You could be forgiven for thinking the title of this latest post is referring to the 'Billboard Hot 100' 1988 No1 hit by Rick Astley but it's nothing to do with that really as I have simply borrowed those words to use as the title for my soon to be released e-book.
Writing comes easily and naturally to me as I transfer my thoughts through my fingers to my keyboard with very little effort...until it comes to titles as for some strange reason I always seem to struggle to come up with something I'm truly happy with. I think the title of a book or blog should convey some clue as to what the reader can expect to find in the main text so the name of my new book was the very last piece of the jigsaw to be added.
The book itself was 27 years in the making. Not that it took me so long to write it but as ever I write about life, love & relationships and this past week-end saw Trudie and I celebrating our 27th Wedding Anniversary. The comedians among'st you may quip "You would get a shorter sentence for committing murder"...though I suspect the vast majority of those comedians would be of the male species and that little observation in itself gives a hint towards the reading content of 'Together Forever'...
I don't think the vast majority of men in relationships are anywhere near as good as they could be and while 'it takes two to Tango' it's more often than not the man who fails to truly master the emotional steps of the 'Marriage Tango' and in my book I attempt to give a few tips and pointers to the guys that I hope will help them to be more successful in their relationships. I've not resorted to writing a boring list of do's and don'ts for men to follow, the book is more a series of anecdotes and observations from my own life where I have explained my perspective viewpoint.
What qualifies me to be doling out my 'pearls of wisdom' to you?...well nothing really if you are looking for letters after my name that show me to be some sort of 'Marriage or relationship Councillor'. However if you think 27 very happy years in a mixed race marriage where we have encountered 12 years of infertility problems, the loss of a business and ultimately Bankruptcy gives me a platform from which to speak then buy my book and see how we have made our lives together work no matter what we have been through. That said, if you are expecting 'tales of woe and heartache' you may be dissapointed because I don't do 'woe is me' and neither does Trudie and that's probably the main reason why we will indeed be 'Together Forever'
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Monday, 25 November 2013
Wednesday, 16 October 2013
IT WASN'T ME!
When I'm out and about in my car I often listen to 'Talk-Sport' a radio station that does what it says on the tin in that the various presenters talk about different sports throughout the day albeit with a heavy bias towards football (American readers that's Soccer to you) and that suits me just fine because if you've not already sussed it I am into my football in a big way and always have been...
This week one of the main topics of conversation on my favourite radio station has been about the launch of 'Harry Redknapp's Autobiography'. Harry is well known to anyone with the slightest interest in football (even Trudie knows who he is (although that could have something to do with the fact that she has 'the hots' for his son Jamie Redknapp...). Harry is currently the Manager of Queens Park Rangers, previous to that he was Manager of Tottenham Hotspur and was the Nations choice to be England Manager before losing out to the current England Boss Roy Hodgson. Harry is well known for his quotes and anecdotes, many of which are in his book apparently and one of them that I heard while listening the other day nearly had me phoning in to the station because it reminded me of something that happened to me many years ago as the presenters were asking listeners to phone in if they had ever been mistaken for someone else and taken advantage of that mistaken identity?...
In his book Harry tells the story of how for three years some guy who just worked in a bar hoodwinked him into thinking he was a horse racing jockey known as 'Lee Topliss' and for 3 years this guy gave Harry racing tips in exchange for money, match day tickets and autographed football shirts. A whole 3 years this con-man pulled the wool over Harry's eyes before he was sussed out even though by Harry's' own admission most of the tips he got were crap! (Very good con-man or very dozy would be England Manager...you decide..)
Anyway, enough about Harry, let me tell you about my case of mistaken identity:
It was 1991 and I was working in Liverpool for a company called 'Ciro Citterio' who sold Mens Fashions. I was Manager of the store and one day got a visit from a local charitable fundraising organisation who wanted to know if we would like to take part in a big charity fashion show that was being staged in The Adelphi hotel in the city centre? The woman who was to be the main organiser went on to explain that it was to be a huge event with most of the major mens and ladies fashion labels in the City taking part.
I was already sold on the idea, seeing it as a great way of promoting my business while contributing to a good cause when she put the icing on the cake by telling me that she had models standing by and those models were all professional football players from 'Liverpool F.C.' no less!
Liverpool are a massive club worldwide and in the city itself their players achieve 'cult status' just by pulling on the famous red jersey for the Liverpool cause... there was a real buzz around town on the build up to the big night and I remember having to get security guards into my store on the day that the players who were to model our clothes came in to try on some of the planned outfits...we had Glenn Hysen, Bruce Grobbelaar, Barry Venison, Michael Thomas and most famous of all of them John Barnes!! The place was bedlam as word got round that the players were in my shop, it was turning out to be a really exciting experience for me and all my staff.
The big night eventually arrived and it was a complete sell out with every seat in the audience taken. The footballers were an absolute delight to work with and once they got over their initial stage fright (strange when you think they played in front of 40,000 fans every week) they were having a wail of a time. Every time one of them went down the 'runway' the crowd went wild, when John Barnes went down they went even wilder! As a team we really did steal the show and I got a real close up look at how people react when in the presence of fame and very soon I was about to get an even closer look...
The show was over and the players had been sneaked out of a back exit to avoid the inevitable crush at the front of the hotel and I was helping my staff take the rails of clothing out of the building when suddenly I was aware of someone approaching me from behind...As I half turned to see who it was she grabbed my arm and asked..."John! can I have your autograph please!"...She was a middle aged lady, very smartly dressed and I figured she must have been at the fashion show but what I didn't figure was why she wanted my autograph and why was she calling me John!? She held out 2 Liverpool match day programmes and made her request again..."Please John! will you sign these for me? My girls love you to bits!" Then the penny dropped as I realised what was going on, she thought I was John Barnes! She looked back down the corridor and called to the two stunning young ladies who were fast approaching behind her... "Come on girls I've got him!"
Now at this point I could have decided to be like Harry's fake jockey and milk the situation for what it was worth or I could put them straight... Incredibly I found myself opting for the latter...
"I'm sorry but you're mistaken, I'm pretty sure it's not my autograph you're wanting".
"Stop messing around John give us your autograph" said daughter No.1 as she took hold of my other arm.
Daughter No.2 piped up..."Who knows, we might make it worth your while" and she delivered that with a sexy glint in her eyes... The situation was starting to get out of control.
"I think that you think that I'm John Barnes but I'm not! He left about 10 minutes ago through the back exit with the other players". Mum suddenly turned from 'fan' to 'foe'..."You're all the bloody same you big headed, love yourself footballers! D'ya think your too good to mix with the likes of us? I'm going to report you to the club! And off she stormed...but not before she hit me across the side of my head with the programmes!! "Come on girls, don't waste your time with the likes of him!"...Daughter No.1 set off in pursuit of Mum, Daughter No.2 stood there still giving me the 'come to bed eyes' before reluctantly following them.
I watched them leave before turning round to see my staff all bent double in fits of laughter and I had to laugh at myself and what had just taken place. To this day I still wonder if she did actually go to the club and report me and my 'appalling behaviour'? I have this image in my mind of John Barnes turning up for training the next day only to be hauled into Graeme Souness's office..."John, as a club we are doing our best to connect with the local community and interact with our supporters. Why are you spoiling all the hard work the club is doing by refusing to give fans your autograph?"....The blank look on John's face would have been priceless.
John if indeed you did get any grief over this then I apologise wholeheartedly but it was fun being you albeit reluctantly for just a couple of minutes.
This week one of the main topics of conversation on my favourite radio station has been about the launch of 'Harry Redknapp's Autobiography'. Harry is well known to anyone with the slightest interest in football (even Trudie knows who he is (although that could have something to do with the fact that she has 'the hots' for his son Jamie Redknapp...). Harry is currently the Manager of Queens Park Rangers, previous to that he was Manager of Tottenham Hotspur and was the Nations choice to be England Manager before losing out to the current England Boss Roy Hodgson. Harry is well known for his quotes and anecdotes, many of which are in his book apparently and one of them that I heard while listening the other day nearly had me phoning in to the station because it reminded me of something that happened to me many years ago as the presenters were asking listeners to phone in if they had ever been mistaken for someone else and taken advantage of that mistaken identity?...
In his book Harry tells the story of how for three years some guy who just worked in a bar hoodwinked him into thinking he was a horse racing jockey known as 'Lee Topliss' and for 3 years this guy gave Harry racing tips in exchange for money, match day tickets and autographed football shirts. A whole 3 years this con-man pulled the wool over Harry's eyes before he was sussed out even though by Harry's' own admission most of the tips he got were crap! (Very good con-man or very dozy would be England Manager...you decide..)
Anyway, enough about Harry, let me tell you about my case of mistaken identity:
It was 1991 and I was working in Liverpool for a company called 'Ciro Citterio' who sold Mens Fashions. I was Manager of the store and one day got a visit from a local charitable fundraising organisation who wanted to know if we would like to take part in a big charity fashion show that was being staged in The Adelphi hotel in the city centre? The woman who was to be the main organiser went on to explain that it was to be a huge event with most of the major mens and ladies fashion labels in the City taking part.
I was already sold on the idea, seeing it as a great way of promoting my business while contributing to a good cause when she put the icing on the cake by telling me that she had models standing by and those models were all professional football players from 'Liverpool F.C.' no less!
Liverpool are a massive club worldwide and in the city itself their players achieve 'cult status' just by pulling on the famous red jersey for the Liverpool cause... there was a real buzz around town on the build up to the big night and I remember having to get security guards into my store on the day that the players who were to model our clothes came in to try on some of the planned outfits...we had Glenn Hysen, Bruce Grobbelaar, Barry Venison, Michael Thomas and most famous of all of them John Barnes!! The place was bedlam as word got round that the players were in my shop, it was turning out to be a really exciting experience for me and all my staff.
The big night eventually arrived and it was a complete sell out with every seat in the audience taken. The footballers were an absolute delight to work with and once they got over their initial stage fright (strange when you think they played in front of 40,000 fans every week) they were having a wail of a time. Every time one of them went down the 'runway' the crowd went wild, when John Barnes went down they went even wilder! As a team we really did steal the show and I got a real close up look at how people react when in the presence of fame and very soon I was about to get an even closer look...
