Wales & a Sense of Wonder Sept 2016

A Learning:

We’d been to see our friends Tipi Jean, Yazz, John and Tanya up in the hills near a place called Rhydspence just over the Welsh Border. On the way home back to Montgomery we’d been listening to Radio 4 a program on “forgiveness” Marian Partington who had written the book “if you sit very still” about the impact of the abduction and murder of her sister Lucy Partington by the wests sometime around Jan 2nd 1973 and how she had over twenty years or so come to find compassion for rose west and had actually written to her. I remember reading an article by Marian years ago, before I’d set sail to the US the first time.Tipi Jean & Yazz'z House.22.01.16jpg20161021_173535.jpg

What she’d written had touched me, I’d written a song, I’d thought I’d understood, what she had achieved, she was a beautiful being with qualities and strengths way beyond mine that was for sure, but I realize now that I didn’t quite get it.

I had done a Hypnotherapy/Healing session the day before; it was fresh in my mind. It is still remarkable to me how much something or somebody else can impact on us. How much hate, resentment, anger and fear we can harbour without being aware of it, behind what we have rebuilt on our road to recovery, on our road to remake and remodel ourselves, because of course we must, because we live and breathe and have to take a step forward and when we do other experiences come to meet us and we will have to make sense of them too, as we are, moving away from the thing that hurt or marked us, at least on the surface of things.

It has occurred to me many times over this last few years with the different things people have brought into the dome and to the Centre in Bermondsey that most of us have not escaped at all, we have not escaped because we have not been able forgive or at least not found any meaning or understanding. No resolution and so no release

The chap I had seen had had a heart attack. He had been working at the time digging, trying to dig through concrete. He’d been digging in a field and he hadn’t realized there was concrete underneath, and had just kept banging away, a powerful metaphor in itself.

The thing that occurred to me during the session was that he hadn’t been present whilst he’d been digging. He’d been somewhere else; he’d been back in time somewhere in his imagination, banging away at the person who had hurt him. It was those feelings that had caused the heart attack, not the physical action of digging. So although he had created a life for himself, moved on, was loved and liked by those around him, a kind gentle man, but he was still not free of the influence, the pain fear and anger created when he was a little boy. He had not forgotten and that was the real force behind his digging

I have wondered many times if the injuries we sustain are what we come into this life for, is it this we come to experience, to struggle with the accumulation of experiences of the generations before us? The family or cultural inheritance passed on by or through the confusion and pain of our elders neighbours and peers, is for us to understand and put an end too?

I had thought compassion meant we try to understand the perpetrator, release them get a few brownie points at the pearly gates of heaven or something. But the more work we’ve done, the more I am coming to realize that compassion is a mechanism to release the self. The memory is of course indelible but hate and anger, fear loathing and regret are not necessarily so and will most certainly chain us to a person or a time and place and we will never be free of it or them. It does seem that many of us are living in the pain of the past

I don’t think by any stretch that this is an easy thing but there is as I have seen something cathartic and deeply healing about it and I am not writing this with any moral or religious tones, more just a mechanical human process.

Religion has tended to colour individuals who have been able to achieve these things as saints, carve them in stone and they have become things to worship as examples of something somehow just out of reach of the rest of us mortals, I understand the reasons for this too, they are qualities to aspire to, metaphors, standing stones in the wilderness to guide.

I have not experienced a trauma like the Partingtons loss, god forbid that I ever have too come to terms with something like that. But I have many times felt anger fury and frustration, I have looked back at times with disbelief that I acted as I did and wonder where the fuel for the volcano’s came from. It seems I do have my glowing embers deep down in the sub-conscious that trigger compulsions that in turn heap their shames up in my conscious that then trickle back down into my underground as confirmations, I have to find compassion for me also.

It will not make me a saint of course, I am not that well connected and besides being a saint will do me no good in this life as saints are usually dead, they are ideals of suffering borne and it seems illumination in hindsight, but I would like some wings to fly with in this life, it is what was intended and there is no way I can fly nor any of you who may be reading this if you are consumed consciously or unconsciously with anger hate and or fear.

