Down to the bridge

Firstly I would like to apologise for the quality of the images in this post. Not what I hoped for but I will explain why later. They are so different from the ones I had in my mind. Well to be honest I had only one photograph in my mind. It has been building for a while now as I have been doing my drives. At night I always go under Bothwell Bridge. Or more precisely I go under the new bridge and can see the old historic bridge as I pass back and forth. The later at night I have driven the more often I have seen the bridge lit up in its splendour but with no way of getting to it- I cannot just stop the car on the dual carriageway. The bridge is not always lit and its not always the same when it is lit. Sometimes its blue underneath, red on top, white, partly green or a combination. In my head I have had an image taken close up in the dark which would provide a beautiful sight. In my head is where that will stay.

By road the bridge is 1.1 miles away roughly. That is a round trip of over 2 miles which is way out of my league. As yet I have to reach a 1 mile walk so walking was out of the question. I've spent hours looking over this map for places to park the car so I could walk to it but cannot find any. It is a shame that this is the case. Finally though last night I got the urge again. Having looked over the map yet again I decided that if I drove from my house, point A, to the slip road on the dual carriageway, B, I could then walk to a point where I would be able to take a photograph of the bridge, point C. I would have to do this in the dark to get the best effect, I thought, which wasn't a problem, or so I thought. Then measuring it up I found the walk itself would take a mile which is longer than I had walked before and on top of a drive that would already make me anxious it would appear an unlikely venture. But I had the urge so thought to myself I would at least make an attempt to see how far I could get.

Recently I have been reading of a few people feeling exhaustion. I know this feeling as I've had it before too but it is easy to make light of it when it is gone. Yesterday for some strange reason around mid-afternoon I was hit with a wave and struggling to keep my eyes open. In that agitated state where the mind is too awake with thoughts running like the Large Hadron Collider and the lifeless body just wanting to sleep it made for a long day. The last thing I wanted to do was go out but for some unknown reason I was also feeling compelled to. This was the first time I felt this way where I wanted nothing more than to stay indoors but at the same time had an overwhelming urge to go out and push myself. I guess that image in my head of the perfect photo was the major factor as I do get quite obsessive thoughts when I want to do something to the point that I have to do it to get some peace.

I got out in the car and drove up the dual carriageway taking the first slip road back off again. I've only been back driving 5 days and although its getting easier I am still very anxious in the car. Not knowing what to expect I found myself in an unlit little area where I parked the car. You can just about make it out in the photo above. Ironically the only thing that was clear was the one thing I had to smudge- the number plate. It was that dark- though my camera problems will become apparent later. The thought of leaving the car here did not temper the anxiety much as images of coming back to a smashed up car or it not being there filled my head. I had no time to think though. The more thinking I did the more likely I was to jump back in the car and head home so off I went walking into the unknown.

Looking at the map it all looked so simple. It was a straight path down to the bridge and depending on the layout I may not even have to go all the way down to get a photograph, I had thought. In reality it was a different prospect altogether. A narrow solitary path who's end disappeared from view. It was well lit though but if some nutter popped out behind me I was cut off or if there were some alcoholics or other problem people ahead I was in real trouble. I hadn't thought about that looking at the map. Even in day time this would be a bit worrying alone but at night it was more menacing. The further I got from the car the more I wanted to head back.



It seemed this path was never ending. The further I went the more trees enclosed and the lights disappeared. At some point the wall at my side vanished. It got more and more narrow and claustrophobic. What the hell was I doing this for? On hindsight it was stupidity. Even if I had no anxiety problems at all is this the kind of lonesome night journey a sane person would enjoy doing? Of course not. My wife later would get very angry at home because I had put myself in a potentially dangerous position without even telling her where I was going. As time passed she worried more and had no way of contacting me as I hadn't charged my phone. My folly was realised when I started to run out of breath and the path began to decline. I knew it was time to head back. But of course I didn't and instead pushed on. There should have been something liberating in that moment but there was not. It was more a growing regret that an obsession could keep pushing me deeper into my panic.