The show was over and the players had been sneaked out of a back exit to avoid the inevitable crush at the front of the hotel and I was helping my staff take the rails of clothing out of the building when suddenly I was aware of someone approaching me from behind...As I half turned to see who it was she grabbed my arm and asked..."John! can I have your autograph please!"...She was a middle aged lady, very smartly dressed and I figured she must have been at the fashion show but what I didn't figure was why she wanted my autograph and why was she calling me John!? She held out 2 Liverpool match day programmes and made her request again..."Please John! will you sign these for me? My girls love you to bits!" Then the penny dropped as I realised what was going on, she thought I was John Barnes! She looked back down the corridor and called to the two stunning young ladies who were fast approaching behind her... "Come on girls I've got him!"
Now at this point I could have decided to be like Harry's fake jockey and milk the situation for what it was worth or I could put them straight... Incredibly I found myself opting for the latter...
"I'm sorry but you're mistaken, I'm pretty sure it's not my autograph you're wanting".
"Stop messing around John give us your autograph" said daughter No.1 as she took hold of my other arm.
Daughter No.2 piped up..."Who knows, we might make it worth your while" and she delivered that with a sexy glint in her eyes... The situation was starting to get out of control.
"I think that you think that I'm John Barnes but I'm not! He left about 10 minutes ago through the back exit with the other players". Mum suddenly turned from 'fan' to 'foe'..."You're all the bloody same you big headed, love yourself footballers! D'ya think your too good to mix with the likes of us? I'm going to report you to the club! And off she stormed...but not before she hit me across the side of my head with the programmes!! "Come on girls, don't waste your time with the likes of him!"...Daughter No.1 set off in pursuit of Mum, Daughter No.2 stood there still giving me the 'come to bed eyes' before reluctantly following them.
I watched them leave before turning round to see my staff all bent double in fits of laughter and I had to laugh at myself and what had just taken place. To this day I still wonder if she did actually go to the club and report me and my 'appalling behaviour'? I have this image in my mind of John Barnes turning up for training the next day only to be hauled into Graeme Souness's office..."John, as a club we are doing our best to connect with the local community and interact with our supporters. Why are you spoiling all the hard work the club is doing by refusing to give fans your autograph?"....The blank look on John's face would have been priceless.
John if indeed you did get any grief over this then I apologise wholeheartedly but it was fun being you albeit reluctantly for just a couple of minutes.
Who's Who? (Jaja might be a clue!)
Friday, 27 September 2013
"I CHOOSE YOU..."
On last week's posting I gave you all a taster from our book 'Dreams Do Come True', the idea being to demonstrate that the book was not just 'lovey-dovey' romantic stuff. This week I'm giving you another taster but with a twist...Below is a chapter that I wrote for the book entitled 'The Proposal' and the twist is that this chapter never actually made it into the published book because we decided to go with Trudie's version of my proposal to her so in essence this is like 'The Directors Cut' and shows that 'The One Armed Black Chap' can do 'lovey-dovey romance' as good as the next guy, so please enjoy....p.s. if you then want to read Trudie's version then please buy the book. http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dreams-Do-Come-True-Bankruptcy/dp/190829308X/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1380305117&sr=1-2&keywords=dreams+do+come+true
Lloyd’s Proposal
I had been living in Aberdeen for just over a year now. Everything was great on the job front and I had made new friends and settled into my new surroundings. My social life continued to be as hectic as it had always been. Aberdeen turned out to be a very cosmopolitan hive of activity courtesy of the broad mix of people and the many nationalities working there in the oil industry. There was also a big University that attracted young people from far-a-field to swell the numbers on the party scene. I was never short of company or somewhere to go, but that was not enough. I was for the first time that I could remember, wanting to be somewhere else or should I say with someone else.
I was by now missing Trudie like mad on a daily basis. It had been months since my flight of death and although we had continued to see each other very regularly i.e. most weekends, it was not enough. We both wanted to spend every waking hour together; we were as they say ‘head-over-heels in love’ in spite of the many miles that separated us for most of the time. I decided it was time to take some positive action, I was going to leave Aberdeen and head back south. Not only that, I was going to get married!
Hang on a minute. Was I being presumptuous and taking it for granted that Trudie would want to marry me? Maybe she liked things just the way they were but how would I know if I didn’t broach the subject? One thing I did know about Trudie is that she loves romance, so armed with that knowledge I decided to propose to her in a way that would ‘knock-her-socks-off’. Make it impossible for her to turn me down.
The heavy snowfall that weekend was both a bad and good thing. It was bad because it made Trudie’s journey up to Aberdeen very precarious and if she had decided to turn back and head home all my planning and scheming would have been in vain. However, she had soldiered on and made it there safely.
The really good thing about the snowfall was that it really set the scene for my plan way beyond what I could have expected; surely it was a positive sign of success?
We managed to make our way through the snow out to Stonehaven and Dunnottar Castle loomed into view on the top of the hill. We stepped out of the car and the fresh icy sea air pricked our nostrils as we carefully made our way up towards the castle gates. We were both wrapped up warmly against the biting cold as we crunched our way through the perfect, even snow. Trudie had thought I’d lost my marbles when I’d suggested we go for a walk to burn off the huge Sunday breakfast we had consumed that morning but she was however warming to the idea as we gazed up at the castle. Set against the clear winter sky with the sun peeping through what was left of the ancient crumbling turrets it was breath-taking. We had to shield our eyes as the sun reflected off the glistening snow all around us.
We finally made it to the top of the hill and stood outside the castle gates. “Oh I wish it was open so we could go inside”. Trudie had a look of disappointment on her face. “Maybe we can”, I replied as I looked around towards the back of the castle while praying that the next stage of my plan would fall into place… and then he appeared, right on cue as arranged.
The old man slowly made his way towards us. His tiny frame was bulked-out with what was the thickest, heaviest winter coat I’d ever seen and his hat and scarf framed his ‘kind eyes’, which were watering in the cold air. He drew his hands dressed in woollen fingerless gloves from his deep pockets and he was holding a huge bunch of ancient looking keys, “Would you lovely people like to go inside?” came his broad Aberdonian brogue. Trudie looked at me as if seeking my approval and I smiled and nodded. “Yes please”, she said to him excitedly. And he proceeded to unlock the huge main gate to the castle before standing aside to wave us through. “I’m too old to make it all the way up to the top these days, but as long as you go carefully I’m sure you youngsters will be okay”. He gave me the wink which told me everything was in place. Trudie was giddy with excitement as we wound our way towards the top and my heart was thumping in anticipation of what was coming next.
Finally we emerged once more into the sunlight and the view was astounding! We were standing at the top of the castle which in turn stood atop a cliff overlooking the sea and we could see for miles in every direction. It felt as if we’d climbed the steps to heaven and there was not a sound to be heard. I had often heard the words ‘silence is golden’ now I really appreciated just what that meant.
Trudie was gazing out to sea lost in her thoughts so I took my chance to scurry across to where the bottle of champagne and glasses were hidden… Bingo! The old man was as good as his word, what a star. I fished in my inside pocket and took out the ring and looked at it, yes she would love it I thought to myself before putting it back. “Why have you never brought me here before?” Trudie’s voice carried across the breeze “It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever been to in my life”.
The clink of the glasses as I picked them up made her turn around… “Because I’ve never done this before”, I replied as I stepped towards her before bending down on one knee.
“I have waited all my life to meet someone so perfect, someone who makes me feel the way I do now, someone who does not try to control or judge, someone who is so genuine, kind and loving. Someone who makes me laugh and doesn’t look for negatives. You always find the positives and I can’t bear to think of my life without you in it. You have given me so much in such a short period of time, you believe in me more than I do myself. I love you with all my being and I want you to think seriously before answering this question, would you do me the honour….would you be my wife?” I held out the ring for her to see it and studied her face trying to pre-empt her reply and tears were streaming down her cheeks.
She reached out and touched my cheek, “I have wondered all my life if I would find true love and if I did, would my true love recognise and truly love me, but I could never in my wildest dreams have predicted such a romantic setting or a more perfect proposal. I would be honoured to be your wife and I would be honoured to share your life, yes I will marry you Lloyd Thompson and I’ll love you till the day I die”.
I stood up while taking her hand before placing the ring on her finger, queue more floods of tears. Trudie loved the ring as I knew she would. We hugged and kissed and drank snow-chilled champagne until the warmth of our love was no longer enough to fight off the icy temperatures and we decided to head home.
On reaching the bottom of the winding staircase we expected to see the old man waiting to lock up after us and Trudie wanted to thank him for helping making the day so special but he was nowhere to be seen. That was more than 25 years ago and although we never saw him again we will never forget him…
Later back at the apartment I gave Trudie a record that I had bought specially for that day.
The lyrics and indeed the whole sentiment of the song were perfect for the occasion; it’s a
beautiful tune and our most favourite and cherished piece of music and to this day is still ‘our
song’….. On the 23rd November 1986 we had our first dance at our wedding to it, ‘I Choose
You' (to be my wife) – by Paris.
Lloyd’s Proposal
I had been living in Aberdeen for just over a year now. Everything was great on the job front and I had made new friends and settled into my new surroundings. My social life continued to be as hectic as it had always been. Aberdeen turned out to be a very cosmopolitan hive of activity courtesy of the broad mix of people and the many nationalities working there in the oil industry. There was also a big University that attracted young people from far-a-field to swell the numbers on the party scene. I was never short of company or somewhere to go, but that was not enough. I was for the first time that I could remember, wanting to be somewhere else or should I say with someone else.
I was by now missing Trudie like mad on a daily basis. It had been months since my flight of death and although we had continued to see each other very regularly i.e. most weekends, it was not enough. We both wanted to spend every waking hour together; we were as they say ‘head-over-heels in love’ in spite of the many miles that separated us for most of the time. I decided it was time to take some positive action, I was going to leave Aberdeen and head back south. Not only that, I was going to get married!
Hang on a minute. Was I being presumptuous and taking it for granted that Trudie would want to marry me? Maybe she liked things just the way they were but how would I know if I didn’t broach the subject? One thing I did know about Trudie is that she loves romance, so armed with that knowledge I decided to propose to her in a way that would ‘knock-her-socks-off’. Make it impossible for her to turn me down.
The heavy snowfall that weekend was both a bad and good thing. It was bad because it made Trudie’s journey up to Aberdeen very precarious and if she had decided to turn back and head home all my planning and scheming would have been in vain. However, she had soldiered on and made it there safely.
The really good thing about the snowfall was that it really set the scene for my plan way beyond what I could have expected; surely it was a positive sign of success?
