Cornish Dreamer

Hoping for the best while preparing for the worst.

2019-08-12T09:09:00.000+01:00

Racing towards an unknown future is, frankly, terrifying. And yet it is being forced upon a whole nation thanks to its leaders and a 3.5% majority .

The future is always obscure, but at least it was that little bit more predictable. The economy was stable. Businesses were willing to invest. Spending was always on the increase.

Brexit has changed that.

Yes, the planet will keep on spinning. Yes, for many there might be hard times ahead but they'll get by. But what if you're like me? Renting a flat in an area where rent is too high for the average income. No savings. Low wages. Already in poverty. Already struggling.

It scares me.

We are doing what we can to prepare for the worst. And that doesn't have to mean Brexit. It can mean bad times ahead if one of us gets sick or injured so that we can't work. We are stocking up the cupboards with dried goods, and we're pickling and making jam from our allotment produce. But that won't pay the rent or the bills.

This is what it is like to be a part of the working poor.

We count ourselves lucky compared to others. We don't need much, and somehow we always get by. We buy pound books from the charity shop, and we do our best to be environmentally friendly. We budget and we have not gone hungry. It doesn't mean that we're not struggling.

It was never supposed to be like this. This wasn't our dream. But this is where we are right now.

The wealthy don't understand how their political games affect those at the bottom. I don't think they actually care. So insignificant we must seem to them.

We don't understand those who are like us but who are not doing anything to prepare. Family, friends who live all for the 'now' and don't put something aside for the future whether it is extra food or money if they have it. The ones who think everything will be OK because it has always been OK.

Sometimes, things are not alright and sometimes there aren't happy endings. This isn't a movie.

The question is, can we live hoping for the best while preparing for the worst?

2018-10-12T15:36:00.002+01:00

If having choice relates to freedom, we should now be the most free generation of any era.

But we are not free.

And choice can feel like a chain around the neck, tying us to the ground instead of letting us climb the ladder that we are all supposed to be striving for.

It is almost irrelevant that someone invented that ladder. I mean, what is it?

It is a social construct. An imagined path to better ourselves financially and, presumably put us into a "better" class. It is a cruel invention of capitalists and commercialism to keep us consuming in order to increase growth/profits to the already wealthy, and to keep the taxes being paid.

It is a construct that keeps us stuck in this artificial lifestyle that few actually admit to liking.

And it gives us choice. Too much choice. And that is a burden.

Take for example the very simple act that is buying a bag. There are literally hundreds of thousands of bags to choose from. You can narrow your choice to style and cost, materials if it's important to you, and colour. But you will still come up with so many. So then you have to look at reviews. What do other people say about the product? Will it survive long term (you're reading the words of a writer who has kept a hiking backpack for 20 years, so rest assured I'm looking for a bag that will survive). In the end, I went for army surplus bags because I figured they were designed to survive a rough environment. It made the process of choosing easier, you see.

A bag is just a small choice to make. What about how we make a living (how do we know we've made the right choice? That we're doing the right thing). We can do anything we want to but it involves making a conscious choice.

I struggle every day with my business because of the choices I have to make. Honestly? I would rather be living off the land in some far off forest away from all technology (yes, I know, I am writing this on a blog and not in a weathered, leather bound notebook. I can see the irony, thank you) than decide what area of photography I am going to specialise in...

If we weren't all so focused on making more and more money, maybe no one would have to be a specialist whatever, and we could all be content doing whatever came up.

And what has all this choice and "growth" done for the planet? Nothing good, that's for sure.

There has to be a better way, surely.

In the meantime, this writer will be making choices as limited as possible.

2018-05-14T07:32:00.003+01:00

It started with a conversation on whether the flat earthers (a group of people who are starting to question science and who believe the earth is flat) had a point. It ended with me realising that there are people who are so closed minded that it's pointless discussing things with them.

No, I don't believe the Earth is flat.

But...what's interesting is that the flat earthers are getting to the heart of a problem. That is, we trust in science too much and what the average person believes is bonafide fact can actually be just a theory that has yet to be disproven.

Perhaps it is from my geological background. My degree taught me to observe what is happening today and from that you can study the past, and you can then use that to predict potential future events. That is called the uniformitarian principle.

My friend, however, studied biology and has a very different outlook. One thing led to another and a debate ensued.

I was spurred on from watching a YouTube clip of Philip Schofield interviewing some Flat Earthers. He completely ridiculed them and kept asking them if Newton was wrong about the apple falling. And this is where the lay person gets things confused.

Gravitational force is an observation of a natural phenomenon. It is a stable observation.

Gravitational force is not evidence that the world is round.

There are plenty of observations that do show that the Earth is spherical, however. Such an accumulation of observations can be used to collaborate and create an over all picture.

What the flat earthers are doing is carrying out experiments to test those observations (scientific rules show that results must be repeatable). From what I gather, they are experiencing differences in results (potentially from not having a big enough testing area) and so they therefore use it to bolster their belief that the Earth is flat.

To ridicule people for a different belief is wrong. Or did we not learn anything from Galileo's imprisonment by the Catholic Church? If you remember your history, he was in serious trouble for claiming that the Earth revolved around the Sun.

The point of science is to open up our minds to possibilities, not close it down with dogma. It is also the duty of scientists to accept the rigorous testing of theory.

In the 1800s, scientists believed in an aether that allowed light to transmit itself...because it has wave form it was believed that there had to be an invisible medium that enabled light to be propagated through it. It was known as a luminiferous aether. Michaelson and Morley experimented to try to determine the relative motion of matter through this supposed aether. They found nothing. The theory was later made completely obsolete by Einstein's work.

How about Newtonian physics superseding Aristotelian physics?

And Quantum Physics... I'm not going to go there. That's something entirely different but absolutely fascinating.

I worry about how monochromatic people seem to be. One dimensional. Dogmatic. "Us and them" thinking.

You only have to see how strongly the divide between the Brexiteers and Remainers is to see this in action. There is no grey area. It really is Us and Them.

And, OK, I fall into this trap myself as a staunch remainer.

It is human nature to divide into groups but it seems to becoming more defined now than ever before. The last time it was this bad was before World War II.

It is easy to blame circumstances on another group of people rather than look at resolving the issue.

