The Last Resort

It's a strange feeling, arriving back in Leicester. Every time I come home I feel like I've never been away.

Although I've only been living in Brighton for 15 months, it feels like so much longer. Each time I come back to Leicester, I see minor cosmetic alterations- the extension of the shopping centre, closed roads, new buildings etc., but no matter what happens it still feels like home.

I always knew that Brighton would be a temporary home. As great as Brighton is, it doesn't feel real. So much goes on in Brighton that you wouldn't see anywhere else in the country, it has a very surreal atmosphere. For the first time since I've been away, I am feeling an internal clamour for the reality of the dark, dingy, lifeless city streets. I guess we all need a certain amount of familiarity and reality, and Brighton really doesn't feel like somewhere that I could settle down long-term. I give it another couple of years before I have to move on for the sake of my own sanity.

But bigger than this, although everything feels familiar, at the same time it also feels very different. In the 19 hours that I've been back here I have already noticed changes within myself. I see things that would previously have annoyed me, and I am calm. I hear people saying things that before I would not have known how to react to, I my mind is working on providing them with an answer.

All in all, I have moved on. I have grown up.

Though the last year has been much fun socially, professionally it has been very difficult. However, through those professional difficulties I have learned a lot about myself and I now realise that I put those learnings into place on a daily basis.

Where I once felt uncomfortable in Leicester, I now realise that I feel comfortable in myself. Thus, my physical surroundings seem somewhat unimportant.

This is why I moved away. I think I'm finally starting to understand myself.

I want her to be real.

She looks great, she has a fantastic smile. She's articulate too, and she has a lot to say. Most of it makes sense, and what doesn't would make good talking points. I'm confident that we'd get on well.

"Lisa". It's a lovely name. She looks so smiley, so cute. Appears to have a good sense of humour too - one picture of her in a silly hat, one crashed out on a sofa, one flipping the bird... yet she still looks great in all of them. No silly tongue-out pictures or screwed up faces (they're really not attractive, y'know girls?) Okay, so there's the clichéd kissing another girl picture, but even that's done quite well. Oh no, hang on... there IS a tongue-out picture. Oh dear. Oh well, never mind.

Her profile is very polite. She looks good in a bikini.

So what does she want with me? Why has she shown an interest out of the blue? She has a lot of friends already, what could she possibly want me for?

Maybe I should stop kidding myself. Let's face it, she's not real.

Some poor sucker has had their details stolen and their identity used. It's always too good to be true.

Bloody MySpace hackers.

Okay, a few people asked what freaked me out so much yesterday. Well here's the whole story. Most of you know I'm slightly paranoid at the best of times, well... you couldn't make this shit up...

It started at work. My colleague handed me an envelope that was addressed two-thirds incorrectly, to someone we'd never heard of, at a company that didn't exist. It had made it to us due to one line of the address that resembled the company name.

I checked with the manager of the centre in which we're based to find if she knew anyone of the name or company name on the envelope. She didn't. I ask my colleague to google the company name. No record anywhere. So I open the envelope. A pile of ink-jet printed papers with a cover note. The cover note was one paragraph and said something along the lines of "I hope you find these of some use, please let me know how many people you are bringing to the cabaret." The address in the top-right corner consisted of a name, a job title and a company name. No address, no post code. Again, I ask my colleague to google the company name. Again, no record anywhere.

So I start reading the documents. I promptly shit my pants.

Four pages containing the details of a HUGE drug deal. Details of all the gangs in the local area, the quantity of the drugs arriving, the split betweens gangs, the origin of the substances, the punishment for those that cut the drugs with anything dangerous, the details of all the CCTV cameras in the local area.

"Fuck. Well, I guess I'm involved now. So, what do I do? Do I call the police? Do I throw it away? Should I keep well out of it? No, morally I have to do something, surely? Fuck. What if they find out? They must know where they sent it, it can only have been me. Okay, I'll keep my colleague out of this. She doesn't need to know. If they're gonna come after someone, it might as well be just one person. FUCK. How am I gonna sleep tonight? Okay Guy, think... No, that's not helping. Go clean your pants and then think again. Right...

OH FUCKING HELL, I DON'T KNOW!