Everything was getting darker and I noticed my steps were all over the place as if I was staggering and swaying like a drunk. It was all a little disorientating as the horizon was gone and my fears pushed me in all directions. The anxiety was turning to panic and I had to fight it constantly. In almost complete black I could hear water running to my left. Very faintly I could make out the river. I must be close. There were some paths leading into the void but that was out of the question. Still I could not see the illuminated bridge so I had to push on. I did though see the new bridge. Amid the growing turmoil in my head I wondered how near it was to the old bridge forgetting completely that it is attached to it. It is impossible to think straight in such a state.



Finally I go the spot and here is where it all fell apart. I thought my planning had been meticulous but it had not up to this point and completely went to pot at that moment. The bridge itself, disappointingly, was not illuminated. It had a little bit of green light on it but nothing like the splendour I had previously seen, if you squint enough you might just see it in the image above. Regardless though I was taking a photo. I took a few and they were all terrible. It suddenly hit me that I had not set up the camera. God only knows what setting it was on. It has settings for night and even fireworks but I had left it on portrait or something like that. It was at the point where I tried to find the right setting that panic struck me. Not only were my arms and hands shaking, which I had been fighting against, but my neck started to shake which is the sure sign of a biggy. My futile attempts to find the right setting ended abruptly as I realised I now had to flee- as quickly as someone who cannot run can. The dial with all its letters signifying something was meaningless anyway now and the buttons made no more sense.

It was, I have to say, horrendous. I was scared out of my whits and shaking so much that I could hardly control myself as I tried to escape as fast as I could. Everything was too close and my sight was blurry. As the chest started to tighten each protracted inhale and exhale began to hurt and felt like there was nothing but a vacuum within. My mouth dried first and then the throat followed. All I could think of was water and some semblance of an end to this path. At one point I thought I would have to stop as I could hardly breathe and my heart was banging- which is very unusual for me. But how could I sit or lie down in this dark place not knowing what or who was around. So I had to go beyond myself and push further until eventually I got back to the car.


And I did get there but it is not something I will ever do again. As I turned the corner shock filled me as I saw an empty lane with no car in it. A couple of seconds later I realised there was another little lane beside it in the dark where I had actually parked. That little fright was the last as I climbed back into the car panting, soaked in sweat and still very shaky to drive home. Such a wasted opportunity. OK it is maybe courageous but the larger percentage was stupidity. There are no long term benefits to be had from this apart from hopefully a lesson in how not to do things. The poor quality of the photos pains the most though. That could have been avoided and was the easiest part of the night. Instead of worthwhile reminders I am left with a poor interpretation of the night's adventure.

Down to the river

One thing my driving has done is make me look more at the area around me. It has made me look for places I can maybe get to. In my mind what was once a drawer full of a multitude of single scraps of places this process has begun to stitch them together into a map that I am starting to see clearly. The world outside as a result doesn't seem as daunting.

About a month or so ago I was thinking about what I would like to experience most locally. There is not a lot to choose from if I'm honest. Then when I looked at the map one thought came strongest of all. It may sound silly to some but that thought was of a river. When was the last time I saw any body of water? At least three years but probably more. It began to play on me. The serenity of watching the water flow- always flowing. The tranquil sound of it gently passing. To touch the cold water and let it trickle through my fingers. Yes down to the river is where I wanted to go but alas it is out of my reach.

Believe it or not it was only in my first week of driving again, 17 June, I saw water again after over 3 years absence. Even in my good spell 18 months ago I was driving during the day but never out of town and never anywhere where I would see the river. Passing over the river Clyde last month I glimpsed it. I have seen it many times since but for me it doesn't really count as it is a short distracted moment from afar in a car. What I want is to be up close to it. Lingering there. To see it near, hear it and touch it.

For most the great stretch of water would be close enough to walk to from my house. For me though it is not. At first viewing on the map I was full of heart. It appears to show a road all the way up close to the river. I asked my wife about it she told me she's never been down there so didn't know if it was a through road. So off I hopped in the car one night drove down by the council building to be met with the road ending abruptly. Where the road stopped a path started which is shown in the top photograph. Not good as it is a 'keep clear' area so I couldn't park the car there.

