Cider with Roadies

In the past I have had some ups and downs in my life.  Nothing surprising there, and it'd probably be more surprising if I hadn't, but every now and then something I read, or see, or hear, or smell, or taste sparks a memory, buried not too deeply, which elicits a automatic emotional response which might put a huge smile on my face, or make me laugh out loud, or make me smile inwardly, or cause me to wince, or make me go very quiet for a while, or make me sad, or make me burst into tears which last for only seconds.

Having previously read and thoroughly enjoyed two of his books I am currently reading what is pretty much an autobiography by Stuart Maconie, who can currently be heard as one half of the presenting team on a very good BBC Radio 2 evening show, and that book's rather wittily called Cider with Roadies.

I was lying in the bath while reading the book earlier this evening, warming myself after having been out for a bit of a run wearing shorts in the slowly melting snow, when one eight word phrase leapt off the page and in an instant had travelled through my eyes, passed into my brain, invaded my subconscious, and emerged again from those same eyes in the form of tears.

That eight word phrase is on page 168 (of the paperback edition anyway) and refers to his friend Jem having suddenly and unexpectedly taken his own life after losing his job, having marital problems, and being unsuccessful in achieving his ambitions.

That eight word phrase consists of the words

Crushed by the endless small defeats of life ........

Now I have never ever been anywhere near the psychological place which might have made me even remotely consider taking my own life, or even harming myself in any way shape or form, but Jem's problems struck a chord with me as they are not entirely dissimilar to some things which may have happened in my life, and that eight word phrase used by Stuart Maconie seemed to chime out to me and sum up a lot of how I used to feel a while ago.  I only wish I'd thought of it first!

Change of plans

I was supposed to be doing something else tonight. Something very important. Very important indeed. Instead I'm here at home cooking some casserole (for one) and having a glass of red wine.

The red wine's something I suppose. Something like what I should have been doing tonight.

I should have been at a party. A birthday party. An eighteenth birthday party in fact. For my niece. For Rebekah. But I'm not.

Instead I'm sitting at home with only my cat Elmo for company. But at least I'm having a glass of wine. And Elmo is good company.

Thirteen years ago Bekah, not even quite five years old, had life snatched cruelly away from her by the terrible disease that is cancer. When the end came I was there at her bedside with my wife and Bekah's parents, my brother and his wife.

I shared her last moments of life.

Like I should have been sharing her celebrations at turning eighteen today.

Like I should have been sharing a toast to her health today.

Like I should have been enjoying the company of a beautiful young woman.

Instead I am here at home, in tears, raising a glass of red wine to her memory, and she is with my mum, enjoying the wine of heaven, and looking down on us who mourn, and miss, and cry.

Ernie - RIP, 17th May 2001 - 7th October 2008

I'm sad to report that Ernie has passed away.

The vet told me yesterday to watch out for him losing interest in food and water, and becoming lethargic.

I didn't think it'd happen so quickly.

Last night I hand fed him some tuna around 6pm, and using a syringe made sure he was getting water, but after that he showed no desire to eat or drink, although bizarrely he did seem to enjoy the experience of having water hosed down him!

Since coming home last Thursday from a week at the vet, he's shown no interest in the cat flap, but last night after eating he made his way to it and stuck his head through for a look outside. I opened the door for him and let him sit on the back step with the door open, where he seemed to enjoy the smells and sounds and sights around him.

After about 15 minutes he got up and came back inside. If I didn't know better I'd say he knew this was his final look at the big wide world.

He slept on the bed with me last night, jumping down at about half past five this morning and going to the wee bed made up of blankets for him in the living room.

I got up at around half past six and tried to persuade him to eat, but he wasn't interested. I did manage to give him some water by the syringe method, but it was clear that he wasn't himself, and he just wanted to lie half-sleeping. I kind of knew last night that this was the way it was heading.

So I made the incredibly hard decision that today was the day.

We spent the next few hours on the sofa with him lying comfortably on my lap being cuddled, and me trying not to disturb him too much with my crying.

Then it was into the car for his final journey, to visit the wonderful people at Una McLean's veterinary surgery in Glasgow, who have looked after him since he was a very tiny kitten 7 years ago. In particular I must mention Ann the nurse, who has been there for years and has known Ernie all his life, and Louise and Julian, the vets. I would not hesitate to recommend this practice, they are wonderful and caring.

If you've never seen an animal euthanased before then I'd be the last person to suggest you go out your way to do so, but if you find yourself in the horrible position, then it's not as scary as you might think. It's just a wee anaesthetic injection, given kindly, carefully and considerately by one of the same vets who has looked after him for the past week or two. He gently fell asleep and died being cuddled by me, and he was purring loudly almost to the very end. It seemed more of a difficult decision to take the life of a purring cat, but Louise pointed out that if I had left it another day or two then he would have been really sick and feeling like shit. It was inevitable that he wasn't going to last, so it's a small comfort that he was allowed to go while he still felt relatively OK and while he was happy enough to purr, and compos mentis enough to know that I was with him, hopefully comforting him.