So is it important to know that the earth is round or flat? Not really. What is important is that we maintain an open mind and let people decide for themselves using truthful observation and fact.

Did it go down well in the debate? No, it did not. Because dogma rules.

2018-05-01T07:12:00.003+01:00

The car crash shouldn't have happened.

We weren't even supposed to be there. If I hadn't given S a lift because she was running a few minutes behind and if the other lady wasn't giving her friend a lift home from a workout session on the beach...and perhaps even if the man in the third car hadn't been dropping his wife off to work.

But it did happen.

Driving down the hill, we were looking forward to a sunny day. I had work plans, website work to do and a stroll around the headland planned in my head. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a car came onto our side of the road. I beeped the horn as a warning but, to me at least, the car seemed to veer in even more. A couple of heart beats later and the cars collided. One minute I was staring out of the windscreen at a silver car that was too close, the next there was a huge bang and my vision was a white out.

Confused, I beat at the air around my face . It was the airbag. I felt claustrophobic, the air was thick with icy white smoke from the air bag mechanism. I shoved the fabric away from my face and opened the door.

The order of things becomes confusing. Did I swear before or after I realised blood was flowing down my face from my nose? I do remember telling S to call the police before getting out of the car and seeing the other driver doubled over in tearful shock. I remember telling the driver's friend to sit her down and, no not just on the pavement, put her back up against the wall in case she's injured and goes into shock. Then I stopped being a first aider. I realised that I was going into shock, so I too sat down on the pavement up against the wall, blood running down my chin, smeared on my hands.

S was talking to police.

Some man walked up to me and asked if I was ok. I don't know what I said but he walked off again. He started directing traffic.

Time became distorted. A train had pulled in, a woman offered me a roll of toilet paper to mop up the blood (I had found a handkerchief in my pocket by then, it was OK). That confused me. Someone in a veterinary nurse uniform asked if I was OK and said something and then walked off.

I looked over at the crumpled mess of the car. The tyre was flat and the wheel in a funny shape, like a cartoon. Bits of car where shattered all over the road. A steady leak was coming out from where the radiator should be. "That'll be expensive", I thought.

And then the paramedic was there.

You know you're the worst injured when the paramedic assesses the scene and then comes to you first. That's the dead give away.

S was standing nearby. The other woman was tearful and kept apologising. Her friend was talking about heading off. And I was sat quietly on the floor with a bloody handkerchief. No brainier, I guess.

My quietness was my way of stilling myself so I could assess the damage to my body: what was hurting. My face. My neck. My wrist...? I looked down, it had a weird swelling.

"My wrist," I said, "there's something wrong with my wrist".

I repeated it in shock, I saw the other woman looking horrified and she started to cry again.

There was an assessment, and I found myself sat in the paramedic car while the paramedic did his paperwork. The swelling was going down, the nose had stopped bleeding. A minor injuries hospital visit looked inevitable.

I had had no idea that we had been hit by a car behind us as well. That was the man who had been directing the traffic until the police had arrived. I have no recollection of that happening. And S had been hit on her knees by the airbag. Strange! But then we did have a van car and the airbag for the passenger side was huge.

S was brilliant. Taking photographs, and taking the driver details. She took control while I was senseless on the floor. Mind you, I had been smacked full in the face by an airbag but still... I feel now that I was ineffectual.

The injuries are not serious.. The whiplash is painful, and my nose is bruised and sore. I have various bruises and abrasions, as does S with hers and her whiplash. But we are alive. We are walking. We have no car because it was immediately written off but it will be OK.

That's all that's important, isn't it?

But thre's one thing that I can't get over.

When it all happened, there was nothing in my mind. No "life flashing before your eyes" moments. It was just a vision of a car, a bang, and whiteness. That's it.

And it reminded me of a news item I saw a few weeks back of a man who got punched in the side of the head and he was dead. Just like that. Walking along one moment, dead on the floor the next. And I realised that he too would have experienced nothing.

I did not feel anything. There was no immediate pain. There were no thoughts. Just experience.

It makes you wonder about life. What could come after it. Is there anything that comes after? Was I expecting the comfort of a hidden guardian angel or some spiritual awakening? Am I being dramatic for what was a five second mini episode of life?

But if life can be snuffed out like that, what are we doing here? Why do we focus on silly things like computer games or petty annoyances? Why do we focus on small things?

Thinking Small

2018-04-05T15:05:00.001+01:00

Sitting in the bay window I can see huge ships, hillsides and an expanse of water that - if I stand up and look over to the southeast and past the small strip of land that connects Pendennis with the rest of Falmouth - seems to go on forever.

From this viewpoint, you can see people strolling arm in arm down the pier, the homeless person who has taken up residence outside an old shop, and people meandering up and down the main street, some with a purpose others not.

I can see this as I sit here in the old, worn leather arm chair with my back to another bay window.

Logic tells me that if I look out of any other window in the house, I will also see people milling about or going about their day to day chores. Perhaps I could see someone enjoying an afternoon drink in a pub, or a pasty on one of the benches on the moor. Expand my imagination and I might be able to imagine people walking their dogs up by the castle, or eating ice cream on the beach. The thing is, when I stop trying to imagine them, then those people retreat to the shadows of my imagination.

As humans, we are limited to the senses that we experience and, although we do have the power of imagination, we can not sustain or truly grasp the immensity of what is life.

In the square mile around me there might be a few hundred, a thousand (maybe) people going about their own lives. There are seagulls, cats, dogs, pigeons to whatever numbers... And then we have potentially millions of insects, and then billions of bacteria. Unimaginable.

Humans think small.

Our brain receives the information but it only processes some of it.

This focus on the small stuff makes it easier to pass a £25,000 item through a business budget than getting just £500 for a laptop. (I used to work in IT. It was easier to get a full server system than it was to replace a broken P.C.).

The mind is biased towards the small details and petty items that it can properly grasp onto.

It is said that problems always seem so big until you imagine looking down on yourself from up in space - that it can give you the perspective that things aren't as big as you think.

The only real question is: if we are predestined to think small, perhaps the only real choice that we have is how small minded we decide to let ourselves be.

2018-03-31T11:43:00.002+01:00

Spending a lot of time working in a religious building has given me so many questions and thoughts.