For me there was no way of walking down there. The best I had achieved walking so far was walking around the council buildings and I had done that only once as physically it was a struggle. Last night I walked down there again soaked in the pouring rain. When I got to the end of the road anxiety was so high that I wanted nothing more than to turn back. But I didn't. The torrential rain also made the area people free and I had a strong pull of curiosity to see what was beyond the path. So with jelly legs and struggling to regulate my breathing I walked on knowing that every shaky step was one more away from the home. I cannot emphasise enough what that means to the anxious brain. When you are already struggling to move the last thing you want to be doing is moving further away from home.

An underpass leading under the railway line. I actually forgot it was the railway line in my confusion until shortly afterwards a train roared over at full tilt. At least now I knew what was here. A woodland path tailed off to the left into somewhere like a jungle labyrinth. Quite inviting in the wet but I had other plans. I had to see what was on the other side now that I was here. If only I could click my fingers to get back home but I was already too far so went on into the darkness.

To say the least I was disappointed. Two paths led off to the right into more woodland and for as far as I could see as I walked further and further forward were trees and more greenery. No sign of the river yet it was there on the map.

The last path sank my heart. Already I'd pushed myself further than I should have and was feeling it. Before me lay a way to get down to the water but I was already well spent and contemplating how I was going to make it home. Regret was what I turned to now. What seemed like a good idea has now left me exhausted and breathless with anxiety far from home.


Before I headed home though I moved forward again to the very edge of where I was and through the trees finally glimpsed the river. I had done it. Not as close as I wanted but I had at least done it. The easy part was over and for a moment it felt worth it.

Strange that as well as anxious I felt so paranoid. There was no one about that I could see but I had to force myself to take photographs and take them quickly as I didn't want to look like a loon. Then it was all over. Then it sunk in where I was and how far from home I was. My limbs now lead and the journey home all on an incline. It would take gritted teeth and head down with force of will to get back to the house. This I did but as most will know that is not where it ends.

The after effects lasted throughout the night and today on my walks I have felt tired and like I am in some sort of weird dream. With my curiosity satisfied and the momentary bliss of achievement passed I don't know when I will get back down there again. I hope soon. As always I am left frustrated that doing it once does not make returning any easier next time- in some ways harder because the initial push is no longer there. Was it worth it? At the moment I am not sure but maybe when the exhaustion passes, and it will, I will be able to feel a bit of pride looking at the photographs again.

Rex Nemoerensis

Coward

At 6 a.m. on 18 October 1916, at Carnoy on the Western Front, Private Harry Farr of the West Yorkshire Regiment was shot dead by a British firing squad. A volunteer with six years service, not a conscript, he had twice been withdrawn from the front line suffering from shell-shock. On the third occasion he had been refused treatment at a medical station, since he had no wounds, and, after resisting the Sergeant escorting him to the trenches, was arrested. He repeatedly said, 'I cannot stand it'. At the court martial, the general commanding XIV Corps said that the charge of cowardice seemed 'clearly proven'. This was confirmed by Commander-in-Chief Douglas Haig.

In due course Farr's widow, Gertrude, received a letter from the War Office: 'Dear Madam, We regret to inform you that your husband has died. He was sentenced for cowardice and was shot at dawn on 16 October'. She received neither a war widow's pension nor an allowance for her daughter. But she did receive a message via her local vicar, from the regimental chaplain: 'Tell his wife that he was no coward. A finer soldier never lived.' She lived to be 99 and to read the papers of the court martial, which were not released by Britain's Public Record Office until 1922.

Private Farr was one of 3,080 British soldiers sentenced to death by court martial in 1914-18, mainly for desertion, and one in 307 who were not reprieved. In rejecting the plea of mercy in a similar case, Douglas Haig minuted: 'How can we ever win if this plea is allowed?'

In the Second World Was, some 100,000 British soldiers deserted, but none were shot. Recaptured deserters from the Red Army or from the Wehrmacht were not so lucky.

