“It’s not what you say out of your mouth that determines
your life; it’s what you whisper to yourself that has the most power”. Robert T Kiosaki
I have been somewhat remiss with my writing! I have started a few blogs, most notably one
about Hamburg that made several hundred words but it didn’t feel right. I’m not sure how to explain that, I perhaps
flatter myself by alluding to myself as a writer but I do have a “feel” for
what is working and what isn’t; Hamburg Blog Mark 1 was not working. I may attempt another but Hamburg wasn’t what
I thought it would be so I may not bother.
Instead I am going to just give my millions of avid readers
a quick catch up on what has been going on in the palace of wisdom that is my
brainium.
Firstly, I have just this week finished my counselling. The quote above was in a card my counsellor,
Elaine, gave to me after my last session.
I had no idea who Robert T Kiosaki was and had to look him up on Wikipedia
but I’m sure he is a terrifically clever fellow so I tip my hat to him. Thank you Elaine for
everything you have done. I do feel
better for having done the sessions which were ostensibly about my tendency to
misuse alcohol but I feel was much more about addressing certain issues that
had been bottled up. To further the
metaphor, the cork is out and I have sprayed those issues about me excitedly in
the manner of a Grand Prix winner.
Things that had to be said out loud to a real live person were very much
said out loud. I like to think I’m a
pretty nice guy but 12 hours of listening to me waffling on about myself must
be fairly trying so Elaine has certainly earned her salary there.
In our last session we spoke about positivity and in particular
how we to an extent reward negativity and aggression in our lives. I have always had a fond regard for the comedy
character Victor Meldrew and enjoyed the TV series Grumpy Old Men; as I get
older I found myself more and more like them and was possibly far too
comfortable in that. We couldn’t think
of a comedy character that was the opposite of Victor, someone who we laugh at
but secretly respect for their rosy outlook on life. There is my challenge. I want to make that character exist; on the
written page or by my own actions it matters not. I want to stop moaning and start praising.
With that in mind I am going to mention a few things that
have happened recently or re due to happen that have cheered this miserable
bugger up a little.
Firstly, I am in contact again after a gap of far too many
years with my cousin Michael. I have two
cousins of my own age, Lisa and Jason, who I consider more friends than family
these days and I am very glad I am in contact with but Michael was my favourite
cousin when I was a youngster. Michael
is the son of my Dad’s youngest older sister and as a kid he was a bit of a
hero to me; my slightly eccentric dress sense at times is in homage to how I
remember him from when I was ten or so (well, when I picture him I get an
amalgam of him and David Niven in my mind but still…). In the brief time we have been in contact again
Michael has introduced me to something called Steam Punk; a phrase I had heard
before but not really known about. To
use Michael’s words, it’s like when sad old goths discover brown so you can
probably understand how that appeals to me.
With my fondness for Victoriana and classic English styling I am part
way there already.
My attitude to dress has changed in recent years because there is nothing I find more embarrassing than a middle aged man trying to
dress like a teenager. I am avoiding
negativity here but my idea of hell would be having to wear track suit bottoms
and trainers in public when I’m not on my way to a gym. I am almost 42, my weight is up and down but generally
I cut the portly figure of a man that can enjoy a pork chop and a crisp, cold German
beer. Or two. I no longer try to dress like a rock-dude that
never quite made it because I have seen other men of around my age and/or girth
that can’t carry off the look and have no reason to believe I’d fare any
better. I still consider myself fairly
fastidious; yesterday I insisted on wearing a sweater-vest all day despite the
temperature because I was wearing a black belt with brown boots and was
convinced everyone would notice. In the past
I have gone as far as to have three different watches with different coloured
straps to match my belt and shoes. I have also noted the advice of Go Wank and
Tranny and Susannah and avoid horizontal stripes lest it accentuate my greatest
(in the majorative sense) feature. I’ve
always been honest about my attractiveness; I’m not a looker (and It would not
upset me if John Inverdale said so) and because of that I have to make an
effort to look even barely human, which I think I just about achieve, though at
times my simian countenance suggests and ancestral heritage unusually varied in
species diversity!
Today I am off to Rox.
Rox is a free music festival in my adopted home town of Bognor Regis
(Come on you rocks!), mostly featuring local talent. I have been once before but the past two
years I have managed to run out of money before the months end and been unable
to attend. This year I have made
measures to ensure I can go; I have a bus pass to get me there and back and am
being put up by the very kind Sam and Charlotte (with the added promise of
decent sausages on Sunday morning). I am
mainly going to see Matron; a mod covers band that features my friend Ian on
bass. They are fantastic live and if you
are in the West Sussex/Hants area and get the opportunity, go see them
live. I am also hoping to see the deeply
talented Olivia Stevens aka Ruby Tiger on Sunday afternoon, I haven’t seen her live
yet but I am certain she will be fab.
And should If 6 Was 9 (Hendrix cover band) be playing in Cheers over the
weekend I’ll be sure to catch them. I
will be making notes and taking a few pictures so watch this space for a follow
up blog.