We managed to make our way through the snow out to Stonehaven and Dunnottar Castle loomed into view on the top of the hill. We stepped out of the car and the fresh icy sea air pricked our nostrils as we carefully made our way up towards the castle gates. We were both wrapped up warmly against the biting cold as we crunched our way through the perfect, even snow. Trudie had thought I’d lost my marbles when I’d suggested we go for a walk to burn off the huge Sunday breakfast we had consumed that morning but she was however warming to the idea as we gazed up at the castle. Set against the clear winter sky with the sun peeping through what was left of the ancient crumbling turrets it was breath-taking. We had to shield our eyes as the sun reflected off the glistening snow all around us.
We finally made it to the top of the hill and stood outside the castle gates. “Oh I wish it was open so we could go inside”. Trudie had a look of disappointment on her face. “Maybe we can”, I replied as I looked around towards the back of the castle while praying that the next stage of my plan would fall into place… and then he appeared, right on cue as arranged.
The old man slowly made his way towards us. His tiny frame was bulked-out with what was the thickest, heaviest winter coat I’d ever seen and his hat and scarf framed his ‘kind eyes’, which were watering in the cold air. He drew his hands dressed in woollen fingerless gloves from his deep pockets and he was holding a huge bunch of ancient looking keys, “Would you lovely people like to go inside?” came his broad Aberdonian brogue. Trudie looked at me as if seeking my approval and I smiled and nodded. “Yes please”, she said to him excitedly. And he proceeded to unlock the huge main gate to the castle before standing aside to wave us through. “I’m too old to make it all the way up to the top these days, but as long as you go carefully I’m sure you youngsters will be okay”. He gave me the wink which told me everything was in place. Trudie was giddy with excitement as we wound our way towards the top and my heart was thumping in anticipation of what was coming next.
Finally we emerged once more into the sunlight and the view was astounding! We were standing at the top of the castle which in turn stood atop a cliff overlooking the sea and we could see for miles in every direction. It felt as if we’d climbed the steps to heaven and there was not a sound to be heard. I had often heard the words ‘silence is golden’ now I really appreciated just what that meant.
Trudie was gazing out to sea lost in her thoughts so I took my chance to scurry across to where the bottle of champagne and glasses were hidden… Bingo! The old man was as good as his word, what a star. I fished in my inside pocket and took out the ring and looked at it, yes she would love it I thought to myself before putting it back. “Why have you never brought me here before?” Trudie’s voice carried across the breeze “It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever been to in my life”.
The clink of the glasses as I picked them up made her turn around… “Because I’ve never done this before”, I replied as I stepped towards her before bending down on one knee.
“I have waited all my life to meet someone so perfect, someone who makes me feel the way I do now, someone who does not try to control or judge, someone who is so genuine, kind and loving. Someone who makes me laugh and doesn’t look for negatives. You always find the positives and I can’t bear to think of my life without you in it. You have given me so much in such a short period of time, you believe in me more than I do myself. I love you with all my being and I want you to think seriously before answering this question, would you do me the honour….would you be my wife?” I held out the ring for her to see it and studied her face trying to pre-empt her reply and tears were streaming down her cheeks.
She reached out and touched my cheek, “I have wondered all my life if I would find true love and if I did, would my true love recognise and truly love me, but I could never in my wildest dreams have predicted such a romantic setting or a more perfect proposal. I would be honoured to be your wife and I would be honoured to share your life, yes I will marry you Lloyd Thompson and I’ll love you till the day I die”.
I stood up while taking her hand before placing the ring on her finger, queue more floods of tears. Trudie loved the ring as I knew she would. We hugged and kissed and drank snow-chilled champagne until the warmth of our love was no longer enough to fight off the icy temperatures and we decided to head home.
On reaching the bottom of the winding staircase we expected to see the old man waiting to lock up after us and Trudie wanted to thank him for helping making the day so special but he was nowhere to be seen. That was more than 25 years ago and although we never saw him again we will never forget him…
Later back at the apartment I gave Trudie a record that I had bought specially for that day.
The lyrics and indeed the whole sentiment of the song were perfect for the occasion; it’s a
beautiful tune and our most favourite and cherished piece of music and to this day is still ‘our
song’….. On the 23rd November 1986 we had our first dance at our wedding to it, ‘I Choose
You' (to be my wife) – by Paris.
Sunday, 22 September 2013
LOVE IS IN THE AIR...
In the few short weeks that 'yours truly', aka 'The One Armed Black Chap' has been Blogging, I am amazed and eternally grateful for the thousands upon thousands of you who are reading my Blog. It's a real buzz for me knowing that so many of you guys out there enjoy my 'ramblings' or should that be 'enjoy my claptrap'?...
Now it may or may not have slipped your attention (I will be surprised if indeed it has because I'm always giving my book a sneaky plug in these pages) but I am actually a fully fledged 'published author' and I have decided that the time has come to remove my 'Lone Ranger' mask, come out into the open, stop 'sneakily plugging' my book and 'bang the plugging drum' unashamedly and very loudly!
Here's how I see it....Like I just said judging by the number of hits on this site it's clear that so many of you like what I write about yet that does not reflect in the number of you who so far have decided to take a look at the book 'Dreams Do Come True' (see how easy I can get these plugs in there!?) and I think I know the reason why and it goes like this...You are all thinking 'It's just a book about infertility, getting pregnant, not getting pregnant, doom and gloom, tears and sorrow etc, etc....
Well I could sit here all night waxing lyrical trying to convince you that our book is nothing like that at all but I think a much better idea would be to give you all a little taster within the pages of this Blog so I have added below one of the chapters that I wrote. ( The book was co-written with Trudie the Angel in my life and mother of my son,who begged me not to preview one of her chapters but she does herself down because she is a very 'emotional and moving' writer).
So here it is, a little snipet to get you you in the mood....If you like it then why not buy a copy and you will also be contributing to a great cause as proceeds from sales go to the IVF unit at St Marys Hospital in Manchester.
Oh! I forgot to mention....my new 'eBook will be hitting Cyberspace in the very near future...
Now it may or may not have slipped your attention (I will be surprised if indeed it has because I'm always giving my book a sneaky plug in these pages) but I am actually a fully fledged 'published author' and I have decided that the time has come to remove my 'Lone Ranger' mask, come out into the open, stop 'sneakily plugging' my book and 'bang the plugging drum' unashamedly and very loudly!
Here's how I see it....Like I just said judging by the number of hits on this site it's clear that so many of you like what I write about yet that does not reflect in the number of you who so far have decided to take a look at the book 'Dreams Do Come True' (see how easy I can get these plugs in there!?) and I think I know the reason why and it goes like this...You are all thinking 'It's just a book about infertility, getting pregnant, not getting pregnant, doom and gloom, tears and sorrow etc, etc....
Well I could sit here all night waxing lyrical trying to convince you that our book is nothing like that at all but I think a much better idea would be to give you all a little taster within the pages of this Blog so I have added below one of the chapters that I wrote. ( The book was co-written with Trudie the Angel in my life and mother of my son,who begged me not to preview one of her chapters but she does herself down because she is a very 'emotional and moving' writer).
So here it is, a little snipet to get you you in the mood....If you like it then why not buy a copy and you will also be contributing to a great cause as proceeds from sales go to the IVF unit at St Marys Hospital in Manchester.
Oh! I forgot to mention....my new 'eBook will be hitting Cyberspace in the very near future...
CHAPTER
THE
JOURNEY
Lloyd
There was a lot for me to contemplate
so I was contemplating furiously, trying to make sense of my life and where all
of a sudden it was heading. When my
employers had asked me to move to Aberdeen
it was an easy decision to say ‘yes’.
There was as ever nothing holding me back, ‘nothing to lose and
everything to gain’ was one of my motto's at that time.
Now for the first time in a situation
like this there was a hitch, no that’s the wrong word. For the first time ever, there was a reason
for me to stay put! Or was I being
premature in my thought process? After
all it had been no more than a chance meeting in a night club. We had spoken for no more that 20 minutes and
then I had made the final arrangements for Trudie to come to my party via her
best mate Roxanne after Trudie had vanished Cinderella like into the night.
Roxanne seemed like a really good
mate. She had jumped at the chance to
come to my party promising to bring Trudie with her. It turns out Trudie was living at Roxanne’s
following the split from her ex and Roxy gave me their home number and Trudie’s
works number.
How could I be contemplating not
moving to Scotland
based on a 20 minute blast from the past?
I had invited Trudie to a party that was still four weeks away then I
was going to leave on a 400 mile journey to Aberdeen
the next day. What sort of planning was
that?! I needed to be a bit more
decisive, why wait four weeks? I needed
to pick up the phone and call her.
It was Wednesday morning so I figured
Trudie would be at work. I therefore
rang her direct number as supplied by Roxy.
Seeing as it was her direct line, why was I so surprised when she
actually answered? She was very
surprised to hear my voice too. This is
when I started to realise that Roxanne enjoyed playing mischief-maker as she
had not told her best mate that she had given all her contact details to some
strange guy in a nightclub the previous weekend.
So after an awkward introduction we
had a great catch up and best of all Trudie agreed to come over to Chester that coming
weekend. I promised to show her the
sights that Saturday evening after I had finished work.
Now I really had stuff to think
about. I now had four weeks to get to
know my blast from the past. I needed to
know if my reservations about leaving were based on anything more than that
‘brief encounter’, of a few days ago.
The four weeks came and went all too
quickly. Trudie had come over to Chester the first weekend
after we met and we got on as though we’d known each other all our lives. The original plan was for her to come over
for the Saturday but we were having such a good time it was Wednesday before we
recovered our senses and decided we had both better go back to work.
Then there had been the big ‘leaving
do’. Another great success, if we leave
out the fact that it was the Police who eventually called ‘time’ on the
merriment early on the Sunday morning.
Although I suppose it served me right for bunking off to a local hotel
with Trudie while leaving my brother Adam in charge. Threatening to throw my landlord down the
stairs for complaining about the mess was not quite the way I would have
handled things. The fact that the
landlord had to negotiate his way through a number of drunken semi naked revelers had not done much to help his mood either.
My excuse of spending the night in the
hotel was pretty valid in that I wanted to grab at least a few hours alone with
Trudie, and I needed to sleep before tackling the long drive up to Aberdeen . Actually long drive is an understatement. It took me over eight hours to make the
journey giving me lots of time to contemplate my new found relationship.
I felt very positive about how we had
hit it off over the past four weeks. I
could feel there was a special bond already forming between us. I was not on the lookout for a lasting
relationship but I knew I wanted to be around Trudie as much as possible.
As the miles to Aberdeen rolled by, it began to seem as
though my journey would never end. I
started to realise that distance was going to play a major part in deciding if
we stayed together or not.
