, seeming to get 'bigger and bigger', small wonder I'm no classical music pundit with wordplay like that! However one of the talking points was how much the Conductor looked like Frankenstein's assistant Igor,

looking for fresh 'Brains'. The key was that the shared 'enjoyness Quotient' (something I've just invented) was high and positive.

Speaking of high EQ, this week was probably made for me by yesterday (Saturday 3rd) by an old mate popping in to cook lunch (a rare 12Oz Sirloin) with his girlfriend. Kocen and Freya, I salute you,

it was the best Steak

I've had since he cooked a Steak for me in the Hospital Rehab unit in 2007. I've since seen him at my birthdays but had never met Freya (who is charming – another great couple!). Aside from filling my Kitchen/Living Room with smoke, it was great to see them and eating the steak bordered on a spiritual experience so perfect were the taste and texture. Afterwards we all had the inevitable 'meat sweats' but on a fairly humid day it was bound to happen. After they had gone and I'd had my inevitable lie-down my replacement lift was due to take me again to the Albert Hall and the Proms. Originally I had thought my parents were driving but Mum being in America (seeing the grandchildren) and Dad flying to Ireland with a bunch of old duffers for drinking, eating and if they can still walk, golf. Unfortunately, these were not forseable when I bought the tickets but thankfully a chance call on friday from Tristan found him and his lovely Chilean wife Macarena offering to cook me dinner on Friday evening and drive me to the Proms on Saturday. Brilliant – just brilliant, and even better was that Macca had never been to the Albert Hall.

People who haven't been are as gobsmacked as I am in awe of the place. One lesson learned is always to check what time these thing start. They don't all start at 730, last night's was starting at 7 so it was pretty unsurprising that we missed the Elgar and had to watch the 2nd piece (a modern composition) on the Foyer TV screen. I found myself at one point whispering to the Lady on my left 'is it just me, but this is sh*t?' Thank goodess for the famous Rachmaninov piano concerto in the 2nd half for which they allowed us to take our seats.

Basically, good old Tristan and Macca! So, in a manner of speaking I have managed my situation this week. By no means perfect but it'll have to do.As an aside, I had said a few weeks ago that given the effort I put into this and given the lack of reaction it generates, was blogging worthwhile? I got an email from a comparative stranger that'll keep me blogging for another year 'I sat down to read it for 15 minutes and 5 and a half hours later I was still reading, this thing gives people a much better idea of my life than anything else I could do with one-liners on twitbook.

Post 304:Making the best of the bank holiday

2011-08-30T10:25:00.013+01:00

I think I probably ended up making the best of SW4 on Sunday despite the cold and the mud but it's difficult to describe without sounding like I'm seeking sympathy how hard these things actually are for me these days. When I first had this stroke I could manage 15 minutes in a wheelchair before fatiguing beyond the point of being able to speak and I still find sitting in my chair pretty tiring, so a festival like this is pretty terrifying mainly because it is cold, noisy and busy but staying at home would just be crap! The main reason it ended up feeling like a success and I was glad I went was getting to see some friends I rarely see and their very presence reminding me why we were and still are such good friends. First were Shaun, his wife Renae and Nessa.
Shaun and Nae are over from Melbourne and Nessa, as a clubbing friend, we don't really go to the same places these days (well no-one goes to the same places I go anymore because I can't really do much these days) plus leaving our 20s has meant different things. For me, it has meant crippledom, for her, it's been about running, keeping fit and maximising the use of that visa (bloody antips who come here for a year and end up staying ten).Also present were the legend that is Simon ( Shauns best mate when I met them years ago)
Looking at this picture reminds me just how cold it was! And their and my good friend the eponymous Jonnie Random who kindly came and met me and took me back to the place I was meeting my lift ( brilliantly handled by a local care agency called Karens Angels found for me by my counsellor). It may cost a bit but there's no way I could ask a friend to drive me to and from this. I already feel bad enough for the help they give me inside the event but no amount of thanking persuades them it's something they wouldn't do. I'm fortunate to know such selfless people. One of the things that had me laughing like it was ten years ago was Shaun dancing to headliners Pendulum.
It cracked me up how he'd keep up with their energetic form of synthesized electronic Wah-wah ( think prodigy but better) and suddenly his body would remember he was in his mid-thirties and he'd have to rest. At one point we blazed a trail to the 2nd tent to go and see my DJ hero of the last decade Sasha.
A lot of people find his style of progressive house dull, I just find it relentless intense and Balearic. I even found myself saying to the Rowlands – 'this is proper Music'. Of course it's not, maybe it's how a DJ should sound. 'Proper Music is what you hear at the Proms which oddly enough I'd been to the night before which is for later. I may go to these things but the lesson to me is clear. Even though the event itself provides a talking point, they are totally secondary to what really drives my survival: Seeing my friends and family or giving them a treat. I don't care how hard or expensive I find it.
I was vaguely embarrassed on Saturday when I remembered how I used to chuckle to myself at school about 'how I'd never met a good bloke from Harrow' this was based on a couple of visits for matches in my early teens and my impression of a couple of guys whose names I remember but won't mention. What a twuntish thing to say (a word I believe invented by Jimmy Carr when he met Jedward) The reason I feel like a twunt for saying this is that on Saturday I was treated to lunch by a college friend of mine called Richard Rous and driven to the Proms in the evening by a college friend of mine called James Renshaw. Both went to Harrow and both have a couple of harrowing (sorry) tales of the place. At this point doubtless the 'poshist' brigade will start sharpening their claws. As well spoken comedian Simon Evans says: He learnt to speak properly thinking it 'would smooth his passage through life but 'if anything it seems to provoke hostility'. Quite.
Anyway, seeing these lads was great, and I've high hopes we'll do it again. What summed up this weekend of contrasts was James
saying to me on Saturday during Beethovens magnificent 'Eroica' while I was busy chuckling at how much the conductor looked like a Bond Villain
or Steven Berkoff
or whether I was still reeling from the modern classical 'horror movie' piece in the first half, when James said 'I'm loving this' and Shaun saying at SW4, 'It's hard to imagine we came to the first SW4 and that was 7 years ago'.
The lady from Karen's angels was not impressed by me saying how old I felt on the way home. She said 'but my son's 31'.Touché.
My final word is reserved for the lovely Rachael (who I've not met but we've been chatting on facebook plus we have some mutual friends) who, as a music enthusiast and event organiser I was going to give my carer ticket to and meet there, sadly she had ended up with a black eye and a fat lip when she had tried to help someone in town on Saturday, totally understandably, she decided that a black eye and fat lip were not a good look for meeting strangers or a music festival. How unlucky is she? I was gutted and gutted for her.

Post 304, SW4 preamble ruined by god botherers

2011-08-25T16:36:00.011+01:00

While I write up my experience of the SW4 music festival here's the post I wrote last time I went (in 2008) , here's the post I wrote last year about bank holidays here's a post I wrote during last week for those who can't wait for my form of literary effluvium.
This little list (posted on facebook by fellow stroke sur
viving blogger Lou (actually by his wife) made me chuckle
1.Money cannot buy happiness but it’s more comfortable to cry in a Mercedes than on a bicycle.
2. Forgive your enemy but remember the bastard’s name.
3. Help someone when they are in trouble and they will remember you when they're in trouble again.
4. Many people are alive only because it’s illegal to shoot them.
5. Alcohol does not solve any problems, but then neither does milk :)

