Trigger Happy

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – everything is better with bubblegum. With the possible exception of soup… Aside from that, everything is better with bubblegum. Apart from oral sex… Okay, so everything is better with bubblegum aside from oral sex and soup. Which is a shame, seeing as I started off with such a neat little poster-boy slogan…

Anyway, Monday morning, rising early and hitting my favourite clogged artery (the M25, blog-fans) I scanned surly skies draped with nimbostratus and - to slightly mis-paraphrase C-3P0 - remembered how much I hate space travel.

Now, I can’t profess to having a full blown fear of flying, it’s just I’d rather not taunt the laws of physics thankyewveddymuch. I have a number of extenuating reasons for this, not least being my pledge to keep my carbon footprint to that of a baby bootie. In this I’m in some small way ‘offsetting’ the moon boot sized swathe my ex-wives cut across Mother Earth. Just kidding.

But in all honesty, air travel does make me a trifle more uneasy the older I get. And abstinence doesn’t particularly bother me. Because I’m incredibly fortunate in the pleasures that jet-setting has afforded me in the past; to have watched the sun set over the Grand Canyon, to have cycled alongside deer gambolling through Yosemite, to have relaxed on balmy streets and drank with Parisians into the small hours, to have scudded across the UK above a carpet or pyrotechnics on bonfire night and helicoptered through the clawing superbright superstructures of Las Vegas.

Okay so there’s a big old world out there still to explore, but one: I’d like to trek across it by sea and rail a la Mr Palin should I ever have the travellers cheques to do so - and deux: there’s still plenty of wonders to behold on my own fair shores. I mean, who needs the pyramids when you can revel in the beauty of torched cars reflected in the eyes of a Hen Party in Gateshead? Seriously…

Anyway, as is my wont, I digress…

Back to my C-3P0 moment, yada yada yada… So as I started to mewl over taking to the skies once more, I decided to follow my own advice and see the positive in the situation. I was after all on an expenses paid trip to Dublin – somewhere I have been meaning to go for years – and the flight was – let’s face it - less than an hour. Grow some, man…

And so, I connected to a time when I knew no fear, where bad things only ever happened on TV and the world was full of limitless possibility. I popped in some strawberry bubblegum and shook hands with my inner 6 year old (which is possibly a little bit formal, but you can never be too careful these days). Instantly I was the wide eyed child inside the gates of Wonka’s factory. Instantly I had the swell of adventure in my belly. Instantly I had sticky goo pasted to my face (hey, don’t sully my tale of innocence!).

Now, whilst I don’t want to mislead you into thinking bubblegum has magical powers, within minutes the cloud gave way to sunshine and calm ruled the day. I kid ye not. And so with 6 year old me by my side, I embarked upon adventure.

And although once strapped into the jet-propelled casket of circulated stink the thing rattled over the asphalt for take off with all the serene grace of the Millenium Falcon bouncing straight into a meteor shower, it was merely the winged beast protesting. Just wait, man… It rumbled (I like to think as aircraft as frustrated hippies for some reason) Just wait, man… This isn’t my scene. Let me fly, man. Then I’ll show you what I was made for…

And just like that, the beast shook off its terra-firma shackles to show its true poise and refinement as it tickled the clouds with seemingly effortless elegance. Before I could even contemplate the over-priced services trolley, the aircraft arced delicately and surely towards Craggy Island and my final destination. And with Dublin’s proximity to the coast it felt like the metal monster was idly trailing its wingtips across the calm waters, enjoying its last few moments of truly being, before thumping along the harsh Earth once more.

Thanks, man. It was a wild ride, man.

Finally free of suffocating airport roadworks in my shiny hire car and it was my turn to take off; at the very same moment an Aer Lingus flight was landing on the runway parallel to the road. A multi-vehicular game of tag – my 6 year old self whooped with delight, a harking back to more innocent times when the family would park up on the verges at Stansted Airport in days where it was an infrequently patronised provincial outpost. Prior to the trappings of anti-social multi-media devices, Dad would drive the family out on an idle Sunday and we’d be thrilled by the occasional aircraft dipping in or charging angrily into the sky.

Sadly, in this age of ‘terror’ and Stansted’s absorption into ‘London’, you can no longer do so without entering the bustle of the airport proper. However funnily enough, given Ireland's usurped position as the world leader in terrorism, there outside Dublin airport in plain view of the runways – is a large observation car park, chocca of plane nerds and excited families, buzzing with the same thrills as I enjoyed as a wee kid.

Now some would say coincidence or a twee world view had its part to play, but I like to think I’ve found my 'trigger'. Just as certain fragrances, music, or television shows can transport you back to more innocent times, my bubblegum had served as plutonium to my DeLorean and skipped me back to a time where the world truly was my playground. It was my much needed swift reality kick to the head.

