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[westcountrywriter]

Trump 2024, Written in 2016

I shout “YES, SIR” as I stand. Holding the cold frame to steady myself. I wonder if I will catch a glimpse of my wife. Just to see her once more would, well I’m not sure….  

Yes, I’m right, it is a long line of women, all with shaven heads, soaked clothes in tatters.  

We pass the guard following the sickening procession and the truck swerves towards the line. For a moment I fear he has misjudged it and will hit the wretched souls. But no, clearly he is well practised with his sadism. Near enough to make the poor women flinch in fear but not so close to actually kill any. Some raise their eyes, even turn their heads a little. Their pitiful state sickens me as we share the briefest moments of shared misery.  

We hit a bank of slush, the truck slides a little more and the plumes of spray not only cover the prisoners but also a poster with Trump's grinning face. So not that well practised then. I almost laugh, but to even smile will mean that I could end up on the bed of the truck along with my friend.  

My fellow prisoners raise their right arms automatically. I’m allowed to retain my grip on the framework. It feels like defiance, and that makes me feel a little bit alive.  

The driver will get reported for being disrespectful to the great leader, the best leader, the one with the biggest hands.  

Finally, we have passed the line. The truck lurches back towards the crown of the road. The dark clouds promise either icy rain or wet snow.  

“PRISONER 25, SIT.” 

“THANK YOU, SIR.” My voice is automatic as I settle down and gain a little shelter from the biting wind. My skin is rubbed raw where I twist in my shackle, but at least I barely feel it with the cold. The almost frozen blood on the floor of the truck is now unavoidable as it squelches between my toes. I get ''special'' treatment because, after the reclassification of women, I still treated them with respect. I was caught holding a door open for one of the older female members of staff. I barely knew the lady. It was simply how I was taught to treat others.  

Yet that was enough when I was spotted by a Red Hat. They raided our little apartment and found our stack of banned feminist literature. Linda and I were arrested on the spot. Stripped and paraded through the small town where we lived. Around our necks they hung signs with LIBERAL written on them. We got showered with rubbish and rotten vegetables. I guess that serves us right for moving to a small, conservative Midwest town. We spoke later through the bars that divided our cells, and even managed to touch hands. I still remember her wisdom.  

“Jack, continue to fight, never give up.” 

“Thank you.” I replied. “I love you.”  

Her last words hung in the air as the guards tore us apart. I remember the love in her eyes as they dragged her away.  

Prisoners are to remain silent at all times unless spoken to by any person of authority. They tell you after you get arrested and get sent to the processing area. Men and women are separated, all get their heads shaved and each receives a tattoo. All valuables were taken from us, for the right to property is revoked upon arrest. We were then dragged in front of a judged to plead our case, five minutes per prisoner.  

I later heard from a kindly guard that due to Linda’s nursing qualification she was given three years in a prison. I get to face the great the man. Well, listen to one of his rambling speeches that would have embarrassed Baby Bush.  

“TRUMP…TRUMP…TRUMP”  

It will be soon by the sounds of it. One more final torture to endure.  

After they found out I was a member of the Democratic party and had voted for not only Hillary but also Obama, I was clearly anti-Trump and that meant anti-American for the two are now the same.  

That journey in the truck was almost three years ago. The last remaining Hilary and Obama voters will be slaughtered in a sacrifice to the new order. A celebration of the destruction of a nation with those few in power living in such luxury after their asset-stripping that it would make an African dictator proud. Reagan began the process; Trump has finished it.  

The pain is total as I feel my ligaments tear in my shoulders. As I’m slumping down, I can see Linda’s smiling face. Such hope, such love.  

As my feet settle to the ground, I know my arms will be of no use to me anymore. I laugh at the idea that if they let them down, I would look like a Trump supporter with my knuckles dragging on the ground. I hope the speech will end. I pray the redneck who won the lottery to shoot me is not too drunk. As I wait, time slows to a halt, and so does my heart. They will still shoot me for show, but I don’t care. My body has achieved a final act of deviance as I escape into the oblivion of death.

