Our Icicles

Technically they're not ours as they're hanging off Dave next door's guttering, but:

Our Christmas Tree

This is perfectly representative of Laura and I:

I Am Back

Things have been shitty but there's always, always, always hope.

Laura is home and suffering surprisingly little in the way of physical after-effects. Emotionally is another matter entirely, but what are you gonna do eh?

I'll keep fighting and hope that she does too.

Nothing more to say on that today.

Another Overdose

It is 10pm on Sunday 14 November. Today at some time between about 10.30am and 1.30pm Laura took another potentially fatal overdose to try and end her life. Currently she is in the Critical Care Unit of the new QE hospital and I am in my bedroom typing this trying to find something, anything to take my mind off things while my subconscious sorts itself out.

The medical staff have sedated her (which seems odd with someone who has overdosed on sedatives) and she is  breathing with the assistance of a ventilator. She would be unable to breathe without it because of the sedation. At this point they don't know if she could breathe alone if she wasn't sedated- although she didn't actually stop breathing at any point on this occasion, which is a good sign.

I am in a state of limbo at the moment. I have cried a little a couple of times, but I am aware of an intense emotional bubble inside me that is being held back. My heart is broken but I am being protected by numbness, for how long I cannot know.

Tomorrow morning the medics are going to make a decision upon what damage has been done when they  receive the results of her toxicology reports, chest x-rays (she may have ingested something from her stomach into her lungs again, the last time this happened she developed very serious pneumonia) and when they try to wake her from the sedation.

I have no more words right now. Odd as it seems I have one more task which I will fulfill before trying to turn in for the night; Laura has selected but not bought a Christmas present for me. I now realise that this was part of her finalising things ahead of this event- which she believed that she would do even if she didn't know for sure. I am going to make the purchase while she is still with us as I think that's what she wanted. I know that it is bizarre, my head is all over the place!

I love Laura so very, very much that even if she doesn't pull through I know that I will feel that she is still with me for as long as I last without her.

Ebay Round-Up

Cash received (including postage) £328.30

Postage costs £27.86
Accrued fees £55.53
Outstanding items to send 2x 1st class recorded parcels within UK, 1 airmail to Japan- estimated cost £12

Net cash received c. £233

Outstanding items listed 23.
Outstanding bids £36.20.

I was hoping to cover my new Ralph Lauren suit (a steal at £100), alterations (£154) and previous purchases (£75) with this round of sales, but it looks unlikely as things stand.

I have loads of things to list again once this round of sales is over, so it may need to be the long game. Either way, I'd have done a straight swap of the things I've sacrificed for the things I've gained, so who is worried really?

Tweedle fucking Dum

I took ten pairs of trouser/jeans/cords to the tailors for alteration yesterday, they're going to cost me £160 when I pick them up. All needed shortening and a couple needed tapering. As I said previously, I have real trouble getting anything off the peg with my 28 inch inside leg. The only trousers available in that leg size off the peg are for grotesquely fat cunts like whoever decides to buy these FIFTY-EIGHT inch waist (28" inside leg) cords that I saw on ebay must surely be.

It seems so unfair that I have to add up to twenty quid onto the cost of every pair of strides I buy as a punishment for not being obscenely overweight. It's not the money as much as the fact that it limits the purchases I can make.

Isn't being way outside the normally available range of waist sizes difficult enough for me?

Tidy

Gave the house a bit of a tidy up earlier. As much as I'm naturally prone to leaving mess wherever I go and burying myself beneath piles in the smallest inhabitable space possible, I do love living in a tidy and clean space.

I must remember that. And pay more attention to it.

The Liz Coincidence

I fell out with a girl called Liz about twelve years ago. It was an amicable split in the end. We're Facebook friends and had a conversation about three years ago, but nothing else.

Then a couple of days ago I was reading the British Sea Power forum and it mentioned them playing at Brudenell Social Club in Leeds, which was on the same street that Liz lived when she moved there and where I knew her best. That was a reminder out of the blue.

And yesterday she sent me a message on Facebook "How are you? Would be nice to see you. Would that be impossible? Liz" which was completely unexpected and lovely.

Then tonight I went to see The Kids Are All Right featuring the actress Mia Wasikowski who I've never seen before but who was so reminiscent of an 18 year old Liz that it was uncanny. Things come in threes they say.

I've told her it would be great to see her but I doubt it'll ever happen.

