TUESDAY

Yesterday's 4 hours at work were spent compiling my complaint against MK, and I feel better in the knowledge that it has been handed in and due process will ensue. My only worry is a lack of evidence, but R & S are both busy collecting evidence, and although I do not wish to underestimate my enemy, I really believe he is too thick to deny anything. If he does I'm pretty sure he can be coaxed into unhinging himself.
Today's 4 hours were spent in "training" which was all a bit pointless, as I haven't had any of the training sessions which lead up to this one, so I just sat staring at videos and projections and trying to keep my eyes open.
My breadmaking is going well and proving to be a good distraction from everything, but the kitchen does need to be reorganised if life is to revolve around The Loaf. Made a nice white loaf this afternoon, though it looked all the way through like it was going to be a disastrous failure. Completely stuffed up a batch of parkin by only putting half the amount of golden syrup, forgetting to whisk and omitting the baking powder, leaving it tasting quite nice but the texture of wet cardboard. I'm annoyed with myself, but it's not the end of the world.
I have tomorrow off and an excuse to put in some miles as I have a meeting in Haverfordwest of the Expert Patient Programme which will take up most of the day.
On Sunday I'm going walking in the Preselis with George and a few others from work.
The following Friday I've been invited to a party in Cardiff for the opening of the new Sustrans Office, which I'm looking forward to.

STRANGE SUNDAY

Got up fairly early, feeling a little groggy (time of year and medication combined) and it was fairly obvious that church wasn't really a viable option - I felt quite phlegmy, and it was plain to see that the older children were also a bit under the weather. The twins were one and the other - M had streaming eyes and nose and was crying at everything while O charged around the house like a bullock in Pamplona. I considered taking the older two for a bikeride, but it didn't materialise - D became sulky about nothing in particular and got sent to bed, and J and I walked down to Tesco to get some bits for dinner (homemade Fish Pie, went down very well). In the afternoon they all played in their rooms and I was able to read a bit of the paper. Good supplement about baking with children. I'm currently getting back into baking bread. Tonight I've made a sourdough sponge as the base for some rye bread to be made tomorrow. Made parkin yesterday which turned out loads better than the last one (didn't use any treacle, just golden syrup, and this recipe calls for brown ale - used Old Peculier) Baking feels like the right thing to be doing at the moment. I'm focussing quite well on the dinners too - we had an excellent curry on Friday, and the kids ate the leftovers with some tuna risotto yesterday. Compared to most kids I suppose they are excellent eaters and will try anything, but it's such a pain in the arse getting them to sit down and behave at mealtimes. Maybe it's time to change the routine somehow. The twins see mealtimes as a time to get attention. D can't sustain the effort even though he loves his food, and he gets easily distracted. J just gets on with it.
I feel a bit edgy now, (11:30) as I haven't had much exercise, and my thoughts are edging towards tomorrow, no matter how much I head them off...

SATURDAY

One of my GPs phoned me back when I tried to make an appointment on Friday afternoon, after the informal meeting at work, which went very well. I explained the situation at work, and added that I felt that more time off work would not be productive for my general recovery and rehabilitation. After a little negotiation, it was agreed that I should take a tranquilliser for a few days to get me through the worst of it, and I was able to pick up a prescription for diazepam.
I fell asleep quite early on Friday night and slept soundly, but still felt very weary and lacklustre all day today, though this could be a combination of things; the weather, my general state of health (I have a chesty cough at the moment) and the general stress of what I'm going through. When the incident happened, although it was quite a shock, as I contemplated what I might do about it, I felt quite good about being given the chance to "put the boot in", but it has since developed into much more than that. I'm still well aware that it's basically my word against his, and if he chooses to deny that the incident ever happened then it can probably progress no further. However, I do not think that would be his reaction, somehow. Also, because the allegations are of harrassment and bullying, I am able to provide a history of incidents leading up to this contretemps. There are also other members of the Union who have been subject to his outbursts, so there are a few things in my favour.
Anxiety about the whole situation does seem to be getting the better of me. I have already unearthed a few truths that I had hoped did not exist, and one wonders how much further up the line this whole thing goes. For instance - he has regular meeting with the contact centre manager, and for some reason he does this on his own, which I understand to be against union policy. I don't like the way conspiracy theories can grip the mind. I want to push this thing through and get a result at the end of it, but I don't want it to be in the forefront of my mind the whole time, so perhaps this is a good time to change the subject.
Before the meeting I had a slow ride up and down the dock - out to Llanreath, across to Hobbs Point, and then up to the bridge. It was a beautiful day, intense low sunlight, and I'm glad I was able to enjoy some of it.