The political nature that is "religion" aside, the beliefs, the faith and the dedication fascinate me. I sometimes find myself wishing that I could believe in something that much, because it always seems to give people a sense of calm, or perhaps a sense of belonging and comfort.

I have watched people wipe tears away after kissing the crucifix, and I have seen people stand in religious fervour as they open their arms to accept a higher power. I have watched from the sidelines while they have prayed, or when they have taken Holy Communion. And it strikes me that is is a privilege to photograph what are intimate moments in their lives.

To be able to spend time taking photographs in a place of worship is something that deserves to be carried out with deep respect. It is not a party or a concert that people are watching and participating in. These are the moments that people are communicating with their God.

What I stand by and witness is faith. Belief. Hope.

Religion is a difficult subject because of history, and because of the division it can cause. But what if we looked at the similarities instead of the differences? There are always common themes.

The Buddhist meditation class I attend speaks a lot about abandoning self-cherishing, and focusing instead on compassion and kindness. It can not be a coincidence that other religions also praise these qualities. Christianity talks about "loving thy neighbour as thyself", and the Qur'an says to love and be merciful to our neighbours.

While I am not a religious person, nor do I adhere to any one book or thought, I do believe that there are some basic qualities of mind that should be nurtured and developed. I also believe that there are some qualities of mind which are definitely not helpful.

It is interesting that people are turning away from religion, and when they experience problems they now turn to psychologists and councillors instead. Psychology is the scientific approach to thought patterns and "correcting" them. It is a recognition that the mind has the power to control the way we see the world. We just have to learn to use the right filters to see.

The newspapers thrive on telling us how bad the world is. There is a bias towards the negative (bad news sells and all that). But if we stop reading all of that content and, instead, focus on good things, you'd be amazed by the kindness out there.

What is also fascinating is the idea of constancy. That moments define who people are. It is easy to think that the person who cut you up on the roundabout must be a bastard all the time (not that he might have been in a daydream, or that circumstances meant he was in a panic to get somewhere), but we all know that experiences pass.

The idea of having, and cherishing, a constant "me" or "I" which blatantly doesn't exist (even science has recently discovered this to be true). But perhaps that is where Buddhism and Christianity are divided - that Christianity seems to focus on the senses (body/food/smell), Buddhism teaches about the nature of emptiness.

Spending time in a building with the smell of frankincense wafting around you in a light haze, and the sound of silence does give space in the mind which encourages a lot of thought. But what if there are no answers to my questions, and my thoughts are leading to the proverbial rabbit hole.

It surprises me all the time where photography has taken me. I am an observer, and I treat the responsibility and the sensitivity that is needed with the seriousness that it deserves.

2018-03-29T09:55:00.005+01:00

No one ever says that freelance work or starting your own business is easy... I'm not going to either.

That's because working for yourself is hard. Everything about it is hard except for the hot summer days that you can sneak down to the beach, only to realise you have to play catch up when you get home.

3 years ago I started my own business.

I abandoned my job with very little in the bank. You could say that it was irresponsible. I would say that it was bold. It was an act of bravery to step out of the expectation of a career to live, instead, for my dreams.

It has been one hell of a ride. In my first year, I was really sick. Like visits to the hospital and taking morphine kind of sick. My second year was about recovery and my third about discovering what I enjoyed about my work. And now? I can feel that this is going to be the best year yet.

I've met so many people on the way, learned so many things and I am really only just beginning.

How amazingly lucky am I to be able to photograph people in the best moments. Their happiest moments. The times when they are enjoying what they are doing, or when they are having a moment in time that they will want to remember for ever?

Photography is a privilege like no other. It is personal. It is getting to know people. It is about capturing the best moments, documenting lives. That makes my job worth everything. :)

The Paradoxical Society

2018-03-26T08:38:00.001+01:00

Has our society become selfish and mean-spirited?

We have the press that shame those who clearly need help, or they raise hell about "fake homeless" and benefit frauds. People I know complain about "foreigners who come to this country to take up our benefits", or the "lazy bastards who are taking our hard earned money to live the life of Riley".

People like Ant McPartlin don't need to be publicly humiliated, he's most likely in a bad enough place as it is. That he is being used as a marketing piece to sell trashy newspapers is morally corrupt. People in bad situations need support not beratement.

The recent story of a "millionaire businessman" in Torbay photographing and so-called outing "fake homeless" people. Senseless.

There are lifestyle choices you can make, like whether you are a fitness king or queen, or a sofa sloth, but choosing to sleep out on the streets during the recent snows and minus temperatures? I don't think that's a choice somehow, the reason is irrelevant. It's not like they're doing it to inconvenience others.

There used to be a time when we would provide night shelters for the homeless, and give them warm soup. Now we walk past them and blame them for getting into the situation they are in.

Just when you think our society can get no lower...there is hope.

The new generation are more generous and willing to donate more on average to charities. In fact, the British public in general are increasing the amount of charitable giving. (2.9% in the UK in 2017), and most people report donating money from time to time.

The recent snow storms gave the opportunity for people to shine. There was more neighbourliness...and people actually talked in the streets. Some owners of 4x4s were offering to take NHS staff to and from work. A group of 4x4 owners in Devon (the Devon and Cornwall 4x4 Response group) volunteered their vehicles and time to transport vital supplies and support the police and medics when needed.

These are the stories that give a different side to our society that is so at odds with the negative stories that the mainstream media press upon us.

Our society is living in a paradox. We want Britain to be great but we fail to witness its decline. A great society cannot be judged by its wealth but its happiness. And a great society can measure its equality not disparity.

With 1 in 4 of us likely to experience a mental health problem each year, and a growing rift between rich and poor (According to the Equality Trust, the "top fifth" of the population earns 40% of the income, and the richest 10% of households hold 45% of all wealth). The level of inequality is increasing. And we all know that Brexit and austerity benefits the rich, while the poor shoulders the burden.

And then there is the faith paradox. Our so-called political leaders who claim that they use their Christian values to guide them, while their actions are very different. If their values guided them, why did a rough sleeper die outside parliament? And why would they be dismantling and selling the NHS for profit when it has such a negative impact on our health?