[westcountrywriter]

“At 7000 RPM everything fades,  

The machine becomes weightless, just disappears,  

Becoming a soul within a body moving through time and space,  

Asking the question,  

Who are you?”  

Nonsense?  

Perhaps,  

Isn’t that we are all doing,  

Travelling through time and space,  

Each moment precious,  

Even if often, we don’t truly appreciate them.  

 Naturally focused on worries,  

Struggling with realities of life,  

Magic disappears,  

Body without a soul,  

Still moving though time and space,  

Reacting, often without thought.  

Until, finally we do stop,  

At 7000RPM, you know you are truly alive,  

Time slows, as reality speeds past,  

Noticing little things,  

Warmth of sun on your hand,  

Coldness of rain coming down,  

Darkness of night,  

Feel of the road beneath our tyres,  

Cybernetic organism,  

Totally present,  

With death close,  

Now, when not on bike,  

I know who I’m,  

Good and bad,  

For I’m human, just like everyone else,  

At 7000RPM,  

Finally, acceptance,  

With that, Inner peace.       At 7000RPM comes from the 2018 film, Le Man’s 66. (Ford VS Ferrari.)  

[westcountrywriter]

MX5 Recorder Breaker?

[westcountrywriter]

I work outdoors, when asked, the nature of it is best described as hack & slash…What this means is that small urban gardens are best left to others with nice little vans. By choice I prefer larger properties, this is where my little Suzuki 4x4 comes in. It has changed how I do my job, and never ceases to amaze me where she goes. Often called my workmate and she really is.

Today the starter cord broke on my law mower snapped just as the client was bringing a mug of tea out. We chatted as I quickly sorted the issue. The mower looks old, scruffy, yet cuts wet grass like nothing else. A few years ago I was given it along with a strimmer after they got thrown out. Sadly, the strimmer died after a couple of years of sterling service.

Late last year one of my clients gave me an old Echo CS330EVL chainsaw. It had sat in their shed for quite a few years. They said that it had an issue with the chain brake.  I did fire it up a few days later, it ran, but the brake didn’t work, and the starter got stuck. After putting it down, it sat, forgotten once again, until this evening. Sadly, once again the need for a reliable small saw has risen. For 3 years I used a beaten-up Stihl 009, this little saw was amazing, but finally died last year.

People assume that bigger chainsaws are better, yet I would argue that say one with 12inch to a 16inch bar is far better for 90% of all the jobs you need to do. Unless of course, you are felling bigger trees, then, of course, a larger saw is better.  I don’t and when most of my use is logging and only small trees, a lighter saw is far better. First, you don’t get so fatigued using one, and second, they are cheaper to run, less hassle to maintain.  

This evening, I dug the little saw out, got my socket set from the truck and set to work. The chain brake was simply down to being clogged solid with fine sawdust.  This is where the Echo reveals its older design. Modern saws have the chain brake on the inside of the bar cover. This means that every time you take it off it is a simple job to clean the brake.

With Echo, the chain brake is behind the drive sprocket and stays on the machine.

Hence, it is far more difficult to keep clean, which then reduces the performance until it stops working.  After cleaning, it now works well, which means the saw is safe to use again.

It is a little more complex than more modern designs, yet the quality is clear to see, and I’m impressed compared to cheaper, newer saws.

After sharping the chain, I then found the second major fault…

The starter cord was jammed, so once again, my tools came out, pulled it apart. Only to find starter drum was cracked. A quick look online proved that this a rare part. Only available from the States. Cost £6 and £16 for postage…

Tomorrow I’ll test the saw and if it runs well, then it will become my everyday one.  I’ll order a couple of spare chains, for £15 which will mean that for £40  I’ll have a good saw…

And that is a bargain.

Classic chainsaws for the Classicaraddict... Of course.

[westcountrywriter]

Paddle Boarding... Why?

I have an addiction… First, to all those who are fighting one, or are addicts there is no intention to belittle whatever curse fills your life. Now that hopefully, no one will get upset I can continue.

About 2 ½ years ago I was given my first paddleboard (SUP,) it was a battered 9ft inflatable Fanatic. I will admit that the first time I tried it did not go well…  Despite belonging to the digital age, I simple pumped it up and tried it in gentle surf. In the area I live, (Falmouth, Cornwall) we have both river and beach. So male logic…  A little later that day when having a coffee overlooking the river, I had a brainwave, why not try it on calm water?

