The cathartic effects of getting dirty!

Never underestimate the cathartic experience of getting dirty! There I was the other morning, hadn’t slept particularly well, kept thinking all manner of things relating to Matt and that whole situation, which prevented slumbers' sweet escape from washing over me. It’s funny how strange, sometimes silly things bring back memories of happier times, for example, even now, in my head, I still play the ’Punch Herbie/Slug Bug’ game each time I see a VW Beetle! I giggle to myself and sometimes aloud. 

A friend asked me what the hardest part has been about the whole ‘USA Drama Thing’ as he called it, and after thinking for a good long while, I have to say that it probably is the lack of communication. OK, so the lack of relationship is a pretty big gap in life, but the lack of communication from him, before, during and after has been the most hurtful and most difficult to cope with. It raises far more questions than answers, and prevents any further dialogue between us. It also leaves me unable to scratch that itch of wondering how he is. It may sound a little odd given the circumstances, but I still do care for him. He may have fallen out of love with me and dumped me, but I didn’t fall out of love with him, and love is not something I can just turn off like a tap, or faucet if you're American. Which means I am constantly wondering about where he is, what he’s doing, and more importantly, if he’s OK. I could listen to the gossip from his friends, and believe that he’s going downhill, and downhill fast, that he is drinking and smoking and doing drugs, that he’s starting to be really dirty and having sex in public restrooms again. 

These things and more well up in my mind, and it’s all to do with the lack of contact, the cessation of all communications. I can’t recall any other relationship where contact was withdrawn like this; perhaps that’s because up until now, I’ve always been the one to bring things to their conclusions, to their natural or unnatural end. Well, with the exception of Ed, with whom I’d lived for a number of years, and who ended our cohabitation and life together with the rather clinical “We have come to the end of the road of our relationship” It may have been clinical, perhaps a little cold, but it was accurate, succinct, to the point. But that didn’t stop us from being in contact with each other, indeed, a few times after reaching that particular cul-de-sac on life’s highway, we’d meet up and well......get passionate. In fact, don’t tell anyone, but I have to say that during one of those meetings we had some of the most rewarding and passionate sexual experiences of my life, for which I will always thank Ed the ex for, albeit silently and only on the pages of this here blog - it’s OK, he doesn’t read it! 

 All my other past relationships have come to an end on my terms at a time of my choosing and doing, but one thing I have done, and that is remained on at least speaking terms with all of them that wanted it. Just to end all forms of communication would be extremely cruel, calloused and hateful, not something I think I have the ability or desire to be. It was with these thoughts raging in my head and long with other more practicalities, such as taking the photos off the wall, packing away the silly cuddly plushy toys and other keepsakes and memorabilia that laid me low the other morning. I needed to clear my head, cleanse my body and something that would not take either money or too much brain power. I decided the bike would be the way to go. I needed a ride, I’ve started to pile on a few pounds since coming back from America again, something to do with the eating of American chocolate, which is, was and always will be my favourite. 

 The day previous had been wet and rainy, but the other morning was dry and clear, the blue skies masking the true temperature of the outside world. I started well, down the road towards Shoreham, no route or plan in my mind, just a little ride, not far, not long, just to get some fresh air and blow the cobwebs out. I’m not sure if I was on auto pilot, or the sounds of Death Cab For a Cutie, The Postal Service and Bright Eyes on the iPod was distracting me, but I found myself on the bridge over the river Adur, forward was the relatively dry roads around Shoreham Airport, behind me, the relatively dry road from which I’d just come. To the left of me, the dryish footpath leading the main road and cycle route along Shoreham Beach, and finally to my right, the Downs Link Way, which is a rather well used path way, but mainly on unsealed ground! Guess which way I chose? 

At first, it was easy going, I built up a little speed, the damp ground of the gravel kicking up under the tyres a little, not a soul to see, just me, the freedom, the air. I cycled a bit faster, indeed top gear and as fast as my little legs could force the pedals round. Then the nice dry gravel gave way to mud, forcing me to navigate large pot holes filled with water, sloppy mud sides and heavy overhanging branches. It would have been easy to avoid such puddles, pools and mud had I been flying, or chosen a different route, but I wasn’t, and I didn’t. I was belting along, trying my best to steer round the biggest and deepest baby lakes of dirty muddy water, then I thought, what the hell, and cycled straight through the next one. Well, come on, there’s no point going off-road cycling in the damp, in the winter if you don’t wanna get wet, nor dirty for that matter. Suddenly, for the first time in months, I felt alive as the coldness of the water soaked through the trakkie bottoms I was wearing. My body tingled as the mud splattered up from the rapidly turning wheels all over my back, front side and head. I got to Bramber, not a mammoth distance, I’ll readily admit, but a great halfway point, from which I could have cycled back along the roadway, but nope, call me Queen Silly of the Silly people if you wish, but there was only one way back for me. Yep, back along the muddy track, that is the Downs Link. I’ve never been so wet, so muddy and dirty, even in my surprisingly well-kempt youth, as I was then, a couple of days ago. Brown chunks of mud clung to my face, my jacket was now three colours, white, blue and mud and my trakkie bottoms, well lets just say they have since dried to be a solid lump of earth with a waistband!

