Oliver Very's Blog
March 19, 2020
READ THE SIGNS
Ever wish your wife had a placard, like a one of those handheld signs you see at the airports for waiting Taxi drivers or those LED car bumpers which tell you to ‘back off’? Well I do! In a moment where we were back and synchronized, I joked with her that she needed a few. Her reaction said to me, that she readily acknowledged she needed them and she could possibly see my point of view
I think I would start my signage print run with: I need a cuddle, back off, you can kiss me now, don’t come near me, I want to talk, you need to listen, I hate you, I love you, you are allowed one kiss.
I was soooo hoping we’d moved on from this and I genuinely thought we had. Last year was a terrible year for us and indeed probably most of the UK. The procrastination of Brexit did little to help the indecision of everyday life. We were stuck in a dead lock and the status quo ruled. How those imaginary signs would flip, one moment, ‘you can kiss me’, the next, ‘I hate you’.
It wears you down. The constant uncertainty, shall I, shan’t I, can I, can’t I. It was like my life was stuck in a rut, unable to make a move or commitment for fear of being shot down. Unable to move on with my life, to take control back. My coping mechanism was to simply keep my head low and get on with life, to become devoid of any emotion. There seemed little point in getting myself excited, only to have the sign suddenly turned and slapped in my face, like a faulty traffic light.
Is it a game? I’m not sure. From the outside looking in, it’s comical watching that car shunt forward on green, then instantly the lights turn red, leaving the driver not knowing whether to proceed or not. Eventually he just ends up stranded at the crossroads. Eventually he abandons the car and walks away. Suddenly it’s not so funny after all.
I still fail to quite understand how one minute she can saddle up to me and kiss me softly on the lips, then the next she has cocooned herself in the duvet with her arm stretched out straight to keep me at a distance.
How ironic then that I am not alone, it would seem the world has joined me as I go into shut down mode. My self-isolation has pushed me into the spare bedroom, not because of CV19, but because I’m just fed up. I’m fed up that we’ve now drifted back to how we were as I wrote my book last year.
I had hoped that the ‘coil’ would be our saviour, and certainly things were looking good. It seemed to deal with the monthly peaks and troughs in our relationship. Life keeps throwing these grenades: Brexit, house sale fall through, father-in-law goes into home, father runs off with you bride, floods, storms and constant rain, and now the coronavirus.
The world now finds itself in a very dark and sombre place and my woes, I’m sure pale into insignificance against others, but sometimes it just helps to put pen to paper. I can cope with many things, but why, when things aren’t quite going right, does my wife turn on me. The very person she needs for support. It’s akin to a subconscious backlash. She is frustrated that her father has passed away and this manifests itself by punishing me. She is oblivious and blind to it. To her she has just kissed me on the lips, she’s done her duty, but then blind (or seemingly so) to her cutting quips over her controlling possessiveness of the laundry as I try to help. How she turns and immediately hates me purely because I frown, partly because she’s at a distance and I need my glasses, but also because I’m trying to help. I’m trying to turn her negativity about CV19 into a positive. I’m trying to lift her spirits, to help her. No matter what I say, if I say it in the wrong tone or make a facial movement, then I am shot down. My only option is to shut down, to become devoid of any emotion, to not enter into conversation.
She is semi-aware of how she is reacting and has asked me to cut her some slack. I’ve been supportive and helpful in every way possible, but I am only human after all. The inner, fun loving, zestful guy within me is slowly being eroded to nothing. Yes, she may have lost her father, but in the aftermath is it worth sacrificing her husband too?!WTF!! I'm having a MID LIFE CRISIS: failing in lifeOliver Very
I think I would start my signage print run with: I need a cuddle, back off, you can kiss me now, don’t come near me, I want to talk, you need to listen, I hate you, I love you, you are allowed one kiss.
I was soooo hoping we’d moved on from this and I genuinely thought we had. Last year was a terrible year for us and indeed probably most of the UK. The procrastination of Brexit did little to help the indecision of everyday life. We were stuck in a dead lock and the status quo ruled. How those imaginary signs would flip, one moment, ‘you can kiss me’, the next, ‘I hate you’.
It wears you down. The constant uncertainty, shall I, shan’t I, can I, can’t I. It was like my life was stuck in a rut, unable to make a move or commitment for fear of being shot down. Unable to move on with my life, to take control back. My coping mechanism was to simply keep my head low and get on with life, to become devoid of any emotion. There seemed little point in getting myself excited, only to have the sign suddenly turned and slapped in my face, like a faulty traffic light.
Is it a game? I’m not sure. From the outside looking in, it’s comical watching that car shunt forward on green, then instantly the lights turn red, leaving the driver not knowing whether to proceed or not. Eventually he just ends up stranded at the crossroads. Eventually he abandons the car and walks away. Suddenly it’s not so funny after all.
I still fail to quite understand how one minute she can saddle up to me and kiss me softly on the lips, then the next she has cocooned herself in the duvet with her arm stretched out straight to keep me at a distance.
How ironic then that I am not alone, it would seem the world has joined me as I go into shut down mode. My self-isolation has pushed me into the spare bedroom, not because of CV19, but because I’m just fed up. I’m fed up that we’ve now drifted back to how we were as I wrote my book last year.
