We live in a series of interlocked, ever so slightly different realities. The random nature of quantum entanglement means that anything at all is possible.
If you go into the countryside at 2am, wait until you can see the stars wheeling above your head, close your eyes and really LISTEN…
You can sometimes tap in.
And the results can be surprising.
I went out into the garden last night, let the dogs wander and hunt in the blackness while I looked due south and had a small sip of bourbon and gazed at the constellations.
Or a load of stars anyway.
And I could hear a phone ringing.
Somewhere in 1979 by the sound of it, the strident bell ringing a few times before pickup
‘Hello Minack, how can I help you?’
……
…….
‘You’re a what?’
…..
……….
‘I’m sorry, your English is terrible, you’re complaining about what?’
….
………
‘The opera? Sorry I’m going to have to get my manager, I can hardly understand you.’
‘Boss, BOSS!’
‘What?’
‘There’s an American Indian on the line complaining about the opera.’
‘What? Oh for fucks sake give me the phone.’
‘Manager here, what be heap big problem with opera then chief?’
……
‘Jesus. Slow down. I can’t understand more than one word in five.’
………….
‘Trevor, is that you ? You’ve been told before, just stay away, she didn’t really leave you for me, she left you because you’re a pisshead who’s shit in bed and secretly likes cock, now fuck off.’
CLICK
RING RING, RING RING
‘Trevor, I fucking mean it…’
………..
‘I thought you were an American Indian, why do you sound like a paki?’
……..
……..
‘Well why the fuck can’t you speak English then? Is this some sort of Candid Camera thing ?’
………
…………..
‘An interfaith spokesman? Really? Never heard of it. What do you want? I’m busy.’
……..
……………………
‘The opera? Lakme? What’s the problem?’
…………
‘Yes we’re showing it, why do you care? It’s not like you’re going to fly over to watch it.’
………..
‘Cultural insensitivity? Fucking hell. I know they’re from Croydon but they’re not that bad.’
……….
‘It offends you. So fucking what? Have you ever seen it or heard the Flower Duet?’
……….
‘You haven’t. It’s the subject matter. Jesus mate, it was written in 1883, you’re a bit late on this one. Hang on, I’m going to play you something.’
THUD
CLICK
‘You still there?’
…………..
‘You don’t like it… I don’t believe you, you’ve never seen the opera or heard it. You’re just being a prick aren’t you?’
…………..
‘Nope. Not even one word in five. If you seriously think that we’re going to stop an opera from playing in an open air amphitheatre on a summer evening, you’re mental.’
……………
‘Complain to who you like, an Englishman’s theatre is his castle. Or something like that anyway.’
…………..
‘Yeah ok… Anyway, I’m busy and you’re some sort of mental cunt. I hope the call costs were worth it.’
click
‘He hung up, said he’d call the press. I hope so, we need to sell some more tickets….’
And the audio faded at that point, leaving me staring at what might be a constellation and wondering what happened to my bourbon.
The dogs were sat beside me, their ears cocked for sounds that I could no longer hear.
‘He’s out there again, he’s lying in the field and just looking this way.
What’s he doing?
Nothing he’s just lying there. The fucking weirdo.
I’m sick of this, I’m going out there.
Be careful’
I looked at the messages and just knew who they were about. The fucking birdwatcher. The twitcher. The man who’d made the neighbourhood hell for the past week.
And it was my fault.
Sort of anyway.
9️⃣ days ago:
I was out with the dogs and I took a load of photos as usual.
In the background of one of them was this…
A Montague’s Harrier.
The rarest bird in Britain.
Somebody spotted it in the photo ( I never did in real life ) and for a couple of days we were infested with birdwatchers trying to find it.
They never did.
But one of the watchers stayed.
He lived in his car and we could see it from our houses.
He’d disappear for a few hours and reappear, going back to the same lay-by, eating crisps and chocolate and throwing the rubbish out of his car.
One of our neighbours, a retired engineer tried to remonstrate with him but was met with pure naked aggression, so he backed away and put the encounter onto the WhatsApp group.
‘That man is scary, be careful.’
His parking place wasn’t on my regular walk so I didn’t meet him until…
7️⃣ days ago 07:35 -when he was wandering around, long-lens camera around his neck, faded combat gear on his large, fat frame.
Even from a few yards away, he smelled wrong. Like something was leaking from his pores that broadcast his essential badness to the world around.
The dogs moved closer to me and their hackles were bristling.