A while back I read a fantastic book Europe: A History by Norman Davies. In 1200 pages it concisely covers the history of Europe brilliantly with a whole host of subjects including religion, politics, health, music, art, writing, numerology, spirituality, horticulture and fashion to name but a few. Included within are an array of well over 100 capsules which in themselves make for interesting reading and like the book itself cover a wide variety of subjects.

Today I was looking through some of these capsules again as they are a short read but very interesting. I've transcribed one of them above- a very poignantly sad tale about misunderstanding and trauma. Following is another I find interesting too so thought I would post it. A bit of a diversion from the the normal stuff posted here but I thought it would be nice to have a little break.

This capsule is actually rather big so I have only included part of it. It is about the legend that inspired Sir James George Frazer to set out on a quest of understanding. It sent him travelling all over the world collecting mythology and piecing the threads together which seemed to be constant in varying cultures despite being located far apart. He wrote about his findings in the rather large but hugely interesting The Golden Bough. This is the legend which got him thinking:

Aricia

A dozen miles to the south of Rome, in a crater amidst the Alban hills, lies Lake Nemi, the 'lake of the grove'. In imperial times, the nearby village of Nemi was called Aricia; and throughout the Roman era the woods beside the lake sheltered the sacred Arician Grove, home of Diana nemorensis, 'The Diana of the Grove'.

The Arician cult is known both from the writings of Strabo and from modern archaeology. In many ways, it was unremarkable. It involved the worship of the sacred oak, whose boughs were not to be broken, and a sanctuary of perpetual fire. Apart from Diana, it addressed two minor deities- Egeria, a water nymph, and Virbius, a fugitive from the wrath of Zeus. As shown by the surviving mounds of votive offerings, its main devotees were women who hoped to conceive. On the day of the annual summer festival the grove was lit up by a myriad of torches, and women all over Italy burned fires in gratitude.

In one respect, however, the cult was exceptional. The Chief Priest of Aricia, who bore the title of Rex Nemoerensis or 'King of the Grove', was obliged to win his position by slaying his predecessor. At one and the same time he was priest, murderer, and prospective murder victim. Stalking the grove with drawn sword, even at the dead of night, he awaited the hour when the next contestant would appear, break off a twig of the oak and challenge him to mortal combat.

There are so many other capsules I could have included but have held back so as not to completely bore the pants off everyone. I would though urge anyone who has an interest in reading about European history to have a look at this book. It is amazing how much has been crammed into the book beginning in ancient Greece up to the modern day and not a taxing read either. The variety and depth contained in short a short tome in comparison to other books on the subject is brilliant.

Strange little girl

My youngest girl's siblings are outgoing and fearless. She is the same, as are most young children. But unlike the other two she is very sensitive- overly so. She is also brighter. In a few weeks times she will be 4 years old and some of the things she says astound us sometimes. There is also the incredible memory she has which maybe masquerades as intelligence. In her own way she is very different from her brother and sister. In fact those two are very alike.
Her memory as I said is quite unbelievable for her a child her age. She retains so much. For nearly two years she has been able to recite the alphabet and count to 20. This alone is not much but the capacity for remembering things is illustrated in other ways. About a year ago my wife took the kids to her mother's house for the weekend and when they came back she had a book which had been bought for her- about 10 pages with about 2 sentences per page. So I sat her on my knee and told her I would read the book to her. To my amazement every page I opened she read out word for word. Not obviously reading but from memory. When I asked my wife how many times the book had been read to her she said 3 or 4 times. She was approaching 3 years old at the time.

I've even found myself asking her for guidance. They watch 'Spongebob Squarepants' and we have 10 episodes which includes two per episodes. So when they want a particular one I have to ask her which one of the twenty it is and she tells me. Her older doesn't know despite watching it always with her. So many ways. She will sit in her own little world and recite 5-10 minute dialogues from 'Horrid Henry'. She will recite songs she has not sung for many months. There are so many examples I could give.