I had hoped that the ‘coil’ would be our saviour, and certainly things were looking good. It seemed to deal with the monthly peaks and troughs in our relationship. Life keeps throwing these grenades: Brexit, house sale fall through, father-in-law goes into home, father runs off with you bride, floods, storms and constant rain, and now the coronavirus.
The world now finds itself in a very dark and sombre place and my woes, I’m sure pale into insignificance against others, but sometimes it just helps to put pen to paper. I can cope with many things, but why, when things aren’t quite going right, does my wife turn on me. The very person she needs for support. It’s akin to a subconscious backlash. She is frustrated that her father has passed away and this manifests itself by punishing me. She is oblivious and blind to it. To her she has just kissed me on the lips, she’s done her duty, but then blind (or seemingly so) to her cutting quips over her controlling possessiveness of the laundry as I try to help. How she turns and immediately hates me purely because I frown, partly because she’s at a distance and I need my glasses, but also because I’m trying to help. I’m trying to turn her negativity about CV19 into a positive. I’m trying to lift her spirits, to help her. No matter what I say, if I say it in the wrong tone or make a facial movement, then I am shot down. My only option is to shut down, to become devoid of any emotion, to not enter into conversation.
She is semi-aware of how she is reacting and has asked me to cut her some slack. I’ve been supportive and helpful in every way possible, but I am only human after all. The inner, fun loving, zestful guy within me is slowly being eroded to nothing. Yes, she may have lost her father, but in the aftermath is it worth sacrificing her husband too?!WTF!! I'm having a MID LIFE CRISIS: failing in lifeOliver Very
March 17, 2020
IT'S ALL ABOUT ME!
If ever there was a damning statement, this one surely kicks you square in the ‘cahoonas’. Wow, I mean, seriously?! Gosh, so I’m a completely ego centric male! I guess I must have been lying when I said I was a family man. Just think about it, all those years swanning off, spending my weekends on the golf course and going out getting trashed with my mates. Yes, I guess she must be right! But wait…hold on a second…that’s not me. Maybe, somehow, I wish that could have been me, but no, I’m completely the opposite.
By means of example let’s analyse my week. I’ve spent 100% of my time with the family. I’ve played board games with the kids. I’ve played badminton with them. I’ve pushed my back to the limits playing football and rugby in the garden. I looked after the kids all day Saturday while my wife went to see her mum. I spent one evening taking my son to rugby training. I spent another evening taking my other son to football training. I almost bought my 16-yr-old son a new car (aborted due to dodgy sales guy). I’ve sold my car in order to finance his. I’ve done the hoovering, cleaned the bathrooms, done the laundry, ironed the shirts. Cleaned up after breakfast and dinner. I’ve gone out for walks with my wife because she wanted to, and even though my back was done in from playing with the kids. I’ve listened to her. I’ve been there for her, when she’s complained her brother’s wife wasn’t there to listen to him. I’ve spent time on the phone to her mum. I’ve volunteered to help her mum. The list goes on and on, but not once have I done anything for myself. In fact, the reality is it’s not all about me, it’s all about everyone else. I am the most selfless father there could be. Only her dearly departed father could trump me on that, however, that said, not once in his life did he do any cooking, laundry or housework. Maybe through choice or maybe just because his wife was too controlling.
And that’s where I find myself now. If I have any flaws, it would be that, every once in a while, I have to challenge the status quo, and this is always instantly met with derision. My wife didn’t like being challenged on her lying to me, but equally I am no wall flower. I don’t like being lied to, FULL STOP. What else did I do wrong? I took the kids to one side and had a calm and considered conversation about the fact that they didn’t clean up after their Friday night Pizza and left the playroom in a mess.
We cook, clean and look after these teenagers 24/7. It does no harm whatsoever to remind them that we are not their slaves and that perhaps, once in a while, they should think about helping mum and dad rather than stuffing their faces and immediately retiring to the sofa to reconnect with their phones, tablets and PS4. To me that’s just good parenting. Oh, and I didn’t get them each a big fat Friday night chocolate bar as a treat. Both decisions were not well received by my wife.
So, what else? Oh yes, at Dinner we were discussing with the children that one of their teachers was selling ice creams and ice lollies at break. I suggested that perhaps that wasn’t so clever if he wanted the children to behave in class. My son piped up with the fact that most of the kids particularly the naughty ones, were bringing in Lucozade and other sugary drinks and bags of sweets. My wife instantly derided this as bad parenting in a tone which exemplified us. I rushed to defend the situation suggesting she shouldn’t be so quick to judge and pointed out the fact that we had little clue what our kids were eating and drinking at School. My son backed me up saying kids can buy whatever they want at school and moreover buy stuff from the local shops.