This photo is the best I can do as an illustration of how similar they look, Liz would be 16 here:

From CD's Stag Do

I've just come across this photo from Big CD's Stag Do at Ascot and I'm really pleased with how I took the uniform and made it look a little more like the 'Black Ivy' photos I was so excited about last month.

I wish I'd stayed in a hotel with an iron, though.

Even More On Clothes

Today I decided I would sort out my 'alterations' pile: the clothes I bought and haven't got around to altering yet. Being the size and build that I am, I have to buy items which don't fit off the peg almost all of the time...

I'm going to digress here for a moment. Why is it that I could buy jeans in any waist size from 34 upwards with a 30 or even a 28 inch inside leg, but when I want to buy a 28 inch waist, then it's almost always a 34 or at best a 32? Is it that uncommon to be that slim and short, or is it that there's an assumption that all short guys pile on the pounds? Imagine how much of a freak a guy with a 28 waist and 34 inside leg must look! It's so annoying. 

...and so I will buy things at a bargain price as I see them, or summer clothes in the winter and winter clothes in the summer and store them up for a trip to the tailors.

The alterations pile contained the following items:

• Two pairs of Levis cords; one in navy, one in tan.
• Three pairs of jeans; a pair of dry denim Wranglers, a pair of vintage red-tab pale blue Levis and a pair of white Levis.
• Two pairs of pale blue Ralph Lauren summer trousers (both brand new, why did I buy two identical pairs?).
• A pair of slim-fitting brown Duffer trousers in cotton.
• Five pairs of Sta-Prest; a deadstock pair of Levis in navy, a pair of Duffer in black, two pairs of Merc in cream and strawberry (these are the flimsiest sta-prests you will ever see) and another pair of deadstock Levis, this time in a shade between stone and tan.
• Two pairs of Farah hopsack weave in grey and brown.
• Two pairs of heavier weight woolen trousers; a beautiful pair in charcoal grey by Nicole Farhi and a darker pair, just off black, by All Saints.

It's ridiculous really isn't it? Seventeen pairs of unworn trousers in addition to all the pairs I have hanging already (and that's been rationed drastically to just eight).

I got tough, I decided to put seven of them on ebay, though that includes the strawberry Merc trousers which I'm still umming and aahing about- how often will I get the chance to buy some lightweight summer sta-prests in a fantastic colour like that? In fact even as I write about them, I know in the back of my mind that I'll keep them.

And so that's six for ebay (the spare Ralph Laurens, the cream Mercs, the two deadstock Levis Sta-Prests and the two pairs of Farahs). It doesn't sound like much to an outsider I imagine, but it feels like something of a betrayal.

The alteration bill for the keepers will be something like £140 which, now that I'm currently on Jobseeker's Allowance, is over two week's income. Sacrifices, sacrifices.

I hope that ebay- which I'll write more on soon- comes up trumps, I'm kind of relying upon it!

Why Clothes?

My last post on here was about how my personal style has changed this year (it changes all year every year, so that's none too surprising) and I signed off by saying that I'd add more after more thought. That's odd isn't it? Or at least unusual. Not many men go into this depth, I'm aware of that. Thinking so much about my wardrobe and the image I project is just a hobby, after all. Let's leave the discussion about the healthiness or otherwise of this hobby for another day, shall we?

But why clothes? I don't think it's a stretch to say that I was looking for something to fill the gap that recovery from alcoholism automatically creates- obviously Laura provided that, but a wife is a little more than a hobby, or at least should be- and I had always been interested in clothes, but I'd been interested in lots of things and none stuck like this. I've had a few thoughts about it and wanted to jot them down here.

Mid-life crisis
Isn't it natural for a man in his thirties to think about his appearance or even, by the very act of not thinking about it any more, consciously make a decision about how he will appear in the eyes of others for years to come (slovenly, I imagine). It happens to all men I think, not necessarily as they turn thirty but in my experience that's a pretty common time for it to happen. I stopped drinking just over six months shy of my thirtieth birthday and so there's a natural coincidence there. Allied to this I had dressed in a way which invited attention- eye-catching haircuts, clothes which accentuated my skinniness, that kind of thing- which I would be less comfortable with sober. It was natural that I would focus a little on clothes, on the image I project and the expectations I create during the natural 'reinvention' that comes with trying to conquer alcohol addiction.