I tightened their leads, nodded at him and made to move past.
He mumbled something.
I looked at him curiously, pulling the dogs closer, there was something about this man that was just wrong, like he moved in a constant shadow that obscured him from full view.
He mumbled again.
‘Green walls and paintings.’
I stopped and looked closely at him, his eyes darted around and his tongue was mobile at his lips.
‘What?’ I asked, more sharply than I’d intended but I knew what he was talking about.
My kitchen.
He smiled strangely and I pivoted around him quickly, both dogs still pulled in tight so that I was facing him as I went past.
‘You’ve either got a very long lens on your camera or some decent optics, thanks for reminding me that even in the countryside we’re not safe from weird cunts. I’ll close the blinds now.’
He barked a laugh and made some vague mumbling noises.
‘Why haven’t you left with all the others? That bird is long gone’.
He lowered his head and looked up at me from below his brow.
‘I like it here, I may never leave.’
I gave him a wintry smile and walked away at an angle, never turning my back until I was well clear.
‘I DON’T LIKE DOGS’
He was standing in the middle of the road with his arms raised to the sky.
I carried on walking.
TODAY 08:17
Local WhatsApp Group
‘I walked over to where I could see him properly, he’s lying there half-naked just staring, I’ve called the Police.’
‘WTF?’
6️⃣ days ago 20:51
The dogs were barking at something out the back and the security light by my office had been triggered.
Something large was moving around about 50 metres away when I checked my cameras and I had a sinking feeling.
Surely he wouldn’t be this stupid.
I put my phone onto video record in my shirt pocket, picked up a torch and a long carving knife and slipped out of the side door.
I stayed close to the hedges for cover and made my way to the office and… the back gates that were fully open.
A bulky shape stood just inside.
I hit him with a full burst from the torch, lighting his face up like a Halloween mask and put the tip of the blade to his groin, just outside of video shot.
With the torch hand, I pushed him outside the gate.
‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’
He glared at me as I closed one gate and then another, sliding the locking bar across and fitting the padlock, making sure that it was fully closed before spinning the numbers.
‘It was open.’ He hissed.
‘Sure, you can fuck off now though and don’t let me find you here again. Next time I let the dogs out first and it’ll be far less civilised.’
‘I’m a policeman.’ He rummaged around in his pockets and flashed an ID at me .
I aimed the torch at it, it showed a Metropolitan Police ID.
It was out of date.
It didn’t show any rank.
I smiled coldly.
‘I don’t give a fuck. Get in your car and go somewhere, anywhere else.’
He mumbled something and looked at me slyly, walking in the direction of his car. I watched him until the lights came on and he left the lay-by, he didn’t return that night.
5️⃣ days ago 11:15 – local WhatsApp Group
‘He’s parked on the other side of the main road and he’s watching my house with binoculars.’
‘What???‘
‘Call the police’
‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘I’m going to talk to him‘
‘Don’t do that, please just call the police.‘
‘OK. I will’
Thirty or so minutes later, the police arrived but he’d driven off a few minutes before, there was no video evidence and nothing to investigate.
And he started appearing at random, his car was now parked half a mile away but he’d be seen staring at windows, looking into cars and once following one of the younger female neighbours at a distance when she went for a walk.
He seemed to be enjoying the fear and confusion that he spread, staying just inside the lines for the law.
I wasn’t surprised.
I’d looked him up.
Sacked as a call dispatcher by the Met, arrested and tried for stalking before the case being dropped when the witness recanted.
Home address was a one bed flat above a shop in Birmingham Sparkhill.
A real shithole
I didn’t tell any of the neighbours this, things were bad enough as it was.
If and when the police could take action, they could learn it then.
But he was dangerous. He oozed corruption and was knocking back a bottle of vodka a night or so, the empties piling up on his backseat.
I’d walked past his car a couple of times with the dogs in the early morning and watched as his vast bulk heaved and slumped as he slept. His snores rattling the windows.
TODAY 09:50
The police had arrived, wandered over to him and immediately put out a cordon
Local WhatsApp group
‘???’
‘No idea’
‘He hasn’t moved????’
4️⃣ days ago
He was in a bush, scrim netting over his face when I walked past with the dogs.
Even I could smell him from a distance, he stank of badness and the booze was oozing from his pores.
He glared out from behind the netting, his chance at surprise and shock completely lost.
‘I don’t like dogs’
It came out as a hostile whisper.
I barely glanced at him.
‘Mate, they wouldn’t even piss on you.’