But the damage was done! I was immediately the pariah. In those few seconds of trying to raise a valid opinion in an open family discussion, I had gone from being dutiful dad and husband, to a man she hated. In her world everything was, ‘about me’. I thought we had moved on, turned a new leaf, but since the death of her father, she has once again pushed me away and we are back to square one.WTF!! I'm having a MID LIFE CRISIS: failing in lifeOliver Very
By means of example let’s analyse my week. I’ve spent 100% of my time with the family. I’ve played board games with the kids. I’ve played badminton with them. I’ve pushed my back to the limits playing football and rugby in the garden. I looked after the kids all day Saturday while my wife went to see her mum. I spent one evening taking my son to rugby training. I spent another evening taking my other son to football training. I almost bought my 16-yr-old son a new car (aborted due to dodgy sales guy). I’ve sold my car in order to finance his. I’ve done the hoovering, cleaned the bathrooms, done the laundry, ironed the shirts. Cleaned up after breakfast and dinner. I’ve gone out for walks with my wife because she wanted to, and even though my back was done in from playing with the kids. I’ve listened to her. I’ve been there for her, when she’s complained her brother’s wife wasn’t there to listen to him. I’ve spent time on the phone to her mum. I’ve volunteered to help her mum. The list goes on and on, but not once have I done anything for myself. In fact, the reality is it’s not all about me, it’s all about everyone else. I am the most selfless father there could be. Only her dearly departed father could trump me on that, however, that said, not once in his life did he do any cooking, laundry or housework. Maybe through choice or maybe just because his wife was too controlling.
And that’s where I find myself now. If I have any flaws, it would be that, every once in a while, I have to challenge the status quo, and this is always instantly met with derision. My wife didn’t like being challenged on her lying to me, but equally I am no wall flower. I don’t like being lied to, FULL STOP. What else did I do wrong? I took the kids to one side and had a calm and considered conversation about the fact that they didn’t clean up after their Friday night Pizza and left the playroom in a mess.
We cook, clean and look after these teenagers 24/7. It does no harm whatsoever to remind them that we are not their slaves and that perhaps, once in a while, they should think about helping mum and dad rather than stuffing their faces and immediately retiring to the sofa to reconnect with their phones, tablets and PS4. To me that’s just good parenting. Oh, and I didn’t get them each a big fat Friday night chocolate bar as a treat. Both decisions were not well received by my wife.
So, what else? Oh yes, at Dinner we were discussing with the children that one of their teachers was selling ice creams and ice lollies at break. I suggested that perhaps that wasn’t so clever if he wanted the children to behave in class. My son piped up with the fact that most of the kids particularly the naughty ones, were bringing in Lucozade and other sugary drinks and bags of sweets. My wife instantly derided this as bad parenting in a tone which exemplified us. I rushed to defend the situation suggesting she shouldn’t be so quick to judge and pointed out the fact that we had little clue what our kids were eating and drinking at School. My son backed me up saying kids can buy whatever they want at school and moreover buy stuff from the local shops.
But the damage was done! I was immediately the pariah. In those few seconds of trying to raise a valid opinion in an open family discussion, I had gone from being dutiful dad and husband, to a man she hated. In her world everything was, ‘about me’. I thought we had moved on, turned a new leaf, but since the death of her father, she has once again pushed me away and we are back to square one.WTF!! I'm having a MID LIFE CRISIS: failing in lifeOliver Very
IT'S ALL A LIE
We all grow up in the knowledge that we shouldn’t lie and lying is bad. That smashed window with the football laying beside it which you had nothing to do with. The chocolate bar that went mysteriously missing from the cupboard that never ended up in your tummy. I’m sure we’ve all fronted a lie at some point.
As we mature to adults there are a contingent who reconcile in their own minds that it’s ok to lie. It’s fine, provided it falls within an acceptable parameter. This, we have innocently classified as the purer formed: white lie. Strictly speaking it is a lie, but in essence, it will do less damage than the truth, therefore it becomes acceptable.
Then there is a group which my father falls into. This is the habitual liar, where lying becomes such a regular part of their lives that it is almost an artform. A challenge to wheedle yourself out of situations; to become cunning and manipulate with your words. This mindset moves the parameters to 80:20, almost to the point where nothing becomes a lie, unless of course it’s from somebody else’s mouth. This self-trained technique allows you to remove any feelings of guilt, or remorse, because you’re telling the truth right! YOU ARE TELLING THE TRUTH. Tell yourself enough times and suddenly everything becomes the truth. What a wonderful person you become, you never lie, you are always telling the truth. And with it, you train yourself to believe that the rest of the world believes you- how magnificent! Trouble is they don’t. The clever, non-gullible ones see straight through the vailed words.
This is when you now have a problem. The 80/20 Pareto’s law flips, and suddenly the 80% of what you say is now perceived as a lie, when conversely, really you are telling the truth. Your credibility has been lost. They may still smile sweetly at you, but when they turn their backs, you are not held in the high esteem you appear to believe you are.
So, let me run this, ever so innocent example, by you. I’m sitting at my dinning table having breakfast and my wife is having hers at the breakfast bar which runs perpendicular. I see the cat jump up, sit beside her and start drinking the milk from the bowl (By the way the rule is: no cats on the work tops). She then gets down from the breakfast bar. As she does so, she clearly turns to the cat right beside her and clocks him drinking the milk. She completely ignores him. I shout out, “HEY!” In order get the cat down.
She looks at me innocently, like a child with chocolate smothered around its face protesting its innocence over eating the last slice of chocolate cake. “Oh, I didn’t see him there!” she says.