Life is not all doom and gloom, although those negative stories certainly help sell papers.There is actually a tremendous amount of kindness. The kindness might not be consistent (just because someone donates to an animal charity doesn't mean that they're going to offer a cup of tea to a rough sleeper on the street), but where there is the seed of kindness, there is always hope.

The thing with a paradox is that two things can't exist at once. In much the same way that time lines can not exist together, the paradoxical illusions we have created will at some point implode on us and we will have to establish a new truth. One, of course, that I am sure will be carefully guided by the press and the spin doctors while we immerse ourselves in the latest binge-worthy Netflix series.

[Random fact - Did you know that £189 million was raised in 2015 by bake sales alone?]

Resolve the cause and you won't need to treat the symptoms.

2018-03-24T07:53:00.003+00:00

Why do the motivation gurus write so many books?

If their step by step plans and "powerful" words actually worked, surely only one book would be necessary. In fact, if one person's wisdom was enough, why are there so many other people out there who claim that their systems are the ones that will work?

Oh, and while we are on that point, did you know that we have a system which is biased: we tend to record the successes more than the failures! No one reads books from failed entrepreneurs, after all. For every successful entrepreneur, there are probably dozens of failed ones.

There has to be a measure for what counts as success and in our society we have decided that wealth is it. If you don't earn enough to meet that mark, you are seen to be a failure in some way and all these business gurus exist to tell you how to reach the heights society expects of you. No one thinks that, perhaps, it is the measurement for success that is the problem...in fact that there is a measurement at all.

In the same way, psychologists have to decide what is 'normal' in order to recognise mental health disorders and THEN they can "treat" you so that you fit in the nice little square boxes and, more often than not, into the tick box exercises to satisfy national statistics and targets.

I could rant about this one for a long time.

What if there is no normal. If one in five of us suffer or have suffered from a mental health disorder, then it suggests that there is a problem with the measurement, and most definitely a problem with the treatment.

It is a symptom of our society, and quite frankly a derivative of commercialism, to fix the symptoms and not the problem.

We treat anxiety and depression with medication and sessions to change our thought patterns when, quite often, a change of circumstances is required.

We are told that we should treat lack of action with motivation. It is pretty hard to be motivated when you are not inspired.

We put taxes on plastic carrier bags that puts the onus on the customer and not the supplier to find a sustainable solution. It is not the customer that produces or even demands plastic bags, it is the retailer who wants to cut costs by using cheap plastic that can have their logo printed on for advertising.

This is my first blog in a very long time and I have no idea where I am going with this mild morning rant.

I have suffered with writer's block for the last ten years but that time is drawing to an end. I'm kind of sick of hearing people tell me that writer's block is ridiculous....you just have to write! If only the solution could be that easy. Oh wait, there is no magic pill for that.

Writer's block is a symptom. Much like a headache could be a symptom of stress, or it could be a symptom of a hangover. Yes you can treat the headache with a couple of painkillers but if it's a hangover, you will be wanting to drink more water or if it's a sign of stress then you will want to reduce your stress otherwise you will get a repeat of the symptom. Pointless, isn't it.

My writer's block was down to a few different things which I have mostly resolved. I have also discovered the following:

Firstly, to be able to write, you have to have something to say.

Secondly, you have to have the inspiration to say it.

And, finally, you have to have the motivation to write it.

Cure the cause, and there's no need to treat the symptoms.

Post-holiday blues

2014-03-24T13:20:00.000+00:00

I've been on holiday. Not a long holiday, just a week. It doesn't explain my absence, I know.

My first thoughts this morning as I stepped into my cold, dark office, was that I didn't know what I was doing here. The feeling weighed down in my stomach like I'd swallowed some rocks. This isn't me right now. 'Me' is someone else - somewhere else - tasting life and doing things that are fascinating and, quite frankly, cool. Work does not make me feel alive and buzzing like my holiday in Sicily made me feel. Instead, I feel like I've hugged a block of ice gone numb.

Sicily is hot sunshine, opposed to the cold rain in Cornwall. The food there leaves explosions of taste in your mouth, the streets are full of people and food markets, even the language is poetic and flamboyant. Here, the food is served soggy or part-cold, there's no attention to it...it is 'fast food', and lacking in nutrition.

I have the post-holiday blues. I know I do, but I've never missed a place as much as this.

We went to Sicily for Mount Etna; or, rather, I went to Sicily to fulfil my life-long dream to go up a live volcano, S came for the holiday and the food. Why it took until my mid thirties to fulfil this dream, I don't know, but finally I did it...I have walked on a volcano and seen real, molten lava.

When I was young, all I dreamt about was being a volcanologist and a writer. I read Geology at university but soon discovered that volcanology was not all adventure and excitement, there was physics involved. A lot of physics. Even my Physics A-Level could not prepare me for that, so I switched to palaeontology and dinosaurs. Interesting, and easier. I don't regret it. Life takes you down many different paths, usually for a reason.

Going up Mount Etna was fascinating. Sicily was fascinating too. I've learnt so much out there, including the more laid-back attitude. I have a lot to think about now, ideas to follow up and perhaps new dreams to be made. In the mean time, I will just keep plodding on while I silently plot my next escape.

Engagement

2013-12-15T19:27:00.000+00:00

The late afternoon sun was warming the hills of Cornwall with a golden light. We were parked up on the edge of Dartmoor, sitting in the car waiting to watch the sunset. We'd had a long drive, not just because we were going home to Cornwall from Aldershot but because I'd managed to get lost on the moors and missed heading to the waterfalls I had in mind. I figured it was quite romantic, though: the two of us, relaxing on the moors with a beautiful view and what looked to set to be a beautiful sunset.

'Is this romantic?' I thought I had better check, but I left the 'enough' unsaid.

'Yes...why?'

She sounded suspicious, so I changed the subject. For ten minutes, we chatted about random things. I knew I was delaying the question, but there had to be a perfect moment, right?

The sun was steadily disappearing over the horizon when she asked if we should get going as it would still be two hours before we got back home. I felt deflated, not like a burst balloon, more like a slow puncture on a tyre. Had my moment been missed?