I kept walking, the dogs circled me as we walked.
TODAY 11:03
The police were joined by an ambulance, they covered him up, put him onto a stretcher and drove away.
Local WhatsApp Group
‘Is he dead?’
‘What’s happened?’
‘I’m going to talk to the police.’
That was me.
I left the house and wandered slowly to the field.
2️⃣ days ago.
He was outside my gates, behind my office. Just staring in.
Once again, I started my phone recording, this time just audio.
‘What the fuck do you want?’
‘Your dogs are going to die.’
‘Touch them, poison them, prison will be a nightmare for you, I can promise you that.’
He stared at me.
‘Afraid to do something yourself little man?’
I smiled and he recoiled.
‘I believe in the rule of law, you wouldn’t be able to stop me testifying, you impotent fat shit, go back to your van, get pissed again, have a wank, sleep it off and then leave. Fuck off back to Sparkhill.’
He flinched.
And he walked away.
TODAY 11:34
I wandered over to the police cordon and introduced myself.
The policeman was polite but had a ‘so fucking what?’ expression on his face.
I pulled my phone out.
‘ I reported him to you yesterday evening and I sent an audio file with it – I don’t know if it’s made it through the system – hang on…’
I pressed Play.
And the audio from yesterday played.
YESTERDAY 11:17
I was on a conference call in my office – it backs onto the hedge that separates my property from the lane and the back gates – the ones that he’d climbed over or whatever.
The office dog started barking and I could hear him talking.
I wandered out.
He was standing by the gates and was waving some foliage around.
My phone was already recording.
‘What the fuck do you want now?’
He waved the piece of branch and leaves at me.
‘I’m going to have your dogs taken away and killed.’
‘What? With a stick, or are you going to make them run for Sloes? It’ll be a few months yet…’
His face contorted, he wanted an emotional reaction but he was going to be disappointed.
‘See these thorns?’
He held them up.
He pressed a few into his arm, droplets of blood began to flow, making tunnels in the grime that was beginning to encrust on his body.
‘Yeah – and?’
I’m going to take these and dig them deeply into my calves, rip and tear myself, take photos and say that your fucking mutts attacked me.’
I laughed.
It wasn’t what he wanted.
‘I fucking mean it, they’re dead.’
He was spraying as he spoke, flecks of spittle covering his clothing and my gate.
I took a tissue from my pocket and wiped my gates.
‘Good luck with that, you fat shit, I’m not an Asian shopgirl that you can scare into compliance, why don’t you fuck off back to Brum?’
He raised himself to his full height. He was BIG, much taller and heavier than me.
‘And then you’re next, you cunt, you cunt, YOUCUNTYOUCUNTYOUCUNT’
I went back to my office.
TODAY 11:38
The young policeman looked a bit sick at the unhinged screaming coming from my phone.
‘I er.. I.. I.. that may explain something but I can’t talk about it.
‘Ok – but is he gone? Will he come back?’
‘I can’t comment sir, but..’
He looked as if he was searching for the words.
‘He won’t be back.’
I thanked him and wandered slowly home.
YESTERDAY 17:10
I was working late.
Or so it would seem.
I took my my work mobile with me when I slipped out of my back gates, my mobile left behind on the desk.
I walked slowly along intersecting hedges, hidden from view from the road and I watched as he took a long pull of vodka while he was sat in his car.
He took another.
And another.
I was quiet and still.
I responded on a group chat from my phone.
And I watched as he stood unsteadily and groped with his fly.
He walked unsteadily to the blackthorn hedge.
And he started to get ready to piss.
And I spoke from behind him.
‘Hiya you fat cunt. Fancy taking a swing at me.
He was quite fast, the punch coming round across his body from the right side.
I stepped back.
His momentum and the booze spun him towards the bush again.
And my gloved hands gently pushed him in.
His weight did the rest.
Face, arms and knees instantly bleeding from dozens of tiny spikes.
I pushed him further in and grabbed his right arm, scores of cuts making it a red mess.
And I..
I took the syringe and pushed it into one of the deeper cuts.
And then I pumped air in.
And stood back again as he tried to spin.
It was already too late.
As he clutched at his chest, his face contorted, I pulled his shorts fully down and watched as his body let go, his eyes now surprised and lost.
And then he fell and I watched as he died.
I took out my phone and responded to another message, replied to an email and started to make my way back.
I disassembled the syringe as I walked.
And I went back to my office.
Logging off and walking home.