It is these things that fill me with wonder, the glimpses of freedom, not seen but felt, brief but ever remembered moments of exhilaration at just being, filled with amazement at times that I have found myself where I have and where I am, all that good stuff, so near by.

A Background:blackburn-ball-street-jpg

I was born into a cobbled street in the Mill town of Blacknburn Lancashire. At the time of my birth the machinery of the great industrial age was just coming to a grinding halt, it was grim up north. Not that I knew that at the time I was just a kid and it was my world, all that old was brand new to me.

My parents knew somehow and so the family moved to Blackpool and I was raised up near the seaside in the fresh air with my two brothers my sister arrived son after too. I had ingested the belief that I was quite unremarkable, I knew I was somebody simply because I was here. But when I look back or try to feel back most of what I think I remember went on inside myself. It seems perhaps I had various reasons for this and various reasons why I felt as I did. “Shut up and eat your dinner” and “Stop showing off” type of things. Mild in comparison to some of the things I have heard since, but everything is relative isn’t it

Later on I heard the Sex Pistols, it felt it like I imagine a religious revelation is experienced and I was born anew. I was invented again. Those old beliefs were hushed quietened or perhaps overwhelmed by that tide; they went to stand in the wings, worked the lights and the trap doors and drew the curtains sexpistols

Later I met the loves of my life, made friendships and shot through that period with the stage lights on full and dazzling. I didn’t stop to think. I wasn’t thinking at all, but I was feeling, I didn’t stop to think what I was feeling, but I was alive, yes sir and of course that is the way it should have been, perhaps a little more thought might have done wonders at times, but that was to come.

Later when things had run their course and the oil lamps of that particular stage and period had all run low, I followed a pull from the US mostly because the self at the side of the stage began to whisper then and reminded me in the quiet times, in between the noise, of things that had impacted on me as a little boy, the wilderness and the West.


So off I went, with a sense of wonder and openness, I couldn’t believe that it was really me that was there, that I’d made it, that I was somebody else, that I was something more than before, that there was more to me. I spent a great deal of time on my own out there, my inner world was allowed to step out from the wings and it couldn’t quite believe it, after I passed my driving test there, my thoughts became clearer and I was off.

It seemed to be about a clear thought, that thoughts have feelings, thoughts carry feeling and that the combination creates, for good or bad, for up or down, for Ying or Yang

Later I returned to London with this idea trickling down and also with the discovery that energy was a real and physical thing. It feels strange to even write that now, the naiveté of it, that energy flows and can be transmitted from a person to others and too things. I enrolled at the Spiritualist Association in an attempt to make some sense of it and my experiences out there and so another chapter began and again I assimilated the reality of what I learnt there with that sense of wonder; a boy from Blackburn Lancashire, I could not have dreamed such things, but perhaps I did and so there it was in front of me, all things are possible.

Later as the committed hard working stressed Head of Field Operations for a possibly the biggest free distribution of newspapers and magazines in the UK and maybe Europe; I’d many times half jokingly thought as I blazed through that time

“They’ll find out who I am soon”


A little boy, a punk rocker, a day dreamer, I see things.

So I had something to prove, but still I was looking on from the side of that stage. I was quite proud of that me there at times, my focus my commitment my hard work, but there was always that wrestles feeling.

I was often reminded of it on my way home or when I was out of mobile range, when things were quiet, which wasn’t that often. Always I questioned myself and my motives also by then I watched in many a client or Team Leader meeting energies moving through and around the people and the rooms, it was quite a distraction at times, I wasn’t imagining it, it was just a matter of fact.

The Healing and later the Hypnotherapy brought me right up close to what I have stored under the stage and what is waiting to be acknowledged in the wings.empty-stage

For some reason I have still not been able to fathom I have always pulled the rug out from under myself, or the handle of the trap door, I would drop away, leave or vanish just before the nod of achievement, the summit, the contract or the reward. Why? I sense there is some peace to be made, somebody to be embraced.