It was such a bare-faced lie. Even after being challenged, she still faintly attempted to claim her innocence. And indeed, how innocent the situation was, but it’s the principle of the lie here. My father, the king of lies, destroyed my mum’s world with his innocent lies. Now I find myself in familiar territory. If she is prepared to lie to me about something so trivial as letting the cat on the side to drink the milk, then what of the innocent boozy lunches and the lingerie business trips?! Am I the gullible one who soaks it up like a dutiful husband or should I just accept that as adults we all have a few white lies in us, and life just goes on?!WTF!! I'm having a MID LIFE CRISIS: failing in life
Oliver Very
As we mature to adults there are a contingent who reconcile in their own minds that it’s ok to lie. It’s fine, provided it falls within an acceptable parameter. This, we have innocently classified as the purer formed: white lie. Strictly speaking it is a lie, but in essence, it will do less damage than the truth, therefore it becomes acceptable.
Then there is a group which my father falls into. This is the habitual liar, where lying becomes such a regular part of their lives that it is almost an artform. A challenge to wheedle yourself out of situations; to become cunning and manipulate with your words. This mindset moves the parameters to 80:20, almost to the point where nothing becomes a lie, unless of course it’s from somebody else’s mouth. This self-trained technique allows you to remove any feelings of guilt, or remorse, because you’re telling the truth right! YOU ARE TELLING THE TRUTH. Tell yourself enough times and suddenly everything becomes the truth. What a wonderful person you become, you never lie, you are always telling the truth. And with it, you train yourself to believe that the rest of the world believes you- how magnificent! Trouble is they don’t. The clever, non-gullible ones see straight through the vailed words.
This is when you now have a problem. The 80/20 Pareto’s law flips, and suddenly the 80% of what you say is now perceived as a lie, when conversely, really you are telling the truth. Your credibility has been lost. They may still smile sweetly at you, but when they turn their backs, you are not held in the high esteem you appear to believe you are.
So, let me run this, ever so innocent example, by you. I’m sitting at my dinning table having breakfast and my wife is having hers at the breakfast bar which runs perpendicular. I see the cat jump up, sit beside her and start drinking the milk from the bowl (By the way the rule is: no cats on the work tops). She then gets down from the breakfast bar. As she does so, she clearly turns to the cat right beside her and clocks him drinking the milk. She completely ignores him. I shout out, “HEY!” In order get the cat down.
She looks at me innocently, like a child with chocolate smothered around its face protesting its innocence over eating the last slice of chocolate cake. “Oh, I didn’t see him there!” she says.
It was such a bare-faced lie. Even after being challenged, she still faintly attempted to claim her innocence. And indeed, how innocent the situation was, but it’s the principle of the lie here. My father, the king of lies, destroyed my mum’s world with his innocent lies. Now I find myself in familiar territory. If she is prepared to lie to me about something so trivial as letting the cat on the side to drink the milk, then what of the innocent boozy lunches and the lingerie business trips?! Am I the gullible one who soaks it up like a dutiful husband or should I just accept that as adults we all have a few white lies in us, and life just goes on?!WTF!! I'm having a MID LIFE CRISIS: failing in life
Oliver Very
March 11, 2020
Grieving
Grieving- to morn the loss of a love one. How do we grieve and what is ‘to morn’? There is no prescribed formula and individually we all have our own coping mechanisms. How we control our mind set in dealing with grief, defines how quickly we can accept what has come to pass and how we get on with life. It is the morning after the passing of my father-in-law, and I am Happy!
What! WTF!! I hear you cry. I’m not happy in an uncaring, macabre, ‘the wicked witch is dead’ sense, but this is my coping mechanism. I channel all my positive memories about Alan to the front of my mind and it puts a smile on face. To lock this positive affirmation in my mind I need ‘reason’. My mind needs to understand ‘why’. Internally there is a battle. The finality of it all is somehow too difficult for a fragile mind. It can’t compute that we will never see that person again; that he is gone from our lives forever. The logic gate has closed, and the default setting is to open the flood gates of misery and self-pity.
But we are all adults, right?! We have responsibilities. We still have a job to go to, kids to pick up from school, meals to prepare…There is no time to wallow and stagnate in the cherished memories of a love one. We are forced to get on with life as if it were just a blip. Why? Because that’s just how life is and in many respects it’s a good thing. The hectic lifestyle that surrounds us provides a distraction from the gremlins of a fragile mind who are seizing this moment of weakness to bed down and feather the nest. Don’t let them!
This is not to say, be strong and don’t let your emotions control your life. Indeed, we all need time to grieve. We all need time to cry our system dry. It’s a healing process that’s completely natural and may even take years to fully bed down. My mum died of cancer 10 years ago and I still have my moments. We sat down as a family to watch the ABBA Mamma Mia film and a song caught me completely off guard. It sent me back to being a 10-year-old boy sitting with my mum in her MG sports car and driving to the beach. I choked, and now being a 47-year-old father of 3, I tried in vain to stifle my tears. I exited the room and cried my eyes out as though she had died yesterday!
I guess the passing of a loved one makes you question mortality and think more deeply about how precious life is. In my challenge to cope I analysed how I could change my mind set so I wasn’t overwhelmed by all the negative emotions poisoning my body. My conclusion was religion and faith.
I’m not a religious man, but dearly departed Alan was a Vicar, so, like it or not, church would play a role in my family life- albeit minor. If you think about it; Marriages, Christenings and funerals are possibly the most exposure any of us non-religious folk get to the church.