So I did and only fell in a few times in the next hour. As this was October it wasn’t until the following April I tried again. I won’t bore you with the details, but slowly I learned to use the board. At this point, I will say that if anyone wants to learn to SUP, please have at least one lesson. By doing that you will progress so much faster than I did.  My bother then gave me a big wave board, really overestimating my skill level.

It wasn’t until a little spare money came my way and acquiring a general-purpose board from my brother’s wife did it make sense. I remember ringing Rob (my bother) to get some advice about what I should get. His response was that Julie, (his partner) was selling hers and it would be ideal. A deal was done and once again they really looked after me.  (Don’t worry it is not one-sided.)

The first time I launched the board it was from Gylly beach here in Falmouth and it wanted to explore as much me. We paddled to Meanporth a couple of miles down the coast.  We had crossed a boundary together. This board is still my favourite, it does most things well. (A 2015 11ft Fanatic Ray WD.) I can use it to surf small waves, tour rivers, general paddling that the industry standard 10’6 board couldn’t do.  With it my progression became much faster, in the last 18’months we had more adventures than I care to remember. More than once paddling in winds that no sane person should. Together there has not been an offseason, paddling through 2 winters. Mind you living in Cornwall does help here.

 A couple of months after getting that board and whilst waiting to see a doctor about depression I received a message. There is an old and battered downwind paddleboard here if you want it. So, there I was, on my second appointment to start dealing with an increasing problem grinning like an idiot.  Luckily the doctor understood, as he too is a paddleboarder.

At 14ft the board and what is now considered a very wide 28 inches the board soon got the nickname, the QE2.  It is heavy, awkward, and a lot of fun. With a little effort, it will make a good touring one.  Rob said it would be almost useless in most conditions, but I’m odd so… It was even fun in 3 ft surf after I picked up the wrong board.  

 So, why do I consider paddle boarding an addiction?

On so many levels it is good for us. As an exercise, there is nothing quite like it. Even on calm water, you are constantly moving. You can do it on just about any place there is water. Rivers, lakes, canals, the sea, etc. There are boards of all sizes, both rigid and inflatable, so there is always one that will suit. When you paddle you get to see so much more, sometimes when on calm water over rocks it feels like flying. Unlike say a kayak, it is possible to look straight down.

 I could go on and about the benefits of the sport. Personally, the two biggest are, firstly, fitness, both mental and physical. I stopped taking the anti-depressants well over a year ago.

The secondly, in an increasingly overcrowded little country, how often can we get truly away from people? And we do, how easy is it?  More than once over the last couple of summers after launching from a crowded beach very quickly I’m alone. Still close to shore, well maybe a mile or so off… And very alone, for no one can approach without being seen.

 When my brother gave me that first board, I wonder if he could foresee the positive impact it would have. Without the sport, the chances are that I  would have become another statistic. Each paddle stroke fights the ever-present darkness. Perhaps the biggest reason I’m still in the game.   What could it do for you? 

The picture was taken by a friend the day I had the 14ft board in the surf... 

[westcountrywriter]

MA, What the F ck Happened?

What did happen with my MA?

The fact that this has taken over 2 ½ years to write is ironic considering it was a master’s in Professional Writing.  When reading for my undergrad I didn’t allow anything to distract me from it.  My dyslexia meaning that what takes some only a few minutes often takes me far longer. Even then I need a good editor despite using the app Grammarly.

 Where do I start… First, they had tweaked the MA in the process taking out one module and losing about 8 weeks from it. This meant the course was very compressed. One of the Lecturers left 2/3 of the way through. The dyslexia support was initially awful. My personal tutor was one of the few people I’ve never connected with. In fact, it was during one of his lectures that I almost walked out.

