TWO SINISTER-LOOKING MEN

I don’t know, but as this year has dragged on, things seem to have become increasingly and unremittingly bleak, and the problem is that it shows no sign of ever ending and I seem to have adopted the mind set, as I face each new day, that things are probably going to just keep on getting worse. So much so, in fact, that when we spotted two “dodgy looking” geezers looking at paperwork whilst sitting in the front seats of a huge SUV on the road as we headed out to the railway station on one recent morning, I just assumed that they were obviously villains who had been waiting for us to leave so that they could break in and steal our "precious things", or hit men from some long forgotten mafia-based dodgy loan company that we'd inadvertently signed up for, an effect increased by the fact that, as we climbed into our own car, they got out of theirs and started heading towards us.

Fortunately, they walked past us, but then, as I exchanged a look of utter relief with the beloved, I noticed that they turned and, as we drove away, were heading back up the hill towards where our house nestles snugly amongst all of the others. The fact that there are many of them did not seem to matter all that much to me, however, because in my head they were making a bee-line for our place for reasons unknown, and, by the time I had returned from my brief trip to the station, I had decided that they were probably bailiffs who were going to stand on my doorstep and demand that they take the entire contents of my little home away with them, even though (and this is where my mind can get really strange) there really is no very good reason why such a thing should happen as far as I am aware.

Happily (for me, perhaps less so for someone else) they’d gone by the time I got home, and there were no demanding notices on my doormat or stickers pasted to my door, and so I could happily get on with my day, and all the mental explanations that I’d conjured up about the computers not actually being mine and so forth, were now no longer required.

But they had looked decidedly sinister, and this looked truly alarming, and no doubt it was truly alarming for some poor schmoe. It wasn't just me that they made feel uncomfortable either. I noticed later that the beloved had written down their registration number just in case we heard reports of sinister activities in the neighbourhood later on.

There is, of course, just the possibility that they were just two ordinary blokes arriving at 7.00am for a meeting with someone, or even just arriving to help someone out or give them a lift, because you should, of course, never judge by appearances.

But, naturally, we all do, and, no matter how much we claim that we don't profile people based upon their appearances, or a "feeling" we just get about them, or our own experiences or prejudices, sometimes based upon the flimsiest of pieces of personal history (I once had a manager who rejected all applications from anyone called Theresa simply because they hadn't liked a particular Theresa once...), we all still do it.

It's kind of instinctive, I guess. One of those "fight or flight" responses based upon our own inner fears.

And they didn't half look sinister.

IN THE DARK

“What’s that noise?”

Beside me, the beloved sleeps on obliviously, but I definitely heard something…

Something moving in the darkness…

Of course, it is dark and it could be anything. I switch on the torch but it’s no help. It sounded like a kind of scurrying,  but I’m not aware of any infestation… There would be some kind of a smell, surely…? But then, I’ve watched all those programmes about the hoarders and how things can be living in places that you’d never expect them to, so you do never know…

But I’d’ve heard something before now, wouldn’t I…? If it was something alive… Most likely it was my watch strap settling from when I knocked it when I reset the alarm… Or maybe it was the cardboard and plastic unfolding itself in the bin after the beloved took those tablets in the night to try and shift the migraine that’s triggered this sudden extra hour in bed.

“Can I go for the later train…?” she murmured, and who was I to argue…?

This will mean a change to my routine and having to drive through the dubious delights of the “school run” which seems to imply that by simply parking a small person in the passenger seat of a car or bus, the driver suddenly completely forgets how to drive...

Ah, this is not the time for such chaotic thoughts to be allowed to be allowed to run through a “spin cycle” in my mind...

Instead, I lie there awake, listening to those sounds I’ve not heard before…

Out there…

In the darkness…

Waiting…

The imagination runs riot. From small furry creatures scuttling, to larger, furrier creatures nibbling and gnawing. When my mind finally manages to conjure up the largest of spiders, I decide that it’s time to get up and write about it instead. It might just make me feel better if I try to put the madness to bed just as I climb (or was that leap?) out of it.

Or is that cowardice in extremis…? Now I’ve left her alone with it, whatever it is, although whatever it is might just be a piece of unfurling cellophane there is always the slightest possibility that it’s actually something with teeth, whilst I’m safely in another room with the lights on and listening to other noises which may, or may not, be the dripping of rainwater through a hole in the roof and onto something precious and irreplaceable, no doubt.