I am guarded against religion, because it seems incongruous that behind wars, power, wealth, and paedophiles is religion. That said, there are equally as many good things. So, if I were to take a ‘pick n mix’ attitude to religion to help me cope with grief it would be this:
We as Humans are not naturally programmed to accept that once you die that’s it. Gone…caput…niete…pushed down the garbage chute. We need hope. We need to believe that our loved ones go on to a better place. Whether we believe in heaven or not, it helps our minds to cope.
I have a vision of Alan standing at the front of the church as he lifts his hand to say, ‘rejoice’. It was an awkward moment as he wasn’t the most charismatic of personalities, but the smile on his face was infectious. I visualise it and it makes me happy, because he’s done his time in purgatory at the care home and now the gates of heaven are open to him and he has gone to meet his maker. Surely for someone who has faith this will be the most magical moment!
Maybe I am a non-believer, but boy does it help me if a train my mind to believe that he is now in a place of joy and happiness, talking with my mum, looking down on us and the grandchildren and guiding us through the difficult decisions that lay ahead.
As I write my final line a tear rolls down my cheek and momentarily the sun has poked her head through the clouds and once again I have a smile on my face!
What! WTF!! I hear you cry. I’m not happy in an uncaring, macabre, ‘the wicked witch is dead’ sense, but this is my coping mechanism. I channel all my positive memories about Alan to the front of my mind and it puts a smile on face. To lock this positive affirmation in my mind I need ‘reason’. My mind needs to understand ‘why’. Internally there is a battle. The finality of it all is somehow too difficult for a fragile mind. It can’t compute that we will never see that person again; that he is gone from our lives forever. The logic gate has closed, and the default setting is to open the flood gates of misery and self-pity.
But we are all adults, right?! We have responsibilities. We still have a job to go to, kids to pick up from school, meals to prepare…There is no time to wallow and stagnate in the cherished memories of a love one. We are forced to get on with life as if it were just a blip. Why? Because that’s just how life is and in many respects it’s a good thing. The hectic lifestyle that surrounds us provides a distraction from the gremlins of a fragile mind who are seizing this moment of weakness to bed down and feather the nest. Don’t let them!
This is not to say, be strong and don’t let your emotions control your life. Indeed, we all need time to grieve. We all need time to cry our system dry. It’s a healing process that’s completely natural and may even take years to fully bed down. My mum died of cancer 10 years ago and I still have my moments. We sat down as a family to watch the ABBA Mamma Mia film and a song caught me completely off guard. It sent me back to being a 10-year-old boy sitting with my mum in her MG sports car and driving to the beach. I choked, and now being a 47-year-old father of 3, I tried in vain to stifle my tears. I exited the room and cried my eyes out as though she had died yesterday!
I guess the passing of a loved one makes you question mortality and think more deeply about how precious life is. In my challenge to cope I analysed how I could change my mind set so I wasn’t overwhelmed by all the negative emotions poisoning my body. My conclusion was religion and faith.
I’m not a religious man, but dearly departed Alan was a Vicar, so, like it or not, church would play a role in my family life- albeit minor. If you think about it; Marriages, Christenings and funerals are possibly the most exposure any of us non-religious folk get to the church.
I am guarded against religion, because it seems incongruous that behind wars, power, wealth, and paedophiles is religion. That said, there are equally as many good things. So, if I were to take a ‘pick n mix’ attitude to religion to help me cope with grief it would be this:
We as Humans are not naturally programmed to accept that once you die that’s it. Gone…caput…niete…pushed down the garbage chute. We need hope. We need to believe that our loved ones go on to a better place. Whether we believe in heaven or not, it helps our minds to cope.
I have a vision of Alan standing at the front of the church as he lifts his hand to say, ‘rejoice’. It was an awkward moment as he wasn’t the most charismatic of personalities, but the smile on his face was infectious. I visualise it and it makes me happy, because he’s done his time in purgatory at the care home and now the gates of heaven are open to him and he has gone to meet his maker. Surely for someone who has faith this will be the most magical moment!
Maybe I am a non-believer, but boy does it help me if a train my mind to believe that he is now in a place of joy and happiness, talking with my mum, looking down on us and the grandchildren and guiding us through the difficult decisions that lay ahead.
As I write my final line a tear rolls down my cheek and momentarily the sun has poked her head through the clouds and once again I have a smile on my face!
March 10, 2020
The Vicar has died
So, in my last Blog I touched on Shakespeare, the master of a tragedy and how poetic, that today a tragedy becomes me and my family. The vicar had died! ‘Vic’ as I referred to him in my book is my wife’s father and it is with great sadness and humility that he has indeed passed from this world today.
In some respects, I feel disrespectful that my first reaction should be to turn to my blog to announce to the ‘www’ vacuum my grief. To share my burden with the world, even before I have had chance to tell my children. But I guess this is all part of the healing process, the therapy of words unsaid. Oh, the irony of the quiet, humble man. A man of few words, yet a man who worshipped the power of books and the written word, especially the bible.
He was a scholar, a man who devoured books and held in the highest esteem those intellectual thinkers. He plays a small role in my book and now in his passing I combat myself as to whether I have maligned him and his impact on my life. I owe him much, not least because he bestowed upon me his beautiful daughter who became my wife.