GRIEVANCE

After a dreadful night's sleep (kept waking up with a splitting headache - eventually took some painkillers at 5:30 but was up and about around 7am) I walked the kids to school then went and did a bit of shopping with wife and twins. It kept my mind off the meeting with management at work today, but didn't last long enough so went for a slow bikeride round the dock to test out my new longjohns and tyres... both seemed to perform well enough.
The meeting at work was informal and constructive. I am very lucky with the manager I have. I have elected to go through the formal grievance procedure, but having viewed the guidance there is a different procedure for harrassment, discrimination and bullying, which again has a separate clause for if the allegations are against a Union Official. It appears this is far more of a golden opportunity than I first imagined, the only problem being the lack of witnesses, but there is plenty of supporting evidence in the emails MK has been firing off left right and centre about me, and plenty of history I can build a case on. I wish I could say that I am coping with the stress of all this, but I really don't feel I am. I have a lot of pain in my neck and shoulders, which could be related to the bad cough I have suddenly developed, but I think, coupled with the bad night of sleep and the headaches, that it is probably stress-related. I feel I should discuss things with my doctor, and not just for the purpose of supporting the case. I do not want to have any more time off work, but would like people to know what's going on. I missed my meditation session yesterday because I just felt too drained to make the journey. If I cycle, it's going to be physically demanding, if I get the train it's going to be stressful, and I didn't feel up to either, which is a shame as it would have done me good to go.
I feel both relieved and apprehensive now that I've made things official - I'm aware that these things are apt to blow up in one's face.

THAT THURSDAY FEELING

The day is mine. No work. Some dude is finishing off fitting new doors to the house, the family have all gone off to school/work/creche, it's raining heavily and I'm wide awake at 8am. I have an appointment with my manager at 2.30 this afternoon to discuss raising a grievance against MK for his outburst yesterday, which is a bit of a blot on the landscape of an otherwise perfect day, but it's all in a good cause. Today is the day Cycling Weekly comes out, today is the day of my meditation session; there are things to be thankful for, I just wish I didn't have to think vindictive thoughts today. It's my own fault. The manager in question has been incredibly supportive during my move back to work, almost as supportive as a good union rep should be, and he offered to speak to me about the incident on Monday, when I am due back at work, but I was insistent that it needs to be dealt with now, and he has agreed to see me today. It's not something that is worrying me unduly - I was a bit rattled yesterday, but slept OK (despite having run out of Amitriptylene) and feel quite calm about the matter today. One of my work and union colleagues said in an email yesterday "I don’t think I’ve ever disliked someone as much as I dislike him." I am very relieved to find that I am not the only one who feels this way. I was beginning to think my intense loathing was in some way irrational!

10:30am: As expected, the workmen doing our doors have left the job incomplete. It always happens in Pembrokeshire. Over a week ago they came round one evening to say they'd be doing the doors the following day, and they weren't seen again for over a week. There are a couple of sections of beading missing off the back door windows. He says he'll be back later to complete, but I will only believe that when I see it.
I have just had an email from my manager rearranging the meeting to 11am tomorrow. It's an annoyance as that's yet another incomplete day. I've already given up part of today to organising myself for it, and now I have to do the same tomorrow.
Can you see the pear slowly taking shape?