I'll speak to my boss, he'll know what to do..."

So I go downstairs as my boss is arriving and I ask him to meet me in a private meeting room. I show him the letter. He shits himself too. "What the fuck? Who would do this? Why would they send it to us?" I don't know, I'm getting worried. I reply

"I know, how fucked up is this? What do we do?"
"Right, we put this in the post to the police and then we forget about it."
"This is fucked up."
"Why would they do this? It makes no sense..."
"I know. I mean, and to send it to an incorrect address with half a post-code, you'd think they'd be more caref... oh, hang on. Give me the envelope..."

My brain starts to think logically again. The stalker. The bloody stalker...

Well before I took up post, the previous director worked with a client who was particulalry schizophrenic. He was fine while he was working with him, but some time after they stopped working together he started sending weird things in the post. Pants, hats, weird poetry, socks...

I run back to the office with the envelope. Luckily the bin hasn't been emptied in a long, long time. I dig out the jiffy bag containing the pants. I wasn't aiming for it, it was pot (un)luck which one came out first. The handwriting matches.

We all take a deep breath. Not least because the pants stink.

I investigate with the HR department and it turns out he has played this little fantasy out before. Panic over. Everything returns to normal.

Until...

I arrive home from work in my usual forlorn state. I walk into my bedroom and there is a black envelope sitting on my bed. It looks like a card of some sort. That's funny, it's nowhere near my birthday. Have I forgotten something? It looks a bit weird. This is spooky.

I open the envelope...

...a black card, with a black rose on it...

...brown pants time again...

...I stare at the card, wondering what I've done to deserve this. Maybe this is from the "Sea Mafia" after all. I can't bring myself to open the card, I'm genuinely scared...

And so I should be.

It's a wedding invite.

Nathan and Claire - you owe me a new pair of pants.

Okay... not sure how much writing I have left in me at the moment, I seem to have done nothing but all day. I put today aside for some me time so despite the lovely weather I've been in my room all day. Normally I'd be dying to get out and do something in the sunshine, but it's been so long since I just stopped that I feel a whole lot better for doing nothing all day. I say nothing, of course I have been doing things, creative things- reading, writing, playing music, thinking... mixed in with the odd household chore of course. Anyway, where was I? Let me see...

Anyway, in his book The Fall Steve Taylor tells of a time before religion when gatherer-hunter groups lived all over the world in peaceful isolation from each other. When human crossed paths they helped each other, and there is no evidence of violence or war from this period. Nobody owned land, nobody had possessions (other than pieces of cloth to wear and things they crafted themselves) and nobody needed or owned weapons. Men and women lived as equals and there is even some evidence that females were dominant and worshiped. Then came "The Fall" and the rise of the human ego. I really wish I had the book to hand because I can't remember the detail of what caused it, but the bottom line is that men then claimed land, possessions and women, and the strong started to wield power. I'm fascinated by it.

I'd love to be able to return to a world where people didn't fight, mug, steal, bribe or kill just to buy the latest iPod/phone/flatscreen tv. None of that stuff means anything to me. I get my joy from music, from creating music, from seeing wonderful things, from having special moments with people and sharing precious memories with friends. I always said I don't need anything other than a roof over my head and a guitar. Nothing else matters, although obviously love and friendship are great comforts. That said, they bring their own difficulties. I often wonder if the life of solitude is perhaps the happiest of all. Otherwise aren't we simply just jumping from circumstance to circumstance to try to slay the previous problem?

I love the movie Into the Wild. Despite the unhappy ending, that sort of life really appeals to me. To just disappear into nature and live from of social restrictions and expectations. To fend for yourself, make your own moments and answer to no one. Can there be anything more perfect than that?

I suppose there can. That moment with a special someone. That feeling of security and affection. The thought of building a dream together and not having to be alone.

Uh... okay, I seem to have entered my head a little too deeply.

I'm beginning to think my life expectations were damaged by too many Hollywood feel-good movies. Okay, so there was the odd hint of somberness through films like Stand By Me and My Left Foot, but I'd like to apportion some of the blame for my general under-achievement in life on films such Almost Famous and The Beach.

Such fantastical films invariably moved me from the real world to the one that I was grasping for.