It wasn't my first attempt. I'd planned the perfect moment to ask 'the question' only a couple of weeks ago. I took her on a starlit visit to the beach which would have been perfect, except I hadn't checked the tide times. When we got there, there was no beach (just rocks). The stars were perfect that night, however we were both frozen the moment we got out of the car. Notes were made hastily to self: stay in a warm place next time.

The stars really were perfect that night, the moon was just starting to rise behind us. I took a photograph, not a great one as photographs go, but it was so beautiful.

Back on Dartmoor, I didn't want to wait for another attempt. Two missed opportunities would not sit well with me. What if it was raining the next time I got the courage up? No, it had to be done then and there. I was holding her in my arms, her head resting on my shoulder, when I whispered: 'but I wanted to ask you a question'.

Her whole body stiffened. I think mine probably did too, like a frightened animal not knowing if I should stay or flee. I asked her, then, I just let the words escape my lips like they were the most natural things in the world. 'Will you marry me?'

It would have been an awkward drive home had she said no, but thankfully she said yes! Afterwards, I got to drive home with my fiancée. :-)

The Abseil

2013-11-25T12:51:00.002+00:00

As I trembled at the top of the National Maritime Museum in Falmouth, wearing a climbing helmet and harness, the man asked if I had abseiled before. I replied no, to which he said 'bloody good time to start, huh?'. I trembled some more.

It was Friday 15 November and we were raising money for Children in Need. My Mum, a 70 year old, had agreed to do the abseil a few weeks before. After some though, I decided that I would do it as well (if my Mum can do it...). The thing is, I'm terrified of heights but pride was not going to get in my way (or is it the other way around? Pride got in my way so that, despite being afraid, I agreed to do it).

As I walked around the outside of the 95ft high tower, I wondered if I had just made a terrible mistake. In fact, I wondered if I should just walk back the way I had come. The only problem was that people had sponsored me; I had no choice.

I reached the end of the walkway, and was attached to the ropes, shown how to let myself down and then told to climb over the railings.

'What?', I said. Now I felt queasy. Climb over the bloody railings? You have to be joking. My body, however, was not listening to me. Before I knew it, one leg was over the other side and the other one was following it. What am I doing? I thought, though my body carried on following orders.

'Now lower yourself down'.

I started to lower myself down, eyes closed (I'm not that brave) until I realised that I wasn't going to fall. I was about 20ft down when I stopped and waved to my Dad who was taking photographs at ground level. I tried not to think about anything at all, but I knew that I was almost finding it fun. It helped that S, who was not afraid in the slightest (rude!), was right beside me for the whole way down.

Me and S about to let go and lower ourselves down.

We waited at the bottom for my Mum who looked grey with terror, and who had to go through the middle of the railings rather than over because she couldn't climb (she said she was too old). She did it though, and raised over £700. Although I battled with my fear to do the abseil, my Mum was the one who really achieved something. It took her nearly an hour to calm down afterwards.

It goes to show that if you don't do something because you are afraid, how do you know you won't enjoy it?

2013-11-06T06:54:00.001+00:00

A writer who can't write is like a sword fighter who is afraid to pick up a sword: not a lot of good when someone comes at him with a broadsword.

I have written articles and short stories in the past. My last article was published last December in Cornwall Today magazine but I haven't written anything since. I can't...I won't. I even have an interview to write about but it has been sat recorded on my phone for months (fyi My Samsung galaxy S2 has a better voice recorder than my dedicated dictaphone!). I also need to write letters for my boss to send out to people but it can take me so long (too long) to write one. It is frustrating, but it is also something I want to work on next.

I have always suffered from writer's block. Sometimes I find myself free from it, sometimes it is so crippling that I can stare at a blank page in horror,my guts an agony of twisted knots. It is a confidence thing, I am sure.

Being able to write the occasional blog post is helping but I think I need to do more. If I had remembered nanowrimo (novel writing month which is November) I would have prepared characters and the basic storyline for a short novel, but I found out as it was starting. I feel I need to challenge myself more.

I have been writing a bucket list and steadily working my way through it. I have milked a cow (because it was random), I have done a voiceover job, I have slept in a car (that was on S's list not mine) and I am gradually walking the cornish coast 13-15 miles at a time. A short story is on my list, my worst nightmare in terms of writing: creativity, length, completion. It feels like one of my biggest challenges yet!

2013-10-29T09:02:00.001+00:00

I hate that feeling when you drive into work and think it's going to be a shit day. Tired, suffering from another restless night and an early morning (needing a holiday), the drive in is slow because of lorries. And then, you get into work, set up the laptop and make a cup of tea, you look out of the window and see a rainbow. Physics on the grand scale.

Perhaps it won't be such a bad day after all. :-)

Floor skating and other things

2013-10-28T21:21:00.001+00:00

Try this when you're bored in the supermarket, an evening shop with the aisles empty of people and, most importantly, the floor has just been freshly polished: floor skating. A fantastic new sport that is not just designed for children.

I was not in the mood for shopping tonight but, other than a dodgy looking bag of salad and some cauliflower, we had no food in the house. I can be ingenious when it comes to creating meals from random food - admittedly the kale omelette was a mistake that time - but there really was nothing I could make. So, off to the local supermarket we went. To make myself feel better, I went to the stationery section as soon as I got there.

I decided to find my partner who was prowling the homeware section, presumably for the same reason, (this can be dangerous. If I don't watch her, she would fill this flat with fluffy cushions and pink towels...), when I found myself sliding around the corner as if on ice. The soft soles of my Dr Martins (I am such a stereotype at times) helped on that freshly polished floor. That was it: I raced up and down the aisle and went into full skids up and down. How exciting. It was then I saw myself on the tv screen: caught mid slide.

But who cares? I have spent so much of my life caring about what other people think, tonight I decided to break that record. I came up with a cunning plan to make the shop go faster with fun. The rule was you had to pretend you were iceskating through the store. It was fun. OK so people looked at us oddly but I didn't care. If you can't laugh at yourself and let your hair down, then what's the point?

45 minutes later, we were bloody knackered and breathing heavily but the shopping was done and we had fun doing it. As a treat, we bought some giant sparklers to play with.

I suffer from stress quite a bit but it is moments like this (and with a forgiving girlfriend) that help me unwind. And now to relax. :-)

2013-10-21T20:53:00.001+01:00

Today I was asked by a colleague to give diet advice. It makes me really happy when someone wants to make a positive, healthy change to their life. I don't know much but I'm happy to offer what knowledge I have.