I think that one thing about Stroke is that survivors tend to end up with similar senses of humour. I reckon this might be the strongest thing that brings them together (as long as they aren't religious nutters (those who seem grateful for their stroke because it must be part of gods 'perfect plans'))This attitude infuriates me and a big weakness of mine is arguing with them on facebook (convalescence does this), in fact I have just had one of the most unpleasant arguments with a god-botherer ever. They usually end with a 'I feel sorry for you Dom'. This time it ended with her telling me to 'watch my mouth' and that 'if anyone was my friend on here I was heading for self destruction and that I needed help' – all of her god-squad friends had piled in behind her telling me 'I needed professional help and I shouldn't knock what I haven't tried', could you imagine me becoming evangelically religious? I didn't think so – it would be inconsistent with everything I believe and have ever learnt. I should have known better than to argue with a self-confessed conservative Republican American -her closing gambit was 'You can knock and criticize God all you want to, but one of these day's you WILL be sorry. Write it down...it's a promise! You don't bite the freaking hand that made you!
I'm really scared, no wonder religious republican Yanks are a laughing stock. In my book utter stupidity has always been fair game.
'Grow up and stop wallowing in self-pity' Is what she then went on to say, how very christian but maybe slightly warmer, Oh dear - Grrrrr. I barely have the energy to argue with these f*ck-knuckles these days, especially with obvious lunatics.
The Church seems to exist(at least in America) as a social institution so gullible, stupid losers can make friends, the madder ones, like the lady above genuinely seem to listen to a dogma that has killed and made people feel guilty for years. In the UK it exists so middle aged middle class people can collectively try and clear their consciences and get in touch with getting to grips with the inalienable fact they're going to die. I'm sure that the biggest draw to church is that people are at a loss to know what else to do. In short, if religion helps you, fine, but don't push it on people by spouting the sort of crap that got me started yesterday:
'Dom, everyone is beautiful in God's eye. Don't ever think that you're not. God created each of us in HIS imaged and for His pleasure. God don't make no junk!!!
But more importantly what I started this post with before I needed to get all that off my chest:
I don't understand depression, especially in those with no obvious reason for it. Conclusion: I'd make a rubbish psychologist/shrink. I came to this conclusion after listening to the beginning of the first story in 'chicken soup for the soul' a book that literally is a collection of 101 'heart warming' stories about college life. I don't know where the first story is going yet but I feel like a harsh, unsympathetic sod, when I am repeatedly told that the opposite is true except by delusional religious crackpots.
In the first story a girl goes to college and is so overwhelmed on her first day by being away from home that she breaks down in tears like that prisoner in his first night in the Shawshank redemption. Now perhaps I am being a bit hasty because I remember being a bit homesick age 12 when I first went off to board at prep school (I can already hear my leftie critics warming up). Maybe I can't comment on homesickness age 18 because I was basically away from home from age 12 so I saw each new step as 'onwards and upwards'. I guess the point I'm trying to make is that the girl in this story explains away her tears with the 'd word'. I can understand the reason I might be depressed – it's bloody obvious. Most people who tell me they're depressed, I can usually deduce or at least understand the reasons behind it, if we talk I'll understand (I'm not a psychic) but there are those Enigmas that keep pretentious muppets like Frasier and Nials Crane
in business, people who perpetuate the myth (in my view) that if you're fit and well, feel well enough to walk around and drive and you are relatively unconstrained by the world around you it's ok to be depressed because there's a reason somewhere, I don't think there is sometimes (I can understand a chemical imbalance or a structural fault in the brain (my problem caused by the stroke)): Short of this I just don't understand depression at all, I understand how boredom leads to fatigue and how fatigue and unhappiness prey off each other and you create a downward spiral. Fatigue is the thing that is my boring constant, without it, I reckon I could just be a non-walking, slightly different version of Dom [pre-stroke], but I'm never sure if I'm going to be like this forever, no-one conclusively knows. I have literally tried everything to sort this out, this is why I may sometimes appear to be 'wallowing'. Most of my exes have remained good friends which is wonderful but even though I'm thrilled by this the presence of plentiful offspring and a husband for most of them is about the strongest 'Never Ever' message there is but the fact they stay friends is pretty nice of them (for me at least, hopefully for them. I am basically a bit of a tough project hoping like a piece of Sushi
on a conveyor belt that has been mispriced and is cheaper than it perhaps should be, a delicious bargain maybe – I can but dream. Right now I feel laced with Polonium though and one of my main reasons for writing this is on the wane. I used to enjoy provoking debate and reaction but I seem to get less and less of it these days. I get more conversation from a ten word comment on facebook than a time-consuming, energy sapping post on here, crikey, even though I thought I'd never do it, I'm considering using twitter. If Wayne Rooney
and Rio bloody Ferdinand
can figure it out, I can, although unlike Rio I can't give away the chance to win a holiday if you follow me, what a crass c***!

Post 303: Um, modern art appreciation

2011-08-21T13:18:00.020+01:00

I remember listening to Jonathan Ross' autobiography 'why do I say these things?' and between bouts of thinking why wasn't it titled 'How did I ever become famous?' or 'Why am I so smug?' the bit about 'the primary importance of pets being to teach children about mortality' made sense but I'd now add that Pets teach us what it's like to feel unconditional love. Now, I don't like to bang on about my cats too much because it makes me sound like a sad person whose only friends are his cats but one of my cats 'Ham' does really make me happy because most days/evenings when I go to lie down she is there napping on my bed, now originally my arrival was disruptive to her doing nothing so she would usually leg it, but she has now got used to my arrival, it probably took me as long to figure out I was mildly allergic to her but this is a mild irritation I put up with (pun intended) as often she'll get lonely and come and see me, and this is no Pavlovian desire for food because she must know by now that I can't feed her. So she jumps up onto the bed and demands that I stroke her, if I'm asleep she rather more annoyingly mews in my ear. I let this go because it is priceless behaviour, she then does that thing all cats do, pushes/nuzzles your hand/nose and has the kind of love in her eyes that only a pet could ever have. It is difficult to replicate this . It must be what it feels a bit like to have your own infant child need you or when your other half just wants you to hold them. I'll not go on lest I get all introspective but I was resting just now just thinking this and felt it needed to be committed to paper (or whatever this is). Much more importantly I wanted to talk in more detail about my trip to the Tate Modern with my mate Jo last week (Thursday), I've been a couple of times (once in my chair) not because I like Modern art, the highpoint for me is the smoothness of the floor, in fact liking modern art couldn't be further from the truth, I think most of it is 'crap'. In fact it reminds me of a time I went to a friends 'fine art' 'finals exhibition', I could barely control myself. Her work was genuinely good (but fancying her a lot helped), there wasn't half some rubbish, two things particularly stood out, apparently by one of the more talented artists, he had simply taken a thick piece of rope and tied a knot in it then laid it on the floor, brilliant, It was a lovely piece of rope it has to be said, whilst another had hired an old man to sit there all day looking longingly at what looked like a glass of Scotch! Maybe I am being a philistine and seeing things too literally without the veneer of 'bullshit' I should, sorry the right kind of 'interpretation' or 'suspension of disbelief'
That is the trouble with the Tate Modern, it seems designed to generate a seemingly bottomless pit of facetious sarcastic comments. I'll give you a couple of examples. I'm not a complete Philistine! I like some paintings but I particularly like works of art I can step in and be part of, which is why I like the turbine hall in the Tate Modern for it's sheer scale. The most incredible thing about the place is the building itself and the view which inspires some mixed feelings. It was from the amazing view from the windows at the top which just show what a delightful day it was. We could just see down to the right where I used to work for HSBC stockbrokers as an awful telecoms analyst and I observed that Natasha (the girl who broke my heart in 2007) and I had started going out in 2000 that we used to meet for a crafty fag on the path under Southwark bridge(far right of this picture). As she was a few years older and an established saleswoman we had to keep things quiet, she could not be seen to be fooling around with a graduate. Those were better days, apart from working hours that would make most human rights lawyers take an interest it was a more carefree time, being independent in London at age 23 was pretty cool.
This doesn't detract from the fact that the Tate Modern is full of a lot of rubbish. I think literally rubbish in some cases, there was one exhibit that I thought would have it's own section at the local dump, there was even a mirror (read this bullsh*t) (words fail me), sadly the turbine hall appeared to be empty, although there might have been an exhibit there called 'gullible fools', but it was just the right place if you like smooth floors, Jo and I chuckled our way around it before it was time to head off to the Soho Theatre at about 5:30.
The Soho Theatre along with any number of places on Shaftsbury avenue is probably the most challenging place to park and get a wheelchair into, but Jo had done her research and knew exactly where the disabled parking spaces in Soho were, and thankfully my long suffering brother who has done a majestic job in the last few weeks putting in a proper brick driveway in front of my house, he was here and able to show Jo how to open the rear door and lock the van in the absence of it working properly and full marks to Jo, she was able to operate it after the hasty tutorial, many less practical people would have struggled.
As it was, we got our second choice parking space about a ten minute wheelchair drive from the theatre just as the heavens opened, by the time I got to the theatre I might as well have been under a shower but seeing Simon Evans was so worth it QUOTE 'I'm sure some of you are struggling to place my accent, it is in fact, educated'. I'm no snob, but that is funny!

