Tag: Reflections

My home town of Dumbarton sits on the River Leven, the second fastest flowing river in Scotland, don’t ya know. The Leven is the main outlet from Loch Lomond and flows from the Loch down the valley, through my home town where it joins the mighty River Clyde.

The Clyde dominates the history and culture of Glasgow and the West of Scotland, the shipyards, the Cutty Sark (built in Dumbarton), a working class powerhouse. It’s only now, as a grown man, that I realise the history the river has played in my own life, but it all really starts at the tributary where the Leven meets the Clyde.

At that tributary is Levingrove Park, most often the sight of a hurtling golden retriever, crashing her way from car to water as fast as she could. The park isn’t far from the town centre so throughout my childhood and teenage years I was never that far from it. It has changed over the years but the layout remains the same, border by the Leven and the Clyde.

The Leven flows through Dumbarton, the high street car park sat on the banks and still suffers the occasional winter flood because of it. Lunches eaten by the riverside sound idyllic, but this was a 70s concrete place on the downturn, more often than not the next bench along were the town drunks, getting some fresh air before heading back into the bookies. The upside was the wide churning river, always alive, always moving as it flowed past with a quiet power.

When I was about 14, a friend took me fishing for the first time. That year the summer was dominated by hazy mornings and golden evenings on the Leven, exploring the quieter stretches, finding the hidden sand banks and deep pools, the gentle burble of the river around my waders as I clumsily flicked out a fly. Occasionally I even managed to catch a fish but those successes were few and far between and, looking back, I realise they weren’t really why I enjoyed it so much.

I have a tendency, when I get into something new, to throw myself in to the deep end, learn as much as I can and generally get my geek on – my recent aquarium adventures are an excellent example – so the entire spectrum of processes and gadgets and new things that spinning and fly fishing brought my way were fascinating.

The lurid lures, whizzing reels and the repetitive nature of spinning appealed, a simple and bait free way to fish. Just attach the lure (the spinner), cast it out and reel it back in past where you think a fish might be lurking.

Fly fishing was similar but more technical. The casting requires timing the back and forth of the line, feeling the subtle pull as it pulls out behind you on the back cast, the flick of a wrist sending it unfurling out on to the water, and if successful, to gently place the fly over the spot where you last saw a fish rise.

I even learned how to tie my own flies, practised the various knots and casting techniques, learned to spot good (fishy) water from bad (no fishy) water, and slowly honed down my enthusiastic purchases and collate of ‘stuff’ to a fairly streamlined setup that could mostly be contained in my fishing waistcoat.

A small bag housed a flask of hot chocolate (I was still naive to the wonders of caffeine), some soon to be squashed tuna paste and ketchup sandwiches, a bag of crisps and some form of chocolate bar.

That was all I needed; on weekends my friend and I would meet at the arranged time, hop on a train and travel up river, disembark and slowly fish our way back down until the sun was setting. On the occasional after school evening we’d grab our spinning rods and cycle down to the easier to access parts of the river in Dumbarton and spend the last few hours of sunlight trying to avoid snagging our lures on the logs and detrius accumulated on the river floor.

For me fishing was a quiet, contemplative hobby. Whilst I went fishing with my friend, the nature of fly fishing is solitary and at times, even though we were in a suburban area, the tranquility of the river was a wonderful solace.

The calming effect of water has remained with me through my adult years. Moving down south to a flat on the edge of a man-made lake, holidays to Spain and the rolling Meditteranean sea holding my attention for hours on end. It was the same beach I stood on as I mourned the death of my then mother-in-law, taken too soon.

Home again, the far reaches of the Clyde never far away, and on to a life rebuilt in Glasgow, cycling the (Forth & Clyde) canal path, and taking new partners to revisit the places of my childhood, the park and the Leven, Loch Lomond, the mighty Clyde.

I, I will be king
And you, you will be queen
Though nothing will drive them away
We can beat them, just for one day
We can be Heroes, just for one day

David Bowie – Heroes

I don’t think I’ve ever really looked at one person and identified them as a hero.

But I know many many people who are more heroic than they seem to realise.

Which is more heroic, to be the first man on the moon or the first woman in space?

To save a child from a burning building, or be able to get out of the house for the first time in a week?

To stand up in the face of ridicule and abuse, or to lavish praise on the pampered few who hold the spotlight of the media? Or to be considered pampered and hate every second of it.

Everyone is a hero in one way or another.

The scale does not go from 1 to 10.

I’d rather know 100 people who don’t think they are heroic, than 1 person who thinks they are.

I stumbled across an old post of mine the other day – one of those weird moments when you google something and your own site comes up – which discussed the idea that some of the basics of a profession were a given. They could, and should, rightfully be presumed.

It made me realise I do the same of others in my social life as well. I have some basic ideals that I hold true and, while I will challenge them and expect others to as well, I have an unwritten expectation that the people I engage with will hold those ideals, morals and notions, to similar standards as mine.

Wow, that sounds weirdly creepy to write.

I guess all I’m trying to say is that I do my best to be polite to everyone, I try and be considerate of others, and I try to be mindful of the company and surroundings that I am in. I tend to be drawn to people who hold those ideals to be true.

I don’t always get things right, I know I have said the wrong thing at times, or not considered the medium I’m using, and it’s backfired pretty badly on me. I don’t like it when that happens but I know that every time I screw up I learn from it.

And that is one of the things I hold as an ideal. Everyone fucks up, just try and learn from it.

Equally there are other things which aren’t really ideals, or morals, but still jar me to my core when I see them. Not in a big shocking way, these aren’t things that make me catch my breath and make my head spin, these illicit little more than a quiet resigned sigh.

I’m possibly too aware that what I’m about to say might make me sound like a snob but I’ll be honest. I don’t care.

One small example of the ‘quiet resigned sigh’ happened yesterday. Watching lazy Sunday morning TV and someone on-screen picked up their fork to eat, knuckles wrapped around the handle as they shovelled the food from plate to mouth.

OK, it’s a small (bad) example but as one of the myriad of tiny signals that our brains have to interpret I think it holds true. After all, isn’t it that kind of thing, alongwith more fundamental questions, are what guides us in our choice of friends and in the shape our social circles. The first small interactions start our brains on a path towards a decision, the way a phrase is constructed, the words and intonation used, the position of the eyes, the body language.

And that’s all before you start to get to know that person better, before you start to learn their likes and dislikes. Presuming you get that far, of course.

Where it gets interesting is when you find yourself overlooking a certain habit or trait and let someone be a part of your life. How do you decide? What factors drive you to accept one person but shun another?

I have no idea how I base my decisions in this area. Looking at my friends we come from similar backgrounds but in our formative years we all branched away and became very different people, yet as a group everything works because we have a set of core values that we all share (and no, it’s not just booze).

I’ll be honest, this isn’t something I’ve really questioned all that much but it does seem that over the past couple of years, as my polyamorous life has taken hold and I’ve made a concerted effort to simplify my life, I have made decisions based on these very sketchy outlines of what I consider to be morals, or ideals. Hell, I’m not even sure what the right word is.

Which I guess prompts the question, what are my ideals and morals? What values do I hold true to myself and of others? What is the right word?!

It turns out that ideals and morals are the right words.

It turns out that I don’t really have all that many in detail, and I’ve realised more and more that I like that. I like having that flexibility, I like that I tend not to judge people beyond a few basic principles (and how they hold their fork when eating, obv),

I like that I am open to learning about others, listening to them, and learning from them before I judge them.

And perhaps that is where I draw the line. Perhaps that is the idealistic morality I hold true and will judge others by.

If you aren’t willing to listen to others then, my friend, I don’t wanna know you.