PANIC ... the world as we know it is coming to an end ... or ... bugger, we're having a baby!

I have been a dad four times now, that’s quite a few times by average statistics which, I believe, gives me some authority to comment on the subject of parenting and, for the purpose of this blog entry, the last month before the baby is born.

OK, so we’ve got over the shock of discovering the pregnancy and for several weeks, not a lot happens. Actually, it’s fair to say that for those few weeks we sometimes doubt there is any baby at all until it say ‘hello’ on the ultrasound scan. Once we know it is really and is going to happen we do the gooey stuff, the potential name choosing, we will go through several before the birth. We’ll then be deciding where the baby is going to sleep, doing the usual jokes about who is now going to be called what, all the more fun for first time grandparents as they realise they are about to step up a generation. There is a period of ‘not a lot’ when there may be the occasional midwife appointment, possibly an antenatal appointment but really they are just to get on the system unless there is an issue with the pregnancy. By about 6 months though it all becomes about the mother. Dads can feel terribly left out, we have to fight to exist much of the time “HEY, IT’S MY BABY TOO”. It’s a horrible feeling. Trust me here, so much worse in the period when I was experiencing it. These days we have ‘parenting rooms’ back then it was all about ‘mothers rooms’ and ‘mother and toddler groups’. For me, well, I was married, that makes it easier because husband/fathers have automatic rights, have had for quite some time though much more so these days. Back in the late 80’s and early 90’s we did have to still push for dads to have the right to go with mums to antenatal appointments and, all too often, they were still asked to wait outside during examinations.

I cannot imagine my being able to cope, not even now and certainly not then, with being excluded from any part of my child’s‘ existence. In 1986 my fiance, pregnant with our eldest told me she really wasn’t certain she wanted to get married, couldn’t she just have the baby and she how she felt then? I could only think of one reaction and my viewpoint remains the same now as it was then. If you cannot commit to me as the father then I cannot be in the child’s‘ life knowing you can change your mind whenever you feel like it and take that child away from me. I could just about take the loss of an unborn child but could not imagine ever being able to cope with having a child I knew taken away from me. I fought for the right to be my children’s father, it meant that much to me. Clearly we did get married and the other three children followed. I have no regrets and their mum understands what I meant back in 1986.

With all the children, by the last month, at that period where Daisy is now and, where, as it happens, the baby would be described as ‘normal’ were she to give birth from any time onwards, things followed a pattern.

Yes, there are old wives tales which say, no preparation should be made for a baby before the birth as it is unlucky and certainly nothing should be brought into the house … yes, well, thank you old wives but there was a very good reason for that theory which is simply not the case now any more than it was back 20 years ago. The story originated during a time when child mortality was not good. A very high percentage of women did not carry to term. If they were premature the baby rarely survived. Of those who survived even at term, there was a high percentage of those who didn’t make it to their first birthday. They were the statistical facts and, precisely because of that, people naturally looked for anything they could do to increase the chance of having and keeping a healthy child. One possibility was that they were tempting fate by assuming everything would be OK so they took no chances and, hence, the old wives would argue, best not to make preparations for something which may not happen and certainly not to plan to far ahead. Again, considering the degree of poverty, no one could afford to invest in the future of a child who may not survive long … so, that’s the history of the tale and why I and anyone else should now put that one to rest and get on with things as they are in 2009.

On that note … it is part of nature with many mammals (that’s what we are by the way) to want to ‘nest’ prior to the arrival of their offspring. Now, clearly we don’t see elephants nipping into Mothercare (no, this is not because they don’t have any stores nearby), it is because we are unique among all species in that we have a concept of material things. Things we could survive without but which are ‘essential’ tools to us all the same. This considered, it is natural then for parents, not just mothers (unless we want to perpetuate this myth that only mothers form a bond with their child), so, parents should have that need to nest. In real terms this means, prepare the baby room for the baby. Get the cot, the buggy, the car seat, tons of nappies, volumes of products for cleaning, protecting and healing … clothes up to 6 months (they don’t know how big their baby will be), changing mats, toys, bottles, food, bouncers, walkers, things to help them about and things to stop them going places … hell, most of us have seen Mothercare, we know what it’s all about! So, this is what parents do in that last month, many start way before that.

For both parents the last month can seem like a lifetime. I can only describe it as having a ‘floating Christmas’ or, to put that in English, we know Christmas day is sometime this month, it could be tomorrow or it could be in 5 weeks, we have no idea. But, we do have to be ready for it when it happens and, we get virtually zero notice of just when that will be. The most amazing event ever, the birth of a child, and we can only ever have this vague idea of when it may be.

So, the time drags on and it becomes all the more important to make sure we are ready. Anything nagging in the back or our minds about what we may be missing and we are in real panic mode. Do we have enough nappies? Does the baby have enough to wear, do I have the cot set up right … hell, the list goes on loads.

In Daisy’s case, and I mean no disrespect to James here, as I said above, I can’t even start to comprehend how shit it must make him feel to know he will never have the sort of role with his child we all must want. But, with Daisy, she is waiting … yes, it is mainly my fault I fully accept that. But, the effect is the same. James has given a list of things he already has for the baby plus asked for and accepted a list of things he can get which still needs to be got. Because of that I am trying really hard to hold out buying what Daisy wants to give James the best chance possible to step up to his promises. It would be so easy for me to take Daisy out tomorrow and just buy what she needs, as it happens, I can afford it right now. But, is that fair on James? I don’t think so. I think it take away from him the chance to make his contribution. It’s not about ‘rights’, it’s about his feeling the need to care for his child. That said, there has to be a cut off time, quite simply put, we don’t know when this baby is going to be born, the things it needs it does need. Most certainly I think we are looking at a matter of a couple of weeks, no more before even I have to concede, perhaps this promised contribution is never going to turn up. Everyone else close to this baby has made a significant contribution especially my friends who have given up a small fortune they could have made by selling items in order to provide for this baby. James is in danger of feeling very left out simply because there will be nothing left to contribute.

James is not a bad person. I have always told him, and I meant it, he could be the sort of amazing father his never was. He has it within him if only someone he trusted was really guiding him along the right path. Social Services spend so much time hooked up on legalities that sometimes forget the humanity of a situation. This isn’t about anyone ‘winning’ anything because it cannot be. This child will exist, it will have loving parents and grandparents no matter what. James can, and we all hope, will, take a very full and active role in the life of this child, there is no reason why he should not. But, if the advice he is given is to fight legally for his rights I fear he has more to lose than to gain. It’s like when parents divorce. Most often they can sort access out between them but some stupid solicitor will advise they go for residency, make it all legal. Once that happens the bitterness starts, the dirt digging about the ‘other side’, the proving who is and isn’t suitable and, once that happens, actually working together as loving parents becomes all but impossible. In this situation James can have everything he wants, full access to the child, weekend visits, occasional holidays maybe … all he has to do, and this is a requirement he will no doubt hope for himself, is to grow up and put his child first. No social life, girlfriend, extended family member or, anything else (short of an emergency) should be thought of as more important than doing things for and spending time with our kids.