We had both promised the other we
would keep in touch and visit each other as often as possible. No firm rules or commitments, we were going
to let love take its natural course and if we were meant to stay together long
term then it would happen.
As night began to fall and I still had
a couple of hours before I got to Aberdeen I started thinking of other modes of
transport that could eat up the miles more efficiently than this laborious
drive. The first alternative that sprung
to mind was the train, yes that would be a good way to make the journey, let
someone else take the strain. The next
thing I thought about briefly, and I mean very briefly, was flying. I didn’t give it too much consideration
because I am the worlds worst when it comes to getting on aeroplanes. Why?
Because it’s not natural! A great
big chunk of metal no matter how aerodynamic is not meant to leave the ground,
particularly with me in it.
Don’t get me wrong, I do fly if it’s
absolutely necessary. I have taken
holidays abroad but believe me when I say getting there and coming back on the
plane is by far the worst part of any holiday for me. I’m the same with these crazy rides that
thrill seekers go on at places like Alton
Towers or Busch Gardens in Florida . I don’t consider risking my life on some
rickety ‘man-made’ contraption, a thrill.
Has no one ever heard of ‘human error’?
I don’t need to get on ‘The Big One' or 'Apollo's Chariot' to get to work or to reach a
holiday destination so consequently I have never set foot on them and
never will.
As Trudie got to know me she realised
fear of flying was my thing, and in a weird way it gave her an indication of
how serious I was about our relationship.
I had been in Aberdeen a few months where during that time
we had managed to see each other on quite a few weekends. Mostly Trudie had taken the long drive
because she could finish work early on a Friday and head north, whereas I
generally worked Saturdays. I had made
the odd journey in the opposite direction by hire car or train and with a Bank
Holiday coming up I was due to catch the train down to Preston
to spend a long weekend. However,
probably because it was a Bank Holiday weekend, the train timetables were
rather patchy to say the very least and whilst I could get a train south there
was absolutely nothing coming back north when I needed it.
I rang Trudie to tell her....“You could fly?” She had offered half-heartedly, not really
expecting a positive riposte. “OK, I’ll
go and see if there’s a flight”, I said while wondering in amazement who had
taken control of my vocal cords! I
suppose it’s like going on a holiday I told myself as I headed off to the
‘Flight Agents’ shop. Oh, the things we
do for love....
It turned out there were no planes
leaving Aberdeen for Manchester when I needed one. What a relief! At least I could say I’d tried, even though I
felt like the worlds biggest coward. I
was about to leave when the Booking Agent started getting rather too clever and
helpful for my liking. She went onto
explain that there was a flight from Manchester
back to Aberdeen
at exactly the time I needed to come back.
‘OK Miss Clever Clogs. But fat
lot of use that is, when you can’t get me on a flight there in the first
place’, (I thought to myself). But she
was good at her job, too bloody good.
‘She could book me on a train down on the Friday afternoon and get me on
the flight back on Monday’. She just had
to check there were still seats available on the plane. “Oh dear, it seems to
be fully booked”. HA! Not so clever now are we Missy, I smiled to
myself. “Oh! There’s been a cancellation
this morning”, she said rather too excitedly for my liking, “I can give you the
last seat on the plane, would you like me to book it?” No, just give me the details of the imbecile
who cancelled so I can go round and set about him with a baseball bat I was
thinking… and stop looking so pleased with yourself you over helpful cow!
Then the 'voice-jacker' took over again
and I could hear him using my vocal cords to agree to this life endangering
journey. Then somehow my body was being
controlled by an alien presence as I signed where I needed to sign my own death
warrant and then to cap it all paid for the privilege!
As I left the office a condemned man
my first thought was to go back in and get that woman’s name and the details of
her head office. I would send in a
letter of complaint. Bloody
over-helpful, over-zealous staff booking people onto flights of death, what the
hell did she think she was doing? Then I remembered the reason for my flight of
death, I was going to see Trudie again and anyway I was only going to die on
the way back. It would make me enjoy my
weekend even more knowing it was my last on this mortal coil.
I would let it go this time. I wouldn't report her to Head Office. I would be brave and take the flight home
pretty much the way I had to when I went abroad on holiday. I began to look forward excitedly to the
fantastic few days Trudie and I would spend together.
Before I knew it the fantastic few
days were history and Trudie was driving me to Manchester Airport . I had tried not to make too big a deal about
my fears for the flight home but she knew I was worried and while not wanting
to sound like a big baby I was fearing flying alone for the first ever
time! Who was going to hold my hand
particularly at the point that scared me most, the take off? When the plane thunders down the runway at
breakneck speed before defying the laws of gravity to take off, when I feel
like jumping out of my seat and screaming at the cabin crew to let me get
off. Who was going to hold me down and
stop me from doing it this time?
“You’ll be fine”, Trudie assured
me. “You’ll be there before you know
it. Aberdeen won’t seem so far away by
plane”. ‘Easy for you to say’, I
thought. Trudie loves flying and going
on Big Dippers and other wild rides, there was no way she could understand my
fear. Much the same way I could never understand
her fear of spiders. If you don’t share
someone’s phobia you can’t appreciate what all the fuss is about.
We found the check-in desk and that’s
when I first started to suspect that all was not as it seemed. The check-in clerk told me my hand luggage
was too big and would therefore have to be checked-in, to go in the hold of the
plane! Too big? It was only a sports bag! We said our goodbye’s and I made my way to
Gate No. 16 as per my flight instructions and that’s where my suspicions
started to turn to paranoia. I
distinctly remember ‘Miss Clever Clogs’ in Aberdeen telling me she had managed
to book me on the last remaining seat on this plane, so why was there just me
and about ten other blokes waiting for the aircraft at Gate No. 16?
Then I got my answer. Surely someone was having a laugh at my
expense. The jalopy that taxied onto the
tarmac in front of Gate No. 16 was not fit to be a fairground ride let alone
actually take off with people in it and fly to Aberdeen .
That’s why my bag had to go in the hold, that’s why there were just a
dozen or so passengers! The plane was so
small I would probably have to sit on someone’s lap. It had bloody propellers and they looked
ill-fitted! I had managed to get quite a
good deal on the travel tickets I bought even though it was a Bank Holiday
weekend and now I was beginning to understand why. I was going ‘crop-spraying’! I was flying home in a plane not much bigger
than a two-seater crop-sprayer!
Panic was setting in! I looked back at the main building of the
Airport to see if I could spot Trudie but who was I kidding, she would be well
on her way by now. She knew I was going
on an ‘Air-fix’ plane and was, by now, making good her escape.
This time when the alien presence took
control of my body I was grateful because it walked me down the steps to the
tarmac when my natural instinct was to turn tail and run back into the airport.
The alien then climbed the rickety
little steps on to the plane using my legs before sitting me down in the
tiniest of seats directly above the left wing and just behind the dodgiest looking
of the two propellers.
This was not really happening to me
was it? I imagined what it must be like
for those people you hear about who go into surgery for an operation but the anesthetic doesn't knock them out to proper effect, and they are awake throughout
the whole operation but unable to speak.
Unable to protest about the distress they are experiencing. Yes, I was having my very own ‘triple bypass
surgery’ without anesthetic. I was
experiencing what for me, was a living nightmare and the worst was yet to come.
My stress levels were going through
the roo f and as yet the plane hadn't even moved, thank goodness for small mercies but it was not to be for very
long.
I looked round the plane and started
to take in my surroundings. The first
thing I noticed was that even though I was in the third seat back out of six, I
was practically looking over the pilots shoulder. I could clearly read all the dials on his
instrument panel, that’s how small this plane was. There was an air hostess who was busy
strapping herself into a seat that was positioned right at the back of the
plane, maybe she new something we should know I remember thinking as I quickly
scrabbled around looking for my safety belt.
The whole proceedings took on real
comedy proportions when the pilot got out of his seat to stand up, he turned
round to face us as he leaned into the cabin and delivered his pre-flight
spiel. He informed us that refreshments
were being provided; flasks would be coming round, one of tea and one of
coffee. I kid you not! I wanted to shout out ‘Never mind tea and
coffee, where’s the bloody brandy?’ I
did not need a warm beverage at this time I needed strong alcohol to numb the
senses, to get me through the peril that lay ahead.
All too soon it was time to go. Time to get airborne. And the crop-sprayer was being revved
up. It sounded like a lawn-mower, a
pretty powerful lawn-mower but a lawn-mower nonetheless. The dodgy propellers were turning, nowhere
near fast enough for my piece of mind but I assumed they would speed up as
required when necessary. Then we lurched
into motion as we began the short trip to the runway with the windows vibrating
and seats juddering, this piece of junk did not even cut it as a decent car let
alone an aeroplane!
The next comedy moment came when we
had to wait at a little junction at the side of the runway. We had to ‘Give Way ’ while the ‘proper’ planes took
off and landed. We had to stay out of
the way of the real aviators before finally being granted permission to take
off ourselves.
We began to trundle along the runway
and under normal circumstances I would be pinned back in my seat with fear as
the aircraft roars with power and impossible pace before thrusting
skywards. However, these were not normal
circumstances and instead I was thinking things like, ‘when will the propellers
actually start turning quickly?’ and, ‘surely a plane can’t take off whilst
doing just 30mph?” Don’t even get me
started on the sounds the damn thing was making. And still we ambled along at a pace that made
‘Driving Miss Daisy’ look like Burt Reynolds in ‘The Cannonball Run’!
I looked into the cockpit, the pilot
was no more than 7 or 8 feet away, I could dive over there and take him out,
make him abort the take off and wait until he had a real plane to fly. He was clearly insane if he thought he was
going to get this thing off the ground and my actions in hijacking this flight
would be seen as heroic as opposed to criminal.
I would be commended for saving so many lives by my brave actions
against the ‘madman pilot’!
Before I could put my rescue plan into
operation however, I felt a strange but familiar sensation that forced me to
cling onto my seat. It was the familiar,
but very scary, sensation of leaving the ground. We were indeed taking off at 30mph! OK the pilot was giving it the full works and
maybe we were hitting 40mph by now but the front wheels had definitely lifted
from the tarmac, conclusive evidence if anyone was still in doubt, that we had
a lunatic at the controls. He was trying
to defy gravity and take off in a plane that was travelling at the same speed
as a milk float!
I closed my eyes but opened them again
a minute later on the basis that not seeing was scarier than watching the whole
horror-show unfold in front of me. A lot
can happen in a minute and I was surprised to see that we were actually a good
way from the ground below when I looked out of the window. Just as I was starting to think things weren't as bad as I’d feared. The madman
masquerading in the pilots outfit decided it was necessary to change the
direction we were flying in.