I'm supposed to be going to an outdoor music festival on Sunday. More than any other event, this one depends on the weather and I know for a fact that the promoter will be saying 'I hope my deal with the devil still stands'.The SW4 festival has always been one of those events that has supplied me with some of the best moments in my life.

post 302: Getting back on track

2011-08-20T11:47:00.015+01:00

There is a scene in well above average film X-men origins: Wolverine ( not the snappiest of titles I admit) where Hugh Jackman (as a straight man even I can objectively see he's a fine specimen, lucky guy), he walks out of his cabin in the Rockies on a beautiful morning and has a stretch before going back in to his beautiful girlfriend, and I thought that is where I would like to be – it might not happen but now that I'm pretty much 6 weeks post Appendicitis and 5 years 7 months post stroke I can dream (here I'm mostly talking about being able to grow Wolverine- style facial hair, I said dream), and I'm back doing my training and I've now got plans to put in a gym in a garage near here with weights and parallel bars for walking, I'm feeling back on track although the new car hasn't worked out. GAH! It took 6 hard months (mostly of my dads hard work to get that and the backdoor mechanism doesn't work(not a euphemism), driving it doesn't feel easier or safer for people despite the automatic gearbox, and sitting upfront in my wheelchair is shockingly bumpy and uncomfortable mainly because the suspension is all wrong and my wheelchair magnifies every bump in the British Roads and my god, how bad are the British roads? No wonder the Europeans take the p*ss) Anyway my dad is very angry (rightly) because he put so many man hours into it but he thinks I should just 'suffer in silence' – if this blog tells you anything about me – I can't do that. I also don't want to be accused of 'playing the sympathy card' because believe it or not this has been said to me a few times (!) I never intentionally do this except in incidences of road rage against my car. I try and get on with things. I just expect common decency in return which I pretty much mostly get. It's weird, people who accuse me of 'playing the sympathy card' are people who know me less well because the people who know me better can see how much this has knocked me although my family seem to just expect me to be who I was. Humans, we're f*cked up. As usual more profane than profound.
Maybe you might think this a touch harsh, but I had the unfortunate incidence of 'having my ears raped' © Tom Allen, by a song they played on the radio by an all girl band called 'the Pierces', now no song with the following lyrics can be good

[Chorus]
God bless the world, it's so glorious
God bless the ones we've loved
God bless the ones we've lost
God bless the world, it's so glorious
I will never die, never die like you

I felt his hand today, across my shoulder,
I'll kneel down to pray
Say afterlife's OK,
But it got so lonely when you turned away

I saw his lie today, across my shoulder,
I'll kneel down to pray
I feel like hell today,
But it got so lonely when you turned away

I felt his hand today, across my shoulder,
I'll kneel down to pray
Say afterlife's OK,
But it got so lonely when you turned away
It got so lonely when you turned away
It got so lonely when you turned away
It's rather ironic don't you think but there's no mistaking evil?! But mostly it just makes me nauseous. I won't post the youtube link because I've had a few people tell me off for embeding it thus implanting in their brains on one of those annoying loops, this is how facebook links to youtube but if you're a glutton for punishment look up 'Pierces Glorious' on youtube. Be afraid, be disgusted
Good-looking popstars gushing about being 'lonely' and about wanting ' god to bless the world because it's glorious, granted I see glorious things but not the whole world is glorious, this is just a painful notion it is as absurd as saying I'm a happy bunny. Apparently this song shouldn't be taken seriously and is 'tongue in cheek' – I don't take things too seriously but surely the word 'sh*te' would do? Other sh*te things have been the looting going on around Britain, some people have been trying to apologise for these peoples behaviour claiming government cuts have created an underclass who have nothing better to do than loot,
Bollocks , I blame it on the coincidence of utter boredom, school holidays and good weather. There were some chinks of absurdity, the Brixton Lidl

was looted and I have visions of staff coming in the next day and saying 'who's tidied up in here?, saying the same at TKMaxx, which looks like it's been looted at the best of times – maybe I'm being harsh, These are standard bearers for Britain becoming an economic powerhouse again after all because we now as a nation manufacture the choking hazard toys that go inside Kinder Surprise Eggs. Doom is staring us in the face. If my pension dries up I'm in trouble, writing some old novel must be the only way
because going through life without a payrise means alarm bells should be sounding, I always wanted to get to the top but a least I can tick the box saying that I'm doing what I can myself within the boundaries of having excellent carers who recognise when I'm having trouble reaching my feet so will happily help me with my shoes and also be perceptive enough to help me out when I'm knackered. This understanding in itself makes life slightly less worse but a well placed hug from a pretty girl takes me backup the table and feel 'back in the game' Not that this has happened – far from it.

My next thing to say that even though it may look a daunting task but I am the flexible, honest, caring guy who will look after you once the fundamentals are ok. Searching will be the most important thing in the world for 2-3 (ish) years despite the fact I've been searching for 3 already and have virtually nothing to show for it other than some numbers on my bank statement that my dad tells me 'seems a lot' for what internet dating is. Longer term will be about training which stops for nothing. I don't want to ever be accused of playing that sympathy card again. I just want to get on with what I've got, I'll Spit, swear and grit my teeth but All I can do is what I can arrange to do with help, because anyone letting anyone down is doing the wrong thing, I have been mortified recently by people deciding not to help. If I've perhaps spoken the wrong way, I'm not too proud to apologise, I don't know what to say and my usual excuses shouldn't mean sh*t but even though I know some great people I can't think of one that could face this with a better demeanor than I do. Sounding fed up here is part and parcel.
Next time: Some disparaging comment on Modern Art and thanks to Jo for a fun day out, the Tate Modern doesn't half have some weird sh*t in it but it does have a smooth floor! Despite the monsoon on Thursday we also managed o catch comedian Simon Evans at the brilliant Soho Theatre.
I will ellaborate more in my next ejection.

Post 301: Different ways of finding things funny and unbelievably Dad is 75

2011-08-13T14:51:00.013+01:00

I have recently finished listening to Jack Dee's autobiography 'Thanks for Nothing' and it staggers me he's one of the countries most popular comedians. Don't get me wrong, his life has been amusing and listening to it read by him is a masterstroke, not quite up there with Michael Macintyre's autobiography. Two funny little men with quite different styles. Macintyre is always giggling, Dee is always grumbling. Jack literally hates everything, he doesn't trust strangers, I think he is so popular because people respect his unflinching deadpan and his ability to point out everything that is sh*t about the world (something very English). This I can relate too and laugh at because everything's a bit sh*t isn't it? Just today (Thursday), I was basically hounded off a young stroke survivors discussion board on facebook because they (a religious zealot and a member of the 'positive police') only want to read 'positive things on a support group' Jesus (who never existed) wept, Jack Dee would plough a furrow through them although how he coped at AA meetings I'll never know, his version of sharing was probably p*ssing in a cup and offering everyone a sip, and I found it unbelievable he even went for an interview to become a priest although he said something like 'I knew I'd made a terrible mistake the nanosecond I sat down in front of the interviewer'. I think he just wanted to try things until he happened upon something that didn't irritate the sh*t out of him which is odd considering he did a stint as a clipboard carrying market researcher and he tried to get good at Real Tennis when he lived near Queens Club. I think deep down he just wanted to try as wide a variety of things before settling on something where he didn't feel like a parasite and despite being hard worker something where not too much effort were required that would pay the bills, He'd then find a wife and settle down. Essentially he's just an ordinary miserable little fella who had a saleable autobiography because one of the things he tried, stand-up comedy, worked out. I think it sounds like a reasonable plan. Macintyre is quite different – I relate to the way he's always giggling at life's absurdities and his comic pedigree was more clearly ingrained by virtue of the fact his dad used to help produce 'the Kenny Everett' show on TV. It was big back then with over 20 million viewers. Anyway – I love both their senses of humour even though they're totally different although I can perhaps relate more to Dee's cynicism because frankly at the moment everything IS a bit sh*t, I perhaps used to find more funnier but that's when I had energy. Both books acknowledge and thank their long suffering wives in making them successes, indeed this is one of the last things I wrote on that discussion board
The common theme for those who are happy [here I.e those post-stroke] seems to be having another person to live for. I had that till my gf of 7 years left me in 2007. I am grateful to all my friends (most of whom have stuck with me) and have made some great new ones - my family have been awesome but something's missing. If I sound 'hate -filled' - it's because I hate self-righteousness [and earnestness], and there seems to be a lot of it. The reason I'm still here is I get easily wound up, and would rather argue logically than walk (well not walk) away. Rubbish habit, I know.
Anyway, I've included this because I like to shoehorn in my attitude to what I think the most important issue is in my life, also one of those great friends who has stuck by me is Alice who drove down from Oxford on Tuesday (where her and her husband, my oldest friend Dom) now sensibly live. She brought down their latest addition, 6 week old Arden, who I can confirm is indeed a baby, it goes without saying he's cute. Blokes who read this must hate the way I bang on about needing a girlfriend to be happy. Actually, it's just a girl to hug, laugh and share life with. Now I owe an apology to everyone. Man up Pardey! Speaking of Pardey Men (sorry!) it was inarguably the greatest Pardey, My Dad's, 75th on Friday.
I attribute his youthful demeanour to 4 rounds of golf a week and despite the evidence, pickling himself in various types of booze, which Mum and I tell him off for. Anyway mum put on one of her masterpiece lunches for him. All their delightful 'old fart' friends were there and they're all lovely to me despite me being so much less entertaining and unable to be on waiter duty anymore. The Test match was also on and England were kicking *rse so they were happy. Finally here is a button I wish I had.