Those tapping noises could be outside of course, but they sound much closer…

Or is it just the floorboards creaking and popping from their early morning exertions of having had me climbing the stairs, or my chair stressing under the strain of holding me off the ground…? Are they just relaxing again having done their job once more, and settling down for a nice relaxing day of simply being what they are with none of the sudden extra burdens of having me around give them…?

And, after all of this mystery, then the boiler kicks up to start its strange early morning routine of pumping water around the central heating system but at least, unusual sounding as those sounds usually are, at least I know precisely what they are…

Usually… although, is that a dripping I can hear…? Is something leaking that shouldn’t be…? Has one of those unseen creatures been nibbling where it shouldn’t have been…?

And what, precisely, could possibly explain the squeaking coming from a system that has no gears…?

At least it’s the right kind of squeaking.

At least it doesn’t sound alive…

Noises, noises everywhere, and not a source to find.

FACING THE TRUTH

I’ve never been the cheeriest of souls.

Looking back I find it very hard to even picture a time when I could have been considered the “life and soul” of anything very much. I’m told that there were times, of course, when I was likeable, fun to be around and generally not the black hole in the corner of the room sucking up all the escaping light but the truth is, whilst I’m sure that they’re not lying to me, it doesn’t sound like the me I know.

I simply don’t remember.

What I do remember are patterns. Of behaviour. Of history. Parallels with dark events in my past that seem to be resurfacing. Reoccurring. I see the same things happening all over again and I feel powerless to stop them. Impotent. I try to form the words to deal with them, to find the ways to cope and instead I rush headlong into the flippant or the banal. I dismiss them. Internalise them. Wish and hope that they will simply go away and refuse to face up to their essential terrifying truth. Or I avoid them. Hide myself away from the reality by hiding myself away from them altogether. Fear is the mind-killer (Thanks, Frank!), but keeping myself safe means keeping myself behind the barriers, under the rock and far, far away from any kind of engagement with the enemy, where the enemy is defined as the whole damned universe.

Scribbling these thoughts on a semi-regular basis has helped me to find some sort of a focus, get the interminable thinking out of my head and into some solid form that I can see, that is tangible, malleable and there to be seen, read back and understood. It helps me to know that there is something in what I said, that those fleeting passing fancies weren’t just forgotten memories that don’t even become memories, perhaps more forgotten forgets, if that isn’t putting too much “oxy” in my “moronic” outpourings.

Ah! Who knows?

I’ll admit to myself that the “media disease” I’ve developed in order to make sense of it all, that constant need to check for numbers, data and just plain old pageviews is about affirmation and recognition that, despite what I might prefer to believe, I do exist, I do matter, that something, however insignificant it might be was important enough for somebody to feel the need to go there, have a look and not be unduly disappointed.

I’m starting to realise that the situation in my head might be chemical, emotional or just plain old medical, but the symptoms are all there for all the world to see. I sit here doing this because it’s the only thing I feel that I can do with any modicum of success. Everything else remains in total limbo. I can’t make any decisions because they’re bound to be the wrong decisions. I can’t even do the basics to improve my environment because ringing, for example, that builder might cause an avalanche of other problems to surface that will escalate and escalate beyond my control and I simply will no longer be able to cope with it, afford it or deal with it.

Meanwhile everything I do has had the joy sucked out of it. All the things I thought I used to like are no longer stimulating me. I walk through this life like a zombie. The sleep won’t come, the life has gone. Nowadays I simply accumulate stuff and find no pleasure in the ownership, it’s just there to be consumed, or not, and then set aside. Looking forward to things, planning things remains almost impossible, because of the fear of getting it wrong.

At the same time, everything I thought I knew is rapidly and inexorably plummeting towards the scrapheap. Suddenly everything I thought I knew is old-fashioned, out of date and worthless, and a whole new pile of new things that need to be mastered are ahead of me and I’m simply terrified that I won’t be able to cope, that I’ll be found out as being the second rate useless article I already think I am anyway. Younger, brighter minds will come along and be able to do all those things I used to do and do them better, quicker and with more inherent skill than an inveterate plodder like me could ever do. I struggle to think of anything that I can do well enough, that somebody else couldn’t do far better and with greater efficiency and success. I struggle to clear the fog in my mind and find one unique selling point, one positive thing in my life where people could turn around and say “Only Martin could have done that!”