Challenge
Being such a small, slim guy I have always found it hard to dress how I wanted because the clothes available to me are, in general, ill-fitting in even the smallest size or else designed for children. This makes buying clothes a challenge. It is hard work even now with the internet and something in the region of 200 bookmarked sites, so spending months looking for an inferior version of a coat I half-remembered seeing in a video when drunk was clearly something of a challenge and I think that, given my appetite for the difficult, the challenge managed to turn shopping for clothes into an obsession. Even now I'm frustrated in my search for an ice-blue fly-fronted rain mac- it may not even exist, y'know! But I'll keep looking.

Identity
This relates back to the things I said above about 'the image I want to project'. For someone who has never been in the middle of an addiction, it is impossible to understand that you become the habit. I was a drunk, that was my identity and my purpose. It was how I was recognised and, moreover, (this will sound mad, but I swear it is true) how I wanted to be recognised. Your illness which, to everyone else is a weakness, becomes a badge of honour. We see this phenomena replayed everywhere from the playground bullying of swots to pasty white supremacists running scared of big black boogeymen. I understand how mad it is now because Laura wants to be ill with anorexia, she wants to appear ill and for people to tell her that she looks shit. It is mad and creepy and horrible, but let me assure you that when it happens to you it makes perfect sense. And, of course, forfeiting that identity by giving up drinking leaves one rather exposed and scrabbling around on the floor for anything to hide one's naked shame. I chose clothes, sensibly enough. And now I am identified through my clothes to a large extent and it becomes self-perpetuating. Because I push the envelope I have to push the envelope.

I wouldn't have it any other way. It's better than being known as a drunk anyway.

I Can't Think Of Anything I Want To Buy

I just wanted to note this moment for posterity. I don't remember ever feeling like this before.

Tonight I listed 15 items on ebay (some really great things too, they just never fitted) and- out of habit- I started trawling the usual online outlets looking for bargains but I couldn't think of a single specific search I wanted to do. I've thought of one since, I'd really like an ice-blue fly-fronted mac, but the point still stands that for the first time in as long as I can remember I was content with what I have.

Being content didn't feel as nice as you'd think.

There's loads more going on ebay over the next few days, but here's a couple of things I'm very sad to be giving up today:

Adidas Europa TT (original)

Grenson Brogues

Authentic 60s Beatles-style collarless jacket

Authentic 70s leather jacket (Britpop special!)

Gloverall Duffle Coat

Big E Levis Cord Trucker

Authentic 70s Adidas ringer 

Laura's Latest Accident

I woke on Saturday at Simon and Gemma's at around nine to the sound of Simon strumming on the acoustic guitar and blazing sunlight hitting me directly in the eyes (note to self, you really do need to close those curtains next time). Got up, showered, shaved then had (and rejected) a cup of tea which did not please me at all. I should have known there and then.

I spoke to Laura and arranged to head straight on down to Gloucester to meet her without popping home first. This meant not getting the Lichfield Trent Valley-Home line but the Stafford-Gloucester one. Of course when I was at Stafford station and had bought my ticket I called Laura to confirm and she was at our house waiting to surprise me and drive me back. A lovely surprise but a frustrating waste of forty quid on a ticket.

My amended plan was to get off the Stafford-Glos train at Brum, switch back onto the Lichfield TV line that I'd just avoided and meet Laura at the station from where we drive together to Gloucester. All very straightforward so far, but that would be to reckon without life's infinite capacity to throw a spanner off my head.

As I swapped trains I called Laura to confirm only to hear the dreaded words "I've had an accident". My first thought ran to car accident as Laura- being an excellent driver- does tend to take a few risks. It turned out that she'd managed to fall down a ladder into the loft and further to fall down the stairs head first on her back. Jesus Christ! Laura doesn't handle pain well and so this was tricky shit. I got the train and a connecting bus- quicker than a taxi from past experience- and arrived home to find Laura packing a case as if nothing had happened. She showed me a graze on her back and said that she had a bit of a headache but was otherwise fine.

With hindsight I have learned that not only does Laura make mountains out of molehills, she sometimes makes molehills out of mountains too!

I collected the items from the loft that she wanted, packed the car and we sent off down the M5 on the most terrifying car journey of my life. Pretty quickly it became apparent that Laura had been putting a brave face on her injuries so that I wouldn't take the car keys away from her. I thus endured a series of near-misses, rash judgments, several incidents of tailgating at over 100 miles per hour and a final stretch of driving on the wrong side of the road before arriving with knuckles so white that I could read my calcium levels.