 The lecturer had a way of making the most exciting thing seem dull, say naked bungee jumping over a pool of sharks…zzzzzzz.  The Module was called writing for business, that was a mistake as I never intended to make a living copywriting. I choose it as I thought it would help my work regarding submitting articles to the motoring press.   About 3 lectures in this tutor produced a piece of copy with 49 errors in it. He then handed it out to the 7 of us present. When offered my place on my undergrad course the Lecturer asked if I would use my dyslexia as an excuse and hopefully, I never did. Yet having fought an almost vertical slope most of my life and at university that has a large number of dyslexic students, a little understanding could be expected. So, I asked for an electronic copy to allow me to use those aids that help me a little. His response was that he could send me a copy later if I wanted it.   During my entire higher education this was the only time I was made to feel like I was back at primary school. The lack of understanding shown was truly astonishing. Yes, some copy is still produced on paper, but we live and work in an ever increasing electronic world. Also, if anyone chooses to work with me, hopefully, they will understand that I can only work using a computer.  I sat, I simmered, and the anger rose, and I almost walked out… At that point, I’d lost all respect for the person and his clear lack of understanding.   What I should have done was choose Writing a Novel with a Lecturer from my undergrad degree who I got on well with. Over those 3 years, I came to really respect her and I think as time went on her facepalm moments became fewer regarding me. Having written one small romantic novel I could have started another that fulfills the genre expectations yet also subverted them. On the morning that I was due to leave for the London Book Fair with a very nice lady, I had met on the first day of the course. I had a brain wave… And enough knowledge to understand that it could work. On the way up we could research it and yes it was a viable one. I even got a publisher interested when there. The only problem being that even at a much-reduced level it would require a massive amount of research. Having an idea is one thing, implementing it is another, especially one that required manipulation of a lot of data. It overwhelmed me, combined with the shortened course, complex personal relationships and that my personal tutor was the one who had shown such sensitivity… I went AWOL.   I’ve not contacted the university since, which is a pity for I do truly appreciate the opportunity they gave me in 2010.   For the next 18 months, I’ve hardly written a word. Some days simply getting up has been a major achievement. Once it was said the lights over Europe were going out and inside most of mine dimmed to almost total darkness.  One of the few positives during this time was my introduction to paddle boarding. Something that I’ve become addicted to and I owe my older brother a debt of gratitude for this. He introduced me to and provided most of my kit. Without it I don’t think I’d still be here.   So what the f ck happened? A combination of mistakes, a lot of which were mine, combined to create a personal sh t storm.  I was going to compare it to Brexit… But cannot as the experience did have some positives to it, just not many.  Overall… For me, it was a mistake and it has tainted my feelings towards both Higher Education and particularly Falmouth University.

It was an opportunity lost…

[westcountrywriter]

Hope in Brexit Madness.

Ray of light in Brexit madness…

In 2010 I started my undergrad degree, aged 38 which meant that I was far older than most on the course. In May that year, the British public had voted for a tory government by a very narrow margin. It was so close it meant two parties had to share power, so an unholy alliance between the Liberal Democrats the torys was formed.

Of course, we all know how well that went…Especially for the Lib Dems…Or who?  One of the first things, once they had got into this unlikely trised, was to instead of dropping university tuition fees was to agree to a three-fold increase…

The day this was announced I was due to have a lecture at 10.30 am. On arrival, early, I expected to see anger, heated discussions, planned marches, etc, etc. What I encountered was a level of apathy that was truly disheartening. I remember almost ranting about how this was such a betrayal from a party that I’d supported for a long time, (Lib Dems…)

One of my classmates even said, “it won’t affect me, why should I care?”

When our lecturer came out and said the same as I had. Most of my classmates just looked at the two old folks and wondered if someone had changed our medication.

 I came to age during the 1980s, a time when reagan and thatcher ruled the roost, and even in Cornwall, the decisive nature of what was happening was clear. In other parts of the country we had riots as thatcher continued her war against the working class and the poor. As a generation, we were politically aware… So what has this got to do with now? I have the pleasure of knowing and working with some younger members of society. The awareness they are now showing of the present political mess in both this country and the US is heartening. They care for not just themselves but for others, the environment , etc, etc,  they are angry and justifiably so.  As the recent marches have shown, the country is waking from apathy, and many of the most vocal are the young. 