If I were where James is now I’d be putting by every penny I did not have real ‘need’ for and giving it to the mother or buying what my child needed without question. I’d be calling regularly to make sure those who would be caring for my child were all OK and knew I cared. I’d most certainly not do anything which even for one moment could encourage them to think I was not serious about my baby or that I would only ‘fit it in’ if I had nothing else I wanted to do. I’d never let myself open to claims that I was not contributing financially to the baby whilst spending my money on things for my own pleasure. ‘I’ would not do that and I appreciate that it is me and I am not perfect, I make loads of mistakes as well but that’s my feeling on things based on my own experience. I don’t ever want to watch Jeremy Kyle and find a lad on there who reminded me of James, James deserves better than that. I want him to let go the shit of his past and realise he’s his own person now with the right to decide for himself what is right for him and his baby. If he’s given advice, no matter who it is from (including me) and he feels it is not right, that he wants to do something different … do something different! Don’t ever allow himself to have regrets because of the things he did because someone told him he should. They don’t have to live with the consequences of those decisions, James does. It’s the same as when he and Daisy came to me with the new that she was pregnant. My first thought to myself was that I hoped Daisy would have an abortion as I thought and a huge emphasise on ‘I’ there, and abortion would be the simpler option. But, I was sure it was not my decision to make, only they could make that decision as they had to live with it. What should be happening now is that both Daisy and James are advised of the full range of their options open to them right now. It should not be clouded by prejudice or bias but pure information so they can make informed decisions. Decisions, incidentally, they should be talking about together as adults despite their ages. It worries me greatly that social workers are involved, they simply rarely have a full picture of a situation. They are only interested in a good paper outcome and that, quite often, is not the best outcome people could have got.

As I said earlier, legal action would be the worst possible for all involved with this baby. I can see at least one way and a few possible situations that everyone can come through this content they have the best possible situation for them.

Next week, we think, we have a meeting of everyone involved. I am not looking forward to it as I feel it is going to concentrate on the negative to the exclusion of the positive. That too much weight is going to be given to a perceived truth and, not enough to the reality of three people, James, Daisy and the baby who have a truth quite apart from what any of the social workers think they know. That if this is left to the social workers they are going to concentrate on ‘James, the victim’ of life who needs to be understood, to have allowances made and Daisy, the young single mother living with homosexuals who jumped straight into a relationship with another guy and who, incidentally, they actually no sod all else about. Neither of those perceptions about James and Daisy is right, both are reactions based on stereotypes. None of them will see what an amazing grown up person James can be with the right incentives, he is no longer a victim until social services or a family member puts him right back there. Daisy, like James, has had a tough life. It is no relaxing childhood to have two special needs siblings and especially only like her eldest brother. None of the social workers know about that let alone understand it. Daisy has been through a lot, a hell of a lot and yet, she is still coping well with pregnancy, putting her child first and is committed to education which may lead to a profitable careers and stable future for her and the child. How many single mothers can claim anything like that? James is 17, he had a very difficult childhood. I don’t think its fair for me to mention it here but it is fair to say he deserved much better than he got. But, he’s been allowed, as is the way of the care system, to get away with too much. To ‘play the system’ and play one person off against another which is all too common with those in long term care. All social services seem to be really interested in is ensuring they have as easy a role as possible and that invariably means, making allowances and given young adults under their care what ever they can get away with to keep them quiet until they can dump them on society totally unprepared for a world which does not make allowances for out difficult child hoods and which has no responsibility to give us anything. The system is sick and no one seems interested, as yet, in trying to heal it … I am trying in what small way I can but I am fighting a machine which ticks boxes. Their results don’t indicate the amount of best results they achieve for their clients but whether, or not, they did what they were expected to regardless of outcome. After all, if things go tits up when someone leaves care at 21, it’s all rather easy to blame the young person.

So, I guess this is a plea to anyone with a voice. Don’t let someone else make your decisions for you. If you are being pushed a route you don’t want to go, resist. Within the law, we can write out own rule book but that book must be agreed with all those we include within it else it won’t work. Those paid to give advice who cannot be sued, have no real incentive to give best possible advice for their client, only the advice which gives them the result ‘they’ want. If we went into a bank and asked for the best money making bank account we wouldn’t expect them to tell us about a better bank, we’d expect the product which gives them the best deal. That’s how advice works within social services, they are not always set up to give the client the best advice or to meet the needs of their client. They offer which resources they have available regardless of suitability and then convince clients it is their best, and worse, their only option. Vulnerable clients believe them and there is then no one to turn to when things don’t work out and social services (or whoever) claim they can prove they gave the best advice open to them.

I have made several complaints against social services which have been mainly upheld … that means, agreed with. Just because they are big and powerful, that doesn’t always make them right and when they are wrong, even if it doesn’t benefit us in any way, we need to challenge them just so as they don’t screw over anyone else the same way.

Oh dear, I am writing way too much, it is very nearly dinner time and I started this not long after lunch. Just maybe someone reads this, it makes sense and something changes. I hate living knowing I can help and not being able to.

PANIC ... the world as we know it is coming to an end ... or ... bugger, we're having a baby!

I have been a dad four times now, that’s quite a few times by average statistics which, I believe, gives me some authority to comment on the subject of parenting and, for the purpose of this blog entry, the last month before the baby is born.

OK, so we’ve got over the shock of discovering the pregnancy and for several weeks, not a lot happens. Actually, it’s fair to say that for those few weeks we sometimes doubt there is any baby at all until it say ‘hello’ on the ultrasound scan. Once we know it is really and is going to happen we do the gooey stuff, the potential name choosing, we will go through several before the birth. We’ll then be deciding where the baby is going to sleep, doing the usual jokes about who is now going to be called what, all the more fun for first time grandparents as they realise they are about to step up a generation. There is a period of ‘not a lot’ when there may be the occasional midwife appointment, possibly an antenatal appointment but really they are just to get on the system unless there is an issue with the pregnancy. By about 6 months though it all becomes about the mother. Dads can feel terribly left out, we have to fight to exist much of the time “HEY, IT’S MY BABY TOO”. It’s a horrible feeling. Trust me here, so much worse in the period when I was experiencing it. These days we have ‘parenting rooms’ back then it was all about ‘mothers rooms’ and ‘mother and toddler groups’. For me, well, I was married, that makes it easier because husband/fathers have automatic rights, have had for quite some time though much more so these days. Back in the late 80’s and early 90’s we did have to still push for dads to have the right to go with mums to antenatal appointments and, all too often, they were still asked to wait outside during examinations.

I cannot imagine my being able to cope, not even now and certainly not then, with being excluded from any part of my child’s‘ existence. In 1986 my fiance, pregnant with our eldest told me she really wasn’t certain she wanted to get married, couldn’t she just have the baby and she how she felt then? I could only think of one reaction and my viewpoint remains the same now as it was then. If you cannot commit to me as the father then I cannot be in the child’s‘ life knowing you can change your mind whenever you feel like it and take that child away from me. I could just about take the loss of an unborn child but could not imagine ever being able to cope with having a child I knew taken away from me. I fought for the right to be my children’s father, it meant that much to me. Clearly we did get married and the other three children followed. I have no regrets and their mum understands what I meant back in 1986.