Everyone else appears dismissive, quick with the putdowns, eager to show me how much better they are at everything than I could ever hope to be. I can’t even open a book, or switch on a TV drama without it simply being there to remind me of the things I’m not good enough to do, the things that are being done far better than I could ever hope to by other people.

I need to get these thoughts out of my head, and I need to face up to the pathetic truth that I’m not half as good at things as I like to think I am, that the world simply doesn’t care enough, and that somewhere, buried deep inside this façade I show to the world is a terrified version of the person that some people used to know, and tell me was a decent sort of a chap, with something to offer to fulfill his tiny part in the grand scheme of things, even though I currently don’t have the faintest of clues what it might be, or whether I would recognise it if someone waved it under my nose and pointed at it, bellowing “Here it is!” at the top of their lungs into my bewildered little face.

I finally have a word for what ails me.

They call it “depression” and I’m about to embark on a journey of self-discovery.

More soon.

DEEPEST DARKEST DREADS

I don’t think it’s going to be a cheery one today, I’m afraid. Be warned. The glumps are persisting and I’m not much fun to be around (if I ever was…). As ever, I probably think about things too much, which is odd really, because one long ago morning when I accidentally drained someone’s heating system when I got up and found only one working tap to fill the kettle with I was told that I needed a more enquiring mind. Against all conventional wisdom, I persisted with my protestations that I don’t generally look into how the heating works in anyone’s house, or hotel or guest house that I just happen to be staying in, and certainly not at 6.30 in the morning when all I want is a brew up to kick start my day, but my words were all in vain and another day got off to a dreadful start that it struggled to recover from. I blame it all on the lack of a decent cuppa myself, but it was long, long ago and probably doesn’t matter any more.

So, where was I…? Ah yes, persisting glumps. I’m beginning to suspect that all the things that I have dreaded over the years are finally manifesting themselves into some kind of awful reality. I remember once being told about the power of words, that you should be very careful what you say, even in jest, because the words will weave and thread and knit, and those words will come back and haunt you for daring to tempt the fates. Perhaps this is also true of our inner fears and doubts. Somehow the subconscious transmits these thoughts into the ether and those things that you so dread, which are floating about looking for suitable victims find you and lock on to you like a dog with its jaws clamped a particularly juicy leg-bone.

It doesn’t matter who you are, your life is full of the things you personally most utterly dread. I’m not talking about the usual everyday fears that trouble us in our relatively affluent society, things like getting seriously ill or having an accident or ending up in abject poverty or homeless, or the kids being taken, or the loved ones being hurt or worse, or even the maniac on the loose or breaking into your home in the night and slaughtering you and yours. (Good grief! With all this angst, how do I even get out of bed in the morning? Well… it’s the insomnia, mostly, from all the worry…)

Those are just the fears that we’ve all got. Well, that is, I assume we all do. Maybe I am the only one who lies awake at night worrying about this stuff. Do you see the risks I’m taking here? All this externalizing might only achieve the result of the world going “Nope! I don’t do that. You’re very strange!” and the laughing and pointing starts all over again in a bright shiny new medium.

It doesn’t matter if you deny it, anyway, because I simply don’t believe anyone who tells me that they have no fear. Everyone has their deepest, darkest anxieties, otherwise the concept of Room 101 (The book version, not the comedy celebrity chat show…) simply wouldn’t work, and we all know it does. I’ve known seriously able ex-military types who’ve faced down the enemy around the world be reduced to jelly by the sight of a spider and otherwise cocksure young bucks to be seen quaking in their trousers at the thought of the slightest form of public speaking. The problem is that the things we fear aren’t necessarily recognised phobias as such, just those things that we’ve heard about and hope will never happen to us. Thankfully, history tells us, most of these things never actually do happen to us and we are statistically generally pretty safe from the dice that the fates roll for us, and we can all breathe a sigh of relief and stop worrying.