If you had asked me 9 years ago what I thought about the younger generation I was truly worried. Now one of the few good things is that some once again are fighting for their future. Will they make mistakes? Yes, of course, yet can they be any worse than the ones made in the last few years?

[westcountrywriter]

Should We Stay or Go?

Britain is stumbling towards a deadline that has divided our country in and increasingly has lowered our standing on the world’s stage.

When asked should we stay or leave the European Union in what was ill thought out and badly planned referendum like many others I truly didn’t know which way to vote. Simply there was not enough information available. Being dyslexic I’m blessed with self-doubt, aside from when I’m driving, experience has taught me that too much confidence will result in a facepalm. The implications of this are that I try to have an understanding of something, even at a basic level before I can make an informed choice.

Since the events in 2016, any shred of respect that I held for those who do represent us in parliament has gone.  Basic planning, well how I do it, is to work backward from the deadline, say a date in March, a couple of years in the future to the present time.  Try to clearly understand what the objective is, look for major things that want to be achieved and secondary ones. Then look for anything that may disrupt those and how might affect the time table.  Perhaps a shared boundary which due to his historic nature is a very delicate issue.

After taken all this into account then with pragmatic approach complex negotiations could go ahead with all party’s concerned. Sadly, any result would be fudge but it comes down to trying to get the best one for all concerned.

If those elected had even attempted to do this and there were tangible results then despite my very real misgivings, I’d support us leaving the European Union. Sadly we live in a time of mediocrity in regard to those elected to represent us. After the referendum, our then Prime minister stood down, his ex-public school chum decided not to risk the very likely approaching castrophy. So, after a little infighting our present PM was elected to hold the poison chalice. Very shortly after choosing to call an early election to hopefully give her the mandate to proceed. Of course, we know how well that went.

The major opposition party was doing it’s very best to match the tory party incompetence after electing a leader that did far better in 2015 than expected the grassroots party supported him yet the parliament one did not. The result being constant infighting, leadership battles etc and not presenting a clear choice to the party in power. In some ways the journey started in 1979 in the UK (Ha ha) and in 1980 in the US is entering it’s final stages, we have become an increasingly secular, self-centred society that the individual only cares about themselves or those groups to which they belong/ identify  with.

I’m not sure the country will ever recover from the last 2 ½ years regardless if we leave or stay in the European Union. The damage has been done. It is not often that I’m pleased I don’t have children, but I’m glad I don’t. The present situation leaves me with a heavy heart that has dampened any hope held.

[westcountrywriter]

MA, Day 2..

Once again I step into the hallowed halls of education with day 2 of my MA.

It is time to load the scatter gun with punctuation and twist the known rules of grammar to their limit.

Yesterday, as I sat having a debrief pint with a fellow student I watched last year’s undergraduates. Remembering back to that time 3 years ago I understood, for when those people and this place becomes the center or perhaps a better word the focal point it is hard to move on. Instead of hanging on it might be better to leave. I remember feeling lost, alienated from the place and people I had come to love. So maybe my words are harsh, but they come from a place of perspective and little hypocrisy. I have returned to further my education.

My first day was interesting, the group large, but not too much so. The tutors are of the highest standard. Sadly the same cannot be said of the upper echelons of the university management.

A lecturer passes with a greeting,

“Could you not stay away?”

His smile saying far more than the words.

“MA called…”

“Which one?”

“Guess.”

“Oh,  it is a good one.”

Not just department loyalty, but real a passion for the subject and his colleagues.

Yesterday we were asked what we wanted from the degree…

6 years ago my answer would have been, not sure for it seemed a good idea to apply.

Now, after 3 years of writing, often far less than I should.

My answer would be. I want to write, become known for someone who can and then inspire others to do the same.

The course is fun, and I look forward to the future…

I must write, the empty screen calls for words.

[westcountrywriter]

Tiger! Tiger! Not a Review, But a Thank You

TIGER, tiger, burning bright

 In the forests of the night,

 What immortal hand or eye

 Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

  In what distant deeps or skies

         5

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

 On what wings dare he aspire?

 What the hand dare seize the fire?

  And what shoulder and what art

 Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

  10

And when thy heart began to beat,

 What dread hand and what dread feet?