My muscles may have ached, my clothes may have been ruined, my face stinging from the wind, but my mind - cleared, refreshed indeed cleansed. For the first time in over a month, I felt like the real me again!

More soon, hopefully. Comments are always welcome, so thanks in advance!!

Letter's of the past.

(2026 Edit. This post is from the archive; it was first published on 23 October 2012 at 17:37. Things, facts and views may have changed since then.)

Letters

Image by Margarita Kochneva from Pixabay

You never really know what others think of you until they make it clear in some way, and sometimes when they do, it can come as a complete surprise or even, dare I say, a bit of a shock!

Such an incident happened to me at the end of last week when, out of the blue, a letter arrived from an old, old flame. Before I go on to the contents of that letter, let me tell you the intriguing story of how this physical letter got to me is as remarkable as the contents themselves. For some reason, it was sent to a place I used to work many long years ago, and when I say many, I really do mean many, ten or more at least. Luckily, someone there still recognised my name as they forwarded it to an address I used to live at in Crawley, West Sussex. Luckily, the owner still remained the same as all those years ago, who forwarded it to the Kemp Town flat where I used to reside and from there the lovely Eastern European escorts that occupy the top apartment popped it back in the post with my current abode crammed into one corner.  

Thus, the letter's unusual and utterly remarkable journey from pillar to post had finally come to a wonderfully correct conclusion. Hat’s off to the Royal Mail on this occasion for their endeavours in the delivery of the letter, and deep sentiments of gratitude are expressed to all who had a hand in ensuring its progress continued until, in my hands, it rested.

The contents of the letter, as indeed the letter itself, were a complete surprise and not a particularly happy one. The letter, as I said before, was from an old, old flame from the very dim and distant past. We dated for a relatively short time, perhaps ten or eleven months, maybe a year at the most, during the mid 1990’s. I can’t say how we got together or even why; we certainly came from different places and lived in seemingly different worlds, plus he was a full decade and a half my senior, which only added to the differences between us. Our brief relationship was, I suppose you could say was tempestuous,  fiery would be another word, we were both strong and stubborn personalities, and I dare say we both suffered from the ’I know best’ mantra and philosophy. There were times of great passion, intellectual stimulation and learning, but also times of arguments and anger, which ultimately forced the affair to be a rather dysfunctional one, which led to its inevitable termination.

He loved me, yet always resented and never forgave me for breaking up our ’beautiful’ relationship, at least that’s what his letter informed me. It also told me that he believed we could have ’gone the distance’, which surprised the heck out of me because, from my memory, we were never destined for longevity, and it was he who told me to get out of his car and out of his life when we broke up. 

There were a few other things mentioned in the letter which I have different recollections of altogether; however, I suppose that’s only to be expected, we were two different people and too different people. I would write back to perhaps disagree with his memories of our time together, or rather, offer my side of the story and my views of how it came to a bitter and fractious end. Oh yes, the end was fractious to say the least, when I said earlier he was the one to tell me to get out of his car and out of his life, I meant that literally. We’d been out at an early ‘summer’ party where shorts and shades had been the theme, somewhat surprising really, as it was taking place at the end of January or beginning of February, I forget exactly which after all this time. I, being the typical larger-than-life character full of fun I happily sported rather short black shorts complete with a skull and crossbones design on the front area. In reality, I’ll level with you, these were comic boxer shorts, yet I wore them as over shorts with nothing underneath. I also sported a ripped black ‘Boy’ t-shirt that was about two sizes too small for me, and that was before it had shrunk in the wash!  

I want to say I also had flip flops on, but if memory serves me rightly, I actually sported some Hi-Tec trainers.  It was a private party, and we weren't going anywhere else, which negated my need for cash, plus I had no pockets upon my person anyway. I don’t recall how our argument started or who the instigator was, nor can I remember how it or why it escalated the way it did. No doubt I was partly or even largely to blame, I simply can't recall, but I sure do remember how it ended. We’d gotten halfway back between the location on the south coast of this party and my home in Crawley when he slammed on his brakes, pulled into a lay-by at the side of the road and uttered the infamous last words and the opposite of Billy Ocean, ’get out of my car and out of my life’.  