Thank you to everyone who took the trouble to send Ernie good wishes, and thanks also to everyone who sent positive vibes his way without telling us. The vets who have been looking after him are still amazed that he made it through the first day or two, and made it as far as this, still fighting, with blood readings so astronomically high. He was a fighter and we shall miss him.

Rest eternal grant unto him O Lord, and let Sunlight perpetual shine upon him.

Ernie 5

This morning, for the first time since coming home last Thursday, Ernie put up quite a struggle when I was giving him his tablet and then scooshing the powder mixed with water down his throat using a syringe, and this afternoon when I arrived home from work he was sitting looking much more alert than of late, so we set off to the vet this afternoon with me feeling a bit more positive and hopeful.

But it's not to be.

The blood test showed that his creatinine level has soared to over 1200, which apparently is a pretty conclusive indication that his kidneys are still failing. Irretrievably so.

So despite him seeming happier, and apparently feeling well enough to put up a bit of a fight this morning, and despite him currently lying on my lap purring happily as I type this, the outlook is poor. Completely poor. Absolutely poor. Devastatingly poor. Terminally poor.

I've to look out for Ernie becoming like he was a bit over a week ago. Tired, lethargic, not eating, or drinking. When that happens, and it will happen, I've to make an appointment to take my little beautiful friend on his last journey. Are you surprised that I'm crying right now?

The vet, when asked, initially thought the time scale might be a couple of weeks, and when I said I was going on holiday in two weeks, he admitted that he actually expects to see me later this week.

So from now on little Ernest will be eating whatever he wants to eat, and will get as much loving attention and care that I can possibly give him.

Please think of us.

Ernie

Please spare a moment and a kind thought for my lovely cat Ernie, who is currently in the vet with kidneys which seem to be shutting down.

This has all come about very suddenly in the past week, starting with him having strained or sprained his leg a bit, and apparently reacting adversely to anti inflammatory medication given to him by the vet.

He's a lot happier now than he was a day or two ago, but he still isn't really eating and one of the blood readings has gone up instead of down, which is a very bad thing as he's on a drip which is supposed to make things better.

I have an appointment with the vet on Monday morning, and if Ernie isn't showing signs of improvement, then a hard decision, the hardest decision of all, has to be considered. I am not looking forward to it and I'm already crying hard as I type this.

People who do not have pets will doubtless wonder why I'm so upset, but those of us, better people I'd say, who do have pets realise they aren't just animals, they are an integral part of the family. They are family members.

Ernie and Elmo came with me after my separation and divorce, and since living on my own again, they have been the family I have come home to every night, and I love them both dearly.

Please, spare a kind thought for Ernie as he needs all the positive vibes he can get right now. And think also of Elmo, who is obviously missing his big brother.

Good and bad

The cartoon on the right is great.

In almost every choir of which I've been a member, every one of the characters depicted has been a member. I'm sure I've probably been some of them at various times too! And in fact, I proudly admit to being The Traditionalist.

Thanks to Sir Monocle, from whose Blog I shamelessly stole it!



Two things mark today out as different from the norm.

One year ago today, I became divorced. This was not a good thing. Not at all a good thing.

And this evening I went back to the IAM Glasgow North Group for the first time in almost exactly two months, and was asked, given the long break I'd had, whether I wanted to sit the Qualified Observer Practical Test which they'd been waiting to offer me. Which I did want. And did do. And passed. This was a good thing. A very good thing.

So, the divorce. Amicable, yet these things are never ever painless. In retrospect, and with the clarity of 20/20 hindsight, it was the right thing to do to separate. Yet one never truly gets completely over such a thing, and by that I don't want to suggest that I wish we were together again. We have both moved on and, I think and hope I'm right in saying, we are both happy. I know I am. Every now and then though, in the privacy of my own head .......... well, you know, it hurts.

The motorcycling then. I haven't been back to the IAM for a while. There have been reasons for this, which I haven't Blogged about, but I will now. In fact I can copy and paste part of a posting I placed on the IAM Scottish Motorcycle Forum a while back. The rest of the post is of no relevance here, but the following bit might be:

"........ As an aside, right now I'm not sure whether I'll continue along the route to being a qualified observer, but that's because on one of my last runs I had a bad time of it over the Duke's Pass, and now, if the truth be told, I have a confidence crisis as far as my riding is concerned. I know the object isn't to go as fast as you can, I've never been of that opinion (I ride an R1100RT for God's sake!) but my associate on that run left me standing and I really didn't enjoy that evening, ending up feeling like I'd no right to be observing. The senior observer helped that evening, pointing out that in his opinion the associate had been riding too fast, and being of the opinion that I shouldn't have tried to keep up with him (that's where I went wrong), but the mental damage was done by then! I'll hopefully get over it at some point, but I don't feel like going back for the moment.