And it comes in really useful.

Because yesterday, standing at the busy airport terminal in my socks, my trousers drooping over my hips with the sum total of my toiletries clutched in an inadequate sandwich bag whilst my hand luggage was laid out in an undignified heap, my ire began to rise.

The offending article arising suspicion was the snow globe souvenir I’d purchased my youngest. She’s collected these ever since I started her off with a trinket from Amsterdam, so it was the perfect gift. Of course I’d neglected the fact that its ‘liquid content’ may be construed as explosive fuel and thus the item was duly paraded around Security. I tried to reason that there would be identical items in the souvenir shops directly behind me, so wasn’t this bureaucracy for the sake of it, but one by one the officious drones consulted stuck to the unwavering letter of Airport Authority.

Seeing my thoughtful gift slipping away, I tried applying further logic, in that drained of all liquid and thus satisfying ‘the rules’, the heavy glass globe would in fact make a far more effective weapon.

However, explaining with cold logic how I could use the present for my eight year old to pulverize someone’s skull didn’t seem to exactly strike me from the ‘possible terrorist’ register. If anything it only made them more resolute.

And suddenly I found myself very short tempered and embarked upon a railing against bloody-minded (probably not the best term, given my serial killer tainted reasoning) jobsworthiness and I became that disgruntled traveller they love to feature on all low budget airline documentary shows.

Which was unfair. The restrictions in place – as unyielding and unfathomable as they are - are there for the safety of us all. Maybe I should have been flattered that I’d been considered as the most ingenious and creatively adept (with his own glass-blowing paraphernalia to boot) terrorist ever to shake the Earth. And the lady who’d interrogated my luggage had actually been very sweet, thoughtful and compassionate in her trying to source a solution for me.

But momentarily I lost sight of this. And it’s all too easy to count the fingers of blame that put me there:

It was the 4 hour wait without any realistic or cost effective solution to get me home before midnight.

It was the interminable wait, watching wind rattled trees touch their toes (roots, I guess) in a complaisance I could never hope to replicate, stressing myself out over how gnarly this flight was going to be.

It was seeing a thoughtful gift for my youngest be cast aside as (potentially lethal) trash.

Added to this, stood on my stocking feet with my accoutrements (and my trousers) piled around me, I considered this damn well a Human Rights violation.

Which upon reflection was incredibly ignorant of me. It was a momentary inconvenience. It didn’t even begin to flirt with Human Rights. I’ve never been incarcerated for protracted periods with not even a trumped up charge. I’ve not suffered the ignominies of racial prejudice, the terrifying existence of day to day survival in the refugee camps of Darfur, or the arbitrary mortar attacks of the Gaza strip. Really; get over myself…

And then I looked down at the 6 year old me regarding before him this rude and unreasonable man - and suddenly the bubble burst.

I realised that I was being an utter and incontrovertible arse.

And I stopped mid-bluster. And shame faced, I said to the lady trying so hard against the constraints of her peers to help me; “I’m very sorry… I know it’s not your fault.”

Instead of shrugging her shoulders to signify my required departure as she’d have been absolutely entitled, the lady smiled reassuringly, apologised for the disappointment and took her time in explaining exactly where I may find a gift of similar theme, but more acceptable in proportion. And okay, it was a third of the gift for twice the price, but it had more emotional resonance, because this item has been bought out of the triumph of human kindness.

I’m thinking of mocking up some kind of token trophy in award to anyone so imbuing the spirit of Why So Serious? as this lovely lady did. Because in a world where service seems to cost extra and the customer/fellow human is deemed nothing but a hindrance, it takes a few heroes like this wonderful, warm and giving lady, to spread some positivity. For in all its contagion, it can be the most powerful weapon of all.

And to my bubble blowing 6 year old conscience, I also give thanks. I’m sorry I let you down.

So here’s my recommendation: Find your trigger.

Although clearly don’t speak in such terms when passing through airport security…

Stay positive.

x

And you can dance. For inspiration...