EASING MYSELF IN GENTLY

I have not dared allow myself thoughts of anything other than work for the past three days. If I distracted myself for the merest second, I felt I would sink without trace beneath a deep and dreadful lack of enthusiasm. While at work I busied myself with renewing old acquaintances, in particular some of the Union Reps, with whom I had spent more time than others; ST and RL from my own office, PSJ from Cardigan (who has resigned and is currently on leave), LW from Ammanford, (taking a career break so currently uncontactable) and SL from Llanelli. Stories came to me bit by bit through the work email system that a lot of shit seems to have been hitting a lot of fans in the year of my absence. I was asked by Sian, Rob and Sonia if I'd consider rejoining the BEC, and in the face of such overwhelming camaraderie, I was unable to refuse. Of three old-school Unionists who ran our branch like a little Mafia, only one remains. MK. My nemesis. I have loathed and despised this person from the very moment we met, and he's now Branch Vice Chair, currently bidding for the post of Chair. It was agreed between a few of us that I can be co-opted back onto the BEC at the next meeting in December as there are not enough Reps to cover our office adequately, so I sent a courtesy email to the reps in our office, MK included, informing them of my intentions. As I was leaving work I was collared on the stairs by MK, who first expressed some surprise at my decision, and then tried to tell me that it would not be possible for me to become a Rep. I gave a shrug, and told him he wasn't going to stop me and wandered off down the stairs, whereupon he started shouting at me, telling me I will need to watch my back from now on. I didn't stick around to find out the or-elses, I am after all a grown man and above such childishness. Instead I left the building and went home, where I sent an immediate email to our Ops manager raising a grievance. I then emailed our Branch Secretary (who has also been victim to his bombastic ways) to raise a grievance within the union. I'm not sure if there were witnesses to his behaviour, but his voice when shouting was loud enough to be heard from some distance, so hopefully someone will come forward. The bastard is a bully, holds extreme rightwing views, is a sexist, racist bigot and should not be allowed union membership, let alone a position of power. He is untrustworthy and a fervent licker of management arseholes. I have been victim to his (deliberate) indiscretions, when he discussed something I did at work which was totally unrelated to Union Activities with a senior manager. I would not trust him to represent me or anyone else on any matter whatsoever, and if it kills me in the process I'm going to bring that bastard down.
I've been back at work less than two weeks.

PLATEAU

Sunday - had to drag myself out of bed and haul my tired ass straight to church this morning. Didn't go to bed till around 2:30am as I was manning the MP3 production line. Church was good - the visiting vicar was the one to whom I have an aversion - he started the service by announcing that he was to become Rector of Tenby, and so would be leaving our parish around February next year, which cheered me up no end. I'm sure he's really a nice bloke but I see him as a "career vicar" - he has ambitions, and I'm sure if he thought it would aid his progress he'd take up Freemasonry, or whatever it took. He isn't one "of the people" and seems very aloof, not something I see as a good quality in a religious man. Fine choice of hymns today, including For Those In Peril On The Sea, a personal favourite, though the clarinettist and choir managed to pitch it somewhere close to a dog whistle.
Made a curry laced with ginger and garlic for dinner, which went down very well, and will hopefully go some way to easing the nocturnal coughings. Kids have played quietly upstairs most of the afternoon and have allowed me to chill out listening to Radio 3 (absolutely STUNNING solo piano interpretation of Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition) while converting Mojo CDs to MP3 and reading some good interviews on the Idler website (Damien Hirst particularly impressive).
I'm hearing on the radio that Derbyshire is under snow. Now that makes me feel nostalgic. Winters here in Pembrokeshire are pretty dismal affairs in my experience, lots of dullness and greyness and unremitting rain, with little to break the mon-o-tony. The only exception I can think of is a couple of years ago, when I attended a 3-day Union course in Cardiff. On the second day, snow was forecast, and people immediately ran for home. I didn't understand until the following morning, when the only two people to arrive were myself and Paul Stefan Jones from Cardigan, who had been staying in the same hotel. He offered me a lift to Carmarthen, and as we made our journey it became apparent why everyone had been thrown into such panic. I got to Carmarthen just in time to catch the last train that would run that day. Snow was thick on the ground and everything was grinding to a halt. As the train neared Tenby the snow turned to rain, but as I got off at Pembroke Dock it was just turning back to snow, and within the hour roads were blocked and chaos reigned, and splendid chaos it was! By the following morning the snow had gone and all was back to normal. People muttered darkly of a winter a few years ago when the town was completely cut off for three or four days, so I should be glad that snow is such a rare commodity here, really.