At this point, as the tears run down my cheeks, I may be conflicted in my emotions and perhaps confused by what lies ahead. It’s a sobering moment with so many unanswered questions. Why, if he was a vicar and served the Lord for the latter 10 years of his life, did God turn his back on him? Was he a sinner? Was he punished to live out his last few years in purgatory before finally being allowed into heaven? Why did God introduce a Vicar who was not there to help his wife in her hour of need? What happened to faith? I didn’t see any prayers being answered.
Anyone who’s read my book, will appreciate Vic’s turn of phrase, ‘it’s God Will’. Was it God’s will that gave him both, vascular dementia and Alzheimer’s? Was it God’s will that made him turn violent against his wife who he had adored for 50 years? Was it God’s will that made him pull down his trousers in the care home and urinate on the floor. ‘God’s will’ is a deep and powerful concept that will haunt me for years to come. It’s a dichotomy which I have explored in detail in my book.
Unexpected things happen in life and the perspective with which you deal with it can have profound consequences. Who can explain why I suddenly started writing? Who can explain why just a few days ago I awoke and had the most amazing idea for a series of children’s books? I wrote and wrote and wrote, nonstop for 3 days and the ideas just kept coming. Is that ‘gods will’ preparing for the passing of my dear father-in-law. Is it divine intervention that I am now driven to dedicate my books to him. To make him proud of what I have become. How I’ve turned my life around so that I can keep his daughter and grandchildren safe, happy and fulfilled.
Alan, I owe you more than you will ever know or read about in any of my books. You have instilled on me the highest values of living life as a family man and for that I am eternally grateful. I am determined my children’s books will be a resounding success for years to come and I will be worthy of sitting on that pedestal with those great authors you loved so dearly. R.I.P Alan. XXX
WTF!! I'm having a MID LIFE CRISIS: failing in life
In some respects, I feel disrespectful that my first reaction should be to turn to my blog to announce to the ‘www’ vacuum my grief. To share my burden with the world, even before I have had chance to tell my children. But I guess this is all part of the healing process, the therapy of words unsaid. Oh, the irony of the quiet, humble man. A man of few words, yet a man who worshipped the power of books and the written word, especially the bible.
He was a scholar, a man who devoured books and held in the highest esteem those intellectual thinkers. He plays a small role in my book and now in his passing I combat myself as to whether I have maligned him and his impact on my life. I owe him much, not least because he bestowed upon me his beautiful daughter who became my wife.
At this point, as the tears run down my cheeks, I may be conflicted in my emotions and perhaps confused by what lies ahead. It’s a sobering moment with so many unanswered questions. Why, if he was a vicar and served the Lord for the latter 10 years of his life, did God turn his back on him? Was he a sinner? Was he punished to live out his last few years in purgatory before finally being allowed into heaven? Why did God introduce a Vicar who was not there to help his wife in her hour of need? What happened to faith? I didn’t see any prayers being answered.
Anyone who’s read my book, will appreciate Vic’s turn of phrase, ‘it’s God Will’. Was it God’s will that gave him both, vascular dementia and Alzheimer’s? Was it God’s will that made him turn violent against his wife who he had adored for 50 years? Was it God’s will that made him pull down his trousers in the care home and urinate on the floor. ‘God’s will’ is a deep and powerful concept that will haunt me for years to come. It’s a dichotomy which I have explored in detail in my book.
Unexpected things happen in life and the perspective with which you deal with it can have profound consequences. Who can explain why I suddenly started writing? Who can explain why just a few days ago I awoke and had the most amazing idea for a series of children’s books? I wrote and wrote and wrote, nonstop for 3 days and the ideas just kept coming. Is that ‘gods will’ preparing for the passing of my dear father-in-law. Is it divine intervention that I am now driven to dedicate my books to him. To make him proud of what I have become. How I’ve turned my life around so that I can keep his daughter and grandchildren safe, happy and fulfilled.
Alan, I owe you more than you will ever know or read about in any of my books. You have instilled on me the highest values of living life as a family man and for that I am eternally grateful. I am determined my children’s books will be a resounding success for years to come and I will be worthy of sitting on that pedestal with those great authors you loved so dearly. R.I.P Alan. XXX
WTF!! I'm having a MID LIFE CRISIS: failing in life
March 7, 2020
The Good Reader
The ‘Good Reader’! Oh, the irony of it all is too much for me to reveal in full. I am an imposter, a fraud, masquerading in a world a know little about or indeed fully appreciate. I used to gest with my wife about the quality of the books she was reading, more to wind her up playfully than anything else. To my naïve mind it was quantity over quality, for every 20 books she would consume I would only consume one. If I was to take the same ratio for films, then out of 20 films I would only pick one and the others would be trash.
So, I’m claiming to be an author and I’ve put myself into the centre of the Colosseum where thousands of book connoisseurs have gathered to feast on the delights of my prose and I expose myself as a pariah, someone who doesn’t belong in this arena. But, why? Why would I do that? It’s clearly not for the money!
“Feed him to lions”, chants the angry crowd.