  What the hammer? what the chain?

 In what furnace was thy brain?

 What the anvil? What dread grasp

  15

Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

  When the stars threw down their spears,

 And water'd heaven with their tears,

 Did He smile His work to see?

 Did He who made the lamb make thee?

  20

 Tiger, tiger, burning bright

 In the forests of the night,

 What immortal hand or eye

 Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

 By Willam Blake,

    Funny how some books burn themselves into our soul, and for me Tiger! Tiger! is such a book. My love for obscure Science Fiction was very largely inspired by my older brother, even if it was by accident.

A little background is needed to clarify.

I'm the middle of three very different boys, the total age gap is 4 ½ years, the largest 2 ½ is between my older brother and myself, with only 14 months the other way. In consequence and due to our very different personalities, Rob, my older brother and I had very little contact or as little as possible. Yet now there is a high degree of mutual respect and we are both very proud of each other.

 When Rob left to follow his passion of surfing he did leave behind a truly amazing collection of Science Fiction paperbacks, some which I still have now. Would I have discovered writers such as Clarke, Asimov, Heinlein and of course Alfred Bester without those battered paperbacks? Maybe, but he helped give his odd brother a way of escape and ideas to think about in the dark years of mind numbing, soul destroying life. Later of course, much later and only after I stumble into the hallowed halls of education did all that reading start crystalize.  To read a literature degree, you have to do just that read, and lots.  To become a writer you must read and have read many, many books. Given them time to sit, meet some other books, let the ideas and characters mix, have a beer, perhaps the odd fight. The first step is for them to meet and the only way for them to do that is by reading.

 Of all those books that I inherited from my brother, Tiger! Tiger! By Alfred Bester stood out. Over the years I've read it a handful of times. Last night I read it virtually from cover to cover... It was like I was reading pre-degree again, but with the knowledge and wisdom, Ha, ha,  that an education can impart.

 Tiger! Tiger! Has held my imagination for almost 30 years and with my recent reading, its grip has only increased. Some work of era has aged far more quickly than others, yet the themes and ideas explored within this work still seem so very current and other aspects have  far more than many of the far better-known writers of the era.

 “Gully Foyle- liar, lecher, ghoul, walking cancer.” An everyman, marooned, deep in space, alone but unable to die aboard a crippled spaceship, hiding in the smallest tool lockers. Mere existence a battle, until a passing ship ignores his SOS... Fired by vengeance Gully now has a purpose. The brute now has to become something far more to find redemption and in the process,  humanity’s as well.   

Yes, this story has fired my imagination for 30 years. It might fire yours, and if it does, please nod in the direction of my elder brother. Who is best known for being an expert on surfing, but also a very good writer and without realizing it, an opener of doors in the mind of at least one of his brothers

[westcountrywriter]

Hope

I've not written or blogged in almost a month and on this site, far longer.

Within that time, the place I call home has changed almost beyond recognition

Following the referendum all the major parties have imploded, the tories and Uskip now having leadership contests, well with the tories, a non-leadership contest. The Labour party, of course, chose that time to stab a large knife in the front of their leader, one that the parliamentary party has never wanted, but the grassroots membership does.

Much to my, and many others deepest shame, the intolerant, racist side of the English nature has come out. Every day new reports of bigoted attacks have become the norm. This is not the majority  but a very vocal minority, and  a shameful mark on the souls of most of the population.

The first few days after the vote on Brexit the omniscient Facebook was filled with both sides arguing and blaming the other. During that time I was lucky, I was hiding in North Wales, visiting for the first time.  The beauty of both the people and the place help create a little sanity within the turmoil.

Coming back once more I found myself immersed in madness and for while I've had no hope, even when working for some wonderful people in beautiful places, I've been lost. The dark clouds of hopelessness have haunted even in the most tranquil of moments. People have said, “you look so well.”  Inwardly I laugh, remember the semi-colon on left wrist and the choice it represents and continuing the struggle not to change my mind.

I cannot say that there is hope in the darkest times as for us in Britain at the moment this is a very dark time. What I can say is that good people need to reach out to others, even in simple mutual support.  By doing this we become stronger when one falters we can help and in the process perhaps attract others.