Between each of the festival we have worked this last summer there have been long drives, there have been talks and discussions about patterns emerging. The revelation and wonder through the experiences that others have shared. Had they been shared earlier in my life they would not have been understood I was not equipped and the fact that I am beginning to feel that I am perhaps more equipped now feels better.

Was it all a series of accidents, was it meant to happen, was it my own courage, was it my own foolishness, as I am writing this there is a sense, even now when I am trying to find words for a mystery, that there is a sense of joy and curiosity, and that is maybe what I came in with, if so, I am grateful for it, for it is the wind in my sails.

And it is this fresh air when the past is released that brings new seeds, that there is room for fresh growth, new shoots and new opportunities. We never forget but we can move on.

Healers On Wheels:Little Pentry llandysill 06.09.16.jpg20160906_160336.jpg

I am sat here in the snug warmth of an old farm cottage on a Welsh hillside on the outskirts of a tiny village called Llandyssil. old low beamed ceilings and creaky floorboards overhead, cold stone slab floors under my feet. Outside a heavy mist, the dragons breath laid like a quilt across the land, the day is about to break, black has become silver. Song birds have begun to twitter and tweet sweetly. All around us here is iridescent green, the high banks of a narrow lane outside leading down to the village a mile and a half away, a mile of it is virtually a tree tunnel of Hawthorn Blackberry Willow Ash Hazel and mighty and majestic Oaks. The lane has a central carpet of spongy green moss, there is space and time here for such things to be left to grow. I could not have wished for more, it is magical. We had come here for two weeks then back to Whitby to work and have just returned here a day or so ago with what we though was good news.llandysill-lanes-13-09-16-jpg20160915_085934

But the news didn’t land well and we have been asked to leave early by the Eco friendly neighbours and owners of the cottage, we had said we could stay till the end of November, but Whitby called to us and we’d had to change our course, that was all. The night we got back I had been burning up with a high fever and hoped to be able to stay and take some badly needed rest and recuperation. Three weeks notice seemed to us to be quite a reasonable. But the update had created quite a storm that we watched projected upon us from the doorway of the kitchen yesterday. I stood our ground which in retrospect I feel good about, but we were told one more night and that was that, out !!.

We are I have supposed a couple of lightning bolts and with hindsight we realized that our job there was done, their isolation had been broken and their boat was afloat, its what we’d been invited there for in fact. As we’d driven back towards Wales I’d had premonitions that grew stronger all the way back. It had come as a song repeated over and over and over again, I had not quite understood but “It’s alright don’t think twice” when you reframe the song without the element of lovers made perfect sense now in the cold bright light of that day. My premonition gave me great comfort and us confidence that it was the right thing to do.

That evening we’d gone down to the village pub to see if there were any places for rent locally, we loved the area and would not be driven away. We were greeted as old and cherished friends by the locals there. Chistine the landlady came out from behind the bar and hugged us both

“Hello my Lovies, oh darling, sweetie, my loves how are you? How was whitby/ Mwah x Mwah mwah mwah xx… x”

It was well needed and it touched us very deeply.

When we finished the festivals earlier this year, we were quite pleased with ourselves, though we have lost or shall we say invested quite a lot of money, and we have given away much for free. The bank account had given me a bit of a jolt and Orsi’s card was spat her card back out of a wall with a contemptuous ‘insufficient funds’ Our learning has been at a cost but I believe we are better equipped now for what is to come, though Orsi has a real sense of anxiety not just about finance but also at times about what we are doing

We’d first arrived in Wales on September 5th full of optimism and spent the first few days running from town to town, Montgomery to Welshpool to Newtown and back trying to get the lay of the land, trying to find the way in. We had planned to practice up there at the Eco retreat and needed to advertise but finding a printer for flyers turned out to be quite a task on Wednesday afternoon or a Tuesdays or Thursdays come to that, midweek in Wales is a slow moving planet.