With all the children, by the last month, at that period where Daisy is now and, where, as it happens, the baby would be described as ‘normal’ were she to give birth from any time onwards, things followed a pattern.

Yes, there are old wives tales which say, no preparation should be made for a baby before the birth as it is unlucky and certainly nothing should be brought into the house … yes, well, thank you old wives but there was a very good reason for that theory which is simply not the case now any more than it was back 20 years ago. The story originated during a time when child mortality was not good. A very high percentage of women did not carry to term. If they were premature the baby rarely survived. Of those who survived even at term, there was a high percentage of those who didn’t make it to their first birthday. They were the statistical facts and, precisely because of that, people naturally looked for anything they could do to increase the chance of having and keeping a healthy child. One possibility was that they were tempting fate by assuming everything would be OK so they took no chances and, hence, the old wives would argue, best not to make preparations for something which may not happen and certainly not to plan to far ahead. Again, considering the degree of poverty, no one could afford to invest in the future of a child who may not survive long … so, that’s the history of the tale and why I and anyone else should now put that one to rest and get on with things as they are in 2009.

On that note … it is part of nature with many mammals (that’s what we are by the way) to want to ‘nest’ prior to the arrival of their offspring. Now, clearly we don’t see elephants nipping into Mothercare (no, this is not because they don’t have any stores nearby), it is because we are unique among all species in that we have a concept of material things. Things we could survive without but which are ‘essential’ tools to us all the same. This considered, it is natural then for parents, not just mothers (unless we want to perpetuate this myth that only mothers form a bond with their child), so, parents should have that need to nest. In real terms this means, prepare the baby room for the baby. Get the cot, the buggy, the car seat, tons of nappies, volumes of products for cleaning, protecting and healing … clothes up to 6 months (they don’t know how big their baby will be), changing mats, toys, bottles, food, bouncers, walkers, things to help them about and things to stop them going places … hell, most of us have seen Mothercare, we know what it’s all about! So, this is what parents do in that last month, many start way before that.

For both parents the last month can seem like a lifetime. I can only describe it as having a ‘floating Christmas’ or, to put that in English, we know Christmas day is sometime this month, it could be tomorrow or it could be in 5 weeks, we have no idea. But, we do have to be ready for it when it happens and, we get virtually zero notice of just when that will be. The most amazing event ever, the birth of a child, and we can only ever have this vague idea of when it may be.

So, the time drags on and it becomes all the more important to make sure we are ready. Anything nagging in the back or our minds about what we may be missing and we are in real panic mode. Do we have enough nappies? Does the baby have enough to wear, do I have the cot set up right … hell, the list goes on loads.

In Daisy’s case, and I mean no disrespect to James here, as I said above, I can’t even start to comprehend how shit it must make him feel to know he will never have the sort of role with his child we all must want. But, with Daisy, she is waiting … yes, it is mainly my fault I fully accept that. But, the effect is the same. James has given a list of things he already has for the baby plus asked for and accepted a list of things he can get which still needs to be got. Because of that I am trying really hard to hold out buying what Daisy wants to give James the best chance possible to step up to his promises. It would be so easy for me to take Daisy out tomorrow and just buy what she needs, as it happens, I can afford it right now. But, is that fair on James? I don’t think so. I think it take away from him the chance to make his contribution. It’s not about ‘rights’, it’s about his feeling the need to care for his child. That said, there has to be a cut off time, quite simply put, we don’t know when this baby is going to be born, the things it needs it does need. Most certainly I think we are looking at a matter of a couple of weeks, no more before even I have to concede, perhaps this promised contribution is never going to turn up. Everyone else close to this baby has made a significant contribution especially my friends who have given up a small fortune they could have made by selling items in order to provide for this baby. James is in danger of feeling very left out simply because there will be nothing left to contribute.

James is not a bad person. I have always told him, and I meant it, he could be the sort of amazing father his never was. He has it within him if only someone he trusted was really guiding him along the right path. Social Services spend so much time hooked up on legalities that sometimes forget the humanity of a situation. This isn’t about anyone ‘winning’ anything because it cannot be. This child will exist, it will have loving parents and grandparents no matter what. James can, and we all hope, will, take a very full and active role in the life of this child, there is no reason why he should not. But, if the advice he is given is to fight legally for his rights I fear he has more to lose than to gain. It’s like when parents divorce. Most often they can sort access out between them but some stupid solicitor will advise they go for residency, make it all legal. Once that happens the bitterness starts, the dirt digging about the ‘other side’, the proving who is and isn’t suitable and, once that happens, actually working together as loving parents becomes all but impossible. In this situation James can have everything he wants, full access to the child, weekend visits, occasional holidays maybe … all he has to do, and this is a requirement he will no doubt hope for himself, is to grow up and put his child first. No social life, girlfriend, extended family member or, anything else (short of an emergency) should be thought of as more important than doing things for and spending time with our kids.

If I were where James is now I’d be putting by every penny I did not have real ‘need’ for and giving it to the mother or buying what my child needed without question. I’d be calling regularly to make sure those who would be caring for my child were all OK and knew I cared. I’d most certainly not do anything which even for one moment could encourage them to think I was not serious about my baby or that I would only ‘fit it in’ if I had nothing else I wanted to do. I’d never let myself open to claims that I was not contributing financially to the baby whilst spending my money on things for my own pleasure. ‘I’ would not do that and I appreciate that it is me and I am not perfect, I make loads of mistakes as well but that’s my feeling on things based on my own experience. I don’t ever want to watch Jeremy Kyle and find a lad on there who reminded me of James, James deserves better than that. I want him to let go the shit of his past and realise he’s his own person now with the right to decide for himself what is right for him and his baby. If he’s given advice, no matter who it is from (including me) and he feels it is not right, that he wants to do something different … do something different! Don’t ever allow himself to have regrets because of the things he did because someone told him he should. They don’t have to live with the consequences of those decisions, James does. It’s the same as when he and Daisy came to me with the new that she was pregnant. My first thought to myself was that I hoped Daisy would have an abortion as I thought and a huge emphasise on ‘I’ there, and abortion would be the simpler option. But, I was sure it was not my decision to make, only they could make that decision as they had to live with it. What should be happening now is that both Daisy and James are advised of the full range of their options open to them right now. It should not be clouded by prejudice or bias but pure information so they can make informed decisions. Decisions, incidentally, they should be talking about together as adults despite their ages. It worries me greatly that social workers are involved, they simply rarely have a full picture of a situation. They are only interested in a good paper outcome and that, quite often, is not the best outcome people could have got.

As I said earlier, legal action would be the worst possible for all involved with this baby. I can see at least one way and a few possible situations that everyone can come through this content they have the best possible situation for them.

