Happily Imperfect June 2015

Spoilers

This post contains no spoilers

I am guilty of posting spoilers. TV show plot twists, sporting results, movie endings, I’ve done them all. But I’ve learned, by being on the receiving end one too many times, to think before I post.

“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” says some book or other – note to self: write-up your thoughts on the Bible some day, you know, cos there aren’t enough religious nuts in your life – and truth be told it’s not a bad way to live your life. Presuming you are a decent human being and not a complete and utter dickhead to being with, but I digress, back to spoilers.

It took me a while to stop posting them and even today there is that split second moment of wanting to share something with others, a feeling that seems born of social media even though it predates it; I think social media just makes it more immediate and increases the chemicals that are generated by your brain so it feels even more fun.

I understand that it feels good to share these things and I guess our use of social media is still so new that we haven’t had time to evolve much in that area, or have much in the way of emotional engagement or maturity. Social media in all of it’s various forms is still a very basic and crude device. I get it though, that I can now stand on the top of a mountain and shout really loudly and I know people round the world will both hear and respond to me, well that’s a powerful thing.

With great power comes a simple reasoning; just because we CAN do something, doesn’t mean we SHOULD do something (says the over sharing blogger). I know, I know. Cliché-tastic, right?

Posting spoilers seems to be driven by a desire to be seen, to have an acknowledged moment of visibility, the very same thing that, to this day, has people exclaiming ‘First’ in the comments sections of websites. Yes, that still happens.

Maybe it is our use of social media, our lack of sophistication (I’m generalising MASSIVELY here) that leads to these moments of angst and anger. It can’t be a coincidence that most of the people I know online who, like myself, get more than a little bit irked when people post spoilers, are people who have been online for a long time; where ‘long time’ is relative but is usually at least 8 years or more.

If that is the case, then I guess it’s down to those of us who have been here for a while to help others who are still in their toddler years understand and learn, help them mature their usage (god, what a horrible phrase).

Trouble is, I’m not sure how we’d even start and the bottom line is that if it’s a matter of evolution then I have to face up to the fact that neither you nor I can make it happen any faster.

Part of me gets annoyed with myself too. I mean a lot of what I’m talking about are transitory things. TV shows I’ll vaguely remember in 10 years time, sporting events that will merge into another set of memories, movies that I might re-watch regardless of whether the ending was spoiled for me or not.

These are not things to waste my energy on. These are not things that matter. I know this.

But I really fucking wish people would stop doing it.

June 18, 2015

Return of the bike

A couple of months ago my bike was stolen.

My bike was one of many stored down there. In fact, despite the note I put round every single one of my neighbours, there are still several bikes locked up the same way mine was, attached to a bracket that was bolted to the wall.

The brackets are there to protect the down pipes from getting hit by any of the cars, solid structures, each with four bolts to keep it in place. Perfect for attaching a bike to using a nice heavy Kryptonite D-Lock (with additional chain).

For a while I kept my bike in my flat, right next to the front door but it always seemed in the way so, having spotted so many other bikes down there, and knowing that it is a secured space it seemed to make sense to do the same.

You’ll imagine my surprise when, as I took the bins down one day, the lift door opened and there in front of me my bike wasn’t.

The metal bracket that was bolted to the wall, or more accurately, was screwed to the wall, was lying to one side, discarded. My bike, and the lock that I’d used to attach it to the bracket, was gone. All gone.

What an odd experience. I looked around thinking the bike might have been moved somehow, I could see all the other bikes were still there and with the metal bracket still there then, perhaps a maintenance person had removed it and a kindly neighbour had taken my bike in?

I rushed round the basement area to double check it wasn’t anywhere else, checked my post box – no notes, ransom or otherwise – and then climbed the stairs back to my flat, trying to figure out what had happened.

I phoned the police, gave them the details. I phoned the insurance company and gave them the details.

I started thinking about buying a new bike (I ended up ordering, then cancelling, a new bike through the Cyclescheme system, the same one I used to get my bike in the first place). I was certain I’d never see my bike again, I mean what are the odds?

Apparently they aren’t as high as I thought.

A phone call on Friday evening for a mysterious Glasgow number that you can’t call back turned out to be from Police Scotland where a friendly sounding man told me he thought he had my bike in the back of his van.

Apparently they’d stopped someone riding a bike and quickly ascertained that the man ON the bike certainly couldn’t have AFFORDED the bike. They asked the man to get off the bike then asked why the serial number sticker had been removed (a common occurence on a stolen bike) and without a reasonable explanation, took the bike from him to run some checks. One of those checks, thank the lord I had fitted non-standard SPD pedals, suggested it was my bike.

The guys turned up later that evening at my flat, I met them, identified my bike from the pedals, tyres (also non-standard) and a few other distinguishing features, gave them a written statement and lo and behold, I have my bike back!!

I received a further phone call yesterday to double check a couple of details because apparently they caught the man who stole my bike, who sold it to the man who was riding it, and he will be getting charged! Again, what are the odds?!