I’d made my police report a few hours earlier.
TODAY 11:43
Local WhatsApp Group
‘I’ve talked to the cops. Something strange happening, I think he might be dead.’
‘Jesus’
‘Wtf’
‘Fuck knows. I’m off to London for a few days – keep me posted.’
‘Will do, be safe’
I’m a very tidy person.
I made sure that all the various bits of rubbish in my car and bags were disposed of in public bins.
A few public bins at that.
But first I made sure that the dogs knew that I loved them when I left.
A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about a number of things, Milo being ill, visits to Edinburgh for work and an update on Arthur and some monies returned to his account by the firm of a fraudster.
Easter has come and gone in the meantime, we’ve had glorious hot weather and hailstones – just a day apart.
Otherwise known as April.
Milo had a small setback but has more or less gone back to normal now, he’s clever and funny and doesn’t behave like a dog at all sometimes.
I told Shirley that she now has some more money but it really didn’t register and she’s starting to look very frail indeed.
I think that I probably need to schedule a visit to Richmond in the next few weeks once I’ve got a few work related things out of the way, including training for the faint possibility that I’ll have to visit the Middle East – still, better to take the training and not need it.
I’m not sure what I’ll do for the next visit, whether I’ll take Cairo for the very long car journey, or just descend on friends with booze and an invitation for dinner.
Cairo does love her car journeys.
Either way, I don’t know if there’ll be another visit.
But we do what we can and no more.
Guilt is a pointless emotion and it’s a false one a lot of the time.
We’re not the centre of even our own little universe and our actions or inaction may or may not contribute to any outcomes at all.
It’s natural to think that you could do more or could have done more, but for the most part, life is a roar of noise and confusion and it blurs around us like one of those sci-fi effects where we’re a still point in the confusion.
But even then, we’re part of someone else’s confusion.
Probably.
And so, I create my own little bit of chaos in my wake, sometimes deliberately, sometimes just by being me.
Sometimes a mix of the two, where I react to something and then decide to double down – or even triple down.
Which I’ve just done.
Somebody has managed to hurt one of my friends, said somebody has no idea that I exist. They have also been living a double life with an assumed identity and quite the backstory.
Yeah.
Well done mate.
I’m pretty sure that I’ve ripped your whole fucking life apart with a couple of deep searches and some very pointed emails.
Nobody hurts my friends.
So, I’ve sown some real chaos and confusion, this time from afar and I’ll be genuinely interested, in a vague, dispassionate, almost clinical way, to see what happens.
I do sometimes wonder if I should do some self-analysis, but the truth is that I can’t be bothered.
I still live by my own code.
I try very hard to be as nice to people as I can, I try to respect everyone that I meet, I never put people down or belittle them. I help where I can.
But
“ I won’t be wronged, I won’t be insulted, and I won’t be laid a hand on. I don’t do these things to other people, and I require the same from them.”
Yes. It’s from The Shootist.
But it’s mine too and I extend it to others on their behalf.
It’s been a while since I posted, I try not to post too much as I’m sure that I’ll end up writing repetitive crap – if I’m not already doing that.
But I just couldn’t face it last week, I had a work trip to Edinburgh on the horizon, a few other issues at work and the usual minutiae of life to deal with.
I also couldn’t face it as Milo had been ill for quite a few days, he’d been vomiting and then had trouble walking.
Just a week before he’d been racing round the gardens for fun and now – he was wobbling and falling over.
I was terrified.
I had to take him to the vet and she knew that he was ill because he wasn’t a snarling mass – he hates the vets due to a botched operation a number of years ago and she actually calls him ‘monsterface’.
He was so passive that it was more worrying than his mobility problems and throwing up.
She gave him a couple of jabs and he then didn’t move for almost 24 hours and still wasn’t eating.
And he didn’t for days.
I managed to get his arthritis and asthma tablets into him via some corned beef on Tuesday and was ready to charter a flight home if need be.
That wasn’t necessary and we’ll come back to Milo in a while.
Some other things have happened since I last wrote.
The investment company whose employee (he wasn’t an employee when he started this shit) stole a fortune from his clients made contact to say that they were making me an offer of recompense for the money that he stole from Arthur – just another bad thing to happen to the poor old sod.
And they added the interest and the yield on investment that he’d lost.
I accepted, although it’s all going to go to Battersea as my aunt doesn’t really need or want anything, I think she’s starting to wind down and I’ll have to go and see her soon….