As I said, I was stubborn back then, so I did, he drove off, and that was the last I ever saw of him. I then simply had no other option other than to walk home during the middle of a January / February night, wearing nothing other than a pair of funny boxer shorts, trainers and a shirt far too small for me.  I can’t say how far the distance was exactly, nor how long the journey took me; all I can say is that by the time I got to my door, the dawn had arrived and people were already on their way to work. I must have had some odd or funny looks from passing commuters. I have no memory, but it wasn't the first time I'd been seen as one of those 'Yesterday's People' coming home the day after a night before!

As I said, I would have written back to him to share my views on the relationship that never was without the benefit of rose-tinted spectacles, yet tucked in the envelope was a small card. The card was a short little note from one of his family members informing me he had recently passed away after a short illness. A surprise indeed, and I’d wished I’d read the note before the letter, a letter which he had written sometime before his death and not sent, rather than the other way around. I also wish he’d have sent the letter before he died as then he’d had gone to his grave with both sides of the story, but that of course isn’t to be, but it just emphasises to me now, how there are always at least two sides to every story, that one person’s truth can seem to be another person’s invention, and I wonder, perhaps we never really know how others see us.

If reality is no longer real, when is reality actually reality?

(2026 Edit - This is a post from the archive; it was first published on 16 November 2007 at 23:23. Facts, things, and views may have changed since then.)

The whole of the south has been bathed in clear blue skies and watery winter sunshine for the past couple of days, which has made my time away from the office all that much much more enjoyable. Yesterday I got the old cycle out and trundled off to Portslade and met up with Mo! Mo, for those that don't know, is a 50-something lady with the energy of a 20-year-old who loves to club to really hard dance music that's so hard it makes the ears of your average hoodie boy bleed! We nattered and chatted and then cycled down the prom. She went off to meet her daughter, and I came home to relax my aching muscles.

As one reality TV show takes to the airwaves, another finishes relatively unnoticed. Celebrity Scissor Hands, a show where allegedly celebs cut various poor sods' hair, all in the name of reality TV and charity. I'm not sure where they've got the idea of Celebs from, I mean, on this hairdressing disaster show they had tiny wee teen rapper 'Lil Chris' equally tiny yet much older actor Warwick Davis, DJ Brandon Block, some young Aussie geezer called Ben Nicholas who is/was an actor apparently, also a radio producer and some silly girl no one's every heard of. Oh, and some girl from Hollyoaks, which I haven't seen for some time. Obviously, not your A-list celebs feature on this BBC offering, which, as it was over on BBC3, had an audience of about 40 and a dog! Still, hey, it was for charity, so I shouldn't knock it too much. I'm just left with contemplating the question, why? Is this what some fat over 50s executive things the youth of today want?

So as the last snippy snips of the celebs' scissors fade into the distance over on ITV, their flagship reality show 'I used to be a celebrity and now need something major to relaunch my now dead career,' has started. OK, so perhaps I'm being a little unfair, I've previously enjoyed 'I'm a celebrity, get me out of here', I've liked the fact that these odd bods of z-listdom have had to sleep rough in the Australian jungle and do various horrendous stunts and trials to get food for the evening meals, obviously all under the watchful eye of hundreds of cameras.

Now this years collection of show business hasbeens included - Lynne Franks, Public Relations guru and New Age feminist who allegedly inspired Jennifer Saunders’ Absolutely Fabulous character, Edina Monsoon. Marc Bannerman, an actor Marc found fame playing Gianni de Marco in EastEnders, and has since undertaken a variety of new challenges, mainly signing on the dole! Gemma Atkinson, It’s hard to miss former Hollyoaks star Gemma, she’s usually plastered across the pages of lads’ mags, newspapers and women’s magazines. She also appeared in the last series of Soapstar Superstar, so in other words, she hasn't had a proper acting job since Hollyoaks. Jason J Brown from a now debunked boyband called 5, that lasted for all of five minutes. Anna Ryder Richardson, a pint sized designer that used to work on the BBC show Changing Rooms. Rodney Marsh - who? A moody chef John something race, who actually seems quite normal which is rather strange for a reality TV show entrant. Katie someone from another reality show, so hardly a celeb at all and then you have a former model that's was last seen in the 70's and should have stayed there and has the loudest mouth on the show and that's really saying something - Janice Dickenson. Oh and a former Brighton resident, a larger than life rollypolly Christopher Biggins, who'll go anywhere for a glass of champagne, indeed he was even spotted at the opening of an envelope recently.