On the downside though she is super sensitive. Drying her hair and brushing her hair has her screaming the house down. Any little thing seems to bother her. When she was younger even washing her hair was damn near impossible at times. That though I put down to my wife's mum who is very much old school.She stayed there for a week and came back with this problem of having her hair washed. However well meaning I am sure when the suds got in her eyes her granny would not have been as sensitive as we are- maybe we are too sensitive. And so it took months of coaxing to finally get her at ease with getting her hair washed. We had to get a cap which stopped the water going into her eyes to begin with and then slowly remove that. The washing now is not a problem but the drying and the brushing still is- which happens a lot as my wife insists the children are bathed every single night. And in lots of other ways she is more sensitive than the other two.

As for intelligence over memory there is still a bit more of that in her. As an example I will give the kids TV program 'Captain Mack'. This irritating offering has some star captain who jets off to Sunshine city in one of his rockets. Every time he goes he takes a different coloured rocket- either yellow, blue or red. And on his journey there he flies over the sea where sometimes a whale jumps out of the water and sometimes not. The girls have turned this part into a game which ends up in one of them crying in defeat and the other sometimes trying to annoy the other to bring more tears. When he is about to launch the girls guess what colour of rocket he will take- mummy and daddy have to join in too. Then we all have to say whether it is going to be "whale" or "no whale". Randomly they would invariably get the colour of the rocket correct but every time it came to the whale she would always get it right much to her sister's annoyance. I had already worked out it worked on a system but had not mentioned it to the girls- sly old dad. So I was intrigued as to how she was getting it right every time so asked her. And it was exactly as I thought: if the rocket was red or blue there was a whale but if it was yellow there was no whale. Not rocket science but this was a year ago when she was two so quite a bit of logic and logic that her sister, twice her age at the time, never saw.

It got me to thinking. I read recently about Rupert Sheldrake's theory of Morphic Resonance. That is his thinking that there is a collective consciousness that similar species can tap into. In his view that fact that Blue Tits in Scotland found that by pecking through the silver foil on milk bottle tops they could get milk at around the same time as the same birds were doing it in England was down to this collective consciousness of a species. Similarly the claim that sheep in England were escaping from fields over cattle grids by doing a commando style roll at about the same time as sheep in Australia were doing the same thing was down to this morphic resonance. Now I had already worked out the system and then my youngest girl came to the same conclusion. In all cases was she tapping in to the knowledge via morphic resonance or was it just that she arrived at the same conclusion set with the same problem? That we will probably never know.

I would hope his theory is wrong and I'll tell you why. Were that the case then what else could she tap into? My anxiety of course. Is this why she is such a sensitive child? I see my own introspection in her when she sits in her own little world playing games, reciting scripted dialogue and having to be shouted at 4 or 5 times to snap out of it. I see it in her sensitivity to things- though in saying that her sister was howling the other day when she was calling her "Bum face" non stop so maybe sensitivity runs in the family. But she is very different and I hope the good outweighs any problems she may have in future. Certainly for now she is a very happy little girl who wants for nothing materialistic- unlike her sister. She is content in her own company as she is with others. The nursery tell us she is a very sociable little girl. And she has a boyfriend- that will be getting nipped in the bud when I am able to go to nursery!

All in all though she may just be a product of being a middle child who is sometimes overlooked. There may alternatively be no problems at all and she may just be average of mind but an oversensitive father is reading too much in to things. Ultimately though I wouldn't change her in any way. Sometimes she can be a strange little girl but that is not always a bad thing.

Magik

The girls stood looking on frustrated. They looked at his hands but there was no way the ball could be in there- it was too big. Still they looked on anyway. They had spent frustrating minutes trying to prise open the fingers but to no avail. Finally they were ready to give up. Noticing this he released a finger from his balled hand to reveal momentarily enough of the pink plastic piggy ball to draw their attention before hiding it again with the finger. It did the trick. The two girls launched at the hand and tried once more to rip the fingers apart.

After a time they gave up so he relented and asked the oldest to open her hand. The balled fist hovered above it and then opened. No ball dropped though. He turned over his hand to reveal it was empty. The two girls gaped with eyes wide and then looked at each other to giggle. They were amazed.

"Wow, that was magic daddy" said the oldest.

"It was" I replied.