It wasn't quite the blog entry I was going for, but this seems to be the theme of the day.

It isn't the first time I've been asked for diet advice in the last couple of year. It is because I lost 3.5 stone, which hasn't gone unnoticed. I don't have a "before" picture, but I do have the most recent picture which was taken at the weekend:

I am not thin (not in the modern size-zero sense), but I am happy. I am fit and healthy. Isn't that all that matters?

Having been a bit of a chubberchops, I honestly feel that, even with the best intentions and strongest motivation, a diet can only ever be a temporary phase. The diet will fail, or the resolve be blown apart the next time you get stressed out and need a chocolate bar. It is because we put so much meaning on the word 'diet'. It is like a punishment because you can't eat all the 'naughty' things you want to. My advice: don't do it, and especially don't try to be thin. Oh, and don't use the scales! Why set yourself up to fail?

The easiest thing I did was to simply cut out the crap: stop eating wheat, cheese, and sugar (which is sadly in almost every food you can buy these days), added lots of vegetables to my diet, and exercised. I have not made changes because I want to be thin, I have done it because I want to feel well, and to be able to enjoy my martial arts and other activities without getting ill. It was (and always will be) a lifestyle choice, not a diet. The weight loss was a side effect, as was good skin and increased confidence.

So many people spend so much energy on trying to fit into an image of what they think they 'should' be, instead of focusing on how they would like to be. They focus on goals that aren't achievable. Not everyone has a frame that can get down to a size zero, I know I don't (the thinnest I got was at 18 after being in the Peruvian rainforest for a month. I lost so much weight that size 8 clothes were hanging off me by the time I got to uni) nor would it be healthy to try.

I like being asked about my weight loss plan but not many people want to hear it. There is no quick fix that will last, you see. It is hard work all the way but it is worth it in the end.

2013-10-07T20:44:00.000+01:00

If I could, I would be going to my kick boxing and kung fu classes tomorrow night. I can't...I mustn't. I shouldn't really... Sigh. I know I won't, but I can dream of going. I can be an arm chair martial artist for the evening and dream of doing the most amazingly high front kicks and dazzling spinning kicks that land perfectly every time. I would be Michelle Yeoh in Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, or Uma Thurman in Kill Bill. I would, essentially, be amazing. It would be the best training session ever (and it wouldn't even be showing off, because everyone else would have equally amazing skills which we would use to spar and train together).

OK. So now I'm even fantasising about exercise. I'm not sure that's a good sign.

I am still incapacitated with my leg injuries: day 4 and I'm getting to the point of tearful frustration. At least the pain is beginning to subside. I had to work from home today (thankfully I have a very understanding boss...plus I have proven that PA work can be done anywhere so long as you have a laptop, work notes and work phone). My feet up, phone beside me, I actually got an awful lot of work done, but I just didn't want to be here: stuck. With no exercise.

I never was very patient.

It wasn't so long ago, a couple of years perhaps, that I hardly exercised at all. That was before, when I was in the 'bad' relationship. I stayed at home most of the time, I drove everywhere, and I became overweight. I was back to exercising as soon as I got out of that awful relationship. In fact, at one point, you could say that I was mildly obsessional about exercise. I was running 7 miles 3 times a week, plus doing 30-40 mile cycles at the weekends, plus walks most days. You can have too much of a good thing: I got sick because I wasn't eating enough carbs and vitamins to cover what I needed.

I take a more measured approach nowadays. Admittedly, if I hadn't been running back from a two hour kung fu session, I wouldn't be where I am now, but at least I always make sure that I am well fed with the right nutrients, hydrated and ready to go. I don't do nearly as much exercise either. But, if I can't exercise, I really do notice its absence. It has reminded me that I should be grateful for my fitness levels and ability more often, because I don't know when I could lose it.

I guess that's the same with everything in life: be grateful for it when you can.

Waiting to get back on my feet

2013-10-05T16:49:00.002+01:00

I have injured myself. It was being over zealous during my Kung Fu practise, and because I ran the two miles in to Falmouth and back to get to the class. I have never experienced such pain in my thighs before.

At work yesterday, I deliberately dehydrated myself so that I wouldn't have to go down the stairs from my office to the loo. When I did need to go, I was in so much pain that I thought I might have a little accident on the way down (I didn't... nor did I really expect to. I was just avoiding the pain). I could have cried.

I am not good at being immobilised. In fact, you could say that I hate it. I am prone to suffering from anxiety and stress, and my normal exercise regime is something that keeps it under control. I am not impressed with myself for taking a risk. But there is no need for the 'what ifs' and 'should have dones'. It won't change it.

So here I am, with my legs raised, and unable to do much at all. I can only hope that I have decent movement by Tuesday which is when I have my San Shou kick boxing and Choy Li Fut Kung Fu lessons. In just a couple of weeks, I am expecting to be able to grade for Choy Li Fut, I can't afford to miss the lessons in between.

I will admit to feeling sorry for myself, certainly earlier. I bought some wheat free bread just so that I could eat some peanut butter (when I was young, we were very poor. I got the mumps and my brother scraped just enough money together to buy some peanut butter to help make me feel better, it did and it has had that effect ever since). I even sent a text to The Girlfriend to say I missed her (she called and asked why...I might have confessed that I missed her making cups of tea...my memory is hazy ;-) ).

I am tired, though. So tired. Sleeping proved difficult last night, for every movement of my legs set off the pain. I was half dosing, and then The Girlfriend came back. Even though I'd missed her (not just for her tea making abilities), it became...frustrating. She wouldn't leave me alone (she wanted kisses), and then she started fussing over the general mess I had created during the day and my half-hearted attempt to sort out things to sell in the spare bedroom. She complained that I couldn't pick things up off of the floor...I'd liked to have reminded her that I couldn't even reach my toes this afternoon let alone reach the things on the floor. However, she had a point. If I hadn't thrown them on the floor in the first place, they wouldn't have been there to pick up...