Hello - and thanks for checking in.
So this morning’s 5am jaunt around the devil’s car park (I have a very special relationship with the M25) was hardly enhanced by the morose twittering emanating from my radio.
Wednesday blahblahblah it’s depressing blahblahblah Wednesday morning even worse blahblahblah roll on the weekend blahblahblah… My how the half empty glass is laced with the poisoned tears of racists and paedophiles…
Wednesday also happens to be the midpoint of the week and therefore far closer to the next weekend than yesterday, the day before and for that matter - the previous weekend. I say ‘tomato’ - they say ‘suicidal‘…
And what’s not to love about today? Whilst harbouring certain reservations about the new Leader of the Free World given that he lifted the tag line for his election campaign from children’s favourite Bob the Builder, didn’t the world awake today refreshed by dawning optimism?
Not only is the rise of Obama the poke in the eye of bigoted oppression that many of us feared we’d never see in our lifetime, but we suddenly find ourselves confronted with a true leader who is lucid, urbane, articulate; a politician who speaks from the heart with both feet far from the vicinity of his mouth. Which planet did I wake up on exactly?…
And we watch and we listen and we nod and we audibly hear the galvanising of a people. ‘Stuff is broke,’ we’re told, ‘this is true. But can we fix it?’ As one we cry - ‘Yes! We! Can!’ And it’s not purely blind euphoria, it actually feels tangible. Crikey, can we order up some more of you please?…
But let’s give the guy some room. It is after all his first day on the job and I recall myself in such a position where I almost poisoned every single one of my co-workers through the simple act of making coffee. New jobs can be tough.
Though thank you, President Obama, for exuding the kind of spirit I would love to bottle and franchise. You are most welcome here, sir. I can only beg to whatever cosmic entity sneezed out this wonderful, chaotic romper room of a universe, that the big O doesn’t get lost in the machine and become jaded & distant like so many before him.
Because I see too many people who are all for the power of One - so long as they’re not the One expected to do the legwork.
Take the vox pop spewing forth from my radio this morning as I tussled with bleary eyes and inconsiderate motorists in the dance of the tentatively employed. Lamenting his lot in life, the wireless man on or indeed in the street, lamely attempted to wrestle down the reasons for his three year hiatus from metier.
Now I don’t know the guy, so far be it from me to cast aspersions, however on the face of it - it didn’t sound like he’d been previously ensconced in a trade so specialist as to be permanently and indeed forever more redundant. This man I’m sure, had not formerly fashioned mittens for unicorns woven from the sighs of angels. If I were to cast aspersions (which you understand I am not) I’d hazard a guess that this man would struggle to spell JOB even if he were being given a lap dance by Carol Vorderman who’d had the word tattooed across her chest.
What I’m saying is, maybe they are other factors at play here, other than ’life doing unto me’. Because - and I forget who first said it, probably either Buddha or Bono - when you point the finger of blame, there’s always three more fingers pointing back at you.
So okay, maybe I’m harsh and blinkered and this will all come back to bite me. I am after all, very aware that my own role in the current climate is tenuous at best. And to have ’life do unto to me’ would indeed be a speed bump I could do without. However, the reason I bust my hump working long hours and travelling great distances for a job that would merely hover around the fringes of my ideal, isn’t through any deficiency in my leader elect, the nearsightedness of the financial sector or any number of pretexts hanging from the fickle finger of blame. For the part I played in two failed marriages and an affinity - my being a good little consumer - to amassing shiny things, my present situation is rather more me doing unto life, rather than vice versa. I accept that wholeheartedly, learn from the experience and move on. Geographically I may be Poles apart from being a role model, but I can honestly say I love my life. And for that, I've only got myself to blame.
This morning’s Mr Misery was wheeled out as a tarnished trophy in light of the latest unemployment highs (or rather lows). Two million soon to be out of work in the UK - the highest ever! Now I’ve not looked into this and maybe I should, but 99.97% of all statistics are subjective (and 86.73% of all statistics are made up on the spot). Yes this may be the highest number ever and not by any stretch is it a good number, but has anyone made a comparative assessment against the number of people currently living in the UK? I’d wager that’s at an all time high too. And this isn’t some veiled dig at immigration law. It’s not. I’d just like someone to be honest when spouting math at me.
The poisoned glass half empty brigade love to have us brow beaten with worst case ever scenario. Profits at an all time low! But you still made a profit? Uh, yeah. So what you’re saying is that people are being less gluttonous than is the norm? Uh, yeah. Oh. Sorry, I thought the mantra ‘greed is good’ died with the 80’s? I’m not sure I entirely follow your pronouncement of doom…
The back in the golden days brigade will conveniently skirt around rationing and short life expectancy, virulent human rights infringements and religious genocide. For we privileged in the so-called developed world can look forward to twice the lifetime of our recent ancestors. Think of all the extra whinge benefits for one… Breakthroughs in science and medicine, technology and lets face it - with the crumbling of apartheid, the Berlin wall and other such iconic moments in history - human responsibility, all thrust us forward with a momentum not witnessed since the big string bang thingummy (and if you did witness that, please can you provide a written statement).
Now a chum recently likened my ‘peachy’ worldview to the spirit of a new mobile telecommunications provider’s media ad, where a flash-mob dance-off occurs in perfectly choreographed spontaneity at a major railways thoroughfare. And whilst I balk slightly at such an unbridled display of fun being lashed to such corporate (alleged) cancer inducing cynicism, it is a very very cool sight to behold. Because at the funfair in my head - that’s what happens to the world when ever I pull on headphones in public.
Which leads me to this proposition for you.
As antidote to those who try and beat us down with ballistic statistics and portents of doom, how about compiling your ultimate ‘sunny day’ play list? I’m a firm believer in the power of music and that it can alter your mood in an instant. So why not - whether it be by mp3, old school mix tape or via the joyful eccentricities of Ally McBeal’s John Cage - in your head, string together some solid tunes to pick you up when all around is down.
Then dance your ass off, whether for real or in the playground of your mind. Now how does that feel?
And unto the nay sayers, I say - hey! Why so glum? Why so serious?… As the artist formerly known as the artist formerly known as Prince once sang; I get delirious!
Stay positive.