Work-wise, I’ve settled down to a routine of looking for improvements while looking at options for a couple of problem children that really aren’t as smart as they imagine, but they’re a sideshow or a small project to have fun with.
And I’m slowly getting my head round things.
It’s still fun and I’m not missing retirement yet, plus the money means that I’m not touching my pension pots at all, so it’s only the fucking war and uncertainty that’s draining them.
And so I went to Edinburgh on Wednesday.
It started well, my train was cancelled due to a tree on the line earlier on its journey so my three and a half hour journey became seven hours with multiple changes.
I barely noticed – it’s a minor issue in comparison.
So I missed that day of the conference, but in truth, it was an international event made up of real experts and I wouldn’t have been missed for a second.
I did get a chance to have a wander and to take in the beauty of one of our greatest cities.
I also had lunch and some wine in a nice cafe before gaining access to my room in a place just off the Royal Mile.
It was slightly bizarre, a fantastic room with a balcony and great views.
Only one small snag
You have to go through the fucking window.
Which I did once, while sober. In the light of day.
Fuck that.
Anyway.
A minor issue, it was a five minute walk from the castle.
And the conference.
I’ve mentioned this previously, but I left school at sixteen with one O Level.
But I’ve worked and lived across the world and in a number of different areas and markets.
And I retired last year.
Or not.
So, all my worries about Milo aside, Wednesday night was a first for me and a memory I’ll treasure.
Firstly.
I was the host (on behalf of my company) for the whole dinner.
INSIDE THE CASTLE.
And we got piped in.
And I sat at a table with a colonel from US Space Force, a colonel from the Canadian army, a commander from the British Navy and a number of VIPs.
My mum died 25 years ago but she was so proud of my early career achievements ( I ran the outsourced IT at Edinburgh Royal Infirmary and three more NHS trusts at the time of her dying) but I confess that I thought of her over dinner and hoped she’d approve.
On Thursday, I took myself out and deliberately didn’t ask or meet anybody else.
And some more magic happened.
An ‘X’ person with a mutual interest in good food and dogs suggested a restaurant.
Dear God.
It’s called Rhubarb.
And it’s sublime.
To cap it all ( thank you Mr Parr) a glass of whiskey arrived with his compliments with the cheeses.
I could have cried.
I was shattered and asleep by 2130 and then on the 6:52 home.
To a slightly improved Milo.
And then.
And then.
I got the little bugger to eat some pork pie. And some more.
And some more.
It’s not dog food.
But fuck it.
And I fed him more on Saturday and he was moving both faster and better.
And today I got him to come for a walk.
I fully expected him to flag within a mile and that I’d have to turn round.
He set the pace and was almost running after four miles.
Tough little bastard.
He dozed most of the afternoon, but then, I wasn’t far off.
And as I write this, I have beer on the table, sunlight flooding through the window and both doglets snuggled on the sofa with me.
I didn’t write previously because my mind was dark with presentiment.
But the shapes in the mists of my mind have backed off for now.
It’s starting to feel like spring, some days around here it only rains for an hour or so and the temperature makes double digits.
Sometimes.
On other days, the permacloud is unbroken, the winds howl and the rain is horizontal.
But this is why we have boots and rainproof clothes, to get outside for a couple of hours every day, whether working or ‘only’ doing things at home at the weekend.
The walk is the thing that defines the day, the fresh air or the smell of silage across the fields, birdsong or the raucous noise of a couple of hundred crows that live above some lucky people a mile down the lane.
The gentle susurration of the trees in the breeze or the howling gale that makes you effectively deaf and means that you have to keep looking behind you for the very occasional vehicle.
Such is life in The Shire.
The doglets aren’t too keen on the rain really, but on days like today, Milo is more than happy to strut along, tail high and gently swinging back and forth for a six mile walk, while Cairo POUNCES like some sort of big cat in her regular attempts to kill something small and squeaky.
And me?
I let the worries and issues of the real world, or the wider world if you will; trickle through my subconscious, sometimes arriving at an answer to a problem or sometimes just filing stuff away in the corners of my brain.
Retirement seems like a summer dream right now, I’m knee deep in issues from all sides and have more than a casual interest in the issues in the gulf right now.
In three weeks or so, I have to break out the black tie and go to a conference being hosted by the American military.
It’s not what I was expecting at this time last year, that’s for sure.
But this weekend, I hung pictures that an amazing artist painted on commission and fitted two safes so that casual burglars can’t just steal things.