They insisted I do it again but this time the oldest was more attentive. She wouldn't take her eyes off the hand. Whereas last time they had been diverted enough to hide the ball while they were not looking this time there was no chance. I had in the end to say that all the magic had run out. The oldest pleaded to be shown how it was done but I had to say that it was magic and could not be shown.

Five minutes later after going away for a think my oldest daughter returned. She said nothing but opened up my hands and started rubbing her palms on my own. When I asked what she was doing she told me she was rubbing some of my magic on to her own hands. This made me laugh. She looked at me a little bemused.

"Its not really magic is it daddy?" she enquired.

At this point I wasn't sure what to say. Do I keep up the pretense and become the father of allure or do I come clean? I decided to be honest.

"I didn't think so" she said quite pleased with herself.

I thought it would end there but she insisted I show her how I did it. What had been a spur of the moment thing was now being prolonged. So I showed her and she was pleased going off to do the trick to her mum. But no end there. Now she had a taste for it. She was back demanding more. New tricks, better ticks. I didn't have any tricks so she was left disappointed. What I did promise her though was that the following day I would teach her something new.

That was yesterday. I have no interest in magic tricks but spent 4 hours last night browsing the Internet looking for something simple to show her. God it was mind numbing. Some were just rubbish. Some were too hard. Some just wouldn't work. Some needed props. Just a simple trick was all I wanted but the search was taking forever. Finally I found something. All it needs is a bit of paper and a coin. When she comes in from school I will give her a little performance and then show her how. I have a funny feeling it could become a daily occurrence until she gets bored. This is a great trick though and very clever yet simple. Its all down to how you fold the paper and after a couple of tries I've got it sussed. This will really give them a hoot. I am looking forward to it.

The Devil

Whenever the oldest girl wants to know about something new she asks daddy to get a picture up on the computer screen. This morning before school I didn't have the computer on but when she comes home I have to show her a picture of the devil. Not the one above but the stereotypical red one with horns, hooves, tail and a big red hot poker to shove up your jacksee!

This I don't mind but she was getting a little agitated talking about it this morning. Apparently the teacher had been telling them about the devil yesterday in school and how the bad go to hell, etc. I don't want my daughter wrapped in cotton wool but as someone who in my current situation knows only too well how fear can affect the mind I am a little worried about too much exposure to fear. Is the devil something a 5 year old needs to be taught about? The reason I ask this is that night terrors have been no stranger in the past.

Maybe on top of my worries is the conflict I feel talking about these things. The devil concept being something I scoff at makes it hard for me to play along- but I do so for my wife's sake and not to confuse the child. As soon as she is of age though I can't help feeling that I will be sitting down reading Darwin's theory of evolution to her. Not as a brainwash against what she has learned but as a balance of viewpoints to reach her own conclusion.

As a parent I am unsure about how much exposure my children should be allowed and from my current viewpoint I worry that maybe I am being overprotective. In fact I get myself too riled sometimes. My feeling is that kids today have too much weight on their shoulders at a young age and are bombarded with too much. I was reading today that a new anti-smoking advert is being removed from kids TV slots which although giving the right message, smoking is bad, is playing on kids acknowledging that their parents may die if they smoke. The most disturbing one for me again has good intentions. The advert for recognising strokes does so much good but again it appears during the day and frightens the life out of both my daughters. That is not something they need to see. But there are lots of examples. I gave my daughter crisps for lunch one day and she refused them citing that the teachers said they were bad. They have to watch what they eat, what they drink, exercise, read the right books and the list goes on. Can't we just leave kids to be kids?

I have to watch what I say though. If I do not nod my head and conform with society then I may become the very devil she is enquiring about.

Train Crash

I started my fifth year of high school alone while my friends threw themselves into the big bad world of shitty labour for pennies but my academic interest was lost very quickly. It was all down to the subjects I had chosen. There was no thought put into it and instead I picked them on a whim. It was "put the tail on the donkey". Can't believe I was so bad looking back. Why the hell did I choose Social Studies over History, maybe Mr Bruce of the unique tie notoriety who hated me with a passion- to be fair he wasn't the only one so I was obviously doing something wrong. Economics, why?, for example bored me to tears and I knew I had to get out of the whole thing. So by chance speaking to a counsellor there was a YTS course as a trainee accountant that came along. I jumped at the chance.