I don’t have the answer, I have no defence, other than I am a lost soul. Can I win the crowd? I’m not a young boy who can plead his innocence, bending the empathetic maternal ears of the crowd. I’m a grown man, an equal, no salvation will be given, no second chance to start my life over. I have no choice but to prove my worth. I am out of time, I cannot rewind the clock and hone those skills, reinstate and log those thousands upon thousands of hours of reading. I am a grown man, but I feel like a small child with only a wooden sword to protect me. As I look to the crowd, I read their faces; 950 books read; 2000 followers; 390 friends. Each sporting fictional cloaks and literary gowns.
How am I to compete in this arena? Do I bow down and allow the feast to ensue, gorging the hungry eyes of the crowd? Or have I read it all wrong? Have I misinterpreted the written word? Have I allowed my dyslexia to warp my emotions? Or have I simply failed to appreciate how wonderful books can be and how much joy and happiness they bring to so many in society?
As a child growing up in a single parent family, my mum and my Auntie would devour books like…like… Well let’s just skip the metaphor, you know what I mean. My Auntie in particular, could read at a dizzying speed. I just couldn’t get it. Much as they tried to teach me how to speed read, I couldn’t understand how you could get enjoyment from skipping parts of the book. To my logical mind, it made no sense to bulk a book to sell a copy, only for the reader to skip to the good bits. For me, every word, sentence and paragraph had to continue without fault. It just wasn’t possible to immerse myself in the same fictional world that they could. I couldn’t translate the words on the page into a fantasy world in my brain.
Only in my 20’s did I start to read books cover to cover. So, it’s disappointing all these years later that the Government brings out the same Shakespeare to inspire the next generation! If it didn’t work for me then what chance do my kids have now. How many great authors do we now have in this world and still our children have to dissect and analyse the likes of Hamlet and Macbeth?
So, is it possible to be a Writer and not a Reader? Should we embrace change or is Shakespeare truly the God of all literature and I simply accept it with grace and humility?!
So, I’m claiming to be an author and I’ve put myself into the centre of the Colosseum where thousands of book connoisseurs have gathered to feast on the delights of my prose and I expose myself as a pariah, someone who doesn’t belong in this arena. But, why? Why would I do that? It’s clearly not for the money!
“Feed him to lions”, chants the angry crowd.
I don’t have the answer, I have no defence, other than I am a lost soul. Can I win the crowd? I’m not a young boy who can plead his innocence, bending the empathetic maternal ears of the crowd. I’m a grown man, an equal, no salvation will be given, no second chance to start my life over. I have no choice but to prove my worth. I am out of time, I cannot rewind the clock and hone those skills, reinstate and log those thousands upon thousands of hours of reading. I am a grown man, but I feel like a small child with only a wooden sword to protect me. As I look to the crowd, I read their faces; 950 books read; 2000 followers; 390 friends. Each sporting fictional cloaks and literary gowns.
How am I to compete in this arena? Do I bow down and allow the feast to ensue, gorging the hungry eyes of the crowd? Or have I read it all wrong? Have I misinterpreted the written word? Have I allowed my dyslexia to warp my emotions? Or have I simply failed to appreciate how wonderful books can be and how much joy and happiness they bring to so many in society?
As a child growing up in a single parent family, my mum and my Auntie would devour books like…like… Well let’s just skip the metaphor, you know what I mean. My Auntie in particular, could read at a dizzying speed. I just couldn’t get it. Much as they tried to teach me how to speed read, I couldn’t understand how you could get enjoyment from skipping parts of the book. To my logical mind, it made no sense to bulk a book to sell a copy, only for the reader to skip to the good bits. For me, every word, sentence and paragraph had to continue without fault. It just wasn’t possible to immerse myself in the same fictional world that they could. I couldn’t translate the words on the page into a fantasy world in my brain.
Only in my 20’s did I start to read books cover to cover. So, it’s disappointing all these years later that the Government brings out the same Shakespeare to inspire the next generation! If it didn’t work for me then what chance do my kids have now. How many great authors do we now have in this world and still our children have to dissect and analyse the likes of Hamlet and Macbeth?
So, is it possible to be a Writer and not a Reader? Should we embrace change or is Shakespeare truly the God of all literature and I simply accept it with grace and humility?!
March 6, 2020
4am MEMBERS CLUB
I’ve officially joined the 4.00am club! Originally, I thought it was simply a members only affair for those MAMs with bladder issues, however since launching myself on Goodreads, I seem to have succumbed to the fact I am now officially signed up. If I could plug myself in for download in the small hours, then boy would you have a great daily blog. My mind has been racing overtime and my frontal lobe has finally awoken from its hazy winter hibernation. Was it simply the advent of Spring coaxing my inner bear back to the Wilderness or was it a sign my fragile mind was on the mend?
Was I now to become like my friend, ‘Mr Google’ (from my first book)? He was a veteran of the 4am club. This guy was seriously wired, but unlike me who would wake up looking more like Albert Einstein than thinking like him, he would wake up at 4am, trawl through his 200 messages, then go for a jog, have breakfast, then a quick gym session and still be in work before 9. Me on the other hand? I lie awake with a thousand and one thoughts screening my cortex, desperately trying to get back to sleep.
But hey, like I say, this guy is a veteran, he’s got the system sussed he’s been through his MLC, got divorced, remarried, lost 2 stone and is now starting over again with 2 more kids. He’s cheating the system. He’s reaching the peak of the parabola and decided to go around the merry-go-round one last time.