And earlier in the week, I met a friend in Bath and we discussed the huge issues along with the small, politics and trivia, we accurately predicted a by election result and agreed that we didn’t really care.
The goal is to stay as content as you can, change what you’re able and let the other stuff wash over you.
Take the tiniest of wins and let them fuel you.
Yesterday, I found a lost dog, then I reunited her with owner.
A few weeks ago, I stopped my local parish from raising the precept, arguing successfully that:
We have a surplus
That putting it up was just kicking people even more when they’re down.
It’s not much, but.
If even once a week, we do something that helps others more, maybe we’ll at least hold the tide, even if we can’t turn it.
Did you sleep the sleep of the innocent, dream of angels and beauty or did your brain keep you awake with recriminations and worry?
Do you ever wish you could wind back the clock to the point that you allowed your potential soul-mate to leave – or that you left them?
What would you change?
What would you say?
What about that subject at school that you skipped that would have been so useful?
Or the time that you told your boss to fuck off and diverted your career?
Or the words that you wish you could have told someone and that you’d give anything to say now?
You’re not alone.
We’ve all been there.
If only.
If.
She would.
He would.
We would.
What?
Be happy?
How would you define that ?
Anyway, you know the answer really, we can’t go back, we can’t reverse what we did or where we’ve been.
We can’t find that moment when it all…..
She’d still leave for another reason, he’d still be the seething mass of hatreds and insecurities that he was then.
This is it.
This is where we are and this is all we have.
But that just means that you have choices, you have multiple choices every day, you can choose to reach out to that old friend and say hello again.
You can send a message on a Sunday evening to a work colleague who just lost their best friend and tell them to take all the time they need, you have their back.
You can donate to charity, you can help out at a shelter, you can cut your aged neighbours’ lawn or do their shopping for them.
You can study again, this time in a subject that fascinates you, not a random item in a curriculum that you had no choice in.
You can travel.
You can adopt a dog.
Of course, if you adopt a dog, you may have to get another.
And the little bastards may just break the armour that you’ve layered over your emotions and make you care about more than just you.
And you know deep down that one day you’ll lose them.
But the choice to live with unconditional love and companionship without judgment, that’s not a bad trade-off.
It’s one that I’d make again and again..
Whatever your choices, make one today .
And then again tomorrow.
We can’t go back, but we can try to steer which way we’re going as we move forward.
Or as Marcus Aurelius put it
‘Forget everything else. Keep hold of this alone and remember it: Each of us lives only now, this brief instant. The rest has been lived already, or is impossible to see. The span we live is small—small as the corner of the earth in which we live it. Small as even the greatest renown, passed from mouth to mouth by short-lived stick figures, ignorant alike of themselves and those long dead’
It’s Sunday evening and the sun is still fairly high in a clear ish sky, I have a beer that’s refracting the remaining rays into amber patterns onto my table and I have music playing in the background – Uktravox at this very moment, a track called We Stand Alone.
The dogs are in the house somewhere, most likely dozing in their favoured spots, sofas and fluffy beds and I have a clear view of the hills for a change.
It’s barely stopped raining for days now, both at home and in the Bath area, the roads and fields are flooded, with fields pouring out their excess into small streams that gurgle by the side of the road.
As for the state of the country generally, let’s not go there. Morgan McSweeney has just resigned, another casualty of Calamity Keir.
I’ve been letting myself go with the flow for a few weeks, with Wednesday night being a prime example.
Out with some of the team after work for dinner.
Take the drunkest of them into The Raven to glory in the spot where Starmer was ejected from a few years ago.
Bump into other people.
Merge the drinking.
Go with the drunkest of them to a Cuban bar where we drink rum cocktails that they set on fire.
And so on.
I have no real master-plan for work so it’s been sort of fun to just see what happens when you throw some comments into meetings to see how people jump.
And it’s made me appreciate home and the doglets more, their leaping around and frenzied barking and licking when I walk through the door could make a statue smile.
They follow me around more when I’m at home, just in case I escape again and they cling tight on the sofa and at bedtime.
Cairo colonises my legs, hardly moving at all, while Milo takes some time to finally settle by my ear, his breathing making soft susurrations that help me drift off too.
We wake early on work days to walk in the dark, their little light up collars making them seem somehow different, little otherworldly creatures bouncing along with tails wagging and just living for the moment.
Every moment is there for them to enjoy, they don’t think of the future, the wider world or any of our pedestrian concerns.