We paced the high streets knocked at many café, local businesses, museums and library doors. Orsi is a combination of Aries and Hungarian pioneer training an unstoppable force. You have to give it to her at times, she is not for saying no, unless it is me of course sitting up late tapping in the front seat of Pearl

As she offered the locals Tarot and Tea afternoons I could feel their doors shutting and though polite and though we were liking the curious, bright, courteous and surprisingly very funny Welsh very much, we found when ever Hypnotherapy Healing not to mention Tarot cards were mentioned there was a skip in the beat for a split second as the words impacted with all they implied, the person in front of us changed direction mid air, then simply carry on talking about what ever it was that came to mind next.

We’d also gone to meet a couple of healing centers in the area, the Natural Harmony Centre at Llanerfyl and the wonderful Marion at the Peace Haven Spiritual Healing Center just outside Berriew. We realized Healing retreats and practices in and around the Vale of Montgomery were going to take time to take rootnewtown

Down in the valleys the towns hummed slowly with a deep ordinariness that was remarkable to us but that said it left time for manners and what seemed genuine warmth. We gravitated across to Newtown and repeated the same failing introduction technique and they in turn repeated the same reaction when we mentioned the H H & T words

Newtown we discovered was the hometown and grave site of the remarkable visionary and reformer the Great Robert Owen, father of philanthropy, the founder of socialism and the cooperative movement. We visited the almost accidental Museum dedicated to him and were astonished at the level of misery that was common during his lifetime in the late 1700’s; children from the ages of 5 working in the mills for up to 16 hours a day. Owen had proposed reducing these to 10 hour days, parliament amazingly fought this tooth and nail and in the end compromised to 12 hours a day but this was later ignored. Owen continued lobbying for an 8 hour day for all workers. He championed many other at the time revolutionary ideas and was considered at the time to be one. He had in earlier life understandably expressed hostility towards established religion because of their lack of action, but in later in life converted to Spiritualism after a series of sittings with the medium Maria B Hayden and claimed to have had communication with Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson. A great man and example of a life well lived.robert-own-grave-newtown-17-09-16-jpg20160919_170401

We also found one of the best chip shops ever on the high street there called the “Silver Fish” £1 for a great big portion of crispy soft centered chips, though a shop in Welshpool claimed to have been voted the best in the whole of Wales, but we couldn’t be sure of that.

On the day we arrived in the area we’d stumbled into an impromptu village meeting down in Llandyssil on the high street that seemed to be held by a chap called Tim and his partner Lee a very interesting vibrant and likeable pair who had breathed new life into the village on their arrival 12 years earlier. The two men had been pivotal in saving the church hall from being sold off and the re introduction of a yearly event called the Dragon Festival which is what they were organizing when we met them and we were invited to join them.Dragon Festival Lanyssill 10.09.16.jpg20160910_124625.jpg

So next day 9am there we were putting up the banners and gazebos for the tombola, cakes and beer tents around the village playing field. Laying the tracks for the miniature steam train and afterwards packing it all away virtually on our own, though under strict supervision of course

The wild Celtic Dragon dances I was hoping for never really happened. Instead a half hearted procession with three limp dragon costumes that seemed to be a little more Chinese than Welsh, though there were Red Dragons and flags draped from every house and fence in the little village. The procession meandered down the village street overwhelmed by the prams of anxious mothers sticking a little to close to their kids. Wild and dramatic it wasn’t but charming it certainly wasdragon-festival-lanyssill-10-09-16-jpg20160910_130812

There were running and wheelbarrow races, a Wales v England football match, Englands goalie obviously a Welsh plant who dived the wrong way every time, England were hammered about 5-0. There was also the “O Lamb pics” four well manicured sheep chasing a young lad with a bucket full of feed over a series of 4 barred styles. Our good natures were seen and noted and we were invited to “the Upper House pub” later for drinks where everything on the menu was famously £2.50 and served with chips. Sat in snug and comfortable amongst the locals, we loved it.dragon-festival-lanyssill-10-09-16-jpg20160910_141056