Conclusive Iron (maiden) clad proof that belief in KARMA is just plain WRONG

2011-08-07T17:38:00.016+01:00

For a slight change today I'm an angry man because I feel let down. I have often been told that this blog makes me sound like a very angry person, which is probably a little true, but is almost always anger directed at myself because stroke doesn't make you look obviously injured or ill apart from the wheelchair, but I still feel awful, can't walk or get on with my life like a normal person, hence why I am fuming at myself, I also slept appallingly last night (thursday) because one of the pillars of how I live my life feels like it has come crashing down on me because of what someone I thought was a friend and thought highly of has said.
This has threatened my way of life because aside from focusing on keeping myself physically fit and trying to keep my friends and family from drifting away, the 3rd most important and equally as time consuming and exhausting thing as training and keeping up with friends and family is meeting new people and looking for a girlfriend. The only way I can try and do this is through dating websites, facebook and email and requires both parties to have some faith in human decency and it seems to be in short supply. Literally this was working ok (but very slowly) and I would say most of the new people I've met since my stroke have been lovely until one of them basically implied that 'I must have deserved my stroke because 'what goes around comes around' That's right, let it sink in. Maybe I should just let that go? Oh, I can't. Sorry. Someone saying that is unforgivable. I know she's had to face and deal with some horrific things in her life. I would never imply she deserved them, NEVER, because that would be just the nastiest thing anyone could think, let alone say. Anyway, this has undermined my faith in humanity a bit and undermined one of the major things I do with my life plus some faith I had in my innate judge of character. There's no way I'd directly name her as that wouldn't be fair so as always for things like this and I'm sure she's saying 'who cares what he thinks'. Not for the first time since this stroke have I just felt like shouting:

'Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh' What a shame! I feel wretched. '

Oneday, I'll have something good , 'light and fluffy' to say, just not today. I feel so let down. Actually, despite how hard things have been since my Appendicitis a few weeks ago, I did manage to go and see Brit Floyd, Pink Floyds biggest tribute act on Tuesday. Now the Dome was by no means full but just playing at the Dome looks pretty good on the CV and for future reference, tribute acts start on time. Granted Floyd were a bit before my time and I can't get away with 'yeah, I'm really into 70s/80s subversive, psychedelic rock but my carers for the evening Oli(who's taken me out before) and Graham (a friend of a friend who helps passengers who need assistance onto planes at Gatwick) are a little older than I so I hope they both enjoyed it( I foolishly didn't have my camera so next time) – such a shame the original Floyd line-up aren't on speaking terms because most of their stuff is genius, sprawling and epic -the type of music that stops you in your tracks(one of them is sadly no longer with us I think, this evening (saturday) I'm off to the Dome again with some new friends who would never let me down, Rachel and her boyfriend Matt to see Iron Maiden, Having now seen them, their multifaceted frontman Bruce Dickinson, singer, songwriter, airline pilot, fencer, broadcaster, author, screenwriter, actor and marketing director, surely holds the record for the longest multiplied by the widest someone can stand with their legs splayed apart and my imaginination there would be a fairly basic colour scheme, lots of old black leather jackets, beards and Ponytails, not to forget a sense of doom was proved correct. Rachel's threat to paint my fingernails black didn't happen but she brought along a rather fetching tattoo sleeve href="h! Can't say I'm a big Iron Maiden fan but heavy metal live is awesome and so it was. My predictions about the crowd were largely borne out and the mosh pit looked so intensely black that I observed that 'like a black hole, natural light couldn't escape from it', and I couldn't stop having a laugh when I heard a small group of (probably) Swedish blokes earnestly discussing what was clearly the greatness of the show. Replete with rucksacks they'd clearly travelled to see this. Given that I find the Swedish accent (and language) hilarious (this is probably so wrong), it happened to coincide in my mind with a recent bit I'd listened to by Aussie comedian Steve Hughes, it was about heavy metal and it's strange relationship with Swedish People e.g 'yes, vee are going krazy here' and an online friend and stroke surviving blogger named Lou

who briefly had learnt to speak again but somehow with a swedish accent (to start with), the combination of all these trains of thought led to the best kind of uncontrollable laughter, like when someone farts loudly in church.
Sadly back to the serious sh*t - I used to think 'just words' were 'just words' – noone woke up with leprosy after a row, I guess, well hope noone ever wakes up with Leprosy or having had a stroke like mine but words can be pretty horrible things. As you were! Thanks for getting this far! It's now Sunday and I've just come back from Sunday roast with some friends – first they acknowledged how meeting new people the way I have to does place quite an abnormal burden of trust on both sides but that I'm much better off not knowing the person who thought I must have deserved the stroke. Yet another argument for why belief in some sort of divine 'Karma' is not just rubbish. It can be positively evil.

Post 299: More self indulgence, only complain with a good reason

2011-07-30T13:03:00.011+01:00

A slight supplemental (ok, so a pretty long one) to my last post because I have managed to miss yet more things that I would have given my collection of Hens teeth (whatever they are – apparently they're rare but they sound worthless) to go to but being honest I don't think I'm fully past the pain my operation wounds have been giving me so I didn't want to 'shoot myself in the foot to spite my face' [Thankyou Lizzie Catt for that GEM] One-day, I really must compile these few mixed metaphors to produce something genuinely amusing. It may yet be a triumph among dogturds.
Anyway, moving on, I managed to miss (on Saturday) the engagement drinks of close college friend Mel who seems to have got engaged to Lucas the Canadian male development equivalent of her and he's 'pretty hot (according to her although objectively I think I can see where she's coming from) ( to the layman development is saving the world and asks difficult questions like 'after the wars how on earth are we going to rebuild Iraq and Afganistan? Neo-conservatives would presumably say 'who cares, we won, yee-haa?' but I am glad that there are people who think about it. The world is surely advanced enough to stop people suffering and dying from preventable diseases, violence and hunger. I know my suffering is nothing like this but when you struggle to survive you feel an affinity with other people who suffer, I'm pretty sure this a post stroke thing – I still take the p*ss out of idealists and people who complain 'the world's just not fair' too right, that's just the way it is – it is worth trying to make things fairer but not by being aggressive,violent and angry, usually at this stage someone chips in sarcastically with 'that's right Dom, everyone should just be happy in their place', my answer is mixed, firstly I believe strongly in social mobility and betterment but I am also very Darwinian in my view that people deserve to be treated as equals but we are not equals. I believe strongly in what neuroscientist Jill Bolte-Taylor