UPHILL ALL THE WAY

A circular journey can only be 50% uphill. (I know many people who just don't get that statement.)
Life, however, doesn't seem to be a circular journey, at least not yet, and today is uphill all the way. Wife was in one of her "stay out of my way I'm moving things" moods and ended up instigating a shouting match just because I couldn't remember where I'd taken a pair of shoes off over a week ago - an irrelevant point as it turned out as they turned up under a table where she'd put them. The only thing to do in these situations (which seem to be gaining in frequency of late) is to get as far away as possible, which is what I was trying to do. I was considering cycling to Haverfordwest, but first took Jasmine and Dylan on our first ever bikeride up the road to Memorial Park, where we rode round the paths and on the grass. They both impressed me with their cycling skills and stamina. They had a little difficulty tackling some of the slopes, but much less than expected. It was a cold and dull morning though, and as we headed back I noticed the first spots of rain and decided against a longer ride, opting instead to make a good stew for dinner, which everyone enjoyed, but I was unable to shake off my annoyance at the earlier altercation. Everyone (except me) went off to bed early, after a fine supper of scones with jam and clotted cream.
It's raining steadily and heavily, and I'm starting to ache in every joint.
I've found some missing Johnny Cash CDs and have converted them to MP3, and am enjoying hearing them again, particularly the spiritual songs - The Man Comes Around, My Own Personal Jesus. I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry cut me like the ice cold wind tonight.
Everyone seems enthusiastic about church tomorrow. Last week it was just Jassie and I, and she wanted to be a grownup and join in the service rather than playing with the toys which are left out for them. I'm glad we've found a church where we all feel equally welcome at last. I was left feeling pretty dismayed after our first few attempts. The first was a Pentecostal church, and the congregation consisted of a few veteran diehards who were dry old sticks. There was no music and the service was a cold austere affair, and not one any of us wished to repeat. St John's Church is the "busy" church but I have a natural aversion to the vicar there. Angie enjoyed going to the Bethel Chapel, but I found it strange and claustrophobic, though we went along as someone actually came knocking on the door to invite us. There seemed to be a healthy Sunday School, but I couldn't reconcile myself with the general weirdness of the services, which seemed to be unscripted and haphazard, but still lacking in spontaneity. St Teilo's is small, welcoming, very child friendly, and close by. They do not have a priest of their own, but have a roster of visiting vicars who are all OK by me, and their service starts at 11am, a most civilised time. The choir is one which needs to be experienced - when the organist is absent a clarinettist stands in, and always pitches the song just out of the range of the three old dears who comprise the choir which results in a lot of squeaking, missed beats, and general embarrassment, but who's to care?
I have a problem with religion in that almost all my friends are completely at odds with "The Church", religion in general, and especially the big J, for their own personal reasons. I have had friends of the Christian persuasion, but most of them have been barking mad, apart from The Harrison Family, who still remain the best examples of Christians I've ever met. I too have my reservations about organised religions of any denomination, but thanks to a hospital Chaplain (Michael Forster) I'm no longer self-conscious about going to church, and my feeling is that I can get as involved (or not) as I wish.
A scene which haunts my memory is during the funeral of my good friend Jim Gamble. Myself and PJ were being driven around by Jim's son Kristyan, who has been living in Cornwall for the past few years and has not had as much contact with his dad as he perhaps might. He was wondering aloud about his father's spirituality, saying that he never knew "that side of him".
PJ, an ardent and vociferous anti-christian, stated that Jim didn't believe in God, and I was perhaps a little too quick to correct this, as it was something which Jim had spoken to me of quite often in our conversations of the last few years. I regret saying anything now, as I hope it didn't come across as an "I knew him better than you" kind of statement, but I had to say something, and later, when PJ and I were alone and sharing a couple of whiskies, I brought it up again, pointing out that Jim was hardly the type of person to start a discussion on the merits of christianity with someone he knew took such an openly hostile stance. People turn to religion through loneliness, among other reasons, and maybe the people who shout loudest against it should bear this in mind.