So, I still have much to learn and I’m not sure how I can sustain membership of the 4am club, but one thing’s for sure- I feel different. I feel tired and washed out, but I feel alive again, I feel inspired, like I have worth.
Yesterday I said to my 13-year old son, “I’ve sold another copy of my book. I’ve now sold in Australia, Germany and the UK”. Politely he humoured me, acknowledging by lifting his head from his mobile to be attentive for a precious few seconds. For a teenager he is mature beyond his years and he knew full well that one more copy wasn’t paying for that promised Disney trip any time soon. He was right and how utterly pathetic that I should get so excited by a measly 1 copy sale, but to me it was much more than that. I felt a sense of pride, and in the ever so serious world of parenthood, any little victory I could take was cause for celebration.
As I took my son to the station this morning, we played Dire Straits, ‘money for nothing’ on full volume and we sang together like karaoke kings. It was a poignant moment and how ironic the title.
The skies were grey, it had been raining for months on end and we were in a 5th week of floods. Indeed, the floods this morning were the worst I’ve seen and yet…and yet…it didn’t matter. I’d kicked my Gremlins off the bridge, and I felt alive and happy. I felt, however trivial, I had something to give back to society. I felt valued and I had taken a lesson from my own rule book to learn to celebrate minor victories, no matter how small!!
Was I now to become like my friend, ‘Mr Google’ (from my first book)? He was a veteran of the 4am club. This guy was seriously wired, but unlike me who would wake up looking more like Albert Einstein than thinking like him, he would wake up at 4am, trawl through his 200 messages, then go for a jog, have breakfast, then a quick gym session and still be in work before 9. Me on the other hand? I lie awake with a thousand and one thoughts screening my cortex, desperately trying to get back to sleep.
But hey, like I say, this guy is a veteran, he’s got the system sussed he’s been through his MLC, got divorced, remarried, lost 2 stone and is now starting over again with 2 more kids. He’s cheating the system. He’s reaching the peak of the parabola and decided to go around the merry-go-round one last time.
So, I still have much to learn and I’m not sure how I can sustain membership of the 4am club, but one thing’s for sure- I feel different. I feel tired and washed out, but I feel alive again, I feel inspired, like I have worth.
Yesterday I said to my 13-year old son, “I’ve sold another copy of my book. I’ve now sold in Australia, Germany and the UK”. Politely he humoured me, acknowledging by lifting his head from his mobile to be attentive for a precious few seconds. For a teenager he is mature beyond his years and he knew full well that one more copy wasn’t paying for that promised Disney trip any time soon. He was right and how utterly pathetic that I should get so excited by a measly 1 copy sale, but to me it was much more than that. I felt a sense of pride, and in the ever so serious world of parenthood, any little victory I could take was cause for celebration.
As I took my son to the station this morning, we played Dire Straits, ‘money for nothing’ on full volume and we sang together like karaoke kings. It was a poignant moment and how ironic the title.
The skies were grey, it had been raining for months on end and we were in a 5th week of floods. Indeed, the floods this morning were the worst I’ve seen and yet…and yet…it didn’t matter. I’d kicked my Gremlins off the bridge, and I felt alive and happy. I felt, however trivial, I had something to give back to society. I felt valued and I had taken a lesson from my own rule book to learn to celebrate minor victories, no matter how small!!
March 3, 2020
My first Ever Blog
Hey World. This is my first ever Blog and how refreshing it feels to be talking to the world. The sun is out and the skies are blue- I'm feeling on top of the world!
Well that's not exactly true, in fact it couldn't be further from the truth, although for once the Sun is genuinely shining. I'm desperately trying to put a positive spin of life, after all this is the year I'm supposed to turn things around. I set out with a dogged determination to inspire others and be positive about everything I do. I'm a believer in surrounding ourselves with positive people, so it would therefore be incongruous for me to start my first ever Blog with a depressing monologue on how bad my life is. Reality, however puts a different spin to my new mantra of, 'succeeding in life'. It appears I'm still stuck in my, 'failing in life' cocoon. I guess though this makes it real. There is no 'self help' magic formula. A DIY version to control the fragile negative mind and challenge it to overcome life. To create a new path at the pivotal MLC moment. My life now has two options, it can irrevocably fall apart or I can become the genius DIY self help expert. If I practice what I preach and find the answers to life then perhaps I will be worthy of a second book...Oliver Very
Well that's not exactly true, in fact it couldn't be further from the truth, although for once the Sun is genuinely shining. I'm desperately trying to put a positive spin of life, after all this is the year I'm supposed to turn things around. I set out with a dogged determination to inspire others and be positive about everything I do. I'm a believer in surrounding ourselves with positive people, so it would therefore be incongruous for me to start my first ever Blog with a depressing monologue on how bad my life is. Reality, however puts a different spin to my new mantra of, 'succeeding in life'. It appears I'm still stuck in my, 'failing in life' cocoon. I guess though this makes it real. There is no 'self help' magic formula. A DIY version to control the fragile negative mind and challenge it to overcome life. To create a new path at the pivotal MLC moment. My life now has two options, it can irrevocably fall apart or I can become the genius DIY self help expert. If I practice what I preach and find the answers to life then perhaps I will be worthy of a second book...Oliver Very