They love absolutely and it’s in the small moments that I share with them that I could almost believe in a deity.
But a deity of sun and snow, wind and rain, of barking and running, snoozing and zoomies.
I could get behind that particular idea of god.
One that tells us to seize this life and make of it what we will.
I’m doing two days a week onsite, leaving home at 5am so that I’m one of the first people there and spending all day in discussions and face to face meetings rather than Teams calls.
And I watch.
And I listen.
I’m making a number of changes this week, some that I haven’t telegraphed and one that will be seen exactly as it is.
A response to a challenge.
The outcome is inevitable and the new structures will work, with or without casualties, hopefully the latter.
I stay in a hotel in Bath, go out for drinks and dinner, live music and walking around.
And I bought a new, very small, very clever camera just for taking shots as I walk.
It’s been pissing it down for weeks and the streets are quiet in the gloom of the evening, with only the streetlights and traffic signals providing colour on the pavements.
The roads are packed with cars until mid-evening and it’s faster to walk unless you’re deliberately taking streets and turns at whim to see what’s next.
It’s been an interesting experience, I’m mostly looking for something pretty or eye catching as I walk, but I’m watching the shadows and streets more than I normally would so that I can take that half-second to raise and point the camera, click and shoot, then pocket it again.
I see more than I used to.
From the beauty outside the pubs to the movement and conversation of the people inside, from empty streets that open onto huge views and converted chapels that look as if they belong in a cyberpunk film.
And I’ve started to really see the huddled shapes in doorways, squeezed against the wall of a car park that faces the river, that sleep three stories underground in a doorway, their few possessions clutched tight.
They’re mostly young, under 40 or so, mostly men that I’ve seen so far and they’re all white.
So, so many.
I took a colleague to The Raven for drinks on Thursday night and shared the glorious story of Starmer being ejected.
And we went to a lovely pub /restaurant called the Salamander for food.
And I talked to him about taking the pretty photos – taking this one of a screen inside the pub while we sat there.
And we went our separate ways to our hotels.
And on the intersection, a young man was screaming for help, he wanted somebody, anybody to give him money towards a hostel, he was crying genuine tears, had no booze nearby, but did have packed sandwiches, was outwardly fit and didn’t show any real signs of substance addiction.
Although.
What the fuck do I know?
What I do know is that some well heeled tourists were dashing away from him and that he was completely alone.
And I did something out of character.
I was wearing a waterproof coat that’s just…. green.
It’s massively expensive.
So is my little camera.
And I was flush with cash.
And I felt..
Something.
I talked to him and gave him more than he said he needed for the hostel.
And he cried and cried.
And he tried to give me change.
I don’t know what he did next.
But he asked God to bless me and I felt..
Something.
And I walked back to my hotel and I couldn’t go inside for over 15 minutes.
Because I worked out what I felt.
It certainly wasn’t smugness or pride in my little gesture.
It was shame.
I was ashamed.
And still am.
Our brothers and sisters, daughters and sons are living on the streets while our government does nothing.
Mine could have been a lot worse, I travelled to Bath for a couple of days midweek for work and was sat in a bar on Thursday evening watching the progress of the storm that was hitting.
Bath had torrential rain that moved sideways thanks to the gale force winds but was otherwise fine.
Elsewhere and on my journey home, the snowstorm was actually as bad as the dire predictions had warned of.
I went to bed on Thursday night with a plan that diverged at the point of wake -up.
At 5am, I’d check the roads and.
Drive home and try to get back for a call with my friend / boss that couldn’t be cancelled as it was addressing a number of concerns for the wider teams.
Concerns that I’d spent all week trying to resolve.
Or.
I’d go back to bed, do the call at 9am and maybe stay another night.
It was a judgment call and I did a mental coin-flip at 5am and decided to drive home.
The roads were flooded in parts and then.
All was white.
We’d suddenly become Canada.
At times, only one lane was passable on the motorway, a services was closed due to the lorries that couldn’t get up the hill in the snow, leaving them stranded on the entrance slip.
Trees were bent down over with the weight of the snow and there was no way to say where the road began or ended on either side.
And yet.
For maybe the first time that I can remember, everybody but everybody drove as if they were adults and paying attention.
Nobody was trying to be macho or show how fast their car was.
If we were doing 30mph in a single lane, that’s what everyone did.
I got home with time to spare and the day actually went very well.
I took time to walk the doglets, two little bundles of bouncing joy and barking after two days apart and we walked for a while in the deep snow.