Now, in a huge Boeing type aeroplane
this sort of man-oeuvre is no big deal even to a ‘soft pants’ like me… but in a
motorised kite? Turning left or right is
like doing a death defying ‘Red Arrows’ type stunt. The sky suddenly appeared to be below me
while the ground was over my head. It
felt as though we would all fall out of the plane at any second. My stomach began to lurch and I wondered
which way my vomit would fly, down towards the ceiling or up to the floor? I decided throwing up was not a good option,
it would make a horrendous mess in such close quarters and I could not
entertain the idea of being sick on my clothes.
I had a reputation to preserve and hint of puke was not the latest
fashion trend.
I had to get a grip and the sooner the
better, ‘think about it Lloyd, you are up here like it or not, there’s nowhere
else to go for the next hour or so, get used to it. Relax, plane crashes are very rare, you have more
chance of getting knocked down by a bus in the high street’, etc. etc. etc. I
was doing my best to recall and use every bit of logic or flying statistic that
I could muster in order to bring myself down from the heightened state of panic
I was experiencing and gradually found myself relaxing a little. Don’t’ get me wrong here, I don’t mean
relaxing as in ‘by the pool under a sunshade with a Pina-Collada’
relaxing. I just relaxed enough to avoid
soiling my pants or wearing hint of puke for the remainder of the journey.
At least the worst part of flying for
me was over, I had survived the take-off and now there was just the landing to
master then I would be back on solid ground I could do that. I had no choice in the matter but I could do
it I told myself. But my bravery and
commitment to love were really going to be tested on this day. I had survived an ordeal that for me and
others like me who hate flying, was a living nightmare but believe it or not it
still wasn't over. I must have omitted
to read the small print on my travel documents or failed to hear if Miss Clever
Clogs in Aberdeen had told me, but whatever the reason I swear I nearly had
heart failure on the spot when about fifty minutes into the journey, at a point
where I was thinking ‘nearly there, we’ll be landing soon and it’ll all be
over’, the mad pilot announced over his shoulder that we would be landing in
Dundee for refueling before taking off again to complete the journey to
Aberdeen!
So this crappy little aeroplane couldn't even carry enough fuel to get us all the way to Aberdeen in one go. I didn't even know Dundee
had an airport!
The rest of the journey to this day
remains a hazy blur as I can only assume my brain shut down in order to protect
me in some weird way. I know I was there
on that plane but in a strange detached third party sort of presence. I felt like I was watching from outside my
body as the plane ‘Red Arrowed’ around and down over a bridge that crossed the
river near to the airfield before landing.
I watched yet another comedy moment as the pilot slid open his window
and instructed the guy on the ground to “Fill her up!” Then, by the time we went through the whole
ridiculous take off procedure again I just didn't care anymore. I was too far gone to care and barely
remember actually landing in Aberdeen . I do remember how my legs seemed to be made
from jelly as I finally emerged from the plane and made my way shakily down the
steps and it was a good couple of days before I felt physically well again
after my ordeal.
They say every cloud has a silver
lining (excuse the pun) and although I could see no positives whatsoever at the
time, that flight had proved to be the catalyst in me deciding that first of
all, never again in my life would I set foot in a plane of that size, and
secondly I was no longer prepared to be so far away from Trudie. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I
wanted to spend the rest of my days with her and soon began making plans to
come home. One thing was guaranteed in
that I would not be coming home by aeroplane.
Thursday, 12 September 2013
"GET DOWN BOY!"
I'm intrigued from time to time when I see someone in a situation they are clearly unhappy with but rather than verbalise something that may offend the other party they choose to go with the 'Stiff Upper Lip' option whereby they say nothing and try their very best to portray an outwardly calm persona that is probably in stark contrast to the turmoil that is raging inside them and I can recall an incident that clearly demonstrates exactly what I'm talking about...
It was quite a few years ago when I was working in the 'Financial Services' sector and I was employed by one of the big finance companies to sell Investments and Pensions. Part of my job was to do 'home visits' where I would sit down with clients and discuss their personal finances, so it was serious stuff that required a great level of professionalism on my part and I always strive to be the 'ultimate professional' in my work.
I had spoken to the couple on a number of occasions by telephone and the home visit was arranged in order to tie up loose ends and conclude business by obtaining signatures and I.D. proofs. It was straight forward enough to find the address and I arrived 'suited & booted' and in good time for the appointment. It was a large well kept house with a long driveway leading from the gate to the front door and as I made my way up the drive a large dog appeared from behind a hedge and sat down next to me as I rang the door-bell... Now I'm hardly what you could call a 'dog lover'...in fact I'll be honest and tell you that I am actually scared of dogs and it was always a relief when I arrived at a home visit to find that there was no family dog but today it seemed that I would have to conduct the appointment with my clients with their pet in attendance.
As soon as the front door was opened the dog bounded down the hall-way and disappeared into the room at the end and I remember hoping that he had chosen to go and amuse himself in a different room to the one we would be using but no such luck on my part as my clients greeted me warmly then proceeded to show me into the room that the dog had gone into.
"Please take a seat" the man gestured in the general direction of the 3 piece suite so I opted for one of the arm chairs mainly because 'Lassie' or whatever his name was had by now made himself comfortable by sprawling full length on the settee, only changing his position occasionally to lick and sniff his privates! I then watched with slight bemusement as the couple then perched on the edge of the settee ready to listen to what I had to say without making any effort to move the dog!?
Any how they seemed comfortable enough and we got down to discussing business and all was going well until about ten minutes into the meeting when 'Lassie' got bored and decided it was time to go and seek some entertainment...and he had decided that I was going to be the provider of his afternoon's fun. He started by jumping down off the settee and making a bee-line for my brief case that lay open on the floor in front of me then set about attacking my paperwork. He was growling as he scattered books and forms around the living room. He tossed some paper in the air then chased after it, knocking over the coffee the lady had made me... "Oh don't worry I'll sort it she said" as she dashed into the kitchen to get a cloth to clean the carpet but strangely (in my view) neither of them thought to put the dog out even though I'm sure my discomfort was clearly visible??
By now 'Lassie' was really getting into his swing and had decided there were other ways he could torment me as he jumped up onto my armchair, squeezed in behind me and I kid you not he started to shag me! At first he was quite discreet and I thought he was just making himself comfortable in the small space behind me and anyway I was too scared to look around or shoo him away, whilst desperately wishing one of my clients would tell him to get down but still nothing...Then suddenly his paws were on my shoulders, his tongue was in my ear and he was humping me for all he was worth! My professionalism was totally forgotten as I shrieked and dived out of the chair, knocking over a lamp that was on the table next to me. I was doing a great impersonation of 'Norman Wisdom' in these peoples lounge and still they were displaying a remarkable calmness towards me and their pet mongrel...
My 'girlie screams' must have frightened the pooch because when I finally regained my composure and looked around the room he was nowhere to be seen having scarpered into the hall out of the way. With him gone I was able to concentrate on what I had originally come for (albeit looking over my shoulder every couple of minutes) and we managed to eventually wrap up the meeting much to my relief.
I packed my stuff into my briefcase and we made small talk as they showed me to the front door and all the while I was scanning around me in anticipation of the 'mad dog' leaping out at me from his hiding place but I was ever so relieved not to see him and then I was out on the driveway and safe. One final hand-shake and I set off for the gate...I had taken just a few steps when I heard the lady's voice..."Lloyd!?"...I turned round to see her and her husband standing on the door step and 'Lassie' had reappeared to complete the threesome as he sat next to her giving me a dumb look..."Are you not taking your dog with you?" she asked. I looked around to see who she could be talking to but there was no one there but me. "I beg your pardon?" I offered in reply and my blank look must have told them I had no idea what in hell had just happened! "My dog? He's not my dog! He's in your house, surely he belongs to you?!"..."We've never seen him before" said the guy. "We don't really like dogs, we're a bit too houseproud to keep one." "I thought it was a bit strange that you turned up with a dog for the appointment" said the woman and we all burst out in fits of laughter as 'Lassie' sat there looking at us quizzically with his head tilted to one side....
We had all sat there putting up with the mayhem this stray dog was causing, all the while I was thinking they had an out of control pet and they in turn thought that I was some nutter who turned up at appointments with my half-wit dog yet nobody had said anything for fear of causing offence...
I don't know if they ever found out where the dog came from but looking back it's one of the funniest things that's ever happened to me and taught me a few lessons...The first one being 'never presume all is as it seems' secondly if a stray dog is 'having it's way with you, then have the bottle to speak up in protest and finally if some guy turns up at your house with his dog and together they start wrecking the joint just politely ask him "What the hell are you and your crazy dog doing to my house?"...
Honestly it's a true story....
Tuesday, 20 August 2013
MUM'S THE WORD....
I've recently written in these pages how 'mind blowing' it can be when you find out something new about the person you love and have been with for many years. That person in your life of whom you believe... 'If I don't know it by now then surely it's not worth knowing' ?
Well it happened to me again just a couple of days ago when I overheard a conversation between Trudie and Jaja that went something like this....
"Mum!"...."Mum!".....(no reply)
"MUM!"....(He's shouting now because they are in different rooms and he think's she cant hear him)
"MUM! CAN YOU NOT HEAR ME?!" (Meanwhile I'm in another room and I can hear him loud & clear!)
Next, the sound of footsteps in the hallway as Jaja goes looking for Trudie and I continue to eavesdrop....
"Mum! did you not hear me?"...."Oh I'm so sorry sweetheart, where you talking to me?"....
By now my curiosity had got the better of me and I entered the room to see Trudie putting down the book she had been reading as she turned to look at the puzzled look on Jaja's face as he queried "Well who else do we call 'Mum' in this house?"
Trudie's features were contorted into a picture of what I could only describe as 'surprise and new found realisation'. Surprise and realisation of what? I did not know at this stage but Trudie being Trudie (i.e. she loves to talk) I knew I would not have to wait long to find the answer....
"I'm not used to you calling me "Mum" yet....When I hear the word "Mum" I think whoever is saying it must be speaking to someone else because I spent so many years of my life thinking that 'Mum' would never be my name"...
Jaja knows all about the years we spent on IVF trying to get him and knew exactly where she was 'coming from' so there was no need for her to offer any more words by way of explanation and he scooped her up in his arms and whizzed her round and round as he shouted "MUM, MUM, MUM I LOVE YOU MUM"....He eventually put her down and vowed to use 'her name' more often in general conversation, then he gave her a big kiss and a hug before wondering off, back in the direction of his room. "Well, 'Son' what did you want me for anyway?"... "That was it, I just wanted to tell you that I love you Mum".....Cue 'Trudie tears'.....as he disappeared back into his room to carry on doing whatever he had been doing.