The good news is, she brought a Danish pastry back for me. Admittedly, this won't help my wheat intolerance and generally dodgy stomach, however I'd texted her continuously until she had agreed. (I know how to be persuasive). She even made me a cup of tea and placed it on the table at the end of the sofa (sweet, but I couldn't reach it...). She sighed heavily when I asked for her to get it for me. I think there might be someone else here who can't wait for me to get back on my feet!

[In all seriousness, S has been as good as gold, even if the tea was put in the wrong place. She's patient and kind. I am lucky.]

2013-09-25T17:16:00.001+01:00

Is it possible to O.D. on peanut butter...?

I don't think so. My partner seems to think that even the smell of it is toxic. So toxic that even having a sealed jar in the cupboard is dangerous.

Ah well, the boss at home is still at work. That means it is peanut butter-o'clock. What she doesn't know won't harm her. Nom nom. ;-)

A Dress

2013-09-23T19:16:00.001+01:00

It is not that I made a conscious decision to stop buying girly clothes, it just kind of happened gradually over time. The shift in clothes choice related to a dark period of my life when I put on shit loads of weight. It was a confidence thing, clearly. I was also in denial and wore elasticated waist lines so that I didn't have to admit that I was fat...and getting fatter.

I've lost all that weight now but I didn't go back to particularly feminine clothes. It came to a point a few weeks ago that I had to dig through old (ancient) photographs of me looking very feminine just to prove it to people. Short skirts, very long hair, long nails (kept shortish now for practical reasons), delicate shoes. Now I like to wear my DMs and smart trousers to work, or jeans at any other possible time that I can. It is because it is practical; comfortable. It certainly was for when I worked in IT.

But I am not in IT any more. This should have been in an update a while ago, but I am now a Personal Assistant. Back to administration, which I had promised myself I would never return to (it is actually a good job, but that's another story). I don't always need to wear such practical clothes, as I'm not going into server rooms or crawling under desks. I felt that it was time for a change. So I did it...I bought a dress.

I was always told that you should look in the mirror at yourself and find the one thing you like about yourself and say 'I love my *' (*fill in with eyes/smile/wrists/or other relevant body part). It isn't an ego thing, it is purely to say to yourself that there's something good you like (much more positive than look at sagging stomachs with self-loathing - I know, I've done that too). For me: my legs. I love my legs. All the hard work from doing three martial arts has paid off with perfectly toned legs. OK, so there are bits of my body I don't like at all, but if I look at my legs: I am good.

When I was overweight I was at my least confident and could barely speak to a shop assistant. It took me 6 months to get hair cuts, and I wore crappy clothes because I was afraid to go shopping. The guys at university even had a nickname for me: mute girl. It wasn't nice, but it was accurate. Over time, I grew as a person, but I was still lacking confidence and staying in terrible relationships because I didn't know that there could be better for me out there..

One day, when the shit hit the fan (I very suddenly became single), I decided that I didn't want that for myself any more; I wanted to be a part of the world. So I changed. I worked damn hard at change. Now I am a healthy size, I go to three different martial arts lessons, I am a PA that has to speak to a lot of different people, and I wear dresses.

This dress isn't just a dress to me, it is a reflection of how far I have come.

Everyone did a double take when they saw me today. Everyone. If an earlier version of myself could see me now, I doubt she would recognise me either.

Pants...

2013-09-16T20:50:00.001+01:00

...fast drying. Sweat defying. At least, that's what the packet says. Don't ask how I got this pair of lady garments, don't even ask what they look like. I can't tell you, it would ruin my reputation. Better you think of them as lace, red perhaps, than the dull grey granny-pants that they actually are.

They have been at the back of my underwear drawer for some time. Unused, unwanted. But then the time finally came when I decided to test them.

We are walking the southwest coast path, not in one go (I tried that when I was younger and managed 120 miles before I got an injury) but in 13-14 mile sections at a time. We might do a section a day here and there, maybe occasionally camp on the way to make a whole weekend of walking. It is on both of our bucket lists.

We planned our first section on our holiday last week. St Agnes to Godrevy. 13.4 miles of beautiful coast with steep inclines and steeper drops. There is nothing like coast walking to get you hot and well exercised. What a perfect opportunity to test the pants!

It was a joke, at first. My partner laughed (oh, how she laughed) when the pants went on, but even in those first moments I knew that they felt...comfortable. We drove out to the starting point and started the walk. It was a hot day with glorious sunshine, and we started off at a fast pace. After an hour, they felt dry and comfortable. After two hours, the same...I almost got caught (in the middle of nowhere) checking...! (That would have looked odd). Damn it, even as we came to the end of the walk at 4.5 hours, they were soft, dry and comfy to wear.

I am an experienced walker. I have hiked up mountains (UK ones, if they count), across the Lake District and Peak District, across Dartmoor and Bodmin Moor, Penwith and the coastal path. I have walked hundreds of miles. Literally. But I never thought I would be converted to granny pants. Please don't say it's my age.

I once did a 14 mile walk wearing a thong under my walking trousers. Trust me, you wouldn't want to try it.

No. I am afraid I am converted. I washed and readied the garment for the next walk which we did on Saturday (Godrevy to St Ives). I think they will become as important as my walking boots...

More changes

2013-07-22T13:04:00.001+01:00

My life goes in cycles of change. It is never one stream of continuous moments, everything tends to pile in at the same time.

We have not been happy with our current accommodation. I have been there for two months, S one. On the face of it, it is a nice, quiet place but when you look closer the landlord painted over problems (damp problems) which are now just making the first stages of reappearance. There is no telephone line and we aren't allowed to get one (we didn't know this until we moved in. It is strange, to say the least). The plan is to escape.

We managed to scrape together the deposit for a new place, which we have arranged but are awaiting for the confirmation. I hope that it is successful. It is a nicer place, light and airy with two bedrooms and two bathrooms (one en suite). It seems more homely. Fingers crossed.

I have also, after all that work on the IT qualification (which I passed a few weeks ago after hours and hours of revision), got a new job as a PA. I start on Thursday. It couldn't be so far from the IT career that I had started to work towards but it is something that I think will be fascinating and challenging (definitely challenging).

I gave myself just two short weeks off after my CompTIA A+ exams before the wheel of change started again. The move was sort of planned (we estimated September to get a place but the move date is hopefully going to be mid August instead). The job was not. A month ago, I could not have even imagined a job change. It will be exciting, though, with all the projects and objectives that I have been prepared with already.