says -'we are all just brothers and Sisters on this planet, here to make the world a better place' – this may sound a bit hippy for me but it was so well put by her, someone who survived a (very different but very serious) stroke, it's a phrase I now fully subscribe to. I subscribe to a very realistic, empirical, liberal, compassionate, evidence – based, view of the world – what I – slighy cockilly call – 'the non-dicks view of the world, it dovetails nicely with my 'Don't be a dick' philosophy
-this is also a time when I am going to bring up something which'll make you brand me a hypocrite, one of the things I try my hardest to avoid. Why do people get so hacked off by Bono or the song 'Another day in Paradise' by Phil Collins. Because aside from the fact that it's Bono and Phil Collins, they're both millionaires that think they can tell anyone anything about poverty and homelessness, it's like Jeremy Kyle telling a crackhead single mum that he's 'been there'.It's not on. I will just say that I get wound up by people who complain, but I complain all the time, but I can put up with myself because I've got GOOD REASON to complain. I've been brought up never to 'cry wolf' for instance I get furious with the 8 year old next door when he screams and shouts for no reason. Not only is it the worst noise in the world but it means in future if he screams if something serious happens people are likely to ignore him and it'll be too late. The same is true of 1930s Man Ron in Draper's ward at Putney ( towards the end of the post) feb2008, those posts are emotionally hideous.now dylan, apart from his tendecy to 'cry wolf' Other than that he's a great kid. Polite, Helpful, interested in everything are just a few of the things that spring to mind. I think most people would be happy if they had a kid of his age turn out like Dylan. So complaining, I complain about feeling ill and tired a lot because these were among some of the more unfortunate and debilitating effects of my brain injury alongside not just being able to walk around, talk properly and have the normal use of ANY of my muscles or eyesight. I can tell I'm no picnic of a human and so I won't try and promise too much of myself but I will spend a disproportionate amount of my time looking for a significant other although it seems like a lost cause a lot of the time. I have listened to enough autobiographies and without exception married men talk about how important their wive's are at being the most important thing in the world. I WANT TO FEEL THIS! I know the girl will have to be unusually special and finding her will be much harder but once she is found she will be treated like the most valuable thing in he world if we click (whatever that means). I hate publishing these on here but it seems to make sense. Simply put it is my latest dating profile that I use on a few sites: Maybe you'll be able to see more clearly than me why I get so much of that most delightful of sounds, silence:
I have been doing this for three years as it is the only way I have of meeting new people, and if that doesn't put you off read on, the rest probably will! I was lucky to live after a major stroke changed my life completely on Christmas bloody day 2005. Since that day life hasn't really been 'sunshine and lollipops'. I have adapted(ish) but there has always been somebody missing and this sort of dating has been a teensy bit demoralising if I'm honest.. I probably used to be a 'catch'(tall, pretty good looking, intelligent, independent, financially self sufficient, positive, good friends, great family .I had hoped to be a buyer, now I hope to be a writer someday. Write to me, I'll make it worth your while. Any of those 'timesaver' template messages, sounding like you haven't read this or if you haven't got a pic will be automatically deleted, please don't take the p*ss. When I look past the pitch black hilarity of all this, I appreciate I have been lucky to live, to have kept most of my mind, loads of great mates, such a supportive family, a place to live almost independently (Oxshott nr Epsom) and the sort of pension most people dream about – it's not riches but it gets me by and keeps me in important stuff. I would hazard it's enough to keep a family on.
I'm looking for a beautiful, educated Angel to make laugh (I'm afraid it has to be someone I fancy, if I don't reply I probably just don't fancy the sound or look of you plus typing anything much these days is a huge undertaking), I'm looking for someone to share decent red wine and conversation with, who has a can-do attitude to life, loves live concerts and feels that their life will be completed by helping someone who has really suffered. I have fairly strong morals but am a pretty radical atheist and Empiricist, some might say I'm a bit cynical, but I'm no fool. If you write to me looking like you've read this and it sounds like you're up for this, I will reply. You'll have to be able to drive and not mind coming here for tea to meet me, because I can't travel. I will also send you a link to something that will prove my story beyond all doubt because the lengths wrong'uns will go shocks me Well, I know I'm not always right but I'm no wrong'un.
I have tried so hard to be normal again but six years of trying doesn't seem to me to have yielded genuine tangible improvements to my fatigue or physical independence. I am allowed to complain about this, I've earnt it, because I have a legitimate reason but the world hate's complainers particularly those with no reason to complain and those who don't even try to do anything about it i.e. people who complain about being tired and ill and do nothing about their diet or exercise routine, I only say this because I was able to lose 2.5 stone between summer 2010 and summer 2008 by changing my diet and physio regime and I can't even exercise properly, surely if a sedentary person who's a bit fed up can do that a normal person could do it , and an equivalent of all that weight would be ridding yourself of depression or illness. This is just my opinion of course, sadly it is the unyielding nature of my brain injury that keeps that weight loss as just weight loss, it doesn't translate into improved fatigue, better balance or more independence at least it hasn't yet -although hopefully over the next couple of weeks I am going for the 3rd option I've taken with medication for fatigue. Ritalin was a disaster, Keppra did nothing.Let's see what Fampridine does? I'm only a little nervous. One of the big points of this post has been lost and haven't I gone on?! Back in April I was rightly very rude about the Penultimate Harry Potter, so earlier in the week my good mate Will Dugdale, pictured here at his amazing wedding last year that I couldn't get too because of the snow , well I think they look amazing, and the album from the wedding shows that the weather didn't spoil it. Far from it, but thankyou Will for taking me out last week. This last Harry Potter was 1000 times better than the one before. Sorry for going on and all the self indulgent crap.

Post 298:Fed up with missing out on plans and some stroke FACTs

2011-07-24T17:45:00.018+01:00

My little brush with Appendicitis has been such a pain (unfunny pun sort of intended) Even though I was only in hospital for just over a week I missed so much! Most important was the celebration of Karen and Toby's wedding. Luckily I had seen them a couple of weeks before when we had had the most glorious afternoon/evening seeing Bon Jovi in Hyde Park, it was supposed to be their wedding present but Kazza insisted on paying – not the same as getting to see them and everyone all in one place in the beautiful surroundings of Wallingford,
but as Anna (who was supposed to be taking me to the celebration) and I would say 'SH*T HAPPENS' (it's our motto, we said it a lot when she came to see me in intensive care!) . I also managed to miss out on Take That at Wembley after being so pleased to get tickets and a couple of smaller comedy gigs which I'll struggle to replicate. Mark Watson in Epsom and the brilliant drunken Irishman Dylan Moran at the Hammersmith Apollo. I have seen both of them a couple of times before but there's just something that feels criminal about missing these things although I suppose unlike Karen's wedding reception there's an outside chance they'll happen again. I know it's that dreadful feeling of letting yourself and others down again. Some people seem to be able to do this all the time. I can barely live with it when it's not my fault, I don't understand how people can live with it if it is their fault
Despite feeling like I've let people down and that I must be no fun people have still found the time to visit the pathetic lump of tearful unhappiness that I am. As someone now completely dedicated to meeting new friends and keeping old ones I am ashamed of this attitude. I hope that somewhere this blog persuades you that's the Dom that a lot of people know. Where was I? Yes people who have made the effort to come and see me this week. Today (Sunday 24th ) My folks took me out for a five star roast at the Bear – it's amazing they(my parents) still put up with me given what a needy human I've become. At their stage in life (they're doing great for their 70s). Also big thanks to Olly and his lovely girlfriend Lucy who dropped in in the afternoon (On thesaturday My best friend Tony popped in and immediately did the background web research on organising a Centreparks style holiday for a big group for next year – it would have taken me days and off the scale fatigue to have a chance of doing anything like that. Tony just can't help himself. I had also better not forget my friends Richard (the vicar) and Simon who came to see me on Tuesday - it's always a pleasure, they're great mates for such different reasons!
On Friday Jose (my friend and trainer) let me off my session (saying my wound needs a few weeks to heal) and took me to lunch at the Bear. Bloody good of him. On Tuesday my mate Richard . (the legend and vicar) popped in. I love these visits but always find myself apologising at the end because I must be such hard work to deal with and they always tell me not to be stupid. If there's melodrama to be had, I'll find it. My point that I had started with was how fed up with having to miss plans. On friday evening, I had tickets to my first Prom of this year with my parents and strictly speaking although I should have stayed in bed, missing something else wasn't bloody good enough! Which is probably an apt description of my post-stroke life.
As it was it's always worth going to the Albert Hall. Despite the ehos being 'a bit posh', it's an amazing place especially from the wheelchair platform a few yardss from the stage .Mum even whispered to me at one point ' you should see the conducters face – he's so flamboyant and expressive'. I used to get impressed by this – I now find myself saying 'He's a conducter for chrissakes, it's the very least he should be, and this was the kind of guy if you saw him on the street you'd tap him on the shoulder and say 'you must be a conducter' You know, portly, thinning collar length hair, keeps Brylcreem in business – looks more at home in a tailcoat than your average bridegroom.
Thanks are especially due to my housekeepers/carers ( Hassan, Agnieska and Abir) who have had to work so much harder because of my little visit to Kingston hospital. Despite this they say they're pleased to see me back
Before I started this morning I got a message from my friend Jo who was there when I woke up from the operation telling me to remember to thank Marshall, a Zimbabwean intensive Care nurse who had been brilliant at keeping Jo and my parents informed about my tricky waking from the operation(which made it more than routine). The other thing I wanted to add on the day that Amy Winehouse being found dead is the subject of much media speculation, I thought I'd include some facts about stroke that have been sent to me by an American organisation who have unbelievably been reading my blog and finding it quite interesting, hard to imagine but FACT.