While in your teenage years, I would argue this is acceptable. But here I am, weeks short of my twenty-ninth birthday, and I find myself falling into the same trap.

Maybe it's because of the time I have on my hands at the moment, or the fresh start that I have embarked upon, but sitting through Jay and Silen Bob Strike Back and Clerks II back to back (yes, I am a Kevin Smith fan) has ignited a flame of ideas in my head. I suddenly feel again that yes, I CAN get that girl. I CAN go on a road trip with my mates and live it up again. I CAN find an enjoyable job working with exciting new people. I'm not sure how I'd go about these things, but I feel that anything is possible.

But really - is that so crazy? I think not. Maybe my youthful naivety has returned, but I think in reality it's more likely the fearlessness of my childhood. Nothing seems to matter any more, and the only thing I'm scared of is time passing me by.

It's time to stop thinking.

It's time to start acting.

A rarity from me here - a blog based around a TV programme. I wasn't interested in the previous series but somehow I seem to have got caught up in The Apprentice this year, to the point that I'll watch it on OnDemand or iPlayer if I miss the original showing.

Aside from watching a bunch of blundering idiots fail consistently at the simplest of tasks, my biggest concern is the number of people I have met in industry that these gormless morons remind me of. This was highlighted this week by a segment whereby the interviewers ("top" business people) fed back their opinions on the candidates to Alan Sugar, highlighting such rather crucial inefficiencies as dishonesty, bad communication, lack of negotiating skills and an inability to use the English language correctly. Despite the many concerns, only one person was fired at a stage where three were due to be dismissed. Her biggest crime?

Being an individual.

The fact that Lucinda is motivated by success and a personal drive to be the best, not simply money, was also seen as a weakness by Mr Sugar and his team.

Is this really the state of the world in which we live today? We educate our children to be successful, but if success is judged purely in monetary terms is it any wonder that society has so many ills? A "successful business person" is not one that may help find a cure for cancer, ensures a good standard of care is provided to the elderly, helps under privileged children or cares about the welfare of the personnel they employ - they simply make money.

The programme has shown the lengths that candidates will go to in order to obtain the well-paid position on offer - bribery, deceit, hijacking, defamation of character and outright lying. In spite of all this, media coverage prefers to take a righteous stance and cast the participants as morons for each individual mistake they make. Now although I won't deny that the majority of the candidates are complete morons, it's very easy to watch from the outside and claim that they should have done this, that or the other AFTER the event, and after Mr Sugar has explained what they should have done. Put yourself in their shoes - in that environment with other morons constantly in your ear there's a good chance that you may have done something equally as stupid.

The biggest tragedy of all is that this programme accurately represents British business today. The greedy and manipulative survive, while the honest and innocent suffer. Lee pointed out that "...nice guys don't get anywhere..." in business and although that may not be entirely true, genuine people will always struggle within a business environment. The fact that Lucinda cared was enough to cause her downfall - you can't allow human feelings to affect business decisions. I applaud Lucinda for attempting to take her stance into an organisation run by Alan Sugar and while there are people like her out there, there is hope yet.

Money may make the world go around, but there's a hell of a lot more to be said for showing some humanity.

Sometimes you just gotta go out there and do it.

Even when you don't feel like yourself. Even when you feel distinctly average. Even when you're convinced you're not as good as you can be. Just go for it.

Sometimes nothing seems worthwhile any more. Sometimes it seems like an treck to the top of a mountain that grows infinitely. Sometimes the light at the end of the tunnel only seems to get further away. Sometimes no matter how much you reach out, you just can't grasp the object at the end of your fingertips. Sometimes no matter how many times you get back up, you soon find yourself on the floor again.

These are the times when you find your feet. You find more than your feet, you find a desire, a drive and a belief that if you can do it right now, you can do it any time. Those feet will support from this point onwards.

Light that fire inside of you. Let it burn. Feel as it fuels the roar of your engine and let yourself go. You know not where you are going, but trust your instinct.

Open your heart and embrace others. Remember that you may need them more than they need you. Trust them. Love them. Enjoy them. If you can do none of these then they are not your friends. Let them fall by the wayside as you continue your rise. Be sure that the ones you are left with know that you love them. Be there for others and others will be there for you. Do not dismiss anyone out of hand, circumstances and feelings change over time.

