It sits and reminds me
the memories numb
the pain of that race and the fall
from sobriety
Author: thejerichoroads
6th form radical
Like a prodigal son
with a modicum of talent
I strayed from the path of righteousness
singing “I the mote in your eye”, aye
singing “I the mote in your eye”.
Twenty years on
pedestrian and spent
I stopped by the shores of Loch Ness
still singing “I the mote in your eye”, aye
still singing “I the mote in your eye”.
Not ninety five
Scrambled egg and Markévitch and housework
on my knees
No longer, the papers to mark
in the rain
But time to give and to take from Górecki again.
Fear and loathing in Strathconon
I’ve started writing again, though to be honest that’s not strictly true or false. I never really started or stopped. I’ve formed ideas, composed pieces, tested sentences, lines and verse, framed and sequenced images for as long as I can remember. But except for a very brief period, and mostly out of necessity, never really wrote anything down. I played the ideas around in my head until I or they were exhausted. Then they were gone, perhaps making a reprise at a later date, often not. The fear of committing anything to paper or hard drive, the fear of exposing pointless notions to public scrutiny, generally just the fear.
Then it occurred to me the other day – and not for the first time – that actually, fundamentally, very few people are really interested in anything I have to say. Now most people at this point would take the hint and shut up. Me? No, I finally realised that this was perfect. Nobody will read it, nobody will care. It doesn’t have to be finished, it doesn’t have to be perfect. It can be ignored. I can actually write without fear of anything or anyone, after all they’re not really there. Finally I can get this stuff out of my head. All those mental exercises. Then I too can ignore it. Who wants a head full of nonsense anyway?
July 2005
Applying myself
The form has been sitting
and using up space on my empty hard drive
for days.
An unwelcome reminder
of a relentless absence of aptitude,
a relentless penchant for procrastination.
So it sits,
taunting, teasing and trying to test
whilst I, in turn,
turn the other cheek and check
if the kettle is ready for another brew.
And while I drink, I stew some more
on what could have been,
what should,
but for the lack of application.
And that’s what happened
A bit of hyperbole goes a long way. A local theatre company accidentally stumbling across Shakespeare and careering on to the national stage. Played out like a sociological case study of structure and action; all experienced through the comfort of the laptop keyboard, the visceral assault of the monitor and the unnerving disquiet of the telephone ringtone.
I will not pretend
My experiences over the past week or so have been mixed and interesting. I’ve encountered considerable generosity and goodwill and had to balance that with some serious decision making. I’ve had to play the game and remain true myself. Occasionally I’ve had to draw a line.
I’m mindful that having had the luxury of choice in my life made this week a roller coaster I could step off, rather than a merry-go-round that I couldn’t. I’m not sure that I’d have, or be willing to expend, that sort of energy on a regular basis any more. In the past? Perhaps.
You have to use your energies where they are needed most and still retain some joy for life. Being bitter is never as good as a pint of it. And so, as I checked on the boys sleeping in their beds last night I received a timely reminder. Probably one of the most important pieces of advice someone could pass on to their child. As I stood there in the dark the voice on the CD player was calm and deliberate:
“When you grow up and have children of your own, do please remember something important. A stodgy parent is no fun at all! What a child wants -and DESERVES- is a parent who is SPARKY!”
I stayed a moment longer in the silence, then drew another line.
About that hedgehog
I’ve done a few daft things in my time. None particularly serious and certainly none of note. I’ve made small gestures on points of principle and maybe raised the odd eyebrow or smile. I’ve stood anonymously in crowds, marched and shouted with the best of them. All deliberate actions but never really raising my head above the parapet. Then I became father to 3 boys and settled on contenting myself with quietly grumbling in the corner, a gradual but inevitable slide into an ineffectual, cantankerous old man.
Sometimes though something happens quite by accident. You really didn’t mean much by it, maybe you thought you were trying to help. A little thing that got out of hand. You then find you have a bit of a dilemma. Do you go back to sleep and ignore it or do you follow it through and hope, even if it’s an outside chance, that something good will come out of it? It’s not so much of a stand, more accidental turn down a one way street. Now though your head is above the parapet, directly in the line of fire, and frankly for all your principles you’re shitting yourself. About something you never thought you’d be shouting about. Kids do strange things to you. When their welfare is at stake you start to take risks again. It’s not comfortable.
I’m not sure if the writer was able to salvage anything intelligible from my ramblings or what treatment they received. I hope it wasn’t too negative, ours was a good news story after all. I don’t yet know whether I dare show my face in public any time soon and I certainly don’t think that I’m brave enough to read it. I hope however it turns out that I’m not judged too harshly. I was just looking out for my boys and the community that I’ve come to call home these past 10 years, and those like us.
And what’s this got to do with hedgehogs? Well courting all this attention might seem fun but it’s a wee bit prickly.
The time to accept
There are harsh realities. I have to accept that my running is a selfish thing. From training to racing, it is entirely dependent on the acceptance, goodwill and generosity of others; family, friends, strangers. When we talk about commitment and sacrifice the greatest is usually demonstrated by those who support our endeavours. If we value our freedom to run and race we ignore this fact at our peril. It is worth considering how we repay such gifts.
the jericho roads 