Strokes: Fact vs. Fiction
Strokes are serious medical issues, and millions of people live with their effects every day. Yet despite the damage they can cause to a person’s body, many people still don’t know a great deal about strokes. Public awareness is growing, but additional education sorting fact from fiction will certainly help clarify the condition even more.
Where do strokes occur?
Some people mistakenly believe strokes take place in the heart, but most actually happen in the brain when a vessel becomes blocked. Sometimes, this is called a “brain attack” because the brain does experience some damage from oxygen loss.
Are they preventable?
To a large degree, strokes can be prevented. Certain health conditions and lifestyle choices, for instance, may leave a person more susceptible to strokes than others. High blood pressure, atrial fibrillation in the heart, high cholesterol, and even diabetes all raise a person’s risk of having a stroke. Couple these conditions with alcohol use, smoking, or obesity, and a person could eventually face a serious problem. A healthy diet and avoidance of harmful substances will help alleviate some of these concerns.
How long is stroke recovery?
Some people believe recovery takes a few months, but it is likely that a person will spend the rest of his or her life working to overcome the issues caused by a stroke. Statistics have shown that 35 percent of stroke victims recover almost completely, or live with minor impairments. Another 40 percent experience more severe difficulties and will need special care. A primary stroke center is well-equipped to help improve patient outcomes for stroke victims.
Is treatment possible?
Yes. Strokes can be treated, but they must absolutely be addressed as soon as possible. This means it is crucial to understand the signs and symptoms of a stroke if you notice them in yourself or someone around you. If you see someone exhibiting any of these behaviors, note when the symptoms start, as the amount of time that elapses can influence the choices medical professionals make:
· Trouble walking, stumbling, or sudden loss of balance or coordination
· Difficulty speaking, understanding, or finding the right words
· A sudden headache
· Problems seeing with one or both eyes, including blurry vision or seeing double
Leaving a stroke untreated only increases the potential for greater injury to the brain. The best treatment options come within one hour of the appearance of the first symptoms.
Who do strokes affect?
The elderly are often viewed as the most likely stroke victims, but strokes can happen to anyone. All age groups would be well-served to learn to recognize the signs of a stroke should this happen to you or a loved one.
References
http://www.mercymiami.org/hospital-services/primary-stroke-center/
http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/stroke/DS00150/DSECTION=symptoms
http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/woman/health/health/drkeithhopcroft/2896876/Different-strokes-Facts-and-myths-of-killer-attacks.html
http://www.stroke.org/site/DocServer/Stroke_Fact_Sheet_with_Graphics_6.26.06.pdf?docID=1944
http://www.stroke.org/site/PageServer?pagename=cont

More drama that I could have done without

2011-07-17T13:32:00.009+01:00

Sadly for a change (!) this is not going to be the most uplifting entry because I have just spent the last week in the earthbound equivalent of hell, an NHS hospital, Kingston to be precise. And this has made me think of one or two ironical observations. Firstly, Surely, if there's one man who's had enough of the inside of hospitals -it's me? Oh that's right -life isn't f*cking fair! My second observation is much more important, it is why these places, remember imo, some of the worst in the world are almost always staffed by angels. I was in and out of consciousness last week after what I thought was a routine procedure to remove a gangrenous appendix but somewhere along the way I ended up in intensive care where a bodybag is a popular way out. The reason I'd ended up there was I failed to wake up properly from the operation and got another nasty lung infection – it ended up being pretty far from routine, it's probably put me back a year and I'm in constant pain. The people who work in intensive care I reckon are among the most incredible people in the world. Most of us are unfit to breathe the same air as them. So that means Jo and student Nurse Ellen plus Oscar, Bev, Sue and Sanjay. I am in awe. I also feel an apology is due, on Sunday night I was in too much pain to sleep and Oscar kept coming in when I groaned and would say words to the effect of 'it's 3am – go to sleep!' I was relaying this story the next day to Jo and Bev saying that this bloke Oscar had similar features/mannerisms to the killer in 'No Country for old men' 30 seconds later Jo revealed to me that Bev was actually married to Oscar!Luckily she saw the funny side! The time I spent in intensive care was the most excrutiatingly painful hospital time I've ever done. Minutes were hours, I couldn't move, there was nothing I could do. The only thing that saved me was a surprise visit from my friend Anna on the Monday who is one of the nicest people in the world whilst gently trying to talk with Jo and Ellen. It's so hard in this situation to try and find anything to remotely lift your spirits because everything that makes who you are is gone. So I can only conclude it is the people around you who help raise your spirits at all, in this case the remarkable good humour of the nurses and people who turned up as if by magic. Seriously, I know I've said it before, but visiting someone in hospital who's not expecting you will make both your years, the converse is if you say you're going to visit and then don't. It is devastating, this is based on bitter, bitter experience, no names will ever be mentioned but I'm hoping that a few people feel a chill. That's the extent of any retribution I have. I know, it's rubbish. And finally special thanks are due to my friend Jo who was there when I woke up. I do apologise for being a bit tearful, but I couldn't ever forget the lovely Astor ward nurses, Soph and Abby plus I'm also incredibly grateful to my best friends from University Vicky and Tony for seemingly dropping what they were doing and coming to see me, the same can be said of my parents. Feeling that you're trying to cope alone is terrible. There must be plenty of people who do, I don't even know How it could be done. Now, it's time to completely change the subject. There seem to be people who are determined to hate me because I'm a bit posh. Apparently this marks you out as someone out of touch and therefore disqualified from discussing certain things. I don't care what anyone says, it's often how I've been made to feel. This video will make them hate me more, you can go f*ck yourselves, I'm no 'Tim, nice but Dim'. It was video taken in 2004 at one of my favourite places in the world – Royal St Georges in Sandwich in Kent where this years British Open Golf Champioship is being played for the first time since 2003. Tony and Vicky (who came to see me in hospital and set up my TV in hospital so I could watch bits of it -they're also in that golf video along with my legend of a friend Richard. Seeing me *rse around and speak and stand normally has fair made me cry. The last thing I want to bluster about is the brilliance of the Surgeons. While I'm on the subject of Posh these guys had just the correct amount of British Airways airline pilot swagger to leave you in no doubt that plunging a knife into you was just the right (no, the ONLY) thing to be doing, so thanks James Kirkby-Bott who must have been around my age. These people are amazing. Finally, a friend of mine found this clip of me being set-up back in 2004 – I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, although I will apologise for the language.All of that said, I have just bode farewell to the whole Denning Clan (Vicky,PJ, Milly and Gemima) who came round for an English PicNic (ie an indoor one). I feel unworthy of having such great friends, and guess what? I don't give a sh*t how posh they are - all I know is that they give a sh*t

Post 296: Replacing a cliché with a tautology: a sort of change in strategy

2011-07-03T23:22:00.013+01:00

Apologies if there are (more than average) errors or omissions in this, a badly timed computer crash (are there well timed ones?) conspired to make things a barely averted Disaster! I finally hit the publish button through exhausted eyes well after midnight on Sunday 3rd. Now it's the 4th July, and the fist order of business is it's my stateside Sister Susan's birthday, she's looking good for whatever age she is Sometimes I wonder if it's worthwhile. Comments (good or bad are always welcome) and help me maintain the illusio that someone reads this effluent