.........."

The Duke's Pass, for those outwith these shores, is a VERY twisty country road north of Glasgow, and during that run I was so far outside my comfort (and probably safety) zone that I felt sick. I have never previously ridden, and will never ride again, any motorcycle let alone a 44 stone tourer at that sort of speed over that sort of public road. And for the avoidance of doubt, at no time did we come close to breaking the speed limit.

So what prompted me to return? Frankly, it was the list of names of others who had recently passed as Qualified Observers which was in the quarterly newsletter I received a few days ago. I thought, if they can do it, then so can I. One of them in fact started out on the observer training the same evening I did.

I still, in the dark recesses of my warped mind, think I am pretty new to biking, since I didn't take it up until I was well into adulthood, so I tend to think that every other biker I meet has more experience than me. But then I consider the facts.

• I passed my motorcycle test in 1996, 12 years ago. Almost all the IAM associates to whom I've spoken, and a hell of a lot of the full members, have been riding for less time than that.
  
  
• Most motorcyclists ride maybe up to about 5000 miles a year. I worked as a bike courier for a year, riding about 1000 miles a week in all weathers. That was a steep learning curve. Last year I rode about 8500 miles.
  
  
• Until my present bike, all previous ones have been my only form of personal transport so I rode them all year round. If I could dig it out the snow I'd ride it. No fair weather biker, me.
  
  
• I passed my advanced riding test after only 4 observed runs. In other words, I was already pretty much at the advanced standard and just needed polishing up on some points.
  

And suddenly my confidence crisis disappears. And the weight lifts.

It's a bit like singing. Years ago, a LOT of years ago, I was occasionally asked to sing a solo in the cathedral choir. I would manage it OK, but would tremble and shake so hard while performing it that I could hardly focus on the music in my hands! For no good reason, out the blue, I had an internal conversation with myself, which went along the lines of "Fuck it! If anyone listening to this could do it better than me, then they'd be up here singing it, so I have nothing to fear." The shaking then stopped. I'm not for a moment suggesting that I am a brilliant singer, that's not the point, it's just that one needs self confidence to do certain things, even if that self confidence doesn't necessarily stand up to close scrutiny!

But that's enough Blogging for tonight I think. I am halfway through a large glass of whisky, partly to drown my sorrows on this anniversary, partly to celebrate having passed another milestone in my journey towards being the best rider I can be, and partly because I am happy having spoken to RE earlier, who always cheers me up, makes me laugh, and makes me feel wanted. Thank you.

Requiescat in Pace (again, or rather, still)

The concert went very well last night. Very well indeed. And I got the top A flat! I think. And we get to do it all again in a few hours at 6pm in Hyndland Parish Church in Glasgow. Do come along if you can.

Today though I am on a bit of a downer. I just don't feel as upbeat as I have done recently. The reason is that today is the 12th anniversary of my mum's sudden, unexpected, untimely and early death aged 56. I've blogged about it previously, so I won't dwell on it too much now. Well, I won't dwell on it here anyway, but I just can't seem to get it out of my mind today. Since last night at midnight in the taxi back home after the post concert drink in The Primary pub in Glasgow's Woodlands Rd in fact. Friends are a help though. Particularly RE. Thanks. And sorry for being somewhat distracted and grumpy looking this morning. I'll try to be better this evening.

They shall not grow old as we who are left grow old. Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we shall remember them. Rest eternal grant unto her O Lord, and let light perpetual shine upon her.

Keys, Cats and the Black Dog

Well I picked up the keys to the flat yesterday morning, so I've spent much of yesterday and today making the 24 mile round trip with (small) carloads of boxes. I was starting to get pissed off living all week surrounded by cardboard so I thought I'd clear it a bit. I'm pretty well ready to move now. Everything except the TV/DVD Player/Surround Sound System, in the lounge, and the computer etc in the study are packed away waiting for tomorrow morning when I pick up the van. I am very appreciative of CH, CW and MB who have all volunteered (were pressganged?) to help. Thanks guys. Curry and refreshments will be forthcoming at the end!