It was soul destroying to be honest. For the first 4 months I had to travel in and out of Glasgow. I got the bus at 6:45 each morning and got back at 18:30. All for £28.50 a week. In truth I made nearly as much on expenses. In all I got just over £30 in travelling expenses by claiming to get 2 single train tickets each day at £3 each- they never asked for evidence. Instead I bought a weekly bus pass every Monday morning for £8.

I then got placed in Edinburgh. Within 3 months I was doing full sets of accounts and my time was being charged out at £10 an hour, while the accounts firm paid nothing, as the qualified ones sat back on their laurels getting me to run errands across town and make the tea and that sort of thing. Hey I don't mind starting at the bottom but for pennies? I didn't even question it though because I thought that is what you did and then found old school friends in the put telling me how they were on £250 a week working on an assembly line. But back to the accountants. I would have to sit each Friday afternoon and forcibly fill out a sheet charging my time for every moment I was there in 15 minute boxes so they could earn the maximum possible from me. Even if I was doing nothing I was told to say I was arranging files and pick a client at random to charge to. I became completely disillusioned with the whole thing so decided it was time to move on. My life was all work and I was getting nothing in return. I was even shoved into the face of rabid clients by these low lifes to justify my costs which looking back is unbelievable and was at the time so hard because I was on the client's side.

In this period I applied for a number of jobs so varied you would not believe. I still didn't know what I wanted to do with my life and to be honest I wasn't putting the effort into thinking about it- see earlier school reference. Instead as always I just chased things on a whim because they sounded better at that  moment in time.

One such job was with the MOD. Again a trainee but much better pay. The job itself was an electronic engineer and required being based in England for 4 years. It sounded good to me as I wanted to get away. At the time I also had applied for the RAF, Navy and Royal Marines- those are other stories for another day. Though have to say the Marines was a laugh. Couldn't do the pull ups and was told to try the territorials first. The Navy was doomed from the start: What's your name? Full Name? Well I don't want your f***ing nickname you little p***k. Oh dear.

A letter arrived asking me to come for an exam which would take place in Glasgow so I went. After getting the bus into Glasgow I had to then go the the station to get the train out to Springburn college. My arrival in Glasgow was too early so I had to kill a few hours in shops browsing and then at the last moment realised I was running late so had to dash for the train. I caught it and no more just as it was getting set to depart but as such I had to get in the last carriage. It was not that busy inside but I took the furthest most seat at the back.

The train went on its way. I sat staring out the window with my back to everyone else in the carriage lost in my own thoughts. Probably I was thinking about the examination not knowing what it would entail. Then I was suddenly pulled out of my daydreaming by the high pitched screech of metal on metal as the train began to shudder. It was breaking but then the most almighty thump jolted the carriage and my head was thrown backward. That was a shock and it was like everything moved in slow motion. I saw a seat fly by by. Then silence. I looked around to see a woman with a big cut down her face bleeding from the nose crying and a man with a large exposed cut on his leg where the trousers had been ripped away. I heard voices but they were incoherent. For some stupid reason I thought we had been hijacked like the old westerns and someone was going to come on hidden my a handkerchief demanding all watches and jewellery be placed in a bag like modern day highway men. I was though unharmed but the following day I could not move my neck for the whiplash.

All the was in front of me was a door. It opened and out stumbled a second driver clutching his ribs and moaning. He started to make his way to the front realising no one was interested in his moans. Then we all sort of assembled and mulled about the carriage not speaking. One guy tried to open the doors but they wouldn't open. I remember some faces at the door a little time later and then they opened to allow us to spill out. I jumped on to the muddy footing below and walked over to something a few people were sitting on- cannot remember what. I sat there too. And it was only then when I looked at the length of the train I saw the severity of the situation. There was another train and at the front of both where they had met head on the front carriage of one train was on top of the other.

