Honesty

Honesty. Now there’s a deceitful word. Normally used when you are desperately trying not to be caught out, when the lie is so huge, using honesty is the best lie of all. Honesty I love you, honestly she means nothing to me, honestly I didn’t know she was your mother.

How many of us settle, how many of us meet a person, a decent, loving person, that won’t let you down, that loves you, and wants nothing more than to make you happy, and honestly loves you. And what do you do? In most cases, trample on their hearts and move on to the next ‘honest’ person.

But there comes a time, when such wide eyed honesty can actually make an impact. When such faith in you, as a person, stops you in your insecure, cynical tracks, and you take notice. You weaken, you let someone in.

Now honestly, from experience that is the way of the broken heart, but it is also the way to true happiness, some times the truth hurts, in a good way.

Kids today eh?

As I ran (yes ran, managing to run over 3 miles without stopping, or passing out these days) round my local park today, I came across some people looking at a shopping trolley that had been thrown in some bushes. I can’t be certain (as of course I ran past them so quickly, a blur of black overstuffed lycra) but they were certainly not happy at what they saw, and I can imagine a ‘bloody kids’ conversation was being had.

As I continued on my run I could not get the image out of my head, and how I wished I’d stopped to join in the on (what I imagine were Daily Mail readers) conversation.

I would have stopped and said, “Kids today eh? Shocking, throwing this trolley in the bushes of a beautiful public park that our taxes pay for. Lazily throwing this trolley into the bushes, when there is a perfectly good river and pond, just yards away! I blame those Playboxes they are always glued to, and them Cleverphones, making them lazy, back in my day we knew where to hurl our stolen trolley’s, always in water, never a bush! No respect for tradition, kids today eh?”

I would have then jogged on, leaving my elderly fellow park users bemused, and maybe fondly remembering the image of a rusting shopping trolley in a beloved park water feature from their past, a tear forming in the cornet of their eye…..

Not condoning leaving shopping trolleys in parks, but at least it shows they were out the house getting some fresh air and exercise, and not shooting zombie’s on their Playbox…..

I’m Still in Love with You

Is there any sentence that will make you stop, think, remember and consider more than, “I’m still in love with you”?

Memories will flood, tender touches, smiles, longing and belonging, hot passion, the smell of their skin, the sound of their voice, how they take their tea, will all be remembered, and missed.

The song you had forgotten about, will suddenly be in your head, and not leave for days,

An urge to open boxes and look for photos will over power, and smiles will spread, tears will be shed, and in your mind “what if” asked…

If you can look at what you have, with years gone by, and your scars healed hard, then lucky you are,

But for many those promises made were then broken, tears of joy turn bitter, tears of desertion,

Years have been spent recovering, licking wounds, and becoming strong,

All undone by a simple sentence, “I’m still in love you with you”.

Murder of Crows

I have just run through a murder of crows. As I ran through them in my mind I begged them to attack me with their sharp black beaks. My logic for this was based on the hope of two possible outcomes, a) their attack would be so severe that I would have to stop running  and lay down, or b) that in terror I would run away faster, and my run would end sooner.

I normally enjoy running, but after last night's 6 Vespa Martini’s, today’s run feels like a barefoot run across broken glass and hot coals, all with the taste of stale vermouth at the back of my throat.

When it became clear the crows had no intention of murder (trade’s description act), I focused my mind on the bacon roll that awaited me at home, not so much carrot and stick, more lard and stick, heavy on the lard.

I promise to run further tomorrow, and have shredded wheat…..deep fried.

Too late, or what I've always wanted?

There are  decisions  to made at my age, or maybe a realisation of what you have when comparing it to what you've had.

19, now that was love, crazy all consuming, passionate, and nobody else understood.

In years gone by, there’s been, she’s leaving the country, I love her (if she hadn’t been leaving would I have felt that way), then there’s we argue all the time, but that’s the passion (meaning we had great sex).

Then there was, I write poetry about her, but really it was about me, and some dodgy Cure lyrics.

There was we get drunk together, and live life, and make this city our playground, but looking back it was some drunk and not great sex, but some great hangovers, that turned into orange and vodka, with spliff breakfasts.

There was stare into each others eyes in busy night clubs, with tales of how much we loved each other, for hours on end, once we’d stopped dancing, but that was just drug love, and a jar of Vicks.

There was the best mate, who ended up in my bed, and whom I dearly loved, but the timing was always wrong, but that could have been forever.

Then there was Euro girl, and finally the jackpot, culture, new language, new cookery (no kebabs), travel, sun, proposals in Central Park, a ring, then fiery arguments (in truth they were there all the time) and heartbreak, almost the script of every sub titled film I’ve ever seen, OK not German ones.

Then there was shy girl, beautiful and trusting. Taking to me and my lifestyle, embracing the madness and passion that is me, whilst giving me stability, and sanity, truly the saving of me.  

But is it all too little to late? Is the love I felt at 19 the best there is ever gonna be, or is now with the wonderful person I’m with the real love. In truth I don’t know, and it hurts me to try and categorise or prioritise it.

Too late to teach an old dog new tweecks…..

I maybe old enough to remember when a Sony cassette Walkman (or in my case a £15 knock off version from Charlotte Street market) was the must have gadget (ah the happy time spent rewinding the tape by hand using a pen to save on the battery to listen to Whitesnake’s ‘Still of the night’ one more time….”oh baby, neeeeed you closer…”) and was the height of technological advancement, but I have not let the technological grass grow under my feet. As many of my flesh and blood friends will tell you, I’m kinda in love with my iPhone (if only that earphone socket were bigger) and it is rarely out of my sight, or out of my hand, and I am a big user of Facebook, taking the micky out of my virtual friends, or indeed those that are actually sat next to me in the pub.

However, for a long, long time I have resisted the lure of Twitter, until now…..

I finally gave in after Facebook changed it’s format for what seemed the tenth time in a month, and the grumpy 40 year old man in me (that’s me by the way, there isn’t an actual 40 year old man in me, not that I’m judging) screamed, enough, and I decided to give Twitter a go.

At first I didn’t get it, lot’s of people commenting on their own lives, rather than actually living them, and I also didn’t understand how it worked. However, thanks to a friend, I shall call her Twoda “tweet you must” I got to grips with the software, and slowly began ‘following’ people, and being ‘followed’ myself (legalised stalking really, which isn’t as much fun as the illegal kind).

People that know me, will tell you I am a very cynical, and often grumpy, piss taking bastard, and I can easily take the piss out of myself for using this narcissistic medium, and see the foolishness of using Twitter, but I have to confess, I’m enjoying it (which speaks volumes). There’s a lot of would be writers that use Twitter, with great tips on writing, and I get up to the minute news updates, sport gossip, and most cool of all Mr Barlow sends me pictures of himself before he goes on stage for X-Factor…..really he does. Also as a non-medic working in public health (reckon I would have made a great doctor, maybe with gynaecology as my specialty, you know, something I’d really enjoy getting into) there are a lot of public health doctors out there that I admire, discussing (albeit in summarised form) really important issues that concern my work.

But if I’m honest, Twitter is also another way of me having fun and making an arse of myself, especially on the train home, after an ale or two. Twelve years ago, there was only the drunken text to get me into trouble “I really do love you, leave your husband” or “I’m so horny for you now my nipples hurt” (you know who you are) but now I have Facebook and Twitter to add to the list of ways I can make myself sound like a complete numpty, ain’t technology great?