And yet…

Recent developments have altered my views on such matters. It now appears to me that in life we must always get lumbered with the things that we most fear. It has a certain inevitability about it. For example, although I’m not going to go into too much detail, one of my own personal dreads involves long-term responsibility with an unpleasant biological slant, and that seems to have become a huge and unpleasant factor in my life nowadays.

For years now, I’ve also had a terrible image that was once put into my head that grew out of a casual comment made decades ago about a someone’s elderly relative having had a face that resembled a field of mushrooms which had to be scraped away. Not a nice image, is it? It still gives me the creeps when I think of it, and I realise, I’ve been and gone and put it into your head too. Sorry about that. As I get older and another one of those strange little growths that seem to come with age pops up, I wonder when and where they’re going to start clustering and whether that this image that so horrified me was actually a vision of my future self. If my theory is correct now it would seem that this too must inevitably come to pass…

Maybe if you always get what you fear most, I should start to fear an optimistic outlook, the big house and a sense of financial security… but it doesn’t work like that, does it? You can’t put the ‘fix’ in, because then you get trumped by the ‘be careful what you wish for’ scenario…

Because in life, the house always wins, and nobody gets out of here alive.

A LITTLE FLASH OF YELLOW

It’s never like it is in the movies, is it?

I was watching the news yesterday morning in the aftermath of the appalling events at Domodedovo airport and the news channel I was viewing had the CCTV images of the moment that the bomb went off, and, unlike the big, dramatic, slo-mo excesses enhanced by the CGI effects departments of the biggest Hollywood blockbusters, this devastating moment managed to look somehow utterly insignificant and understated, as all the camera shows is just the littlest of yellow flashes.

To the generations who have experienced those kinds of movies it looks like not very much at all, just a tiny flash of yellow lasting barely a second on a busy afternoon.

And yet…

After that little flash of yellow, 35 real human beings lie dead or dying.

After that little flash of yellow, another hundred and more living, breathing people like you and me sustain horrific injuries that will change their lives forever if they survive them at all.

After that little flash of yellow, ball bearings and shrapnel flew out on all directions and tore into the flesh and bone of any person that got in its way.

That’s real life for you.

Barely a moment, but 35 lie dead.

Such a tiny moment in time but hundreds of lives will never be the same again.

Just one tiny flash of yellow.

I know that some of you visit Lesser Blogfordshire to get away from the unpleasantness of the daily news, but over the last 24 hours this has been much on my mind. Philosophically, I know that the purpose of terrorism is to terrorise, and that if I let them terrorise me then the battle is lost, but, every day I still feel the slight wobble of uncertainty as I see the beloved depart to head about her day that someone, somewhere might just take it upon themselves to reshape our lives forever, and I’m sure she finds that similar dark thoughts nag at the corners of her mind every time I head out of the door.

By an unhappy coincidence, yesterday was one of the few days of the year upon which I have to poke my little nose out of the boundaries of Lesser Blogfordshire and spend the day in the bright lights of the big city, and so it just happened to be one of those very rare days on which I spend time in public places like railway terminals and tube trains, and so I was probably more aware than usual of how crowded these places are and how random these kinds of attacks can be.

Look around you in any public place and all you will see are ordinary people like you and me just getting on with their lives. Just doing the shopping, or travelling to a meeting or having a day out, with no expectations that anything today is going to make those activities any different to the hundreds of times they’ve done them before. But these are the same types of ordinary people who always suffer the horrific consequences during and after these kinds of terrible, terrible events.

Ordinary people like you and me, with plans and hopes and dreams and commitments and stuff to do, all just trying to get on with their lives and do them. This is why there was more than a little nervousness in my soul as I lurked in those various places yesterday, not because of any “terror” as such – I’m sure we all bulldoze our way through life pretty much assuming that these things won’t actually happen around us – but because of the purely random and arbitrary way that these things happen when they do.

I can’t help but empathise with those ordinary travellers because I’m quite often an ordinary traveller too. Sometimes it’s a lot easier to walk in another person’s shoes than others, and although I can’t possibly really understand what each and every one of those people and their families went through and are still going through as I sit here safely typing my thoughts today, I can at least send some of my sympathies in their direction during these terrible, terrible days.

Meanwhile, to the rest of us who are still able to get on with our lives, have a safe day, people.

Please.