Dare to dream. Dare to think the unthinkable. Dare to be different, to be yourself. Let your moral instinct guide you and learn to trust your own motivations. Be aware of your own selfish limitations and ensure they do not restrict your liberated soul.

Do not fall into the chasm of of isms, ists and religion. Just be good. Nothing else matters. Labels matter not, routine is irrelevant and the only thing that matters at any one moment is the feeling within your heart. Listen to your heart and you will be free. The search for happiness is eternal, but by following your heart you will never be far away.

Laugh when you want to laugh, cry when you want to cry. Be where you want to be and at those times that you feel you have slipped backwards just remember what you are climbing for. Never say never.

Truth. Respect. Loyalty. Love. Passion.

Nothing else matters.

As much as I would like to say that this is true, it's really not. In fact, quite the opposite.

At 18, I cared not. As long as I could play football I was happy.
At 21, I was remotely concerned about the state of the employment market.
At 25, as long as the parcel industry was secure and I could fulfil my management duties, I was happy.

Now, at 28, I seem to be caught in a constant stream of politics and social concern. But this isn't just one man complaining about the state of society today, how the streets aren't safe at night these days, how societal values have disappeared, how nobody cares for their neighbours any more. No, this is borne from the realisation that any kind of political system is corrupt, unreliable and self-serving.

Problems run deeper than simply the chancellor of the exchequer getting the budget wrong, or the education secretary releasing a new policy without providing the funding for schools to implement it. The problem stems from increasing greed and the self-centred nature of society. Driven by adverts offering the latest "must-have" technology. Driven by the need to better than one's neighbour. Or driven most recently by the need to earn a ridiculous amount of money to simply even put a roof over one's own head.

While individuals in society constantly look out for themselves we will never see a return to community spirit. Only in extreme circumstances where a selfish goal is shared (for example where a new flightpath is proposed over a neighbourhood) do we ever see a flash of community in the modern world.

Common sense these days is often deemed racist, sexist, ageist, prejudiced and unfair to the disadvantaged. Well I'm sorry but last time I checked, life wasn't fair. The political-correct brigade, in their meddling ways of thinking they are somehow making things better for everyone, have merely shifted the disadvantage to a different socio-economic group. This is deemed acceptable in today's society.

A government that employs five million people is pretty much guaranteed five million votes. That's a good start to any election.

A single mother is able to live a life of luxury in a two-bedroom house paid for by the government, while her husband (on whom she cheated) is struggling to afford a quick pint down the pub with his friends. Why? Because he has a job.

A doctor, a father of nine, quits his job and lives at home on benefits because he can earn more money that way.

An outgoing union leader ensures his friends will all earn good money for life before he retires.

A salesman cannot be trusted because if he doesn't make his sales target this month, he cannot pay the mortgage.

Then in the background, a caring individual is fighting his way through a crowd of personal agenda with one goal in mind - a solution that is fair for everyone.

That individual is dismissed, surely he can't be telling the truth. Why?

He must have his own agenda, of course...

You say "music is my life". You lie. Music is MY life.

Music has a direct effect on my mood. Music can immediately cause a mood-swing from happy to incredibly annoyed. Music can pick me up when I am so far down I feel like giving in.

It's all about the right song at the right moment. Whether it be the slide and opening riff of Dr Feelgood that makes me want to pull out my air guitar as I wander down New Walk, or the sheer catchiness of The Cure's Close to Me that causes me to break out in to a series of hand-claps in the train station, once that music hits me I'm gone. I'm in a different world.

There are around 400 CD albums within sight of my where I am sat right now. There must be another 100+ distributed across my room. This doesn't always mean however, that I can always find something that I want to listen to. The restriction of an MP3 player than can hold only 200 songs is somewhat of a frustration to me. I have urges to listen to certain songs at certain moments, and if I can't gain access to it at that time I can feel the frustration build inside me. The unavailability of that song can cause misery for my work colleagues, my friends or my family. Of course there is no way of explaining this without sounding insane so it remains bottled up inside.