So, I have my bike back. I’m storing it in my flat and looking into ways to make it more theft-proof in the future. I’ve already replaced my stolen D-lock with something better, thanks to this amazing article on The Sweethome. Next up is something like Bike Register, and then further ways to personalise/customise and generally make my bike look cheaper – I’m even considering getting it completely repainted in matt black, chuck some stickers on and be done with it.

Regardless, I’m still amazed that I got my bike back. The Police get a lot of flak so it’s nice to be able to give them some credit and thanks.

June 15, 2015

Dream Vacation

As we roll into summer (finally!) I’ve been pondering what my dream vacation would be, thinking back over previous holidays both home and abroad, and then lottery-win-daydreaming about what my ultimate vacation would be like.

It’s easy to roll out the 5-star, hell make it 6-star, experience as the greatest dream vacation. A car to pick us up and take us to the airport, no hanging around, waited on hand and foot, first-class seats-that-turn-into-beds on the flight, another car to whisk us to our hotel – our luggage would all be handled by someone else – and a room with large glass doors that opened on to an empty golden beach, palm trees, a beach side cocktail bar and warm blue waters beyond.

And perhaps it’s that simple, after all a dream vacation for me includes a lot of being pampered, being lazy and just chilling out and relaxing. It’s one of the reasons I’ve enjoyed the last two abroad holidays as they were all-inclusive.

But there is always the conflict, the part of me that wants to tackle a cycling holiday, or a walking holiday, or some other hybrid that would allow me to look back with a sense of accomplishment, a holiday that nourishes as much as nurtures.

Of course there are further considerations these days, how big is my carbon footprint and how much does flying to the other side of the world add to it? (says the man flying to Singapore later this year).

On the flip side I know the types of things I don’t want. I don’t want a Scottish/English/Irish bar. I don’t want ‘organised fun’, I’d rather not have hordes of screaming kids, and like many others I’d rather not be subjected too tourist-ey an environment.

So what is my dream vacation? How would I know?

Actually it’s pretty simple (like me). Gimme some place that is warm and sunny, that’s safe, that is ‘real’, and isn’t full of noisy, inconsiderate people and I’d be quite happy. I can take my music, read books, and generally chill out and I’m all good. If there a few things to do so much the better.

Be it Brighton or the Bahamas, Saint Tropez or Skye, as long as I’m with someone I love I don’t really care about much else.

June 11, 2015

The Good No

I like to think I’m pretty helpful. It’s nice to be nice and all that, and I enjoy the connection it makes, even if it’s only for a fleeting moment; holding a door open and receiving a smile, helping push a broken down car, chasing after someone to give them their dropped glove.

If you are like me you will tend to say yes when someone asks for help. After all, what’s 2, 10, 15, 30 mins of your life in the grand scheme of things, of course I can help…

Being helpful is nice, isn’t it? That little boost of karma and the associated good feels are a wonderful reward. The world seems brighter, birds sing louder and the sun feels that little bit warmer on your face! Saying yes is TOTES OSSUM AMAZEBALLS, FACT!

Except that isn’t always how it turns out, is it.

The few times that “yes” actually gives you those warm fuzzies seem too few and far between, and I’ll admit that there are many times I really wish I had said no.

So I’ve been trying to be more aware and, as I’ve slowly pared back and simplified my life over the past few years, saying no has become A Thing That I Do. I’m still not very good at it but I am finding that saying no is helping me create mental space and balance. It doesn’t always involve someone else, saying no can be an internal decision – no, I won’t go to that event, screw you FOMO – or a part of an discussion with someone else – no, I can’t help you with that piece of work because then I’ll compromise my own commitments. The latter remains the harder of the two for me (the former isn’t always simple either).

I don’t find saying no to others an easy thing. It’s seen as negative, a commentary on the person rather than the act or favour, some people take “Sorry, no” as a diss, a slur on their character. What power that tiny word holds. But why does it carry so much weight?

My guess is that it’s down to my old friend, expectation. If someone asks for help there is a weight of expectation, they’ve put themselves out there, taken the brave step of asking for help so of course you have to say yes! How could you dare say otherwise? What an affront that would be to the the emotional energy they’ve used and the effort they’ve just put themselves through!

I read the following article a few weeks ago and it’s stuck in my head (and prompted this blog post) – Ways to Say ‘No’ More Effectively

“One of our most fundamental needs is for social connection and a feeling that we belong,” Dr. Bohns says. “Saying ”no“ feels threatening to our relationships and that feeling of connectedness.” And we worry that saying “no” will change the way the other person views us, and make him or her feel badly.

Sadly, it often does hurt feelings. “No” is a rejection. Neuroscience has shown our brains have a greater reaction to the negative than to the positive. Negative information produces a bigger and swifter surge of electrical activity in the cerebral cortex than does positive information. Negative memories are stronger than positive ones. All of this is to protect us: A strong memory of something hurtful helps us remember to avoid it in the future.