Next week, we think, we have a meeting of everyone involved. I am not looking forward to it as I feel it is going to concentrate on the negative to the exclusion of the positive. That too much weight is going to be given to a perceived truth and, not enough to the reality of three people, James, Daisy and the baby who have a truth quite apart from what any of the social workers think they know. That if this is left to the social workers they are going to concentrate on ‘James, the victim’ of life who needs to be understood, to have allowances made and Daisy, the young single mother living with homosexuals who jumped straight into a relationship with another guy and who, incidentally, they actually no sod all else about. Neither of those perceptions about James and Daisy is right, both are reactions based on stereotypes. None of them will see what an amazing grown up person James can be with the right incentives, he is no longer a victim until social services or a family member puts him right back there. Daisy, like James, has had a tough life. It is no relaxing childhood to have two special needs siblings and especially only like her eldest brother. None of the social workers know about that let alone understand it. Daisy has been through a lot, a hell of a lot and yet, she is still coping well with pregnancy, putting her child first and is committed to education which may lead to a profitable careers and stable future for her and the child. How many single mothers can claim anything like that? James is 17, he had a very difficult childhood. I don’t think its fair for me to mention it here but it is fair to say he deserved much better than he got. But, he’s been allowed, as is the way of the care system, to get away with too much. To ‘play the system’ and play one person off against another which is all too common with those in long term care. All social services seem to be really interested in is ensuring they have as easy a role as possible and that invariably means, making allowances and given young adults under their care what ever they can get away with to keep them quiet until they can dump them on society totally unprepared for a world which does not make allowances for out difficult child hoods and which has no responsibility to give us anything. The system is sick and no one seems interested, as yet, in trying to heal it … I am trying in what small way I can but I am fighting a machine which ticks boxes. Their results don’t indicate the amount of best results they achieve for their clients but whether, or not, they did what they were expected to regardless of outcome. After all, if things go tits up when someone leaves care at 21, it’s all rather easy to blame the young person.

So, I guess this is a plea to anyone with a voice. Don’t let someone else make your decisions for you. If you are being pushed a route you don’t want to go, resist. Within the law, we can write out own rule book but that book must be agreed with all those we include within it else it won’t work. Those paid to give advice who cannot be sued, have no real incentive to give best possible advice for their client, only the advice which gives them the result ‘they’ want. If we went into a bank and asked for the best money making bank account we wouldn’t expect them to tell us about a better bank, we’d expect the product which gives them the best deal. That’s how advice works within social services, they are not always set up to give the client the best advice or to meet the needs of their client. They offer which resources they have available regardless of suitability and then convince clients it is their best, and worse, their only option. Vulnerable clients believe them and there is then no one to turn to when things don’t work out and social services (or whoever) claim they can prove they gave the best advice open to them.

I have made several complaints against social services which have been mainly upheld … that means, agreed with. Just because they are big and powerful, that doesn’t always make them right and when they are wrong, even if it doesn’t benefit us in any way, we need to challenge them just so as they don’t screw over anyone else the same way.

Oh dear, I am writing way too much, it is very nearly dinner time and I started this not long after lunch. Just maybe someone reads this, it makes sense and something changes. I hate living knowing I can help and not being able to.

RIP ... just the thought of the day, don't panic

Was just on Facebook (no, I don’t live there). Someone commented about the passing of a friend and then, as people do, added the letters: RIP.

It got me to thinking, do I, would I want to? It’s like we have eternity to exist somewhere (if we believe such things) so, would we really want to be resting in peace or would we, perhaps, want to be a little outrageous occasionally?. I almost said “live it up” but, given the circumstances, that would be inappropriate. Don’t get me wrong, those very rare moments in my life (I can count them) when I have totally rested and been peaceful have been truly amazing. I am not talented enough with words to even start to describe my feelings at the time but, thankfully, I can feel them right now whilst writing this so at least ‘I know’ even if I cannot hope to convey it to you. So, I know the feeling but … would they be special moments if they lasted an eternity? Just that thought for a bit there did seem somewhere appealing given my current circumstances but my brain is somewhere screaming out at me that if I lose sight of the alternative, such that I have now, would I appreciate the peace? My guess is, I would soon get accustomed to it and then be looking for more out of … death. So, if I should expire, naturally or otherwise (that really is ‘when’), can I ask … don’t say RIP, say, ‘Be Happy’ instead because that, I am quite certain, would be an eternity to look forward to.

I was going to add something else on to this entry but, really, it belongs in an entry on its own.

RIP ... just the thought of the day, don't panic

Was just on Facebook (no, I don’t live there). Someone commented about the passing of a friend and then, as people do, added the letters: RIP.

It got me to thinking, do I, would I want to? It’s like we have eternity to exist somewhere (if we believe such things) so, would we really want to be resting in peace or would we, perhaps, want to be a little outrageous occasionally?. I almost said “live it up” but, given the circumstances, that would be inappropriate. Don’t get me wrong, those very rare moments in my life (I can count them) when I have totally rested and been peaceful have been truly amazing. I am not talented enough with words to even start to describe my feelings at the time but, thankfully, I can feel them right now whilst writing this so at least ‘I know’ even if I cannot hope to convey it to you. So, I know the feeling but … would they be special moments if they lasted an eternity? Just that thought for a bit there did seem somewhere appealing given my current circumstances but my brain is somewhere screaming out at me that if I lose sight of the alternative, such that I have now, would I appreciate the peace? My guess is, I would soon get accustomed to it and then be looking for more out of … death. So, if I should expire, naturally or otherwise (that really is ‘when’), can I ask … don’t say RIP, say, ‘Be Happy’ instead because that, I am quite certain, would be an eternity to look forward to.

I was going to add something else on to this entry but, really, it belongs in an entry on its own.

Casualy

Damn, has it finished? Two o my favourite TV programmes right now are Casualty and Holby City. I enjoy the dramatic escapism they offer. Unlike ‘Eastenders‘ or other soaps, with those I am not sitting there thinking to myself … “I so know how that feels … and they’ve got it easy!”

You see, with my life, were it the script of a soap it would be rejected by the producers as ‘too implausible‘.

Being surrounded by so many 16-17 year olds right now gets me thinking back to when I was that age, what was it really like? Yes, it is true, everything was in black and white and it was tough having to manage until electricity had been invented but we didn’t have long to wait and then there was the telephone and cars, yes, things were really happening when I was a mid-teen!

But seriously, I am ‘only’ 46. If you, dear reader, are 60+ then you will know that 30 years ago is a blink of the eye. If, as is probably the case, you are under 20, then you have no possible concept of 30 years so I ask, trust me on this one, you will some day look back 30 years and ask yourself … how the fuck did that happen?

When I was 16 it was 1979. The Conservative party had just started what was about to be over a decade of totally screwing the country up and changing the attitude of everyone, for the worse, quite possibly for ever. It was in 1979 that Margaret Thatcher declared that it is each for their own, there is no such thing as society … or words which meant the same thing. It was from 1979 onwards that the ‘chav‘ was created because responsibility towards others was discouraged by the government. It is when those on benefits became scroungers, the lowest of the low. When the working person became expendable and lost their working right to a secure position … but that’s the politics of the time.