It was a wonderful moment to witness and reminded me of exactly why we wrote our book 'Dreams Do Come True' http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dreams-Do-Come-True-Bankruptcy/dp/190829308X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1377025219&sr=1-1&keywords=Dreams+Do+Come+True+Trudie+%26+Lloyd+Thompson. We want someone else out there to be able to say "Yes darling?" when their son or daughter calls out "Mum!" We want to afford someone the priceless gift of a child through IVF funded from sales of our book. We know there are so many couples who like us are wondering if their time will ever come to have a child because their only route to success is through IVF that they can not afford to pay for. Proceeds from sales of our book are going to fund IVF treatment for infertile couples at 'Saint Marys Hospital' in Manchester, the place where our journey towards parenthood started all those years ago.
I want to help as many guys as I possibly can in realising that magical moment when their own son or daughter looks up for the very first time and says to the woman they love, that oh so precious little word...."Mum"
Well it happened to me again just a couple of days ago when I overheard a conversation between Trudie and Jaja that went something like this....
"Mum!"...."Mum!".....(no reply)
"MUM!"....(He's shouting now because they are in different rooms and he think's she cant hear him)
"MUM! CAN YOU NOT HEAR ME?!" (Meanwhile I'm in another room and I can hear him loud & clear!)
Next, the sound of footsteps in the hallway as Jaja goes looking for Trudie and I continue to eavesdrop....
"Mum! did you not hear me?"...."Oh I'm so sorry sweetheart, where you talking to me?"....
By now my curiosity had got the better of me and I entered the room to see Trudie putting down the book she had been reading as she turned to look at the puzzled look on Jaja's face as he queried "Well who else do we call 'Mum' in this house?"
Trudie's features were contorted into a picture of what I could only describe as 'surprise and new found realisation'. Surprise and realisation of what? I did not know at this stage but Trudie being Trudie (i.e. she loves to talk) I knew I would not have to wait long to find the answer....
"I'm not used to you calling me "Mum" yet....When I hear the word "Mum" I think whoever is saying it must be speaking to someone else because I spent so many years of my life thinking that 'Mum' would never be my name"...
Jaja knows all about the years we spent on IVF trying to get him and knew exactly where she was 'coming from' so there was no need for her to offer any more words by way of explanation and he scooped her up in his arms and whizzed her round and round as he shouted "MUM, MUM, MUM I LOVE YOU MUM"....He eventually put her down and vowed to use 'her name' more often in general conversation, then he gave her a big kiss and a hug before wondering off, back in the direction of his room. "Well, 'Son' what did you want me for anyway?"... "That was it, I just wanted to tell you that I love you Mum".....Cue 'Trudie tears'.....as he disappeared back into his room to carry on doing whatever he had been doing.
It was a wonderful moment to witness and reminded me of exactly why we wrote our book 'Dreams Do Come True' http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dreams-Do-Come-True-Bankruptcy/dp/190829308X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1377025219&sr=1-1&keywords=Dreams+Do+Come+True+Trudie+%26+Lloyd+Thompson. We want someone else out there to be able to say "Yes darling?" when their son or daughter calls out "Mum!" We want to afford someone the priceless gift of a child through IVF funded from sales of our book. We know there are so many couples who like us are wondering if their time will ever come to have a child because their only route to success is through IVF that they can not afford to pay for. Proceeds from sales of our book are going to fund IVF treatment for infertile couples at 'Saint Marys Hospital' in Manchester, the place where our journey towards parenthood started all those years ago.
I want to help as many guys as I possibly can in realising that magical moment when their own son or daughter looks up for the very first time and says to the woman they love, that oh so precious little word...."Mum"
Mum... that's my name!
Thursday, 15 August 2013
CHERISH THE LOVE...
My dear old Dad reaches the grand age of 84 later this year yet strangely I have only started to really know him over the past two years. It's not that we have spent my life avoiding each other or anything like that but more a case of being busy living our own lives where since I have grown up and left the family home we have drifted apart and I don't think for one minute we are in any way unique in that respect.
As we mature into adulthood it's only natural that we start to build our own lives separate from the one we have shared with Mum and Dad and siblings.
All manner of things can effect and influence the amount of contact we maintain with our parents and in my case I suppose two of the main factors were my parents getting divorced while I was still in my teens and the fact that following the split from Mum, my Dad started to spend more and more time 'back home' in Jamaica.
He used to go out there most winters for 6 months at a time and built himself a house at 'Redground' in Negril. I still smile to myself when I hear him complaining about the cold British weather that he can't get used to after 60 years of being in this country and It just goes to show that you can take the man out of the Caribbean but you can't take the Caribbean out of the man!
It was on his last stay 'back home' just over two years ago when I got the phone call from relatives in Jamaica informing me that Dad had suffered a major Stroke. Talk about a 'bolt out of the blue?!'....My Dad is the fittest most energetic 80+ year old you are ever likely to find so the news was a great shock to me! I quickly made arrangements to fly out there and within days I was being met at the airport by my cousin who lived next door to Dad and he was going to drive me over to my Dad's place.
This was the first time I had been back to Jamaica since I was a young kid yet everything, all the sights and smells and sounds seemed strangely familiar. Cousin Steve got me up to speed on my Dad's situation as we followed the road along the stunningly beautiful Jamaican coast.... he had been discharged from hospital after 3 days and although he appeared to be physically ok he was unable to speak...
A couple of hours after leaving the airport we were pulling up outside Steve's place and he pointed out Dad's house at the top of the hill which was too steep to get the van up so I set off on foot. There were half a dozen people at the front of the house but I could make Dad out quite clearly and realised he was watching me approach but not recognising who I was. As I got closer he moved away from the others and moved towards me and as I went through the gate he realised it was me and walked right up to me and buried his face in my chest as he wept uncontrollably. I held him tightly for fully five minutes as he sobbed and he felt so little and frail in my arms. His tears seemed to be a mixture of joy and relief at seeing me but also of frustration because he was unable to communicate verbally and I knew in those moments that I would have to take him away from his Caribbean paradise in order to care for him for the remainder of his years.
That realisation became all the more difficult to bear as he slowly gathered himself then began to proudly show me around his house and land pointing and gesticulating but unable to speak. He turned me round to look down the hill and into the distance and said his first words since the stroke... "Look at the sea!"....the view from his hilltop retreat in paradise was indeed truly spectacular and I wondered how I could even begin to tell him that he had to leave this part of his life behind....
My heart was saying, 'Leave him here in the land where he was born and loves. OK he won't get the care and help that I can facilitate for him in England but he will be happy for whatever time he has left." but my head was telling me that I needed to get him back close to me in order to give him the best quality of life that I possibly could courtesy of the wonderful institution that is the 'British National Health Service'....
It's over two years since I had that wrestling match between heart & head and I still question the decision I made to take Dad away from paradise particularly at winter time when we get the snow and ice that most Jamaicans have only ever seen on Christmas cards but the old guy is doing OK and accepts that he's in the best place. He continues to get well and his speech is ever improving and although it's not as it was, he can communicate again and is steadily rebuilding his life and working things out as he goes along.
As his main carer I have spent more time with him in these last couple of years than I have in the previous 50 and it's as though we are 'father and son bonding' for the first time but in reverse....by that I mean it's as if we have swapped roles with me being the father figure this time round as Dad learns to cope with his new found limitations where anything remotely technical is a real challenge for him.
For example he gets so easily confused when attempting to work his television and radio and even light switches and keys can easily confuse him. The culmination of that role reversal came when I called round to do his shopping one day and he was so excited to see me because he could not wait to show me what he had learned to do for himself that week.....
As usual he was dressed ready to go on our weekly shopping trip to Asda ( that,s Walmart to all you American followers of my Blog)....except he was not wearing any shoes and for good reason too as it turned out....
"Sit down I want to show you something" he said. He waited until I was seated before he dissapeared out into the hall-way only to return seconds later clutching his trainers. "Where are the ones I bought you with the Velcro fasteners?" I inquired, (because laces are one of the technical things that his stroke left him unable to figure out)...."Wait"...."wait".... he said as he sat down in his armchair and put his trainers on his feet. I was fully expecting him to then ask me to tie his laces (yes the 'one armed Black Chap can tie laces!) but he didn't ask! Instead he ever so deliberately and painstakingly slowly tied his own laces, only looking up occasionally to check that I was still watching his efforts...I was watching alright...Granted I was unable to see much as by now the tears were pumping out of my eyes and streaming down my face but I was watching as my dear old Dad finished tying his laces before looking up at me with a beaming grin of proud achievement. Damn right he should be proud of himself too as he must have been practicing all week and I too was proud of him as I got a bigger kick watching him tie those laces than I did when Jaja learnt how to do the very same thing when not much more than a toddler!
If I have any regrets where my Dad is concerned it's not with the fact that I took him away from paradise but the fact that it needed a near death experience to bring us closer together. Being a Dad myself I know how much I cherish the love of my own son and though I can't get back all those lost years I know that the times we have ahead of us will be times of pure love, respect and appreciation from both of us....
Dad now knows and accepts with a heavy heart that he will never be well enough to go back and live on his own in Jamaica but I will keep the promise that I made to him and bury him at 'Redground' next to his big brother Sydney but I know that will be a long time into the future because we have some catching up to do...
I love you 'Old Man'.....Always....
As we mature into adulthood it's only natural that we start to build our own lives separate from the one we have shared with Mum and Dad and siblings.
All manner of things can effect and influence the amount of contact we maintain with our parents and in my case I suppose two of the main factors were my parents getting divorced while I was still in my teens and the fact that following the split from Mum, my Dad started to spend more and more time 'back home' in Jamaica.
He used to go out there most winters for 6 months at a time and built himself a house at 'Redground' in Negril. I still smile to myself when I hear him complaining about the cold British weather that he can't get used to after 60 years of being in this country and It just goes to show that you can take the man out of the Caribbean but you can't take the Caribbean out of the man!
It was on his last stay 'back home' just over two years ago when I got the phone call from relatives in Jamaica informing me that Dad had suffered a major Stroke. Talk about a 'bolt out of the blue?!'....My Dad is the fittest most energetic 80+ year old you are ever likely to find so the news was a great shock to me! I quickly made arrangements to fly out there and within days I was being met at the airport by my cousin who lived next door to Dad and he was going to drive me over to my Dad's place.