Saturday passed very pleasantly and ended with wine and a log fire and Sunday was planned to be much the same.
Except…
I found some dumped medical supplies for two different people on the road near the house.
And a minor miracle happened.
I went to Facebook to see if I could find anyone.
People responded immediately.
And….
Within an hour, the daughter of an older man met me to pick up his vital supplies – she even tried to give me £10, which was lovely but…
And then, an hour ago, the parents of a young boy picked his stuff up.
I don’t know what went wrong and don’t care.
And I don’t feel at all virtuous.
I’m just glad that this week; people helped each other because it’s the right thing to do.
2025 was a good one for me personally, a lot of change, but this time all triggered by me.
I resigned from a job I loved on the 2nd Jan because I could see a tidal wave of toxicity that was just beginning to build at the very top of the company and I knew that if I stayed, I’d be fighting a trench war that I’d ultimately lose.
It was the right thing to do, they managed to go deeper and darker than even I imagined they would and people are leaving in droves right now.
I wrote a silly little management book that I’m going to have to add at least one more chapter to thanks to the way that the senior leadership treated one of my people. It was genuinely the worst behaviour I’ve seen in my career to date.
The book is here. When I update it at some point, the kindle version will update itself.
I gave physical copies to all of my team and friends when I left and the leaving do was a thing of beauty.
That actually meant working longer hours doing actual physical labour for no money and fewer breaks.
I loved it.
There’s a copse of a hundred or so trees on the eastern side of my land and I was going to tear down an old shed.
Instead, I rebuilt it, put in new floor and cladding and built a new door from scratch.
That was just the start of it, I tore things down, built new things to replace them, painted and repaired, reclad and added new electrics, sealed roofs and totally revamped an old shed / garage into a proper 10×5 metre workshop.
Every day started with a long dog-walk and the doglets loved it, the combination of summer and open fields giving them an endless playground.
I still got into London to see friends and in August, I finally did the road-trip that I’d promised myself.
I took Cairo ( Milo’s getting on a bit to spend hours and hours in a car) to Portland where we spent a couple of perfect days with some of the best people I know; to Wales to rekindle an old friendship and to Newark where we met new friends for the first time.
And what a time we had.
Walks, conversations and lots of laughter.
And Dottie.
The best thing I did this year.
A pure chance conversation that linked a series of people to give an outcome that was pure magic.
And gave me two new friends that I value very dearly.
Dottie is a tiny, beautiful Jack Russell who looks like an Alsatian but she’s around the same size as Milo.
She’s found a home where she’ll be loved for the rest of her life and she’s brought pleasure to her new family in a way that I couldn’t hope for when I brokered a conversation.
Summer rolled on beautifully and I managed to make around sixty litres of apple juice from my little orchard along with thirty or so of 10% cider.
One of my old team became a dad for the second time and I was honoured to be invited to a Nigerian naming ceremony in September where I met his family and friends and discovered a whole new world of formality, religion and fun.
And so the year went.
I became an RAF Trustee, did physical work for the parish council, opened a school fete with the mayor and made a return visit to meet the High Sheriff of Shropshire.
I did more outside work and planned a trip to Spain to see a band play their first international show at the end of November.
But. You know.
Plans.
They’re only aspirational.
One of my best friends left the company two months after me and she took a huge and incredibly interesting job.
And she needed a bit of help.
So we talked and I agreed to go back to work for a year.
And.
My aunt had a few falls a week or so before I was due to go to Spain and two weeks before I was due to start work again and I couldn’t square the circle of how I was going to fit everything in.
There’s only one answer to that .
I cancelled Spain and took Cairo on a two day trip to North Yorkshire, we stayed at an old inn on the return leg and it was as pleasant as it could be.
And then, a week later, I went back to work.
And it’s fine.
A brand new industry, but the same old problems, I have no fears for this job, it’ll be more than ok.
I rekindled another old friendship with a friend who lives just outside Bath – where I’ll be staying a lot this year.
And Bath is lovely.
Christmas wasn’t a drama and the whole thing starts again on Friday.
What about the bells?
The tradition of the “108 bells” refers to Joya no Kane (除夜の鐘), a Japanese Buddhist ritual. It’s performed on New Year’s Eve, known as Ōmisoka.
In this ceremony, large temple bells, called bonshō, are rung 108 times around midnight to symbolize the cleansing of the 108 earthly desires or worldly passions (bonnō) that afflict humans, such as greed, anger, jealousy, and ignorance
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