What did 1979 mean to me? Well, clearly I could not have known what was in store from the politics, that was just the start of it … no, for me it was exam year at school. We didn’t have GCSE’s then, we had two separate exams depending on how clever we were deemed to be. There was the CSE for the less clever and then the ‘O’ level for those expected to go to college and university. It may have to understand the CSE if we have it explained that the ‘O’ stands for ‘ordinary’. So, if those attaining that qualification are ‘ordinary’ then it stands to reason what those getting CSE’s were, less than ordinary. What a horrible stigma to place on kids at such a terrible period in their life as adolescence. I got a whole bundle of CSE’s and two ‘O’ levels. I had greater ability, that much was certain but, my teachers always said, and they were right, “Could do better, cannot handle the pressure of exams”.

This was another difference too of course, these days, with your GCSE’s you have course work which counts for something. So, if you are one of those who is terrible at exams and just loses everything as soon as someone places paper in front of you, there is still a reasonable chance of getting an acceptable result, you have it so much easier. My course work alone would have got me some ‘O’ levels but, you know what happened to course work in 1979? It was chucked in the bin, it was useless as anything other than a self written text book.

Through those formative years of body change I was bullied horribly. So common was my experience it was everyday life for me. It was never something I could get used to or which got any easier, more it was like the diabetic who injects 4 times a day, it was just something which I had to endure. The bullying did not stop in the playground, it continued at home too. My sister was a horrible elder sister who relished, it seemed to me, nothing more than to see me upset. It was a small blessing when, in 1980, she left home. That just left my dad to continue the home bullying. Oh, he meant it for the best, to toughen me up, to try and make me grow up but, even so, the effect was the same. No one ever asked what the problem was, they probably didn‘t want to know. I remember mum, several years earlier did go up the school to try and resolve it but it was hopeless. ‘We don’t have bullying in this school’. would be the reply and there was no one else to turn to. Of course, this was the 1970’s and bullying was seen as a way to toughen a boy up, make a man of him. If he fought back then he’d finally reach enlightenment. Well, trust me on this one, that may work when a boy has a group of friends as is of average build. It does not apply to the loner who, because of the bullying, cannot relate to other boy and certainly doesn’t trust them. It most certainly doesn’t apply to the boy who is a good 6 inches shorter than all his attackers! Fighting back increased the justification and fun element of the bullies as did crying. All I was able to do, to preserve what sanity I had left, was to quietly take it. This strangely won me some respect amongst the bullies, not enough to stop them but it was just something …

I left school in 1979, a physical end of the school bully period but, in my head, the damage would last for at last the next 15 years or so.

What was I like at 16?

I still played with toys, I would sit at the top of the stairs for hours playing with my cars imagining a secret world of ‘ordinary’ where nothing dramatic happened, where there was no bullying, no pressure, where it was OK to be an ordinary imaginary person leading an ordinary unremarkable life. I had two friends, I had known both all my life. They both had other friends and I remember a tremendous feeling of rejection if they were busy or with someone else. Only one of those friends would last beyond the end of the decade as a close friend and, I am happy to say, I still talk to him to this day. Other friendships developed around this time with friends of friends, with me being part of the group of what must have seemed even back then as, the weirdos. All except one, I never understood why he hung around with us. He was very normal for the late 70’s. Blonde, long hair, around 5′ 11″, fit. He could have been with the other guys yet, he was with us. To be fair, we were drinking pals, it’s what we did. We were way too young of course but we’d still be down the pub every Saturday. As kids we got to know the pubs who had visual impairment when it came to the apparent age of their customers.

I am thinking now, what was going through my head at the time, when I was out with those guys. Certainly there were the gay thoughts, there was most certainly nothing wrong with my sex drive, I was a horny little bugger all right … shame it’d be another 4 years before I would get to enjoy sex with someone else. At 16 I didn’t have the bottle to ask someone out, no way another boy and, remember, none of this stuff that you kids out there have today of no one seemingly caring who you start having sex with at 14! For me, at 16, gay sex would be most definitely illegal for another 5 years. I could be arrested for so much as suggesting it to another boy, and yes, boys were locked up for it, put in the care system. Being gay was NOT an option any other way than in my fantasies. So, leaving the sexual thoughts to one side … I enjoyed those drinking sessions. I remember strong feelings of not belonging, that I simply didn’t have anything interesting to say. Well, back to the sex again, the other lads had been having sex, or so they said, for quite some time. They had opinions of tits and fannies, things I could not share. I sat there, and I smiled and laughed, contributed virtually nothing that I can remember, I have no memory of anything other than the occasional utterance. It was fun but lonely.

At my best friends house I was able to be me, slightly mad but as near to a ‘normal’ teenager as I ever got.

I started work that year as well, on July 2nd. I travelled over 10 miles to work in London from where I lived at that time. Those journeys were mostly alone. Occasionally I’d bash into someone I knew from school and we’d have that awkward chat that people who realise they know nothing about each other have. All made so much worse because, at that age, we really didn’t understand or have enough experience of anything interesting to talk about. Think about this … we had TV with 3 channels, yes 3! Only two of those ever had anything for younger people on. For the latest music we had the BBC doing ‘Top of the Pops’ which, as the name suggests, did chart stuff and it was truly dire as a programme. Just about every artist on the show mimed and most made no attempt to cover the fact. For ‘alternative’ music there was a very late night programme called ‘The Old Grey Whistle Test’ but this was very late night and was ‘very’ alternative. At the time, punk was alternative and there was also heavy metal, hard rock and a few others, none of them got air time. To hear that sort of thing a person would need to listen to the radio … this is before ‘FM’ even. Yes, it existed and there were shows broadcast in it but what we really had was ‘AM’ through tinny little transistor radios, as they were called which ate batteries. It was all ‘mono’ of course. Only the commercial stations played anything other than chart stuff. Even the illegal pirate radio was hardly cutting edge. It didn’t much matter anyhow. My opinion was something I considered so lowly as to be of no interest to anyone else. Girls liked bands because the boys in them were cute. Boys had to like what other boys liked which generally meant, I chose not to show an interest in the stuff performed by cute boys yet was incapable of showing an interest in the crap many of the boys were listening to. Let’s think who that may have been … Thin Lizzy, Status Quo, Pink Floyd, Van Halen, AC/DC, Aerosmith, Rolling Stones, The Police … to name but a few. There was another dilemma, much of what I liked guys my age didn’t like. Who would not have loved Aerosmith (except just about every other 16 year old boy). Queen were amazing but, no one I worked with would have thought so. I tried mentioning it but it was obvious I was rather weird for liking them. You see, intelligent, university types liked that sort of music. Guys my age at work were obviously not that type of person else we’d be at college and uni so I was stuck with air heads. To dare mention what I really liked I had to seek out older people, not easy at 16 to get intelligent older people to talk and, especially for me who was painfully shy and insecure.