We argued. About Laura's recklessness and her responsibilities to others. On top of the driving, it transpired that her ladder accident came because the stepladders were leaned against the wall rather than opened in the conventional way. Such is Laura's ambivalence about life as a result of her depression.

We ended the evening on good terms and I was awoken early on Sunday by Laura saying "I think I should go to hospital". The effects of her concussion had worsened and so we spent several hours (I think it was four) having her checked out.

The diagnosis was concussion (no shit) with minor damage to a vertebrae just below the neck and severe bruising. Had the damage been slightly higher, we could have been talking paralysis. She was a very, very lucky girl. Again.

Whatever guiding spirit shines over Laura has their work cut out, I can tell you.

Chance

Had a game of Monopoly last night with my cousin Simon and his girlfriend, Gemma. It was the updated Here And Now edition, so the places and amounts will look a bit mad. Through strategic deal-making and a lot of bloody luck I was in a pretty good position with control of the half of the board from the orange (Marlborough/Vine etc) to the green (Bond Street etc) with hotels on the richer properties. I also had a handful of millions. Gemma had a scattering of properties and a largely undeveloped yellow set. Simon had all of his eggs in one basket with the Mayfair set each with a couple of houses but no cash.

Simon and Gemma were just about to head into my alley when on my turn I landed on Community Chest.

Pay £100k or take a chance.

Now the £100k fine is the equivalent of £10 on the old game and the Chance deck is loaded with "upgrade your properties" fines and so I should obviously have played it safe. But in my mind the only thing I could imagine was turning over the Go To Jail card and sitting safely collecting rents miles from the only dangerous area of the board.

I took a chance and picked a card which advanced me straight to Simon's most lucrative card. The rent was £14million (about £14,000) on the old game.

I'm not moaning, it's only a game. But there is a lesson there about taking a massive thoughtless risk with little reward. And about thinking before you act.

A lesson that I really should have learned before I reached my mid-thirties!

Eyelashes

I seem to be losing loads of eyelashes lately. Can't help worrying that it's male pattern baldness and I'm all wired up wrong.

I Was Thinking Of Growing A Beard

But I think that the last thing I need is to draw more attention to my heavily-laden piggy eyes. I'll continue shaving, having seen the high quality artist's impression below.

Time To Man Up

The only conclusion I can come to when I see my naked self is that I'm on the path to looking like my Dad. Simultaneously weedy and with a prodigious belly. Though it isn't visible now, I know from the way that my body changed during my 36th year that it is on the way.

Flimsy arms and shoulders beside a non-existent chest and a gut are what is in store unless I deal with things. So, I'm going to man up.

My daily regime will be 4 x 25 press ups, 4 x 25 sit ups and 4 x 25 squats.

When I can do that easily, I will crank it up. I will also try and get some cardiovascular work involved- ideally playing football or something.

LOG - Day 1 - 29 Sept: I do three sets of 3 x 25. After two solid days in bed with an illness and this being day 1 I let myself accept that. I'll do an extra set on day 3 to catch up.

Day 2 - 30 Sept: Not physically up to it. I am now 3 x (5 x 25) in debit. Poor start.

Big CD's Stag Weekend

As a recovering drunk with not much of an appetite for strip clubs, I tend to view "stag" events with trepidation. But I really enjoyed this weekend.

We travelled to Windsor on Friday and went to a few bars then retired to the hotel to play poker. On Saturday we went to the race meeting at Ascot and then to a few bars. On Sunday we had a big pub breakfast, then travelled back to watch football in the Clifden.

It all sounds very normal, and it was. But it was the company and not the events that made the weekend special. As is so often the case. Of course there was the odd reckless moment but mostly it was good clean fun.

Space Research Department

Sticking with the space theme, here's a sign in the building I'm working in at the moment at the University of Birmingham.

Man, I wish I could get through that door!

My Dream Last Night

I rarely remember my dreams but I woke up in the middle of this one and made a note of the details. I had just joined the police as a detective and was investigating a crime which had as its biggest clue the existence of a previously unknown Shakespeare play named 'Ross of Blackburn'. In my dream I joked that it was about a caller to TalkSport.

That's all the detail I noted down, in my fuzzy-headed state I assumed that it would prompt me to remember the rest.