The Llandyssil brook rises from a rock cut spring to the south in the Cwm valley just above a nearby place called Cwm Badarn farm. It is said to be a Holy Well and is dedicated to an early Welsh and Breton saint, St Padarn the whole area certainly has some sort of magic,

As we walked over the hills during our time there we became pretty good foragers picking huge field Mushrooms, red rosy apples, damsons and in the old graveyard of St Tysul’s church at the bottom of the lane, overlooking the village and we found the most abundant blackberry bushes we’d have ever seen. Llandysill Foraging 15.09.16.jpg20160916_170444.jpg

We thanked him many times as we climbed back over the gate loaded up with big luscious blackberries, it beats the queue at Tesco’s any day. We ate well there and it just felt good.

We had gone for a run early one evening along the lanes of trimmed hedgerows bursting with fat red berries, a moment so peaceful we’d stopped to note it as we come up over a rise and were we were able to see over the high hedgerow across the valley. It was the most exquisite site, a dazzling carpet of brilliant green.llanyssil-06-09-16-jpgdragon-festival-lanyssill-10-09-16-jpg20160908_182523

Fingers of light crept across the patchwork of undulating fields sewn together with ribbons of darker green hedgerow. Solitary splendid oak tree canopies were explosions of heavier green that had been left undisturbed in the fields by who ever the knowing farmer was, supporting all the life they did. The fields dotted with fluffy puffs of white woolen black eyed sheep and muscular territorial brown cows all heads bowed.llandysill-lanes-13-09-16-jpg20160915_085340

Below in front of us the rooftops of the ancient town of Montgomery just visible above the treetops, a serpentine trail of smoke rose undisturbed up into the heavens like an umbilical chord. Patches of golden and splashes of silver light shone from behind hills in the valleys beyond. All around us in all directions and as far as you could see, smooth rounded hills and folds, it was as if the glow itself emanated from some grail like bowl held there by the ancient inhabitants. A church bell rang its evening request as the crows returned back to roost in the woods above the old Montgomery castle, chattering about the days find, swapping intelligence and plotting tomorrow direction. The place just felt ancient and you just knew that it was loved and we were most certainly in love with it.

But Whitby had called us, the parting had saddened us, they way it had been done. We’d thought we had to make a choice, we were going to miss this place, Wales and the Welsh,

I could have written so much more but it has been some time since I have been able to sit and catch up and post.

I’d said reassuringly trying to lift Oris’s sadness “Orsi we’ll come back here for sure, we’ll come back”  Llandysill Lanes 13.09.16.jpg20160914_182348.jpg

And so we set off back across to Whitby hearts a little heavy but open expectant, and ready to work.


  1. Hallo Mick,
    It’s a funny thing about perceptions:

    I have been reading your blog/journal silently for a few months now and have been skitting about between your UK, US and Indian adventures. The pictures are great and help give a sense of your experience. I particularly like the countryside and quaint church pictures, they really look like something out of yesteryear, I didn’t think places like that existed any more!

    I’ve found it very interesting, especially with the interpretations you have put on the people and events happening around you, along with your admissions to negative feelings along the way which we all have from time to time. Today, I saw a picture and read something which has prompted me to post a comment.

    I remember you at St Annes college of FE as it was known then (it’s since been converted to luxury apartments). I started back at college in September 1980 and saw you coming in sporadically to visit with the Drama students who used to hang out by the door just inside the refectory occupying the first 2 tables ( a couple of them were dressed in the “punk uniform” but I was never convinced they actually bought into the Punk ethos). Then you stopped visiting and I heard the lecturers were resentful at your visitations as you were no longer a student and warned you off- any truth in that?