It is totally, 100% fair to say that when I was 16-17 I didn’t have anyone to open up to, anyone with whom I could be myself and relax. I was scared, I knew I knew so little and yet, I was expected to fit in with everyone else and get things right. It was scary doing just about anything because, unlike now when I can just about tell the various likely outcomes of my actions, back then I didn’t have a clue. All I could do was know what I thought my outcome could be and use the very limited tools I had to try and achieve it. More often than not I’d screw it up, look like a total arse and do damage, mainly to myself, it’d take me an age to recover from because, again, I didn’t have the tools to deal with it. Dad, as dads did at this time, expected me to just tough it out and work things out for myself. I don’t know if he never noticed or chose not to notice how much of an emotional mess I was. I think mum may have known something was not right but, if she did, she never said anything as I can recall. As an added disadvantage, it would be another two years, when I was 18, before someone would confess to me at the hospital that I really should have been wearing a hearing aid for most of my life but even then, the NHS only provided one when the hearing loss was equal in both ears. It would not be until my mid 20’s before I’d have the ability hear in both ears restored in the way that the technology of the time was capable of doing.

I had no adult to turn to for advice, to guide me through what must be a difficult time for any teen. That realisation that we just don’t know enough to deal with every situation is dead scary. It’s when many get the advice from someone older, quite often, not amazing advice seeing as they probably don’t know shit either but it’s a start, a burden shared. Bringing it up to 2009 for a moment, maybe that is why have this need to not give up on young guys particularly, because there was no one there for me, I just want to help their passage into adulthood as much as I can. Of one thing I am absolutely certain, it isn’t sexual. Helping others and seeing results is helping that scared little boy from 1979-80. He’s still there within me, he will probably never go away, the memories are too strong and too painful. With age I learnt the tools I needed to deal with life. I come across often as controlling. I’m not, what I am is determined. If I see someone about to screw up I find it near impossible to let them. I don’t want someone else feeling as I still do.

I’m happy enough, most of the time, but life has been a bitch at times. For every amazing event there has been several crap events to more than compensate, to keep my feet firmly planted in this reality which is my life which, were it a soap, would remain, totally implausible.

Casualy

Damn, has it finished? Two o my favourite TV programmes right now are Casualty and Holby City. I enjoy the dramatic escapism they offer. Unlike ‘Eastenders‘ or other soaps, with those I am not sitting there thinking to myself … “I so know how that feels … and they’ve got it easy!”

You see, with my life, were it the script of a soap it would be rejected by the producers as ‘too implausible‘.

Being surrounded by so many 16-17 year olds right now gets me thinking back to when I was that age, what was it really like? Yes, it is true, everything was in black and white and it was tough having to manage until electricity had been invented but we didn’t have long to wait and then there was the telephone and cars, yes, things were really happening when I was a mid-teen!

But seriously, I am ‘only’ 46. If you, dear reader, are 60+ then you will know that 30 years ago is a blink of the eye. If, as is probably the case, you are under 20, then you have no possible concept of 30 years so I ask, trust me on this one, you will some day look back 30 years and ask yourself … how the fuck did that happen?

When I was 16 it was 1979. The Conservative party had just started what was about to be over a decade of totally screwing the country up and changing the attitude of everyone, for the worse, quite possibly for ever. It was in 1979 that Margaret Thatcher declared that it is each for their own, there is no such thing as society … or words which meant the same thing. It was from 1979 onwards that the ‘chav‘ was created because responsibility towards others was discouraged by the government. It is when those on benefits became scroungers, the lowest of the low. When the working person became expendable and lost their working right to a secure position … but that’s the politics of the time.

What did 1979 mean to me? Well, clearly I could not have known what was in store from the politics, that was just the start of it … no, for me it was exam year at school. We didn’t have GCSE’s then, we had two separate exams depending on how clever we were deemed to be. There was the CSE for the less clever and then the ‘O’ level for those expected to go to college and university. It may have to understand the CSE if we have it explained that the ‘O’ stands for ‘ordinary’. So, if those attaining that qualification are ‘ordinary’ then it stands to reason what those getting CSE’s were, less than ordinary. What a horrible stigma to place on kids at such a terrible period in their life as adolescence. I got a whole bundle of CSE’s and two ‘O’ levels. I had greater ability, that much was certain but, my teachers always said, and they were right, “Could do better, cannot handle the pressure of exams”.

This was another difference too of course, these days, with your GCSE’s you have course work which counts for something. So, if you are one of those who is terrible at exams and just loses everything as soon as someone places paper in front of you, there is still a reasonable chance of getting an acceptable result, you have it so much easier. My course work alone would have got me some ‘O’ levels but, you know what happened to course work in 1979? It was chucked in the bin, it was useless as anything other than a self written text book.

Through those formative years of body change I was bullied horribly. So common was my experience it was everyday life for me. It was never something I could get used to or which got any easier, more it was like the diabetic who injects 4 times a day, it was just something which I had to endure. The bullying did not stop in the playground, it continued at home too. My sister was a horrible elder sister who relished, it seemed to me, nothing more than to see me upset. It was a small blessing when, in 1980, she left home. That just left my dad to continue the home bullying. Oh, he meant it for the best, to toughen me up, to try and make me grow up but, even so, the effect was the same. No one ever asked what the problem was, they probably didn‘t want to know. I remember mum, several years earlier did go up the school to try and resolve it but it was hopeless. ‘We don’t have bullying in this school’. would be the reply and there was no one else to turn to. Of course, this was the 1970’s and bullying was seen as a way to toughen a boy up, make a man of him. If he fought back then he’d finally reach enlightenment. Well, trust me on this one, that may work when a boy has a group of friends as is of average build. It does not apply to the loner who, because of the bullying, cannot relate to other boy and certainly doesn’t trust them. It most certainly doesn’t apply to the boy who is a good 6 inches shorter than all his attackers! Fighting back increased the justification and fun element of the bullies as did crying. All I was able to do, to preserve what sanity I had left, was to quietly take it. This strangely won me some respect amongst the bullies, not enough to stop them but it was just something …

I left school in 1979, a physical end of the school bully period but, in my head, the damage would last for at last the next 15 years or so.

What was I like at 16?

I still played with toys, I would sit at the top of the stairs for hours playing with my cars imagining a secret world of ‘ordinary’ where nothing dramatic happened, where there was no bullying, no pressure, where it was OK to be an ordinary imaginary person leading an ordinary unremarkable life. I had two friends, I had known both all my life. They both had other friends and I remember a tremendous feeling of rejection if they were busy or with someone else. Only one of those friends would last beyond the end of the decade as a close friend and, I am happy to say, I still talk to him to this day. Other friendships developed around this time with friends of friends, with me being part of the group of what must have seemed even back then as, the weirdos. All except one, I never understood why he hung around with us. He was very normal for the late 70’s. Blonde, long hair, around 5′ 11″, fit. He could have been with the other guys yet, he was with us. To be fair, we were drinking pals, it’s what we did. We were way too young of course but we’d still be down the pub every Saturday. As kids we got to know the pubs who had visual impairment when it came to the apparent age of their customers.