It's been no secret I've been a bit fed up – groping around in the dark for the next move and a move I could actually be sure about, not having a clue what to do but always trying to keep the interests of those who put up with me at the top of the list. Recently I have done a lot of thinking about a particularly boring cliché that gets spouted at a lot of Stroke Survivors and even used by one or two, it is the particularly nauseating 'No pain, no gain', which is used by sado-masochists up and down the country.The other thing was that stroke survivors only ever have this attitude if they recover. It's very much if in this situationUp until recently I would just nod my head in cowed bland acceptance when people said it, perhaps thinking that saying this to someone with Chronic fatigue is as annoying as a woodpecker mistaking your neck for a tree, in that category is this little gem that if I'd had a quid for each time I'd heard it I'd be a rich man. Prepare to be annoyed 'Concentrate on what you can do, not what you can't' F*ck that, stroke is all about you being prevented from doing things that you used to be able to do (usually easily). It stops you feeling (and being) normal – the best people I know are the ones who treat me as if nothing's different but the minute I look like I'm struggling and need help they instantly realise what allowances to make. It's such a talent, well I think it's basic common sense actually but it can be acquired, it can also be absent or ignored and called 'tough love', this is b*llocks when life is already tough. I'll be honest, nothing feels like it's got any easier despite exhaustive therapy and one or two ill thought out initiatives because nothing gets any easier if your fatigue never changes. When quality of life is the #1 plan, those bloody awful clichés get replaced by the simple tautology, 'no pain, no pain'. I already have enough pain thanks and so I do everything I can in the circumstances to make life bearable. I've tried everything else and guess what cliché spouters? I can't do it and I won't. This is not giving up - this is accepting reality and deliverance from torture.
This week my keeping sane has involved being taken out and taking people out. After my exhausting 3 days on the trot in Hyde Park with perhaps a slight lack of forethought, rather than plan to rest I'd booked tickets for a 'Great Classics' concert at the Albert Hall. I had been concerned that I'd sleep through most of it but luckily the third piece was the third time I'd seen the awe-inspiring Carmina Burana by Carl Orff. Think old spice advert or more recently the music they use to fabricate tension on the x-factor. I have a t-shirt that captures my feelings on this because of course like Americans with bumper stickers my most profound (profane?) thoughts are on t-shirts.
Back to the concert, my parents loved it and we got a bit of a thrill when the Pianist came and sat in our section (who'd just brilliantly played Griegs very recognisable Piano Concerto. I didn't recognise the opening piece by Smetana but I've now got to the stage where I can appreciate those sort of things and scratch my chin quite convincingly. Speaking of which, I went back to Hyde Park (last night – it's Friday today) to see Arcade Fire – a Canadian Band who's latest album won a Brit, Olly (who took me) had highly recommended them saying their sound was 'expansive'. To me this means good and the weather forecast looked pretty good too and Hyde Park is a glorious place, we had a great evening although the Lead Singer looks to have gone to similar overzealous barber as Brandon Flowers (see last post), so good in fact that we're going back for the Chemical Brothers there on Saturday -I've seen them a couple of times but Ol saw them at Glastonbury last week. It was a pretty busy and convoluted Saturday (It's now Sunday) and if I'm honest by the time I was on my way
to Hyde Park (5ish) I wasn't sure I'd have enough left in the tank. From a fatigue perspective it was tough but I'm damned if I'm going to let it defeat me doing the activities that I find worthwhile and I CAN do. There you go cliché spouters are you slightly placated? I can do this but not in the way I'd like too. That barely counts as a can!
Anyway, the thing that had tired me out is the something I can do which is the most important thing to me in the post-stroke world, and that is keeping up with my mates.
The Dennings and the Walmsleys had arranged lunch for me at the Walmsleys house in St Margarets nr Richmond. The only trouble was from the step at their front door to the narrowness of their hall, my wheelchair was never going to fit so we'd deliberately set this up to get me out of my (dis)comfort zone to see if with Nick and PJ's help I could walk through the house (thankfully they're both big lads) although Nick has gone from me calling him 'fat boy' to him looking great in the last few years. His wife Sally must be chuffed, her Pelvis has got better prospects! They are now (including Vicky and PJ all part of the 'self-confessed' professional suburban South London 30s Middle Classes who recognise the irony of having wooden Salad Bowls. They have 2 kids apiece (Oscar and Chloe for Nick and Sal and Gemima and Amelia for Vicky and PJ, Michael McIntyre would have a field day) – seeing as they are my very best friends who make so much effort for me, it's the least I can do to let them know how grateful I am. As it was with PJ in front and the Walm holding onto me behind I managed the walk from the front of Nick and Sals house to the lunch table out the back where I was greeted by Sal's delicious lasagne and three boisterous kids enjoying the British Summer. Having sat me down in a chair with arms, I was able to do my best at being a normal human although keeping ones head up is devilishly hard
, the only sligt hiccup was we had neglected to think through a strategy if I needed the loo, so the lads helped me slowly walk to the ground floor toilet where it is pretty demeaning but necessary that I had my trousers removed before occupying the throne. Not exactly a problem you want age 34. Anyway mission accomplished, Nick gave me a quick lift down to Epsom to wish good friend Jim farewell at a farewell BBQ at his folks house before he heads off to Australia for several years. I was a bit disparaging about his beard, probably because I couldn't grow one if I tried. After eating some rather delicious BBQ food, Ol and I headed off for Hyde Park getting there in time to catch most of Chase and Status, two electronic music producers who smash out Drum and Bass and Dubstep alongside a few other choice morsels, I've never really got dubstep till yesterday but have to report that on a massive soundsystem to a massive crowd, it is amazing, just watching the crowd leaping into the air as one – it's an awesome sight. The Chemical Brothers are two techno producers whose music just makes crowds just go mental, the generation above us just don't get saying that it just sounds like some sort of electrical fault. It can sometimes But they are masters at building up the intensity and then dropping back into a huge beat.
I also can't believe the expense that goes on facilities for the disabled at Hyde Park -I can imagine a management insultant looking at the numbers with incredulity, half the revenue per head and all this cost – extra staff, a dedicated platform, special portaloos (they still stink unfortunately), special parking – I'm glad it's legally protected because to me this is realistically the only benefit I get to being disabled. Disability living allowance is barely worth much, although my dad (quite rightly resents filling in a 60+ page form to qualify for it. I am lucky to have a father who does this. There must be people out there who don't stand a chance!
One of the many good reasons for going back to Hyde Park was to see the lovely girl who I could have sworn blind sounded like she was from Leeds but was actually from Manchester – the lovely Charisse, I'm a sucker for a pretty face, especially someone who seemed so genuinely pleased to see me everyday. She is lovely, I am also grateful to all the Showsec staff who were kind and chatty everyday I was there.
That might have seemed a natural place to end but no – Final thanks go to my friend Rachel who is moving to St Albans . She's a good friend – our red wine drinking evenings have been such a rare highlight. Anyone who fancies their chances filling Dr Oz's shoes?
Finally, on Monday -the Tonbridge guys took me out to dinner, this was when they first took me to dinner . Dave sadly couldn't make it but it was seriously good of the other three to make time for me particularly as Jim's wife is expecting twins.

Post 295: Hard Rock Calling makes me write too much

2011-06-27T00:16:00.016+01:00

This post is going to be a bit long, sorry.
It's going to be another one of those weeks where I do a lot of talking both on and offline about recovery but get no closer to working out what the future holds, well at least it's warm. At least on Thursday, Friday and Saturday this week (it's Thursday today) I'm planning to go to Hyde Park for Hard Rock Calling to see the Kings of Leon today, the Killers tomorrow and Bon Jovi on Saturday so something to look forward to which is a bit of a rarity although the weather better hold. I went to this last year and have to say it was pretty good I can't say I know much about the Kings of Leon apart from one of the rehab assistants in hospital (a guy called Leon) saying they were the best thing ever for no other reason that I could work out than they had the word Leon in their name, so I did a bit of digging and it turns out they're three brothers and a cousin from Tennessee, doesn't that just scream four inbred hicks? But it's a live concert in Hyde Park – there must be something to it? I also love the Killers since seeing them at the Albert Hall a couple of years ago
I may think the lead singer, Brandon Flowers, is a religious nutjob for his Mormonism and his weird lyrics when he went solo last year, he looks like he joined the army! But as a band they've got some tunes. It's small wonder that 'Mr Brightside' was voted tune of the decade on Xfm last year, although I prefer human for the way it makes crowds go mental. Observe. so lets hope this festival lives up to the hype. My neighbours, Ian and Tracy, are taking me today and tomorrow as the KoL and the Killers are Ian's favourite bands and it is my mission in life to take those who have to suffer me to things that they'll love. To me, the acceptable face of religion, my friend Richard Lloyd, the vicar of the neighbouring town, Claygate – took me out to lunch on Tuesday. Despite his vocation he doesn't talk religion at all to people like me, which shows that he understands people so well, he is also an hilarious raconteur and is full of amusing stories – they don't make 'em like Richard anymore – him and his lovely wife Vicky have just had their first, a boy called Barnabas. To quote that bumbling idiot Hugh Grant, 'I am in bewildered awe' of the way my friends have so unselfishly brought so much new life into the world, it was best summed up for me at Mern and Alisdairs wedding in September last year where they had perhaps by accident had baby Harry before they were married. Anyone who remotely has a problem with this is a boil on the arsehole of humanity. Alasdair said in his speech that 'without a doubt the best thing that had come of all this had been Harry', I think the whole room gulped as one when he said that. I must say that without exception I really can't think of one and much less would I say it here, I can't think of a single one of my friends kids that inspire dread in me although I did get told off by my mother for suggesting my sisters kids were anything less than angels. It's my fault apparently that my sister doesn't bring them over from America more often. B*llocks to that. I reckon she comes over here without them sometimes just to get a rest from the noise!
On the domestic front it makes such a difference to have reliable carers. I don't live in fear of being abandoned or of having a poisonous atmosphere to have to tolerate. To be fair I haven't had this problem for a while Well, since March. I now slowly feel like I'm getting some control back in my life, if not my health and normality! Two things that I still need to get off my chest
1.I refuse just to automatically be nice to people who I don't think are nice. Apparently, now that I'm disabled, I should just be nice to everyone no matter what I think of them! What is this – Childrens TV? Perhaps we should wrap everything in Candyfloss too? I'm sorry, that's not going to Happen – some people are just dicks – crikey, I'm probably one -I reserve the right to try and run my f*cked up life the way I like.
2.Despite being close to it I have never given up my quest to find the girl who makes this a happy home. It will have to be someone special who loves Red Wine, dining out but is able to drive me there and back, laughing at good comedy on TV and taking me to concerts, who doesn't mind that I might be slightly above average maintenance, who has a can-do attitude to things, and isn't precious about stupid little things. I want to look after someone and spoil them rotten – but they have to be prepared to look after me. Worst sales pitch ever: OVER.