    Anyway, I digress from my true purpose: It was “A Background” that pulled me up, particularly seeing that picture of a grim cobbled street with street terraces which took me straight back to the late 60’s, on through the 70’s and into the early 80’s.

    You said you thought you were quite unremarkable and that most of your memories and feelings were inside yourself which simultaneously shocked me and illuminated our differences and similarities. As a little boy and youth I felt quite remarkable because, you see, my back ground was one of hailing from the US where I was born and lived until ’68 when, as a little boy I was brought to Blackpool to my maternal Grandmother’s 2 up 2 down street terrace on a cobbled street just by Blackpool football ground.

    In the US, we lived between Niagra Falls and Buffalo in New York State in a 1700 square foot single storey double glazed, forced air centrally heated home with 2 indoor bathrooms. We had an integral garage that was part of the house, a large front lawn and an immense back yard that stretched about 50 yards and then melded into scrub land that backed onto the railway about half a mile away. There were no fences anywhere, our nearest neighbour was 30 yards away. I am not bragging as this sounds like a very wealthy family by UK standards but by US standards it was the standard house an upper working class/lower middle class family would live in at that time. The sky was nearly always bright blue, we saw the sun most days, were surrounded by trees and grass and all the houses were brightly painted. In the spring it grew warm and my friends and I picked wild strawberries at the roadside and ate them whilst in the summer it was lovely and hot, we would pick poison ivy and have poison ivy fights and then pay for it later with the painful red swollen itchy rash of poison ivy poisoning as our mothers put calamine lotion on and scolded us. When it rained, it poured down for a whole day at a time with immense thunderclaps that were so powerful you felt them rumble in your stomach and the lightning came down renting the sky apart in great forks seemingly going right into the ground. It was a kaleidoscope of visual, auditory and in body experiences and sensations, the next day the rain would be gone and we would see the earth cracked and broken where it had dried too quickly from mud back to soil in the searing heat. Autumn brought a cooling off to what would be considered “hot” in Blackpool and the myriad colours of the leaves on the trees from green to red, orange gold and yellow. They fell to the ground and collected in great mounds, blown and swirled about by the wind before turning brown and shrivelling away. In the winter we had snow 3 feet deep, I remember not wanting to go over the virgin snow when it first fell as it looked so beautiful, it looked like a picture post card. Eventually though we would go out, make snowmen and have snowball fights It was a very safe and inclusive existence, life was indeed happy and joyous.

    Then my father died and my mother decided we had to go to England, to the cobbled street terrace of my Grandmother mentioned above where there was no double glazing and 4 of us crammed into a house approximately 750 square feet in size (it had a ground floor extension) and you had to go into the back yard and then into a freezing cold small brick hut to go to the toilet which was operated by a pull chain hanging from a wooden cistern mounted against the wall just below the ceiling. I used to wonder why the water didn’t just pour out of that wooden cistern. Everything was brick red, grey concrete, black tar macadam and reddy browny cobblestones in the back streets and the same colour paving slabs for pavements with the only greenery in sight being the back gates of the houses painted a dull mushy pea green or battleship grey colour. The rain fell out of a grey leaden sky most of the time and I rarely saw the sun. The Spring and Autumn were cold to my American senses with the summer never feeling warm and the winter seeming long, cold, wet, dull and miserable with the cold wind being ever present. John Cooper Clarke’s “Beasley Street” accurately describes that place and time very well.

    Ever noticed how you don’t realise you’re happy until that time passes and you become unhappy finding yourself looking back wistfully at how things were?

    Just as you didn’t realise the grimness of the environs you lived in as it was all you knew, so I only too painfully recognised the grimness because of what I had known before. This grimness that I recognised was that of Blackpool which to you was an improvement to Blackburn via fresh sea air and no doubt other things too. However, unlike you because of what I had known before,I knew things could and should be better and as I had hailed from a better background I felt I was remarkable and destined for greater things in terms of lifestyle, not particularly fame or money.