On a personal level, the universe has a funny way of creating poetic justice.

We may have created the reality that we now find ourselves, but we do have the ability to change it simply knowing that can create hope.

Oh, and I've applied for an MA...

[bigbadabruce-blog]

Alcohol is the question..

But the answer, can be extremely varied. This is not an article on the effects of alcohol, or to discuss the science of alcohol. This is purely, the emotion of alcohol. You hear stories about people drinking alcohol, and becoming more emotional, but is that relevant to everyone?

I know that I myself, am not an alcoholic. I don’t need to drink on a daily basis, I can go weeks or months without alcohol with ease. But what I am, is a person who enjoys the taste of alcohol. Not vodka, or cider, but beers, bitters, lagers, wine. As soon as I taste my first glass, I can enjoy the taste of it for several drinks. If it’s a late night drink, after two or three, I feel tired, and move onto something else. But during the day, I’ve had that first drink, and because I enjoy the taste, I want another. I have had several days with friends where one drink during the day has led to still drinking 6-12 hours later, enjoying myself.

But why do I drink? It’s not the need to be drunk, because I hate being drunk, I’ve actively fought over the last 8 years I’ve drank to make sure I hadn’t gotten wankered, and it is probably on two hands I have gotten extremely drunk. A lot of the time, I will eat beforehand, eat during, and drink in moderation.

But what happens at the tipsy stage? Most people get angry, or jealous. I know I have never, to my knowledge, gotten jealous, whilst drunk, and on maybe 3 occasions, at the most, gotten angry whilst drinking. Most of the time, I’ve found myself opening up. Not as in stories and deep emotions, but as in my love for other people. Yes, when tipsy, I get emotionally lovable.

There are many people in my life, that mean a lot to me. My mum, the most amazing person in my life. My family, who care so deeply, that when my mum is away, will ring me once a week (at least 2 out of 3 parts, the third part will text me irregularly to check on me) to ask how I am. My friends, who even in my lowest moments, still care for me. But, do I show it?

On a day-to-day basis, there are certain emotions I hope to demonstrate. When I was young, I was angry and frustrated, because of my Asperger’s. People couldn’t understand me, I couldn’t translate myself to them, and because of that, I hate life and people. But as I got older, and I realized my symptoms, I began to try and change my default personality. It took several years, but nowadays, my default personality, seems to be one that just, enjoys life. Every day is a gift, I enjoy the little things in life, no matter what.

But despite that default happiness, I’m not an emotionally open person, in that quite often, I can be appreciative of the love shown to me. And it is when I drink, that I become more determined, to want to tell my friends and family, how much I love them.

I think of my mum, a daily inspiration who I thank everyday for making me want to be the best I can be. I think of my two aunts and my gran, who are strong female presences, who make me appreciate any female I know. I think of my granddad, who is the strongest paternal inspiration I have had in my life, one who everyday makes me want to be as kind and loving a man as he was, one who at his funeral, had so many loved ones, they had to have the church doors open to fit everyone in. I think of my uncles, who since my granddad’s death, have tried to protect me every time they see me, check on me, care for me, and inspire me to be the best man I can be. I think of my friends, who even in my lowest moments, seem to still love me. My mum once said, that I have a habit of collecting loyal friends, who would love me through thick and thin. And I like to think that the reason for that, is because I’m the same. I don’t care about the differences between me and my friends, I care about the similarities we have, the idea that there is an emotional similarity that makes them amazing people that I feel privileged to share my life with.

So, what is alcohol to these relationships? Alcohol is what allows me to strip my fears, my shyness, and to be able to tell them how much I care about them. Last Christmas, I sent several messages to close friends, telling them how much they meant to me. Was I slightly inebriated? Yes. Did it mean those emotions were lies? No. It just means that I am so afraid of opening up emotions, that telling these people who mean so much to me how I feel, needs special occasions and alcohol, to occur. And that Christmas, I remember telling at least one of my uncles, how much I loved him, because I always felt guilty for never telling him.