This was the first time I had been back to Jamaica since I was a young kid yet everything, all the sights and smells and sounds seemed strangely familiar. Cousin Steve got me up to speed on my Dad's situation as we followed the road along the stunningly beautiful Jamaican coast.... he had been discharged from hospital after 3 days and although he appeared to be physically ok he was unable to speak...
A couple of hours after leaving the airport we were pulling up outside Steve's place and he pointed out Dad's house at the top of the hill which was too steep to get the van up so I set off on foot. There were half a dozen people at the front of the house but I could make Dad out quite clearly and realised he was watching me approach but not recognising who I was. As I got closer he moved away from the others and moved towards me and as I went through the gate he realised it was me and walked right up to me and buried his face in my chest as he wept uncontrollably. I held him tightly for fully five minutes as he sobbed and he felt so little and frail in my arms. His tears seemed to be a mixture of joy and relief at seeing me but also of frustration because he was unable to communicate verbally and I knew in those moments that I would have to take him away from his Caribbean paradise in order to care for him for the remainder of his years.
That realisation became all the more difficult to bear as he slowly gathered himself then began to proudly show me around his house and land pointing and gesticulating but unable to speak. He turned me round to look down the hill and into the distance and said his first words since the stroke... "Look at the sea!"....the view from his hilltop retreat in paradise was indeed truly spectacular and I wondered how I could even begin to tell him that he had to leave this part of his life behind....
My heart was saying, 'Leave him here in the land where he was born and loves. OK he won't get the care and help that I can facilitate for him in England but he will be happy for whatever time he has left." but my head was telling me that I needed to get him back close to me in order to give him the best quality of life that I possibly could courtesy of the wonderful institution that is the 'British National Health Service'....
It's over two years since I had that wrestling match between heart & head and I still question the decision I made to take Dad away from paradise particularly at winter time when we get the snow and ice that most Jamaicans have only ever seen on Christmas cards but the old guy is doing OK and accepts that he's in the best place. He continues to get well and his speech is ever improving and although it's not as it was, he can communicate again and is steadily rebuilding his life and working things out as he goes along.
As his main carer I have spent more time with him in these last couple of years than I have in the previous 50 and it's as though we are 'father and son bonding' for the first time but in reverse....by that I mean it's as if we have swapped roles with me being the father figure this time round as Dad learns to cope with his new found limitations where anything remotely technical is a real challenge for him.
For example he gets so easily confused when attempting to work his television and radio and even light switches and keys can easily confuse him. The culmination of that role reversal came when I called round to do his shopping one day and he was so excited to see me because he could not wait to show me what he had learned to do for himself that week.....
As usual he was dressed ready to go on our weekly shopping trip to Asda ( that,s Walmart to all you American followers of my Blog)....except he was not wearing any shoes and for good reason too as it turned out....
"Sit down I want to show you something" he said. He waited until I was seated before he dissapeared out into the hall-way only to return seconds later clutching his trainers. "Where are the ones I bought you with the Velcro fasteners?" I inquired, (because laces are one of the technical things that his stroke left him unable to figure out)...."Wait"...."wait".... he said as he sat down in his armchair and put his trainers on his feet. I was fully expecting him to then ask me to tie his laces (yes the 'one armed Black Chap can tie laces!) but he didn't ask! Instead he ever so deliberately and painstakingly slowly tied his own laces, only looking up occasionally to check that I was still watching his efforts...I was watching alright...Granted I was unable to see much as by now the tears were pumping out of my eyes and streaming down my face but I was watching as my dear old Dad finished tying his laces before looking up at me with a beaming grin of proud achievement. Damn right he should be proud of himself too as he must have been practicing all week and I too was proud of him as I got a bigger kick watching him tie those laces than I did when Jaja learnt how to do the very same thing when not much more than a toddler!
If I have any regrets where my Dad is concerned it's not with the fact that I took him away from paradise but the fact that it needed a near death experience to bring us closer together. Being a Dad myself I know how much I cherish the love of my own son and though I can't get back all those lost years I know that the times we have ahead of us will be times of pure love, respect and appreciation from both of us....
Dad now knows and accepts with a heavy heart that he will never be well enough to go back and live on his own in Jamaica but I will keep the promise that I made to him and bury him at 'Redground' next to his big brother Sydney but I know that will be a long time into the future because we have some catching up to do...
I love you 'Old Man'.....Always....
Tuesday, 6 August 2013
ADDICTED....
Having
shared nearly 30 years of my life with Trudie and 12 of those years on IVF, I
thought I knew everything there was to know about her, yet was shocked to find
out just recently that there were even greater depths of feelings and emotions
driving her on through the IVF years than I could have imagined.
We still
talk about IVF almost on a daily basis because it was a massive part of our
lives as we went through it at the time and it continues to be even now when every
day we can look at our wonderful son who serves as a reminder of the reason we
hung in there all those years without ever giving up hope that one day our
dream would be fulfilled and we continue to give thanks and gratitude for the
eventual outcome that was bestowed on us with his birth.
I commented
to Trudie that through all that time, being there with her and witnessing what
she went through both physically and emotionally, I still couldn’t see how she
survived it the way she did.
She had 6
full cycles of IVF and over the 12 years had over 100 fertilised embryos
inseminated before we eventually hit the jackpot. Many people can’t cope with the odd trip to
the dentist without getting distressed and many so called ‘routine operations’
in everyday medical situations bring their own stresses and angst to the
patient.
“So how
could you cope with having your own ‘routine operation’ practically every month
for 12 years”? I asked her…..
The reply I
got was to say the least not what I expected. Yes I knew Trudie was desperate
to have a baby. Yes I knew there was nothing she would not have done to be a
mother. Yes I knew that she so much needed to feel whole and (in her own words)
“Be a complete woman”, but what she said brought it all home to me. For the
first time in 25 years I finally understood what had been driving her on….
“I was
addicted to getting pregnant”
I was
stunned into silence as I took on board the magnitude of that reply.
“Hang on a
second,” I said eventually, “addicted is such a strong word to use to describe
your state of body and mind over all those years. People get addicted to drugs,
or alcohol, or smoking, not IVF?”
“I never
said I was addicted to IVF” she replied, “I was addicted to getting pregnant be
it through IVF or whatever means possible. All I know is that I had an
incurable need to get pregnant”.
Now my
understanding of an addict is someone who is compelled to do something almost
against their own will and better judgement, someone who has a dependence that
they can’t live without. Other words that spring to mind when I think of an
addict are, hooked, obsessed and craving!
These are
words Trudie is very familiar with too as a bye-product of her line of work and regularly has to do work that involves dealing
with drug addicts and alcoholics so if she says she was addicted to getting
pregnant I have to believe her.
We talked
long into the night and I continued to probe her about this ‘new found
revelation’. After all I was finding out something new about the person I had
spent practically my whole life with and how often does that happen?
Like I said,
I thought I knew everything there was to know, I sometimes tell Trudie I know
her better than she knows herself but there was more mind-blowing stuff to come
when she told me something that actually stunned me to the very core of my
being. She said that in the most desperate days of the IVF years, when she was
at her lowest ebb and thinking the unthinkable thought that she would never
have a baby, that if during one of her routine tests the doctors had found
something wrong that revealed she was terminally ill and would die very soon
then that would have been such a relief! A massive weight off her shoulders! Impending death would have been easier for
her to cope with than facing a lifetime of never being a mother to a child.
Yes at times
her will to continue was so weak that death would have been an easier option
and only her ‘addiction to getting pregnant’ kept her going.
Hearing this
really upset me because she never in all those years told me as starkly as this
how she felt. She coped with it all alone but then again that sums her up
completely, keeping everything on the positive, to the outside world at least.
As I
listened to her I began to wonder how I never picked up on how desperate and
alone she must have been feeling for all those years because having been slow
to get on board with the whole IVF thing in the first place I always thought that
once I’d got my act together I had been 100% supportive and there for her every
step of the way. Then again in
comparison to someone who is a drug addict or alcoholic I suppose the
similarities are there because often times it’s the people who are closest to
the addict who are last to know as the afflicted person does their best to
shield loved ones from the fallout from their addiction, they prefer to deal
with the problem alone.
Trudie went
onto explain that even though she considered herself an addict she would never voice
that opinion because no one would take her seriously and you know I think she
is right. Society readily accepts that unfortunately there are drug addicts,
alcohol addicts (alcoholics) smoking addicts, gambling addicts and even sex
addicts if some of the tabloids and celebrity magazines are to be believed, and
there is recognised help for all these people. There are government bodies,
independent associations, clinics and self-help groups catering for the needs
of all these people that need help but the poor souls ‘addicted to trying to
get pregnant’ are not recognised for the mental state they find themselves in
and it’s not a place they choose to be at, they are coping everyday with the
hand they have been dealt by ‘Mother Nature’.
It’s so easy
for people on the outside to say things such as why don’t you consider
adoption? Or why don’t you just accept that you can’t have kids and move on
with your life? But that’s like saying to a Heroin addict, “Why don’t you just
chew gum when the cravings come? It’ll take your mind of it”…. No it won’t!
I’m not
saying there is no place for adoption in our society because there are so many
beautiful kids out there that need adopting so that they can have a fair start
in their young lives and it’s a route that we seriously considered then
actually set out on even though ‘under the system’ that was not allowed for
couples on IVF and is a whole new chapter that I will tell you about another
time, but when that need to produce her own offspring burns deep inside a woman
nothing in the world can extinguish it. Nothing that is, other than giving
birth and that’s the only difference between a heroin addict and a woman
addicted to giving birth.
In her work Trudie has learned (and it was news to me) that when a person
takes heroin for the first time they experience a most unbelievable and
euphoric high and the user has never had a ‘feeling so good’. However what most heroin users don’t know or
accept is that ‘the high’ they experience that first time is the ‘best one’
they will ever experience from using that drug. That extreme ecstasy can never
be recreated to the same degree ever again but the sad and tragic thing is that
heroin addicts spend the rest of their lives in the fruitless quest of trying
to rediscover that very first high, in short they become immediately addicted
while not realising that never ever will they find what they are desperately
craving again.
The huge and
significant difference with a woman addicted to getting pregnant is that in the
vast majority of cases once the extreme high of childbirth is achieved the
craving stops immediately and the addiction is cured.
As a society
we need to recognise that without Womankind’s addiction to producing offspring
the human race would not be around for very long, the world would come to a
standstill. We need to do everything we
can to help all those women of the world who need a little longer to achieve
their ultimate high of having a baby as their contribution to the continuation
of mankind.