So, this years collection is showing signs that even this flagship show is finding it tough to get decent celebs on board, could this be an indication that reality TV shows are on the way out and we, the viewing public are seeking an altogether more sophisticated form of entertainment?

Mind you, reality is less reality these days, previous revelations from various other progs in the same genre have shown us that the only reality left in reality TV is the editors knife. In the passed year we've had made up kids winning competitions, producers phoning in shows pretending to be the audience, a dangerous bear actually was a man in a bear suit, Gordon Ramsey fishing with a spear, yet the fish he 'caught' was actually one caught by someone else an hour before. We've seen clever editing making villains and hero's out of people that really don't deserve either title. And now, I'm hearing gossip on the 'jungle' drums that not all the pretend celebs over in Australia are spending all their time in camp. Oh no, from various reports received from one of the crew over there, certain celebs are nipping out of camp to the crew village, relaxing in the warm, having proper toilet breaks, beer and energy bars proper nosh up. Timmy M is working on the ITV2 version of the show and told of how he went to one of the drinks areas for a beverage for his shows presenter Matt Willis and found two of the supposedly 'imprisioned celebs' lounging about. So it would appear that even this reality is not actual realatiy, just a TV version or what reality would be had it been left to be real. Which begs the question what really is rreality these days? And, is it really reality if there are no reality TV show cameras there to record it? And does an warbling tree knat's farts sreally smell if there is no-one in the Queensland jungle to smell it?

I'm going for a lie down now, I think I've overdone the whole reality thing! I can not cope any longer, I need a break from all of this, give me a dose of normal TV, please!

mucking fuddled

(2026 Edit - this post was found in the archieve, dated 6 Oct 2027 at 12:04.  I was working for a large American company at the time, living in Brighton, Sussex.)

Sometimes life is all straight forward with hardly a kink and then at other times it's a right old mucking fuddling puddle of tangledness! I've just finished work and feel about as normal as a washing machine in the desert, my mind is pretty much mush ( some of you maybe thinking, nothings different!)

I've been kinda bitchy to my mate David tonight, but it wasn't my fault, he needed it, and it's because he barged his way into Gabriells dressing room the night before last and I always blame him a little bit of the god awful state I was in after our drunken night on the town!

Everything seems to be confusing me at the moment, first there is a new film about the life and times of Bob Dylan that's been approved, but there are six people going to be playing the music man. Richard Gere, Christian Bale, Heath Ledger, Ben Whislaw, and young black actor Marcus Carl Franklin in his movie debut all play the great man, the sixth person in the film to be Bob is.....Cate Blanchett! Yep, confusing!

Troubled actress Lindsay Lohan, yeah that young soak, has checked out of a rehab clinic in Utah where she went in August following charges of drunken driving and cocaine possession, because she says she doesn't have a problem! Yeah right!

Nearly 300 participants started twisting and turning a small multicoloured cube on Friday on the first day of the Rubik's Cube World Championships in Budapest, the birthplace of the cult puzzle. Hello, the Rubik Cube? Have we gone back in time? Didn't we have that in the 80's? Is it back? I've not seen one in peoples hands since, well since I was at school, surely we're not back in the 1980's again, surely I've not slipped back to those heady days when the only thing I had to worry about was beating Marcus 'Fingers' Totting in matching the six colours on the six sides! Well that and not getting caught behind the groundsman's shed having a crafty fag with Gary or a sly five knuckle shuffle in the art store room with Jon! Actually come to think about it, perhaps it would be nice to be back in those days again! But, I'm not going back to having blisters on my thumbs from twisting that poxy cube for anyone!

It's not quite "Jurassic Park", but Swiss archaeologists were in a state of high alarm yesterday after thieves stole traces of a dinosaur footprint from an excavation site! Yep, apparently they just waltzed in and whipped away the footprint said to be 152 million years old. But the experts say that if it comes up for sale they will know about it! Yeah no shit Sherlock! I mean how often do you see a sale for something that old?

A Texas woman has escaped being charged with 'negligent homicide' (only in America!) after she killed her husband with a sherry enema. Tammy Jean Warner was due to go on trial last week but she's been let off due to the lack of evidence! But why on earth would you shove sherry up the arse?

A thief has stolen a cardboard cut-out of a policeman which was put in a store to deter shoplifters! Yeah honestly it's true, Derbyshire Police said a man had been seen on CCTV walking with the picture under his arm from a shop in Grasmere. The cut-outs were first introduced in shops in the area in 2005 in the hope that, at a glance, thieves would think the image was a real officer. But if that was the case, then why did the publicise it, with photo's clearly showing it was a cardboard cut out?

That's ya lot for today!