Having been back and forward between the new flat and the house, I've noticed something that I'd forgotten about this place. It is very light, bright and airy. In comparison the flat, and it is a nice flat, is a dark gloomy place. Maybe the gloominess is in my mind of course when I subconsciously realise just why I'm having to move there, but I dare say I'll get used to it. It's only a stopgap anyway while I look around for somewhere suitable to buy. I'll miss this house though. At the risk of over-dramatising it, I'm leaving a lot of dreams behind. I'm leaving my marriage behind. I'm crying right now, something I've been doing a fair amount lately. On my own behind closed doors. With only the cats as witnesses. I feel quite lonely right at this minute. It's quite overwhelming. I have taken ages to type this, between sobs. If it wasn't for the fact that it'd scare the cats I'd do what I really feel like doing. Scream at the top of my voice, and howl like an animal. That might help. Typical British reserve though, musn't upset the neighbours! I only started to feel like this as I typed, mostly it's kept way down under wraps in a secret place in my soul. A place so secret no one knows about it except me. A black place. Lasciate Ogne Speranza Voi Ch'Intrate.*

It's amazing the mood swings I'm suffering just now. Ernie, the older cat, has just come in and insisted loudly on climbing onto my knee where he's fallen asleep purring. This has had two effects. I am now forced to type with one hand, and I feel a whole lot better! The Black Dog has been pushed back through the gates for the time being.



*Dante's Inferno Canto III: The Gate of Hell

Per me si va ne la città dolente,
per me si va ne l'etterno dolore,
per me si va tra la perduta gente.
Giustizia mosse il mio alto fattore:
fecemi la divina podestate,
la somma sapienza e 'l primo amore.
Dinanzi a me non fuor cose create
se non etterne, e io etterno duro.
Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate

Through me is the way into the woeful city; through me is the way into eternal woe; through me is the way among the lost people. Justice moved my lofty maker: the divine Power, the supreme Wisdom and the primal Love made me. Before me were no things created, unless eternal, and I eternal last. Abandon all hope, ye who enter!

Jimmy Jams, alcohol, and a big wuss!

Strange how selling your house puts a different perspective on how much you care about what the neighbours think of you! I've just been out in the garden in my pyjamas with a glass of wine in my hand. This may of course also be connected to my total food intake this evening. Half a packet of Maryland Choc Chip 'n' Hazelnut Cookies, almost half a bottle of Shiraz, and of course a modicum of Gin & Tonic. Food of the gods. Or is it maybe food of the temporarily emotionally crippled? The jury's out on that one.

A bad evening tonight, for reasons which will remain unspecified. When was the last time you cried in the toilets of Braehead Shopping Centre? It's not as if the shops are all that bad ......

Good news though from my friend IF who is on the edge of a possible career development.

Good days, Bad days

I've had a good day today, after a bad one yesterday.

Yesterday my wife moved out of our house. That's essentially the "various things in my life" which prompted me to start this Blog and to which I alluded in my first post. We have been leading up to this, and now actually have split up. I have no intention of expanding on any of the reasons or background to this though. It is no one's business but ours. Yesterday was a bad day.

Today was good though. I visited a friend who I have known, and liked, for a few years through work, but I have not really got to know properly. We visited St Andrews and Anstruther, both in Fife, and ate fish & chips while sitting looking at the harbour. We then sat on a wall and watched the waves washing over the rocks below while talking about what each of us wanted from our respective lives in the immediate and longer-term future. The bottom line is that neither of us really knows what we want, but I guess we aren't alone in that!

After leaving Fife I went to the Junkyard Dog and met GS for a couple of beers. Later some others joined us, those of the choir who had been to the evening service despite it being the choir holiday, and one or two of the congregation, and it was particularly nice to persuade BJP to accept a drink and sit and chat with us for a while. We were sitting outside the pub, and just accosted him as he walked past. It's a long time since I've had a pint with BJP, and it was good tonight. We had our differences for a very short time in the past, a time of which I am not proud and have several regrets, and I am EXTREMELY glad that we have since made up. I owe him a lot, musically, as he was the choirmaster when I first joined the cathedral choir in 1983.

Anyway, a mixed weekend. Here's hoping the future good days will outweigh the bad!

Death

In his early twenties, the son of a close work colleague of mine died in a motorcycle accident on Friday. No one else involved, he apparently lost control going round a bend and hit another vehicle head-on. I'm going to the funeral tomorrow at midday. Full military funeral I'm told, as he was a serving RAF Police Officer. It is very sad. I am very sad.

Today is the tenth anniversary of my mum's sudden and early death aged 56. I can't believe it's 10 years since I saw her, and kissed her, lying lifeless on the stairs where she fell, as the paramedics were packing up their equipment, having done their best to no avail. Ten years since I had to visit my gran and tell her that her elder daughter was dead. I still miss her terribly, as we all must miss our parents when they pass away. She died 5 months and two days after her only grandchild, Rebekah, died of cancer aged nearly five. Mum never got over that. I was one of the four people at Rebekah's bedside at home as she passed away, peacefully. The words of the anthem "When to the temple Mary went" by Johannes Eccard always brings an enormous lump to my throat when I have to sing the words "may gently fall asleep and with Thee wake" because that's how Rebekah went. I am crying as I type this.

Three people who all died too young.

They shall not grow old as we who are left grow old. Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning we will remember them. Rest eternal grant unto them O Lord and let light perpetual shine upon them.