I am thinking now, what was going through my head at the time, when I was out with those guys. Certainly there were the gay thoughts, there was most certainly nothing wrong with my sex drive, I was a horny little bugger all right … shame it’d be another 4 years before I would get to enjoy sex with someone else. At 16 I didn’t have the bottle to ask someone out, no way another boy and, remember, none of this stuff that you kids out there have today of no one seemingly caring who you start having sex with at 14! For me, at 16, gay sex would be most definitely illegal for another 5 years. I could be arrested for so much as suggesting it to another boy, and yes, boys were locked up for it, put in the care system. Being gay was NOT an option any other way than in my fantasies. So, leaving the sexual thoughts to one side … I enjoyed those drinking sessions. I remember strong feelings of not belonging, that I simply didn’t have anything interesting to say. Well, back to the sex again, the other lads had been having sex, or so they said, for quite some time. They had opinions of tits and fannies, things I could not share. I sat there, and I smiled and laughed, contributed virtually nothing that I can remember, I have no memory of anything other than the occasional utterance. It was fun but lonely.

At my best friends house I was able to be me, slightly mad but as near to a ‘normal’ teenager as I ever got.

I started work that year as well, on July 2nd. I travelled over 10 miles to work in London from where I lived at that time. Those journeys were mostly alone. Occasionally I’d bash into someone I knew from school and we’d have that awkward chat that people who realise they know nothing about each other have. All made so much worse because, at that age, we really didn’t understand or have enough experience of anything interesting to talk about. Think about this … we had TV with 3 channels, yes 3! Only two of those ever had anything for younger people on. For the latest music we had the BBC doing ‘Top of the Pops’ which, as the name suggests, did chart stuff and it was truly dire as a programme. Just about every artist on the show mimed and most made no attempt to cover the fact. For ‘alternative’ music there was a very late night programme called ‘The Old Grey Whistle Test’ but this was very late night and was ‘very’ alternative. At the time, punk was alternative and there was also heavy metal, hard rock and a few others, none of them got air time. To hear that sort of thing a person would need to listen to the radio … this is before ‘FM’ even. Yes, it existed and there were shows broadcast in it but what we really had was ‘AM’ through tinny little transistor radios, as they were called which ate batteries. It was all ‘mono’ of course. Only the commercial stations played anything other than chart stuff. Even the illegal pirate radio was hardly cutting edge. It didn’t much matter anyhow. My opinion was something I considered so lowly as to be of no interest to anyone else. Girls liked bands because the boys in them were cute. Boys had to like what other boys liked which generally meant, I chose not to show an interest in the stuff performed by cute boys yet was incapable of showing an interest in the crap many of the boys were listening to. Let’s think who that may have been … Thin Lizzy, Status Quo, Pink Floyd, Van Halen, AC/DC, Aerosmith, Rolling Stones, The Police … to name but a few. There was another dilemma, much of what I liked guys my age didn’t like. Who would not have loved Aerosmith (except just about every other 16 year old boy). Queen were amazing but, no one I worked with would have thought so. I tried mentioning it but it was obvious I was rather weird for liking them. You see, intelligent, university types liked that sort of music. Guys my age at work were obviously not that type of person else we’d be at college and uni so I was stuck with air heads. To dare mention what I really liked I had to seek out older people, not easy at 16 to get intelligent older people to talk and, especially for me who was painfully shy and insecure.

It is totally, 100% fair to say that when I was 16-17 I didn’t have anyone to open up to, anyone with whom I could be myself and relax. I was scared, I knew I knew so little and yet, I was expected to fit in with everyone else and get things right. It was scary doing just about anything because, unlike now when I can just about tell the various likely outcomes of my actions, back then I didn’t have a clue. All I could do was know what I thought my outcome could be and use the very limited tools I had to try and achieve it. More often than not I’d screw it up, look like a total arse and do damage, mainly to myself, it’d take me an age to recover from because, again, I didn’t have the tools to deal with it. Dad, as dads did at this time, expected me to just tough it out and work things out for myself. I don’t know if he never noticed or chose not to notice how much of an emotional mess I was. I think mum may have known something was not right but, if she did, she never said anything as I can recall. As an added disadvantage, it would be another two years, when I was 18, before someone would confess to me at the hospital that I really should have been wearing a hearing aid for most of my life but even then, the NHS only provided one when the hearing loss was equal in both ears. It would not be until my mid 20’s before I’d have the ability hear in both ears restored in the way that the technology of the time was capable of doing.

I had no adult to turn to for advice, to guide me through what must be a difficult time for any teen. That realisation that we just don’t know enough to deal with every situation is dead scary. It’s when many get the advice from someone older, quite often, not amazing advice seeing as they probably don’t know shit either but it’s a start, a burden shared. Bringing it up to 2009 for a moment, maybe that is why have this need to not give up on young guys particularly, because there was no one there for me, I just want to help their passage into adulthood as much as I can. Of one thing I am absolutely certain, it isn’t sexual. Helping others and seeing results is helping that scared little boy from 1979-80. He’s still there within me, he will probably never go away, the memories are too strong and too painful. With age I learnt the tools I needed to deal with life. I come across often as controlling. I’m not, what I am is determined. If I see someone about to screw up I find it near impossible to let them. I don’t want someone else feeling as I still do.

I’m happy enough, most of the time, but life has been a bitch at times. For every amazing event there has been several crap events to more than compensate, to keep my feet firmly planted in this reality which is my life which, were it a soap, would remain, totally implausible.

UK vs USA

OK, in the UK we have a 5 bedroom house, in the US we had a 4 bedroom house. Take a look at the pictures, I rest my case.

In the US it was 28°C at it#s lowest point, in the UK, it is 23°C at it’s hottest point (12°C at the coldest), yes. my case is rested there.

In the UK we went out earlier, bought a few drinks, it cost a small fortune … in the US we went out, bought a few drinks, it was reasonable and we had unlimited refils. Hmm, case rested there.

When in the US the staff in stores always greet customers as they walk in and ask if there is anything they need, in the UK earlier, I went in several stores and was totally ignored whilst they continued their private chats., Case decided there on the grounds of retail customer service.

In the US they wait in stores for customers to enter and seem like they welcome customers … over here they stand in the doorway having a smoke … another case lost for the UK on retail.

In the US, the stores have space to walk around (true, they have a lot of fat people, they need it) but, even so, they have the space, the stores are tidy. Here in the UK today it was like wandering around retail warehousing rather than stores, shabby, messy and ill thought out with too much crammed in. Retail, I think we have to presume, failes totally by comparison.