Writing our
book ‘Dreams Do Come True’ was our way of helping someone out there to realize
the dream that eventually came true for us when we got our baby. The proceeds
from sales of the book go to St Marys Hospital in Manchester which is where it
began for us all those years ago and we have agreed with the hospital that the
money goes directly to couples who are on their IVF programme. Our sole intent
is that someday soon a baby will be born to a couple who are going through
exactly what we went through for all those years and then why stop at one!? We want you to help us cure someone’s
‘addiction’ and all you have to do is buy a copy of the book and I promise you
a good read into the bargain and if you or someone you know is suffering from infertility then I truly hope that reading about us can in some way inspire you to keep on believing that soon your dream will indeed come true! You can buy the book here!! http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dreams-Do-Come-True-Bankruptcy/dp/190829308X/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1375797593&sr=1-2&keywords=dreams+do+come+true )
Now here’s
the best thing to this particular addiction….in complete contrast to heroin
addiction, Trudie tells me that the initial high of giving birth not only kills
the craving but it then begins the journey to greater highs each and every day
for the rest of your life as you appreciate the wonderment of having a child
and from the great depths of despair and wanting to die she now wants to live
forever….
Thursday, 1 August 2013
DARLING I'VE BEEN SEEING SOMEONE ELSE ....(11 guys every Saturday afternoon actually...)
I was with a group of friends the other day when one of them asked if any of the others had seen my Blog? A couple of them said 'yes they were following my weekly postings with great interest and enjoying reading my rantings'. One of the guys who was unaware that I was Blogging asked "What do you write about?"....
Without really thinking about it I replied "I write about life, love and relationships" to which he responded: "I suppose that just about covers everything there is to discuss for any of us, I'll have to take a look."
That conversation really set me thinking and in particular about the relationships I have in my life and I'm starting to realise that we all have so much more than the spouse, partner, romantic type relationships that I have tended to write about so far....
As well as having relationships with our spouse or partner we have relationships with our offspring, we have relationships with parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins as well as work colleagues and friends and over time I'm sure I will touch on most or all of these relationships as a point of discussion. However because tomorrow sees the start of the new football season in England (that's 'soccer' for all you American readers and not to be confused with your version of 'football' ) I'm going to share with you an article I wrote for publication in a football fanzine some 15 years ago!
'What does football have to do with relationships?' I can almost hear you ask....In fact Trudie used to ask me sometimes with great frustration: "What does football have to do with anything meaningful in our lives?"... That was until she read my piece which was a tribute to 'my team Bolton Wanderers who were moving to a new stadium after playing for the past 102 years at 'Burnden Park' after which with tears in her eyes she said "I had no idea it meant so much to you and I really had no idea that you could hold so much passion"...
She saw a new side of me that she never knew existed. She saw that I had another relationship that went back way before we even met. Most importantly she understood why I am so devoted to 'my team' and she liked the emotions they cause me to display.
So I suppose my relationship tip to the guys today is this:- Show as much love, passion, dedication and loyalty to your partner as you do to 'your team' be it a Football, Baseball, Basketball team or whatever and you wont go far wrong....Here's what I wrote all those years ago, I hope you enjoy it.
BURDEN PARK WILL REMAIN FOREVER THE HOME OF
Without really thinking about it I replied "I write about life, love and relationships" to which he responded: "I suppose that just about covers everything there is to discuss for any of us, I'll have to take a look."
That conversation really set me thinking and in particular about the relationships I have in my life and I'm starting to realise that we all have so much more than the spouse, partner, romantic type relationships that I have tended to write about so far....
As well as having relationships with our spouse or partner we have relationships with our offspring, we have relationships with parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins as well as work colleagues and friends and over time I'm sure I will touch on most or all of these relationships as a point of discussion. However because tomorrow sees the start of the new football season in England (that's 'soccer' for all you American readers and not to be confused with your version of 'football' ) I'm going to share with you an article I wrote for publication in a football fanzine some 15 years ago!
'What does football have to do with relationships?' I can almost hear you ask....In fact Trudie used to ask me sometimes with great frustration: "What does football have to do with anything meaningful in our lives?"... That was until she read my piece which was a tribute to 'my team Bolton Wanderers who were moving to a new stadium after playing for the past 102 years at 'Burnden Park' after which with tears in her eyes she said "I had no idea it meant so much to you and I really had no idea that you could hold so much passion"...
She saw a new side of me that she never knew existed. She saw that I had another relationship that went back way before we even met. Most importantly she understood why I am so devoted to 'my team' and she liked the emotions they cause me to display.
So I suppose my relationship tip to the guys today is this:- Show as much love, passion, dedication and loyalty to your partner as you do to 'your team' be it a Football, Baseball, Basketball team or whatever and you wont go far wrong....Here's what I wrote all those years ago, I hope you enjoy it.
BURNDEN PARK
MY LAST
30 YEARS!!!
I first went to Burnden as an 8 year old in 1968. The following are my memories of the famous
old ground in the 3 decades since then.
Memories in no particular order.
Some of them very vague, others seem as if they happened yesterday. There are very few dates that spring to mind
to pinpoint particular incidents, but I know that if you were there then you
too will remember.
The Embankment; The first place I
ever stood, no Normid Superstore and massive big steps at the back about 2 feet
high, railway line at the back, big wooden scoreboard like a cricket
ground. A 3rd round FA cup
tie against the then mighty Newcastle United saw a sea of black and white as
17000 Geordies crammed onto the huge terrace, the result 3-3 and Malcolm McDonald
scored a hat-trick. We were on ‘Match
of the Day’!
I remember crowds of 4000 and crowds of 57000 like the
league cup semi against Everton. We
drank beer on the terraces and peed where we stood. Go to the toilets? No chance!
It was impossible to move you just swayed with the crowd. If you did manage to get to the loo it was a
mixture of smells from the 6 inch deep river of pee and the lashings of too
strong disinfectant.
Later
I moved to the best kop end ever The Lever End. Here were the boys who sang brilliant songs
and wore the football fashions of the 70’s.
Doc Marten boots, Crombie coats, Skinners jeans and Ben Sherman
shirts. People wore scarves then and it
was cool to wear a silk Wanderers scarf tied round your wrist. These were the boys who got involved in the
many riots and pitch invasions of that time against the likes of Chelsea,
Millwall and Leeds.
The
big matches down the years come to mind.
The Newcastle game mentioned earlier for one. I also remember when as a 3rd
Division Club we hammered 1st Division Man City 3-0 in the League
Cup 3rd round in front of 42000!!!
The top of Division 2 game against Sunderland in front of a similar
crowd, when big Sam Allardyce scored “that Header”,
and I saw the maestro Frank Worthington score “that Goal”. Nat Lofthouse I’ve never seen
him play but from the first years I went to Burnden I knew he was already a
legend. There were other names,
maybe not all as famous as Frankie Worthy and Nat, but no doubt remembered by
the people who watched them at the time.
Eddie Hopkinson, Charlie Hurley, John Byrom, Gary Jones, Paul
Jones, John Ritson, Willie Morgan, Alan Gowling, Charlie Wright, Tad Novack,
Gordon Taylor and Neil Whatmore.
There are many more, too numerous to mention but remembered all
the same because they wore the white shirt!
Burnden also carries memories of great players from
opposing teams down the years. I’m sure
I remember a 16 year old Trevor Francis scoring a hatful of goals against us
for Birmingham City, 3 or 4 I think, and it might have been his full
debut!! The late Great Bobby Moor was
sent off for the only time in his career at Burnden while playing for
Fulham. Yes, we knew how to wind up the
opposition at Burnden. I was there on
the night Bruce Rioch incited the most hostile atmosphere ever seen in a
football ground as we terrorised Wolves and their fans out of the play offs and
went onto gain promotion to the Premier League.
It’s
not all been laughter down the years.
I’ve seen grown men cry at Burnden when we lost out to Aldershot (of all
people) in the first ever play offs to get dumped into the Fourth
Division. I was one of the grown men
crying at the end of the very last game to be played there against Charlton
when that Burnden legend JOHN McGINLAY took his final bow. He could fill a book himself with his heroics
and exploits for the Whites, and it all started with ‘that
penalty’, 10 minutes from the end of ‘that game’ that
sent Preston down and won us promotion.
We sang all the way down Manny Road just as years ago we used to sing
under the Railway Bridges outside the Embankment, but they are gone now. We used to go into the Rose Hill Tavern for a
pint, now it’s known as Churchills. The
iron bridge is still there, a lasting landmark on the route to Burnden. I even remember the dodgy bogs just after the
Waggon and Horses, a welcome stopping point after one pint too many. Then onto Rice and Easy for the best
chips in town.
Burnden
wasn’t the plushest of grounds with its wooden stands and broken
guttering. The banking at Croft Lane was
always overgrown with weeds, and how did that ridiculous great puddle at the
corner of the Lever End and Burnden Paddock survive all those years come rain
or shine?? Daft I know, but I remember
little things like that, things like “The Happy Shop” as the
first Club shop was known. Things like
being able to buy “The Buff”, a paper that had all the days
results and reports 5 minutes after the end of the game. It was printed and sold from mobile vans on
Manny Road – BRILLIANT!!! Things
like paying 3 quid to get in, and thinking it was a fortune. Things like going to mid week afternoon
matches during the power cuts of the 70’s.
Things like the Bromwich Street Training Ground and things like trying
to sign Pele as our Manager!!!
Things
that make up 30 years of memories of an 8 year old boy and now a 38 year old
man, but all memories of the same person.
All significant in their own little way because they are memories of a
place that will live forever in the hearts of the people who were lucky enough
to call it “Our Ground” a place that will never be forgotten,
even when the bulldozers finally move in.
BURDEN PARK WILL REMAIN FOREVER THE HOME OF
BOLTON WANDERERS!
WSFM
Footnote : The famous old stadium was eventually demolished in 1999 thus ending a wonderful era in my life. 1999 however proved to be more significant than I could ever have imagined as my son Jaja was born on February 28th of that year and now Bolton Wanderers are OUR TEAM! And always will be regardless of which stadium we call home.
In 1953, LS Lowry's painting "Going To The Match" won a Football Association competition. He was very surprised when he heard about it as he did not know it had been entered. Depicting people going to watch Bolton Wanderers at Burnden Park, the painting sold at auction in 1999 for the record price for a Lowry of two million pounds. To my wife "Thank you for my life .... nuff said" |
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