THE WEEKEND STARTS HERE

A good day today. Dragged myself out of bed around 10, having decided that today was the day the shed gets sorted. There's nothing like a bit of work to make one realise how precious time is! If it doesn't get done now then I can't attempt it till the end of next week. It's not an easy task, and is dependent on the house being child free. The shed door faces the bottom of the stairs. Everything needed to come out so that I could remove an old shelf unit we'd inherited from the previous tenants, so the living room was full of toolboxes and suchlike and the yard was full of bicycles and their paraphernalia. I ran out of time and had to shove a lot of stuff back willy-nilly before the kids got home from school, but it's much better than it was and the rest can be organised at leisure. Had a good evening keeping the kids amused with some handwarmers bought from Lidl, the gymball and a few tunes on mediaplayer - Oliver particularly likes the visualisations, and they all like singing along and cavorting round the room.
I've decided I'm going to buy Dylan a special present, for being so caring after I came out of hospital in September. He was very diligent, and wouldn't let me leave the house without him there to hold my hand and "help me walk", which I think is something which shouldn't go unrecognised. I have £25 of Argos vouchers from work, and I know he'd like a full-face helmet for riding his bike in, and they just happen to have one at Argos for...£25, which seems to serendipitous to miss. They've been told that if the weather is good then they get their breakfast and then out on their bikes for the whole morning. They've only just learned to ride, and they need the practice. If it's raining, then they'll be doing christmas-related arts and crafts upstairs while I continue with my shedwork.
Occasionally I miss the ritual friday-night-down-the-pub, but the pain which alcohol produces just doesn't make it a viable proposition. Hopefully Dave and I will get a walk in this weekend. I could do with one.

BACK TO THE ISSUE...

...of scar tissue.
I ended the last post with the accident which led to the scarring on my left hand, which also left my ring finger and index finger all but immobile for a couple of years, putting the tin hat on any aspirations I might have had as a guitarist. I also broke my left wrist in a similar accident: I was 17 and pissed, staggering along a dark Derbyshire Lane, when I needed a slash. I vaulted over a wall, suddenly remembering that there was a sizeable drop on t'other side, at least 10 feet... the wrist cracked right across the radius and took a long time to heal - had to be broken again to reset it twice. It still gives me pain to this day, but all these scars are as nothing compared to The Big One, The Daddy, the scar which says to all others "you're nobbut a scratch", the scar which runs in a straight line from just above my solar plexus to deep down in my groin, swerving very slightly to avoid the navel. This is the scar I got in 1994, after I'd been stabbed in the back. The knife, apparently, went all the way through and came out at the front, but this was not realised until they sewed me up, whereupon I swelled up like a balloon when the internal bleeding had no way of escape. I spent 3 days in the Intensive Care Unit of Leicester Royal Infirmary, and a further 11 days on a post-surgical ward going through all sorts of agonies, the worst of which was having 56 stitches removed from various locations - the scars in my back, one on my thigh, a hole where a drain had been plugged into my stomach, and of course the scar which puts all others in the shade. Remarkably, I did not lose the damaged kidney and made a full and complete recovery, thanks to all the medical staff at the aforementioned hospital.
However, the abdominal scar tissue causes problems of its own, and this has been added to by having my gall bladder removed in 2001, which left a scar tracing the end of the right side of my ribacage, and most recently the bilateral hernia operation, which has left my todger looking a bit like Jack Nicholson at the end of One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. Any more and I will probably consist of more scar tissue than not.