Alcohol, to me, is not a weapon, and it is not something to be feared. In the right intake, it doesn’t make me hyper, or happy. It just makes me determined, to tell those I love, how I really feel. Because everybody, no matter what, has an ego, that needs to be told how much they matter, because it drives them to continue. I love my friends, and family, and I wish everyday I didn’t feel shy or shamed to tell them. But after a few drinks, as I loosen up, suddenly telling them how much they matter to me, doesn’t worry me so much. Do I like the fact I need alcohol to be truthful? No. But do I regret needing drink to open up to people I love? No, because then I think of how cold a person I would seem, the idea that I could never hug a friend or family member, tell them how much I appreciate them, and how much of a dick I would probably be.

Alcohol is a controversial subject. It is contributed to discussions of affairs, abuse, rape, anger, etc. But just for once, I would like to give alcohol a credit, to those who can be happy and loving, but when they want a true, honest, bare moment, need a little liquid courage. Because at the end of the day, alcohol is deemed to be the drink of those who want forget, and sometimes, it’s their fear they want to forget. So, in essence…when I drink, when I get to the tipsy stage, it makes me want to tell those who matter to me, how much i love them. Deal with it ;).

[westcountrywriter]

A very open and honest blog from someone who is an inspiration and proudly a dear friend. 

[westcountrywriter]

These Adorable Drawings Perfectly Describe Being In A Relationship

Philippa Rice's "Soppy" illustrations capture the beauty in love.

Philippa Rice’s Soppy illustrations capture the beauty of being in love.

[westcountrywriter]

An old friend who I had not seen in a long time when meeting once again said, “don’t bullshit him.”  We had not seen each other in over a year, to be honest for the last 5 years we have barely been in contact. The reasons for this are and were varied, but one of the biggest was simply that after starting the degree my life completely changed. The person who stood before him was not the one that he once knew. As a child, young adult I will admit to telling stories, or enhancing details, but a lifetime of experience has meant that those stories are now best saved to the flickering computer screen of life.

Cornwall is a big place with a long memory, yet we can grow. In the process becoming someone else. Yes, stories once made an important part of my life, now they are really significant, yet the context has changed. For it is on the screen I tell their tales, often to my own surprise.

My own tale is far stranger than many of those characters who worm their way out of my imagination. I can but wonder if my friend sat down and listened if he would believe. Or just think it was more “Bullshit” as I tell stories of people, places, and events that seem to happen when someone is cursed to lead an interesting life.

We all tell stories all of the time, anybody who thinks otherwise is a fool. Everything is seen through the narrative of our own minds.  Within that context, my friend’s comments are interesting, for it shows the narrative that they have about me, our friendship. Their understanding and how now that does not fit the person who now stands before them. Likewise, my own interpretation of them is not reality, but simply a narrative made up within my own mind. The above image is from one of my university modules. The painting is was inspired by one of the poems and done by a talented friend. 

[westcountrywriter]

Elves, fact or fiction,

Between two worlds we stand,

Creatures of places that most never see

You may cage our bodies,

Minds float free

Untouched by earthly requirements

Control never total

When hearts cross          

Those earthly bound souls will loose

For in the end

We will take flight to places unknown to most

An Elf can never bow to humankind with anything more than respect

Human form we may take

Never mistake us for anything other than creatures from places beyond people’s dreams

We tread lightly with weapons of total surprise.

To our enemies,

Simple words have more effect than strongest steel

For our friends we inspire

Wisdom from forgotten times

We Elves are rare

Walking among you between worlds

Misunderstood by most

Be warned  

Cross us at your cost

[westcountrywriter]

Once again dark nights draw

Time of year to open bottle

Water of life promising escape

Not total, Just passing

Darkly cynical soul tired of games

So many claiming much

Just vapours left

Labels not always true

Scotland’s finest, what a joke

Water of life not so pure

Tainted, spoiled

Once noble ideas gone

All within mediocrity  

Now the norm

Oddly much like prose it self

No label attached claiming anything else

Just empty vessel with vapours left

Pass the bottle

Open cap

Remember past

Dream of what could have been

Within time and space

Pass the bottle

Let’s dance once again

Like there some whisky left

Ҹ<��r

[westcountrywriter]

A classic pair of VW's