Since I wrote all that I have been to see the Kings of Leon in Hyde Park and surprise, surprise it was an amazing show but I still can't put my finger on why they're so popular, apparently only in this country too. It's the type of music I could only ever enjoy live, Ian and Tracey loved it too which is one of the most important things but as Alex James (Blurs former bassist) observed the magic ingredient at live shows is pretty girls, I would go further, it is scantily clad pretty girls, and the real magic is when the music makes them dance, seeing as I just watched the brilliant 'Boat that rocked' – it is entirely consistent that making girls dance makes the world a better place, in fact being like Bill Nighy's character must have been awesome – the sort of posh old dude that asks everyone whether they've met them before because there was a 'lost decade' .Back on Track, The Kings of Leon are masters of this higher artform that is making girls dance. As a man who has been in love and fears it will never happen again seeing this is intoxicating and gives the atmosphere a charge that putting on a CD never could. Maybe I'm reading too much into it, anyway, despite the odd downpour which flew in to freeze everyone it stayed mercifully dry and only started getting a bit chilly in the twilight and rather than admiring the long tanned legs sported by a few girls we started saying 'ooooo, she must be cold', Musically, it was a good day, by 4pm when we got there the Zac Brown band was playing some country music which was tolerable, but they wrapped up by blasting out a brilliant cover of 'killing in the name of' by 'Rage against the machine', a song that made it to christmas No.1 a few years ago after an anti x-factor and Simon Cowell facebook campaign, I also remember the song made my niece cry accompanied by her bawling 'why's this no.1?' -well I thought this was hilarious, the irony of course being that I would be the one crying if Leona Lewis had been No. 1. Anyway, my point is that 'killing in the name of' is a great live song and it really woke the crowd up. Next were the awesome 'white lies' who on paper I should have seen twice – first when they were supporting U2 at Wembley and the traffic conspired to make us arrive after they'd finished and more recently turning up to see them play at the Shepherds Bush Empire wher they'd managed to lose my booking. Fools! Anyway, they were ace, reminiscent of the Editors and Joy Division. Next up was a man who's name we all knew but we knew less about his music, Paul Weller – giving a pretty polished performance – he's clearly comfortable playing on such a massive stage to such a huge crowd, I think rockstars are now realising that being in your 50s (like Weller) or even 60s (look at the Rolling Stones) is no obstacle to 'living the dream' speaking of which, the Kings of Leon are clearly right at home at such a massive gig, they mix things up, playing a bit of country rock, soulful sounding Nashville sawdust on the floor stuff as well as the traditional guitar driven rock song, each deriving it's energy from a relentless kickdrum but it's the singers voice that brings their sound to life, which was crystal clear on the huge Hyde Park soundsystem. The only slight irritation was that nature called just before they played signature tune 'Sex on fire' Being stuck in the lav when you can hear 50,000 people singing along is infuriating.
Since I wrote all that it is now Sunday and I saw the Killers on Friday and Bon Jovi last night and in a minute my parents are taking me to a classical concert at the Albert Hall. Because I plan so far in advance, I often forget how tired I'm going to be. I suspect I'll be absorbing the beautiful music of Smetana, Grieg and Orff through closed eyes. More on that next week! As it was, I went to see Bon Jovi in Hyde Park yesterday and it just goes to show how at an outdoor event the weather is easily the most important thing because on friday I'd been to see the Killers, who are arguably the best band in the world -it was raining when we got there at 4pm, and it didn't stop all day. It meant that it didn't matter to me how good the Killers were, it was all about staying dry and keeping warm and I cannot stress enough how hard this is in a wheelchair when you don't have the use of both arms and you can't jump up and down, I have Ian and Tracey to thank completely for doing so well
Despite the pisspoor weather we were treated to what must be the best line-up in festival history. From 4-5 it was James, who in my view are one of the finest live bands ever. I have been to see them twice since my stroke, I think of the two times, the time at the Albert Hall back in April 2010 was probably the best. In the 90s the lead singer had hair – he's now shaved it off and he's one of the few lucky people it suits, although I do think the beard he's now grown makes him look a bit evil, anyway the whole crowd seemed to enjoy their set despite the fact that the rain was really starting to set in, the second sort of surprise was on the running order as a late addition were the excellent Kaiser Chiefs, a band I've only seen once in Nov 2009 at a charity event at Brixton Academy where they had rocked. Since then, their cheeky chappy singer Ricky Wilson looks to have followed the Ian Astbury diet and moved next to a Greggs. Maybe it's part of getting older, maybe he's boshing less drugs and boshing more pies! Their biggest tune was predictably 'I predict a riot' which got the sodden fed-up crowd jumping and then it was time for the Killers and the messianic return of Brandon Flowers. I was doing my impression of the most exhausted, miserable person in the world,swearing not to come back the next day if they were forecasting a single drop of rain. Anyway, despite the Kaisers vacating the stage well on time, the Killers kept us waiting for 30 minutes. I don't get this at all. They owe their success to their fans so what's the point of keeping us waiting? Especially when we've been pissed on for four hours. I just think that's rude. Anticipation's one thing, freezing our arses off waiting is another.
When they finally appeared they were great in the circumstances and Ian proved to me what a Killers fan he is, by knowing all the words to even the more obscure songs. Religious nutjob or not, Brandon Flowers has a brilliant voice and their repertoire is difficult to better. Sadly it was more about struggling to stay warm than 'soaking' up the subdued atmosphere. I didn't even have to ask Ian and Tracey for help – they were always one step ahead with their ides for keeping the rain off so despite the struggle we did pretty well at appreciating what was going on onstage. After milking out the encores for a while we called it a day at~11pmish. I knew going to Bon Jovi was going to be an, ahem, challenge.
I had a slight change of personnel for saturday. For a start casual inspection of the forecast looked like it would be cloudy all day without rain so things were on. My consorts for the day were to be Karen and Toby who have taken me to things in the past. Sadly, unlike on the previous days we weren't able to Jazz things so I could get two carers up onto the disabled platform because it was so full, the sun being shining and it being Saturday, so Toby went and did some exploring of the huge event which we were informed might have had 80,000 attendees that day compared to a mere 50,000 when the Kings of Leon played on Thursday. Karen and Toby were very cool about only being able to get one of them on the platform. They got married a couple of weeks ago, and despite the party being in a couple of weeks I think not having to discuss wedmin made a nice change – reiterating my point about aging rockers first up at 5ish was former Kinks frontman Ray Davies who must be knocking on the door of 70 (he's 67 by my arithmetic), who warmed us up nicely with a few of his creations like 'summer afternoon' and 'girl, I want to be with you' -clearly a legend, when 'Jonathan Bon Jovi as Ray called him came on at about 7, it was the most perfect summer evening with barely a wisp of a cloud. JBJ, clearly used to these occasions looked great – the spitting image of iceman from Top Gun – he'd clearly done this somewhere before. I can see why he's such a hit with the ladies. He's quite good looking and the songs not about cowboys are the sort of thing girls love – crooning about how he'll be 'there for you'. I love the loud rock sound and the guitar sounds that being in such a huge outdoor arena generates plus the sight of 80,000 people on a sunny summer evening, it's almost worth the exhaustion but taking friends who enjoy it is where it's at. Right, a lie down is in order! Actually before I go I must mention Cherise, the lovely girl from Manchester who gave me the time of day after I'd guessed she was from Leeds. I'll see you for Arcade Fire on Thursday