WORKINGMANS BLUES PART 2

On Tuesday 13th November I returned to the job I've loathed more than any other after almost 9 months on the sick, while my hernias were diagnosed and treated. You can sense the reluctance. Notice I did not return on the Monday, that would have been just too much. Let the week start without me.
So, Tuesday morning I arrive, and need to get my Smart Card reactivated since it was repossessed a month or so ago, for "Security Reasons". This involved a lot of standing around while one of the techies did things that I didn't need to know about, after which it became instantly apparent that I was unable to access my work email account. As my instructions for the day were to sort through the myriad emails that would have accumulated in my absence, this was going to be a bit of a problem, and I sat quietly for 5 hours doing slightly less than fuck-all. No-one batted an eyelid.
A team member who tends to mother everyone kept trying to drag me into conversations, but all I wanted to do was stare out of the window.
The following 2 days were to be spent in training for the new workload, which is to be handling claims for Crisis Loans. Despite me only being scheduled to work Tuesday and Wednesday, I volunteered myself to attend Thursday's Training session so as to be synchronised with the rest of the wing when we "go live" next week. I wish I hadn't. Having undergone two days of quite intensive training I'm:
a) none the wiser
b) very tired and stressed
and
c) dreading going to work much more than I was before.
At the end of today I had a brief "welcome back to work interview" with the Wing Manager (who is as sound a bloke as you could wish to meet) but it didn't go as well as we might have expected.
I am currently on PTMG (Part-Time, Medical Grounds) and have thus far had to elicit two letters of support from my Doctor, but now it transpires that neither of these letters are up to scratch. I refused to go and see him again over such a trivial matter.
I'm sure he's aware that the bottom line is that I don't want to be there, but he's not letting on. Who would want to be there, with the prospect of having to deal with nothing but Crisis Loans for the whole of Scotland over the entire Christmas and New Year period? As nice a bloke as he is, he doesn't have a fucking clue what it's like to sit there on the phones all day. He should get back to the floor.
Three days later my email is still non-functional, which impacts quite sizeably on the job I'm supposed to be doing next week - once we've completed a claim for a Crisis Loan we have to EMAIL it to the relevant Benefit Delivery Office to be actioned. No-one at work seems any too bothered so I'm not going to lose any sleep over it, but it would be nice to send the odd abusive email to my fellow colleagues.

SCAR TISSUE...

...is an issue.
Without going into all the gory details, my body now comprises a great deal of scar tissue - far more than I ever thought I'd have. I have a small, almost invisible scar on my forehead, above my right eye, where I had a cyst removed (while awake!) which is unnoticeable most of the time, but when I rub my forehead, it sends a tingling sensation (not entirely unpleasant) along my scalp towards the crown.
Just below my left eye is a scar I received as a young child which has two conflicting stories behind it, both of which I seem to have recollections of. My Dad told me that my birth mother (who left when I was but 2 or 3 years old) had dropped me off her knee whilst changing my nappy and my face had collided with the corner of the hearth. To say that I can remember this is an understatement, when I think of it I can see where she would have been sitting.
The other version (in a letter from my birth mother as I approached my 20th birthday) states that whilst in the care of her other son Robert (of whom I have no clear recollection) I was hit in the face with a swing. I can envision this happening, quite clearly, but the park in which I see it happening did not exist at that time. I've always had a healthy respect for swings, and go into a panic if I see any of my kids going near one while it's moving, so either story is possible, but there's no real way of checking now. While I was growing up the scar was a well-defined crescent which was impossible to conceal, but now it's just been absorbed into the general cragginess of my grizzled face.
My left hand has a fair few scars from when I had a spectacular incident while out in Yorkshire with the Orpheus Caving Club. We had been drinking in The Three Horseshoes in Ingleton, and were sharing a couple of caravans down under the viaduct. As we left the pub, I had 2 bottles of Newcastle Brown in each hand to take back to the caravan, only in going from bright lights to pitch blackness caused me to miss a flight of steps completely. My foot went into a waste bin and I hurtled forwards, landing face down. My left hand ended up among the two smashed bottles, my right hand instinctively held the other two bottles in the air.
I was bleeding quite profusely, so emergency medical treatment was sought, and after a few frantic phonecalls from the pub (while I bled and puked all over their floor) we were instructed to drive to the surgery at High Bentham, which we somehow managed, and we waited for an eternity in the carpark. Eventually a very bad tempered doctor turned up, annoyed because he'd driven all the way out to the pub. By this time things were beginning to heal over, and getting bits of glass out was slow and painful, and a few bits got left in.
to be continued...