OK, service in restaurants … over here we have often waited excessive amounts of time for seats even though there is some but sections are closed … in the States they open areas up and, if customers have to wait, they come over every few minutes, keep them appraised and apologise. They are also very polite in the US, act like customers friends, introduce themselves and mean it when they suggest that nothing is too much trouble, in the UK we can struggle to get them to take our order at times or to give us the bill … oh dear, not looking good for UK catering either.

In the States I can turn right on a red light using common sense to know if the way is clear, over here I sit at the lights for zero traffic waiting for them to change. In the States there is no ‘slow’ or ‘fast’ lane. All highways have open lanes for anyone to drive in or overtake and they work. Driving in the US, I have to admit, is easier.

Fuel, they complain about paying around 40p a litre, I guess that one needs no comment really.

Consistency, on this one the UK is ahead. In the UK there seems no logic behind their approach to sales and payments. In some stores at some times, but not all, we can use a card and they accept it without even a signature, in other stores they not only want a signature but photographic ID as well though, some stores, but not all, will accept another credit card as ID. Some garages accept payment after a sale, many insist on payment before refuelling commences, dead confusing that one. Some highways confuse too by indicating they run east-west when, infact, they run mainly north-south or southwest-northeast.

House prices … we pay around £150,000 for an average terraced or semi-detached three bedroom house here, the same money would almost certainly by the US house above, no argument there who has it better. (that house has full air conditioning and a pool by the way)

People, hmm … in the US we may be shot for upsetting someone, over here it is more subtle, we get bricks through our windows and years of emotional stress. Chavs … no, none in the US – enough said. Genuine? Well, my opinion is still undecided on whether I feel those stateside are totally genuine about anything. Too much ‘have a nice day’ said as a standard comment, other things too, I cannot put my finger on make me wonder just how cool they really are and how much it is just a front to either make money or to impress.

In the UK, Deej and me are married, in most of the USA we would not be and, in some states, we would still be breaking laws.

When I was there I was quite certain I didn’t want to live there but then, I am wondering now if, being so far away I develeped the rose tinted glasses that many Americans have of the UK. Being back nearly a week I am now feeling differently, like, there are just so many things about this country which piss me off.

If I won the lottery tomorrow, what would I do? Where would I live?

Right now, I honestly don’t know if it would be the US but, a large part of me says, it won’t be the UK either.

UK vs USA

OK, in the UK we have a 5 bedroom house, in the US we had a 4 bedroom house. Take a look at the pictures, I rest my case.

In the US it was 28°C at it#s lowest point, in the UK, it is 23°C at it’s hottest point (12°C at the coldest), yes. my case is rested there.

In the UK we went out earlier, bought a few drinks, it cost a small fortune … in the US we went out, bought a few drinks, it was reasonable and we had unlimited refils. Hmm, case rested there.

When in the US the staff in stores always greet customers as they walk in and ask if there is anything they need, in the UK earlier, I went in several stores and was totally ignored whilst they continued their private chats., Case decided there on the grounds of retail customer service.

In the US they wait in stores for customers to enter and seem like they welcome customers … over here they stand in the doorway having a smoke … another case lost for the UK on retail.

In the US, the stores have space to walk around (true, they have a lot of fat people, they need it) but, even so, they have the space, the stores are tidy. Here in the UK today it was like wandering around retail warehousing rather than stores, shabby, messy and ill thought out with too much crammed in. Retail, I think we have to presume, failes totally by comparison.

OK, service in restaurants … over here we have often waited excessive amounts of time for seats even though there is some but sections are closed … in the States they open areas up and, if customers have to wait, they come over every few minutes, keep them appraised and apologise. They are also very polite in the US, act like customers friends, introduce themselves and mean it when they suggest that nothing is too much trouble, in the UK we can struggle to get them to take our order at times or to give us the bill … oh dear, not looking good for UK catering either.

In the States I can turn right on a red light using common sense to know if the way is clear, over here I sit at the lights for zero traffic waiting for them to change. In the States there is no ‘slow’ or ‘fast’ lane. All highways have open lanes for anyone to drive in or overtake and they work. Driving in the US, I have to admit, is easier.

Fuel, they complain about paying around 40p a litre, I guess that one needs no comment really.

Consistency, on this one the UK is ahead. In the UK there seems no logic behind their approach to sales and payments. In some stores at some times, but not all, we can use a card and they accept it without even a signature, in other stores they not only want a signature but photographic ID as well though, some stores, but not all, will accept another credit card as ID. Some garages accept payment after a sale, many insist on payment before refuelling commences, dead confusing that one. Some highways confuse too by indicating they run east-west when, infact, they run mainly north-south or southwest-northeast.

House prices … we pay around £150,000 for an average terraced or semi-detached three bedroom house here, the same money would almost certainly by the US house above, no argument there who has it better. (that house has full air conditioning and a pool by the way)

People, hmm … in the US we may be shot for upsetting someone, over here it is more subtle, we get bricks through our windows and years of emotional stress. Chavs … no, none in the US – enough said. Genuine? Well, my opinion is still undecided on whether I feel those stateside are totally genuine about anything. Too much ‘have a nice day’ said as a standard comment, other things too, I cannot put my finger on make me wonder just how cool they really are and how much it is just a front to either make money or to impress.

In the UK, Deej and me are married, in most of the USA we would not be and, in some states, we would still be breaking laws.

When I was there I was quite certain I didn’t want to live there but then, I am wondering now if, being so far away I develeped the rose tinted glasses that many Americans have of the UK. Being back nearly a week I am now feeling differently, like, there are just so many things about this country which piss me off.

If I won the lottery tomorrow, what would I do? Where would I live?

Right now, I honestly don’t know if it would be the US but, a large part of me says, it won’t be the UK either.

Back in the UK

Got back around 10am Weds … is now Sunday and I am still on US time on my head and it’s making me feel like crap. My body is begging me to go to bed but my mind is still telling me there is loads of day left. Never had jet lag like this before and it’s so annoying.

Trying to make this coming week into a more ‘normal’ week and shall be attempting to get to work on Tuesday, family pressures permitting.

Starting to get used to the new car now, it’s still weird but am getting there. Thought I may depress the throttle fully yesterday, it was reasonably effective considering it’s a real boring MPV.

Tons of pictures and video to edit, am not, as yet, ready to set my mind to anything like that which can just wait.

New lawnmower yesterday, entire lawn cut in 15 minutes … mega result!

Really miss Freddie 🙁

Back in the UK

Got back around 10am Weds … is now Sunday and I am still on US time on my head and it’s making me feel like crap. My body is begging me to go to bed but my mind is still telling me there is loads of day left. Never had jet lag like this before and it’s so annoying.

Trying to make this coming week into a more ‘normal’ week and shall be attempting to get to work on Tuesday, family pressures permitting.

Starting to get used to the new car now, it’s still weird but am getting there. Thought I may depress the throttle fully yesterday, it was reasonably effective considering it’s a real boring MPV.

Tons of pictures and video to edit, am not, as yet, ready to set my mind to anything like that which can just wait.

New lawnmower yesterday, entire lawn cut in 15 minutes … mega result!

Really miss Freddie 🙁