Strangely now I cannot remember if it was the front carriage of my train that was under or over the other. I cannot remember if the two people killed in the Bellgrove crash were on my train. In fact alot of it is misty now. What I do remember is being taken to a nearby community centre for questioning by police walking up a steep hill to get there in a line while being plagued by reporters wanting a story. And then after being taken in a police van to the bus station in Glasgow and dumped there. It took over an hour to get home and it was surreal thinking on what had happened while everyone else got on with their normal lives. I remember a flurry of mail arriving for me from various lawyers I never contacted asking to represent my claim against the railway provider- I never did claim. I remember the police arriving at my house one day to take another statement getting my to show them where I was sitting on a plan of the train and then taking away my only evidence for their own- my ticket which I had kept as a memento.

It was all very bizarre at the time. No one seemed to bother that I was in a train crash and people had died. Probably because apart from a stiff neck I was fine. But I sometimes wonder as I did then that had I not been running late and had instead arrived early for the train would I have sat at the front and felt the full force of the collision. I didn't but I do wonder sometimes.

Look, the snow is falling

What a pleasant surprise to come into the living room this morning and find the world  all was white outside. I never thought the snow would stay after it hit the earth here last night but it has. While the rest of the country grinds to a halt and curses the weather I am in my element. The boy has never seen it and youngest girl is too young to remember the last time. So it was out we went for a 15 minute jaunt.

I should firstly say youngest girl was not at nursery today as she is not well. Last night the boy finally went to sleep after a long wait and by midnight the girl's screams started. She would not be cuddled or comforted. Down below she was in pain and her ear hurt too. My wife applied cream, then removed it. Medicine was had but she would not stop crying.

I should also say that had this been one of the other children then the screaming was such that I would have called for an ambulance but not her. She is the exact same way getting her hair dried or dropping a bit of cereal on her pyjamas. Over sensitive to the extreme but still in pain nonetheless.

This morning my wife took her and the boy, who is coughing and bunged up, to the child clinic. Nothing was required for the boy but the girl got antibiotics for the ear infection and more cream for what the doctor believes to be thrush due to being run down. Hopefully that will give her a more peaceful night- and us. That sounds selfish but really you have to be here and endure the screaming and be tired and helpless to appreciate it.

So no nursery and a great opportunity to do something together so after much coaxing I finally got her out the door and out for a walk. It was not a long walk in terms of distance, just around the block, but decent in terms of time out, 15 minutes. By which time she was complaining of the cold and with a screaming match brewing I got her quickly indoors again. But such a happy relaxing time. I love the snow. It makes me feel so alive for some reason.

Importance of fear

While reading my ACT (Acceptance and Commitment Therapy) book- just finished week 2- I read something that had me a little bemused. In short it said that anxiety and fear may not be the enemy but actually a requirement. This was then illustrated in a story about the Emperor Moth. Basically that it needed to get out of its cocoon on its own in order to survive and some person thinking they were doing good helped it along which killed the thing.

To quote from page 74:

"All we are asking is that you open up to the possibility that your anxious thoughts, images and feelings may serve an important purpose in your life. You may not see this purpose from where you are right now. In fact, it is next to impossible to see any importance behind anxiety and fear when you're focused on getting yourself out of your anxiety cocoon."

I can't buy into that. I cannot see any purpose to having these things that are ruining and restricting my life and if there is a purpose then I don't want it. No thanks, keep it please. If there is a purpose to feeling suffocated and shaking all over when all you want to do is sit down and play with your kids or relax watching TV then I fail to see what that is.

Last night I was watching the Jonathan Ross show, on BT Vision Replay, and was listening to Stephen Fry talk about the Kakapo. The parallels were interesting. New Zealand has a few Kakapo left. Way back when there were no predators so these birds evolved with no fear but adversely into fat, flightless birds- some would say lazy. This made them easy prey but not a problem as there were no predators. Then predators were introduced, by man unsurprisingly, and they were all but wiped out as they had no fear and were easy pickings. Now here I can see why fear is a much needed ally.

But I still cannot buy into the theory in general. That is rational fear. Its the irrational that annoys me. That explains why we have the fight or flight mechanism built in. That does not explain why I cannot just sit on a sofa without fearing I am going to become incapacitated due to this mechanism. As I said I don't want it- thanks.