MONDAY BLUES

Yes. Everybody gets the Monday Blues, we're led to believe.
I have to start work again tomorrow after a layoff of almost 9 months (3 seasons - it does have a pleasing symmetry to it) which I'm not looking forward to at all. The Department, predictably, are being hopelessly pedantic about the whole thing. I was asked to get supporting medical evidence for going back to work part time, and my doctor is writing a letter of support, but that is not enough. They've asked me (with 3 days notice) to talk to my doctor about my proposed hours and get a written agreement from him, which I'm trying to do over the phone to save wasting valuable time. Whilst waiting for a callback I've taken two calls for my wife relating to the voluntary work she does, which annoys me as she has a mobile phone, and knows my memory isn't what it could or should be.
I have, over the past few days, rearranged the computer, so it is now hooked up to the main television in the living room and to the hifi. I had converted many CDs to MP3 to create a virtual jukebox, but noticed that on my MP3 player the volume was very varied, so decided to re-import them into Media Player and normalise the sounds. Clearing out the list in media player has deleted all the MP3s from my files. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. (and before you say there's no need to swear, there is. This is actually the best reason I've found for swearing since my bike threw me over the handlebars on my way home from work on one of the few days that I wasn't wearing my mitts. I felt sorry for the woman in the car who stopped to offer assistance - her ears were assailed by the most inventive torrent of expletives I've ever put together.)
So, today, instead of making the most of my "last day of freedom" (till they sack me) I'm sat here ripping tracks. Arse.

THURSDAY NIGHT

It's now 23:00 and I could really do with having a bath and getting to bed, but I need to get this down before it evaporates. The rain this afternoon did not last long, and it was quite clear by the time I needed to set off for Tenby. Riding felt good, and I opted for the better but more arduous route over The Ridgeway. I did stop for a breather halfway, but made the ascent from Lamphey without too much agony, and the rest of the ride was a breeze as I had the wind behind me.
The meditation class was excellent (only Ann and myself there) and I came out of there with no thoughts of getting the train. We covered a lot of ground, which included "singing bowls" which were superb.
Coming back it was cold, but a clear night with lots of stars. My new bikelight was excellent, illuminating my way admirably, and causing oncoming motorists to dip their headlights well in advance (well, most of them).
I was most pleased to have achieved the ascent from Penally in one go - it's a real killer of a climb, and I think that's the first time I've attempted it.
Journey time was about an hour in each direction, and the distance is around 12 miles, so I'm happy with that for now. Muscles are aching, but there are no ominous twinges from the new scars, which is encouraging.
See? I told you Thursdays are the best days! (forgot to buy Cycling Weekly, so that's a bonus for tomorrow).

THURSDAYS

Thursdays are definitely my favourite day of the week. It's all downhill from here. More than half of the week is over and the only thing standing between me and the weekend is Friday, not that I'm wishing my time away - it looks like I'll be going back to work next week, and these few days left are precious indeed. Cycling Weekly appears on a Thursday, and as of now I have a meditation class to attend in Tenby every Thursday evening, and I relish the challenge of cycling there and back, even in this autumnal weather. It's not raining today but it is generally overcast and dull, and it looks quite windy, but I have yet to venture out into it. If i tire myself out on the way there, there is a train at 19:45 I can catch, but I'd rather not as it's generally populated with drunken teenagers whose only joy in life seems to be to piss me off, so it's best avoided, as is any form of public transport in these parts.
I'm thinking about hosting a writers' workshop sometime soon, and am gathering ideas for it - my general premise is that writing is improved by reducing the amount of thought that goes into it, so it will consist of some exercises in spontaneous writing with strict time limits, and I'm trying at the moment to frame an activity in which the writer has to stop following a "normal" train of thought - maybe something like you write a sentence, and then all the papers get passed on to the next person, and so on until the circle is complete, to demonstrate how something can create itself and you don't necessarily need to exercise control to achieve something.

edit:
14:00 Shortly after I posted this, literally within a matter of minutes, it started raining - with a VENGEANCE! I'm now in a dilemma as to whether to make the journey or not - I'm not bothered about getting wet, but there's no point going to a meditation class if I'm going to be wet and uncomfortable, as it will just be a distraction.