Welcome to my world...

Hey, thanks for stopping by.
For many, in this early crawl of the year - with the fleeting daylight and picking up the tab from the holiday season - it is a time of SADness and introspection.
And in these so called troubled times, one has only to pick up a newspaper to realise that we are all inescapably and irretrievably doomed. Regardless of geography, belief system, social standing or favourite member of Take That - despair will seek you out, hunt you down like a rabid dog and drag you kicking and screaming into the bloody abyss.
Cheery stuff, no? My solution? Well, for one - don't pick up a newspaper...
In the coming weeks and months I aim to use this forum to scrape away the bile and all pervading cyniscism from day to day living. I'm not proposing some grandiose manifesto or an uprising of the people. I'm not Che Guevara. For one I really don't suit the hats. Even though the t-shirt royalties wouldn't go amiss.
What I'd love to get back to - with you like minded folk - is the exuberance of youth, regardless of any inherent naivety that suggests.
Because as we get older and bob like flotsam through turbulent times, I feel often we become so self absorbed with the minutiae of just making it through the day, that we cease to find the wonder so abundant in this fantastic universe we have been gifted as our playground. Isn't that just a smidge more than just a wee bit sad?...
We are here but just a gnats heartbeat, so why merely watch the clock?...
In a world obsessed with celebrity, the big news always seems to be what others are doing in their lives - and who they are doing it to. By tuning out our own daily grind, we snuggle into a vegetative state, apathetic to changing the world around us, of cheering on our fellow human, or sucking the very marrow out of life. Wouldn't we make our 6 year old selves sick to their sherbert and soil lined stomachs?
Einstein once said: Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we now know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world, and all there ever will be to know and understand...
Yeah, well easy to say when you're a genius in the first place, but a point well made. Many of the true wonders of the universe aren't that recondite and can be unlocked for example by the untethered flinging of paint or the shameless abandon of embracing a complete stranger.
Of course it's not just about being the smartest ape in the room. Generally as a species we are conditioned to be incredibly hung up on overall aesthetic and the ephemeral concept of being filthily healthy. And yet last time I checked at the gym, they had yet to introduce an exercise to open the mind. What's good for the body isn't necessarily tonic for the soul.
(That's not the reason why I don't go to the gym, incidentally. Call me old fashioned but I'm just not that motivated by the determined stink of others).
I hear a lot of folk chime on about their quality of life, which in many instances equates to the amount of stuff they fearfully lock up tight at night. In the words of one our greatest contemporary poets, Seasick Steve; I started out with nothing and I still got most of it left... Startlingly my quality of life seems all the rosier for it.
For a super evolved species, are we so focused on the Sight Chart tacked to the wall not to appreciate the cinescape view from the optometrist's window?
So what are we waiting for? For the media to tell us our life is over? For our bank balance to be a barometer for our happiness? For the suffering of others to be a cautionary tale and not a call to action?
We are all wonderful, powerful, sentient beings. We have a huge creative capacity for compassion and warmth and love. And if we are are complicit in the world's ills, it is by a resolute passiveness to the way of things .
As I say, I'm not trying to lead an uprising. I'm not striving - a la the powerfully allegorical movie Network - for you to go to the window and yell; I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore!
Just something like it...
Thus, back to the original point which in my own very long winded Ronnie Corbettesque style has taken some rather tenuous detours - I plan to use this forum to - in the words of the song: accentuate the positive... eliminate the negative...
Not that I'm advocating homicide you understand.
Positioned as the antithesis of the popular media (and by this I don't mean I'm striving for unpopularity, though if you blog it - it will come) I aim here to share tales of and for those still harbouring a highly tuned sense of wonder. Because the world and our fellow ape needs folk like us. And like a stone in a pond, wouldn't you love to have your ripples felt?
It will no doubt be a gnarly evolution. So strap in and I hope you enjoy the ride.
In the meantime - baby steps. When was the last time you just took off running for the heck of it? The sheer weeeeeeeeeeee! factor of it all? Try it. Stop the second it starts to feel like exercise. And if you can - chew bubblegum whilst you do it (though try not to swallow it - I hold myself in no way culpable for medical insurance claims).
Then let me know how it feels.
Have fun x