    Later on, I was to find solace in Joy Division’s and The Young Marble Giants’ songs.

    Whilst at college in I think late 1980 or maybe 1981, The Fits were playing at Jenks in Talbot Square, Blackpool and most of the college went. Being into New Wave I wasn’t really interested in Punk, although I liked it’s anger, energy and anti establishment stance but it seemed to be uncontrolled and directionless for me and I preferred the more controlled purposeful aggression of New Wave. I also respected it for what The Sex Pistols and Punk made possible (i.e. New Wave). It was Johnny Rotten’s lyrics which introduced me to anarchy where I have vacillated between Individualistic and Collectivist Anarchism filtered through Existentialism via Sartre’, Nietzsche and Kierkergaard ever since. So, in respect to the musical movement out of which very influential bands (for me) were born like PIL, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Echo and the Bunnymen and Joy Division to name a few and because most people from college were going, I decided to go and watch The Fits.

    Here is the event that made me sit up, take notice of your statement of having a feeling of being unremarkable and write this post:

    At that gig I remember a middle aged couple shouting encouragement to you, they stood out because nearly every one there was young, certainly under 25. The couple kept shouting encouragement, their eyes were shining, they had big smiles on their faces and they clearly admired and were proud of you as they waved to you and continued shouting “Mick” to you, the name friends and colleagues would use who viewed you as an equal, not “Michael” that parents would use. They made such an impression on me I asked around as to who they were and someone told me they were your mother and father.

    I was immediately filled with envy, because, now, a son of a single parent family, I had always been put down since being brought to England as I kept talking of returning to the US. I was dismissed, told not to speak unless I was spoken to, children should be seen and not heard and continuously told I would always be behind the 8 ball and would never amount to anything by my mother and Grandmother whilst the extended family simply ignored me. Whenever I tried to do anything it would be mocked and I would be told I couldn’t possibly do that, there was never any encouragement unless I was doing something I had been told to do, even then there was usually more criticism than encouragement. Consequently, I withdrew, closed down and similarly to you lived within myself. I had learned through painful experience that to simply act on impulse invariably carried consequences in the form of severe punishments, sometimes of long duration and so by the age of 9, unlike you, I had become a very thoughtful boy whom always tried to hold back and think of the possible consequences and later in life, any possible unforeseen or unintended consequences of my actions before reacting to events even when I could feel the anger burning my insides at the unfairness of my treatment, a boring person if you like. My mother’s family and friends thought it marvellous that I was so quiet and well mannered but no one knew, or cared to find out what was going on inside me. At one time I had nursed an ambition to join a New Wave band but had been told it was “wrong” to be in a band, my mother would be shamed, would never go to see any band I was in perform and I could never make a living from that. I still remember those couple of minutes of your parents shouting encouragement and waving to you, treating you as a person in your own right like it was yesterday, funny, a fleeting experience out of all life’s experiences yet that is one which still sticks in my memory.

    The point here is that I was envious of you and saw an immeasurable gulf between us at that time because I could see your parents were proud of you, accepting you as a person in your own right and not merely an extension of themselves, an object they could dominate, mocking and ridiculing your thoughts ambitions and desires.

    Eventually, somewhere in my mid teens I decided I was unremarkable because of this treatment, yet, had I been treated as your parents treated you that night, my self perception would have been very different, but for you, the perception of yourself despite that treatment was the opposite to how I would have felt.

    Like I said, it’s a funny thing about perceptions, because they depend upon your mindset which is created by your past experiences, thereby feeding into your perception of current events happening around and to you which in turn determines your action, or lack thereof, which in itself dictates the future path of your life, or as Ian Curtis put it much more eloquently and succinctly than I ever could in the song Heart and Soul – “The past is now part of my future, the present is well out of hand.”

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hi There. Thanks you for your letter. I wanted to reply to you in full, so sent you a letter to your email account. I hope you received it. Glad you are enjoying the blogs. Wishing you well. All the very best. Mick


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