It is, with lots of hope, that I will finally settle down after all this. I don't want to move for a good few years after (it is already four times in 10 months!). We shall see. For now, though, I need to de-stress as much as possible (go for runs, cycle, write) because it is a lot to think about in such a short time. Time and time again, I find myself wondering: why do I do this to myself? But then, I remember, I never do anything by halves.

Adjustments

2013-05-06T20:52:00.001+01:00

My belongings are all but packed. When I moved to the lodge, I had little. Now I have even less. This upsets me. It's strange, though. A huge part of me doesn't want any of it at all; not my job, not my "things", not even my car. I do want my bicycle and what few clothes I have left, but the rest...

I have contemplated giving it all away. The lot. Just discard the old baggage and start again. I have that opportunity, so what's stopping me? Wanting to be normal?

The lodge was never what I expected it would be. It was not the writer's haven, nor the photographer's paradise. It was freezing cold in the winter; a capsule of seclusion. A place for hibernation.

I have learnt a lot from my experience. Sometimes I feel as though I have learnt nothing at all. I have stepped backwards a fraction: my confidence has dropped, my insecurities exposed. I am not sure if I have missed the opportunity for self-development.

It is time to move on. Start afresh. I'm good at that, at least. It is a good starting again though. S will be moving in with me in a couple of months time, if not less. I will have to adapt to living with someone again.

I have often wondered if my past experiences of co-habiting have damaged me in some way, but I am going to try my hardest. She is worth it.

Life is about how you adjust to situations and how you learn from them, but for so many years I have felt like the wrong shaped cog trying to fit into the machinery of society. I have never quite fitted and never understood how others do. I pretend that I know more than I do, but I really know nothing.

There is so much pressure in today's world to be a certain way. To hold down a good job, to marry and have children. I'm gay, so those same pressures shouldn't be relevant but yet it is expected of me. Not the children, perhaps, but the rest. Is that really me?! I hate being tied down. Every Spring, I lust for adventure far from here. I become restless and begrudge being stuck.

There has been a lot of talk this weekend. S is the same as me. We crave the same things. She makes me feel that we can find a way. We will try to adapt our lives to make it possible, to do all the things we want.

Life will be interesting, I am certain. And it will mean a hell of a lot of adjustments.

The lodge

2013-03-26T18:24:00.001+00:00

I love my lodge. I do, at least when the sun shines and the birds flock to the feeders that I put out for them, and the sky is a promising blue, or when the fire is lit and the living room is cosy. When it is cold, I certainly know about it.

I have cried before. That was the night before my electric blanket arrived; the temperature was -3 degrees. I dread the cold, which has my hands and feet turning interesting hues of blue, white and red. My blood circulation, which has never been good, has been declining over the last few years and I end up with crippling pain and the threat of chillblains.

I have a choice, I know I do: to stay in a wooden lodge, no more than a few planks of wood from the elements, or I could move into a real house and be sheltered and warm. Choices are never so easy, nor as black and white as they seem. If I moved from the lodge, would I miss the closeness to nature? It is unique, isolated and peaceful. We have pheasants walking up to the windows and an acre and a half of garden to enjoy.

Soon it will be summer, and the winter will seem far away. I am looking forward to bbqs on the veranda, and long strolls in the countryside. After the summer, maybe even after autumn, I probably won't be living in the lodge...I can't go through another winter like this one. I am done with cold places. But the idea of leaving makes me sad.

The problem is, I can't see myself living in a "normal" house again either. It is strange; as the lodge has transformed into a home, I have transformed along with it. The lodge is me, an external part of me. It is how I have always wanted to live: a wooden home with the bare essentials. If I could have a choice, I would build my own wooden house with insulation and eco-friendly heating (always heating, heating is never over rated), so that I can mix the world I love with a world of the essential warmth that I need.

Here's dreaming of finding a way...

Catsitting and studying

2013-03-16T09:55:00.001+00:00

I am housesitting again. A friend from work has had to go away for a few weeks and I agreed to help out for one of those. I don't mind it so much, especially as I get to look after two very cute cats. One is a Persian, the other a Selkirk Rex (known as the Ginger Ninja).

There was a time where I seemed to be catsitting more than I was at home. That was last year before I moved into the lodge. Sometimes I was paid, sometimes I wasn't. It was just a break from living in shared accommodation with someone who was not mentally well, and who smoked too much cannabis for his own good. Now, I don't really have to as I have a home that I like, but the advantage is that it is close to work and it saves me a fortune in fuel. Plus...the cats are cute. Did I mention that they are cute? ;-)

There are few distractions in this place. Like my own home, there is no T.V., although there is actually internet (always a distraction for me, but I'm doing my best). I have a lot to do: I only have 20 weeks left until two very big exams for my course, so I have to study; I have a photography job to finish; exercise to do; a book proposal or two to write... But, somehow, I just enjoy sitting by the fire relaxing. It isn't so much procrastination as willful neglect of my responsibilities. Sometimes, you get more done after a bit of rest. That's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it.

It is ironic about the course. It is actually one I started about 3-4 years ago during a negative relationship. She was doing it too but got frustrated and angry with me when I could pick it up so easily while she had to work hard at it. I gave it up, but when I started working in IT I realised that I needed proof that I could do the job (you have to think about your C.V.). The thing is, now that I do IT day in day out, the course doesn't really cover any new ground for me, I just don't remember specifics (why would I...Google is my friend!). I did, however, choose it specifically to help me move into IT management, which is already where a third of my job lies. The thing with IT management is that you don't have to know everything, but you do have to know enough to make sure a contractor isn't screwing you over (I can't tell you the number of times men try to pull the wool over my eyes because they think that, as a woman, I know nothing. I actually enjoy that game...because I enjoy the look on their faces when you let them know that you know).

I have set myself a fairly easy study program, so easy that I haven't actually started it yet. I can see myself cramming before the exam... it's like my degree all over again. I never learn.

I have promised myself that I will study today, although it is hard when the Ginger Ninja is lying beside me wanting cuddles. I could just have another lazy day...there's always tomorrow, right? ;-)