The Eagles' Desperado has long been my wallowing album. There is something about it that is somehow reassuring when I feel low. The Used's In Love and Death is seemingly able to eliminate most of my frustrations when played loud enough. Andrew WK's I Get Wet will get me fired up for a night out and Alabama 3's La Peste helps me relax after a long day.

I care not what you think of my taste in music, as these albums are entirely personal. There are a variety of other albums that I find myself listening to in situations that are ineffable or indistinct.

There was a time when I would enjoy going to nightclubs. There was a time when I could tolerate being in a bar that was playing the most god-awful hip-hop, rap, manufactured pop and soulless dance music. That time has gone. As soon as I lock in to the fact that the music is unlistenable, unenjoyable pap, I'm beyond the point of no return. Unless I have been destabilised enough by alcohol to be able to ignore it, my night is over.

Sometimes I don't leave the house, simply because I am enjoying what I am listening to. Sometimes I drive an extra five miles in the car just so I can finish listening to the album. Quite regularly I go for a walk on my lunch break simply so I can chill out and disappear into my own little world with my headphones on. Sometimes I just sit and enjoy silence.

My favourite refuge used to be the residential rehearsal room of my band. Often I could be found in there on my own, either writing in silence or playing whatever I felt like, as quiet or as loud as I liked. I really miss that room since we gave it up, because my bedroom simply doesn't provide the same working atmosphere.

Right now I am sitting in silence. I want a clear head to compose these words, and noises outside of my cranium are not conducive to that.

Don't try to tell me that you understand and that you're the same, because I know you're not. I love music more than I love life itself.

If I ever lost my hearing, suicide would become a viable option.

Without music, my life is meaningless.

A desk full of papers, a phone that doesn't stop ringing. Questions from colleagues, an erratic filing system that has somehow grown life of it's own. The copier working overtime, beeping every few minutes to tell me that there is a problem.

I open the door and solemnly leave this world behind me. I slowly descend the stairs before arriving at the solitude of the gents' cloakroom. As one of only five men in the building, and with three out on the road, I should be able to spend five minutes undisturbed. Five minutes of peace. Five minutes out of earshot of the tannoy. Five minutes without being questioned about clients. Fives minutes without being questioned by clients, by trainers, by my seniors.

An involuntary curiosity has moved my hand to my face and I've found myself staring at my thumb. There's a permanent scar just above the corner of my fingernail. It's a memento from my time at University. While my thumb was already in plaster I succeeded in opening a tin of beans, but I also succeeded in opening the top of my thumb by slicing it on the razor-sharp tin lid. I look toward the knuckle of my thumb I'm reminded that my thumb is not where it should be. Another reminder of my time at University, this one of the time my football team-mates decided to throw me into a bush. Only they missed and threw me over it, on to the concrete the other side.

I'm staring at my palms. I don't remember them being this tired-looking, this haggard, this wrinkly. I guess I'm ageing. I look in the mirror and suddenly things make sense. I think of pictures I have seen of my Father as a young man. I think of how he looked when I left the house this morning. I look in the mirror and what I see is, I guess, what happens in between. Somehow I had never imagined the link between the two. Subconsciously I'd always thought you were young, and then you were old. I guess the part in between is called life, although I use the term loosely when describing my existence.

I suppose I have a collection of memories. After all, that's all life is really, isn't it? I have the scars as reminders of the fun I had in the not-so-distant past, although right now they serve only as reminders of how little fun is bestowed upon my existence in the present. I don't want my life to pass my by, yet ask me a question about what I've done with my life in the last five years and I'll struggle to give you a worthwhile answer. Sure, I've been moderately successful career-wise, but it's hardly stood me in good stead right now. Yes, I've bought a car, but I'm still living at home - restricted by debt.

But most of all, what hurts more than anything, is that at 28 years old I've STILL never been in love. Uh-oh, not this train of thought again...

The hustle and slurry of the office suddenly seem like a nice distraction. I walk back up the stairs, hearing laughter and chatter on the middle floor. I reach my desk and tidy up a few papers. I clear a few items out of my in-tray and turn to face my colleague who is calling me

"It's only four weeks until Christmas!"

Great. I can't wait.