12 WEEK CYCLES

These have been cropping up quite a bit recently; when I stopped smoking in March, I elected to use Champix, which is a 12 week course of medication designed to break the habit (it worked very well for me).
After my bilateral hernia operation in August I was discussing my cycling prospects with my GP - he told me he had been to a seminar on post operative muscle regeneration, and the concensus was that for the muscles to regain full tensile strength they should be rested for 12 weeks.
I have started attending meditation classes, and last week were discussing the benefits of chanting and mantras, in particular the "ah" which signifies beginnings - it is thought that if you wish something to begin in your life, you sing or chant the mantra twice daily for, you guessed it, 12 weeks, while visualising what it is you want (I'm currently working on losing weight and getting fitter, so I'm visualising scales) then the chanting will help it come to fruition.
Surely no coincidence then that 12 weeks is roughly a quarter of a year, and therefore a season? Doubtless I've picked the wrong season (winter) to be trying to shed some pounds, but I shall persist and we shall see. Having given up smoking I feel I can achieve anything. (well almost)

edit:
My wife has a course for unlocking creativity called "Finding Water" - I believe this is also a 12 week course. I knew there was something else as I was writing this last night but could not recall what it was, then woke up thinking about it this morning, as is usually the way.

edit 2:
the 12 step plan for alcoholics and drug addicts is another example.

BONFIRE NIGHT BLUES

This year, November 5th falls on a Monday, which means that some people have their bonfire on Saturday, some on Sunday, and some on Monday. Oh Joy. I have to constantly remind myself that here in West Wales it's not as bad as in Leicester, where Diwali and Bonfire Night combine into a mass firework bombardment that seems to last through the whole of October and November. I was traumatised by having bangers thrown at me as a child, and many other things have conspired to traumatise me since, but no amount of Cognitive Therapy can stop the sheer terror brought on by the various flashes bangs and screeches of "domestic" fireworks. How something so potentially lethal and dangerous can be described as domestic is beyond me. Surely there are laws as to how far away from houses you need to be? This legislation has existed for a long time with regard to air rifles, so why not fireworks?
Fortunately, our children were not clamouring to go to a display, and don't know what they're missing, but it is now disturbing their sleep.
I'd like to see a complete ban on the sale of so-called "domestic" fireworks, though I doubt I will.

LOST SOUL

I'm starting this blog in an attempt to diarise some aspects of my life in the hope of understanding them better. My life has changed quite dramatically, quite a few times in the past 15 years. Back then I was a Nightclub/Restaurant/Venue Manager (and loving it), a performance poet touring regularly and running my own club (and loving it) with a couple of books and recordings to my name. I was single, drifting through a series of wrong relationships. Now, I'm happily married with 4 young children, working as a Civil Servant (and hating every minute of it), I've just resigned as Chairperson of a Poetry Club because I just don't want to do it anymore, and I'm not sure where I'm going. I don't write very much (or very well) anymore, though I keep telling myself I'll go back to it when circumstances change (the "when I reach the border" syndrome) but I'm not so sure. The only creative outlet I currently enjoy is photography. My 2 bicycles are my primary mode of transport (a mountain bike and a road bike), and I enjoy cycling - it gives me an excuse to get some solitary time, which hardly exists at home. I have kept an informal blog for the last year or so at moblog.co.uk and have found it very useful in many ways, so I'm thinking something more "in depth" might prove equally useful.
I am recovering from recent surgery, struggling with depression and a complete lack of motivation. I have to return to a job I hate after an absence of 8 months. I need to lose some weight and get fit again. I need to shake off this depression. This is where it all starts. "Change my way of thinkin'... make myself a different set of rules"