Even so, psychologists say, most people probably won’t take our “no” as badly as we think they will. That’s because of something called a “harshness bias” — our tendency to believe others will judge us more severely than they actually do. “Chances are the consequences of saying ”no“ are much worse in our heads than they would ever be in reality,”

So, part of being able to say no, a ‘good no’, is to understand that it’s not as bad and awful as we think. Simply put, saying no doesn’t carry as much weight as I think it does.

If nothing else, having this in mind should make saying no, for the right reasons, a little bit easier in the future.

June 8, 2015

16 years of thanks

16 years is a long time and I’ll admit I’ve been looking back at the history of this blog, reading old posts and finding that it’s a fairly accurate depiction of my own journey. Obvious, I know, but given that there is so much I don’t write about, the blog posts I have published act as a signpost for my memory.

It has sparked further contemplation about my past and, on the whole, it’s been a positive experience to revisit the links and connections I’ve made throughout my life that still hold true today. They are few, but they are strong.

I’m forgetful and can be a little too focused on moving forward, looking ahead and making plans. I’m also not blessed with much sentimentality, although I can be a bit of a sop at times, so tend to lose sight of emotional connections and the value I gain from having other people in my life.

I can generalise this even further; life for me is typically about what’s happening next, not looking back at the what ifs.

But the past is what it is and I acknowledge that without it I wouldn’t be who I am today. That said, as time goes on I naturally find myself distanced from the painful times, and I feel like I am finally comfortable that what lies behind me isn’t shaping the path ahead. I am not beholden to the dark clouds of my history.

Sometimes it’s good to pause, to look around at where you are, live life in the present, and as I look at my life today I realise just how lucky I am, and I have a lot of people to thank for that.

This post is a thank you to all of the following, who are listed chronologically purely because it’s the only fair way to do it. They’ve all meant more to me than I’ve probably told them (something I have gotten better at but I still need to work on).

First up, my parents for bringing me up to learn, to challenge, to be tolerant and challenge prejudice. For helping me when I needed it and for always being supportive, understanding and caring. It’s only now, as I approach middle-age (I’m in denial, shut up) that I realise how blessed I was to have them as parents…

…then they went and brought my sister into the world. I’m massively over-protective of her and in return she keeps me grounded just by being her wonderful, caring, ditzy self. We have many attributes alike and as we both get older it feels like we are growing closer, mostly because we are realising that we aren’t that much different from our parents and can revert to our childhood relationship in the blink of an eye. Hey, I’m a big brother, I’m SUPPOSED to wind her up!

My ex-wife Louise is next; I’ve known her for half my life and when we were together we experienced wonderful highs and brutally crushing lows. From her I learned the values of family and patience, and how to properly load a dishwasher (in-joke). Part of me remains sad it didn’t work out but I am glad we parted on good terms and remain friends to this day.

Speaking of friends – Stuart, Keith, Ian and William are mine – a constant source of laughter, support, ridicule, and beer. Our shared history grows richer even though we don’t see enough of each other. I take great comfort that whenever we are together, nothing really changes. They are my brothers, through thick and thin.

My girlfriend Kirsty. Part of me wishes I’d met her sooner. Despite only being together for a few years it feels like we’ve journeyed so so far. She has helped me get to know the real me, challenged me to be better, held me when I failed, and allowed me to support her and be part of her life. She is more amazing than she ever seems to realise and continues to surprise me. I know I wouldn’t be as happy as I am today without her.

My girlfriend Clare. When we first met I think both of us were a little caught out by how easy it seemed to be, how quickly we clicked. We may only have been together for a couple of years (almost) but she has helped me understand and embrace parts of my personality that I didn’t fully appreciate. I am lucky to be a part of her life.

And finally, but certainly not least, YOU dear reader.

I’ve made many friends in the 16 years I’ve been blogging, connections transferred from blogcircles to twitter, through blogmeets to weddings and beyond. I feel very lucky to still be in touch with so many people who all came together because of this strange hobby on the wonderfully weird world of the web.

Thank you, thank you, thank you all. I know I wouldn’t be me, without you.

I’ll stop now as I appear to have some dust or something in my eye…

June 3, 2015

16 years old

Every year this gets a bit scarier to admit.

16 years ago the internet was a small place, hand crafted HTML ruled the waves, and the surf was more a gentle swell than the tsunamis we now have to negotiate whenever we dip our toes.

Even now I’m still not sure how much of this hobby is vanity, how much is curiosity, how much is a desire for validation, nor how much it’s just because I can. It’s never been a focus, and that’s probably why I still do it.

I published my first piece of writing 16 years ago today.

That means, in the UK, my blog can now, in no particular order:

Drink beer or cider with a meal in a pub or hotel, but still can’t buy it.
Fly a glider.
Have sex, gay or straight, as long as the other blog is also 16+.
Join the armed forces.
Earn the minimum wage.
Choose a doctor.
Get married (with parental consent).

All of which is really, really weird.

June 2, 2015