The end or the beginning?

Green is gone as time decays,
Yellow turns to red,
The summer life evaporates,
Dead leaves falling fill my head.

Summer sun now but a memory,
Heat and haze with such long days,
Promises we made are unfulfilled,
Driving rain incessant as my mind replays.

Spring was just so wonderful,
Hope and love abound,
As we grew entwined together,
Warmth enveloped and a family we found.

Winter's grasp strengthens in tone,
Bitterness in the air creates a frown,
Alone at night yet not alone,
Reminiscent thoughts I try to drown.

Colder, darker, leaves all gone,
short days contrive a longer night,
Waiting, contemplating right or wrong,
How can I ever win this fight?

The cycle though won’t stop for me,
The spring it must be sprung,
Although it seems eternity,
My song, it’s not quite sung.

The sap will rise again in Spring,

New life abundant flow,

The death of leaves this year will bring,

Rich earth in which to grow.

Spring will return, it’s nature, life,
The warmth must replace the chill,
The leaves that fall will be replaced,
Time cannot stand still.

Brushes

"You got your half Stevie babe?" "Yeah, right here" He says, pulling a crumpled half of a 20 out of his wallet. I dig my wallet out of my back pocket and delve for the matching half that's been sitting there for about 3 months. The three months since brushes came to an abrupt cessation of trading! We're outside the Lion in Harlech and as soon as it's established that we have our funds in order we make an entrance, order up 2 beers, slap our 'tenners' on the bar, laugh and get back to being mates again.

I'm not sure exactly on the timeline of brushes, but it came about after Huw had roped us in to paint his restaurant (later to be my restaurant), so mid 1990's I reckon. Me and Stevie were both part time KP's and full time students at the time and I, at least, had a bit of painting experience and a lot of miss placed confidence in my limited ability.

The restaurant job started well (we always started well), we argued (constantly) and I tried to take the senior partner role over Stevie who, in all fairness, was pretty fucking awful at any kind of manual work and didn't have a clue what he was doing. I put him in charge of 'cutting in' which he took to pretty well after I explained that it meant "paint the edges mate"!

We had all the restaurant tables and chairs away from the walls, filling half the room, and a stepladder between us. A stepladder that we used as a paint pot holder because we only had one tin of paint open. A stepladder that we somehow managed to knock over and spill about 3 litres of paint all over the floor! It was everywhere, it was a disaster and the restaurant was due to open back up in 2 days time.

It took us longer to get the paint out of the carpet than it did to do the job itself, after we stayed up half night trying to clean it we had a bit of a panic and hatched a plan to get it cleaned before Huw saw it. he'd of gone mad and we'd probably of lost our jobs as well as any chance of getting the cash we'd negotiated for the painting.

We hired an industrial carpet cleaner the next morning, then bought paint to replace the spilt tin, pretty much wiping out any chance of making anything on the job at all but we did get it clean. The only problem was that it was so clean that when we moved the tables and chairs back into place it was obvious that we'd cleaned half of the carpet and not the rest! We were knackered, it was about 3 in the morning and the only option was to move all the furniture again and clean the other half! A long night with a lot of swearing at each other and, you'd of thought, enough signs there that we weren't very good at this decorating game.

We got paid though, and Huw was well pleased that the new paint job even made the place look cleaner!! If only he knew the pain... Anyhow, money in pocket we headed for a few beers down the Lion and Brushes was born. We laughed off our rookie errors and decided that it was just a blip and we'd actually make a great team. We'd leaflet the whole town, we'd stick an ad in the paper, we'd buy a van, we'd work in between lectures and take time off when we needed to study. It was genius, it was brilliant... this time next year we'd be millionaires!!

We did all of that over the next few weeks, even bought the van, a lovely old thing from about 1975. We got a 1000 'Brushes' leaflets published, took the van out and merrily distributed them and were so excited when the phone finally rang and we had a quote to give, things were looking up!

Our first (and only!) customers were a lovely old couple who wanted their bathroom decorated. The Old fella gave us a run down of what he wanted: One wall papered, the others painted but only after a dado rail was fitted, then just gloss the door and job done.He had all the paint, paper, everything we needed but couldn't do it himself due to an injured leg. We gave knowing nods at the right times and must of seemed pretty legitimate with our little painters van and me writing down the requirements as he spoke. We agreed to drop a quote up later in the day and got back in our van and drove off. As we got round the first corner Stevie asked me "what the fuck is a dado rail"? I didn't know either!

We came up with the price of 66 quid, plucked out of the air as we figured it would take us an afternoon to do it all and dropped a written quote in. Sure enough they called to confirm and up we rocked on a dreary old day to get it done. I got started on the wallpapering as Stevie didn't have a clue how to do it. I put him in charge of cutting in (his speciality!) and made sure the paint was safely placed and for the first couple of hours it actually went pretty well. We even fitted the dado rail without too much drama and before too long we only had the door to gloss.

Now I'd glossed window frames, and I thought it was pretty easy so I set Stevie on the case and told him to keep it thin but after a few minutes I could see it was going wrong, I took over but couldn't do it either and after about half an hour the door was an absolute disaster, the runs were pouring down and we had to put some of the left over wallpaper under it to catch the drips.

Panic set in when we realised it was nearly time to go home and that our gracious hosts were due to come and check on us any minute. Now would probably of been a good time to ask the old fella for a bit of advice in hindsight, or maybe just for a bit of help but we didn't do that. No sir, we came up with a much better plan than that.

 We took the door off its' hinges altogether, snuck it around the house and quickly crammed it into the back of our van. Now obviously after our various failed attempts at painting it the door was dripping wet with gloss and slippery as hell, added to this it was starting to rain and the trip from the bathroom to van went directly past the front windows of our dear old unsuspecting punters!! We were covered in paint and miserable on what was now becoming a more and more miserable day.

I  then had to pop back and explain that the door would be much better off in the workshop overnight (we didn't have a workshop...) as it could be laid flat for a nice even finish on the paint job. I told him all this with my paint covered hands folded casually behind my back and thankfully he bought the blag… well I guess he really didn't have much choice but he almost seemed to agree that it was a good theory. We promised to have the door back the next day and headed off down the road with his dripping wet bathroom door crushing us to the dashboard of the van!

There wasn't a workshop but there was an old unused garage at my place, unused because the roof wasn't great and it was a bit of a mess but it would do for this job so we headed for that via the DIY shop on the high street to grab some paint stripper and a scraper. It was while I was in there that I discovered what seemed to be our saviour, a gloss roller. Me and Stevie were almost in high spirits when I explained that all we needed to do was strip off the crap we'd painted and re do it with the roller, an hours work tops I told him.

It was a bit tougher than that and as the rain and wind started up outside we struggled to get an even surface to work from. Eventually it was ok though, not great but ok and the gloss roller was, and is, an amazing creation. making the job so simple we laughed at our own ignorance and stupidity in not knowing about it. Job finally done we shut down the garage doors and headed out for a pint or two to analyse our first day as professional decorators. The conclusion was that is could of gone worse and as I drifted off to sleep that night with now a full blown storm raging outside I actually felt pretty satisfied with our improvisations and adaptability.

Yeah that storm, you guessed it! The roof of the garage was lined with some kind of black material and it was old and rotten and falling down. All it needed was a bit of wind and it must of been fluttering away all night gradually crumbling to pieces, pieces that all fell directly onto our wet, freshly painted door and then dried into the paint. It was awful, it was way worse than the few runs of paint we had been stressing about, it was ruined, big time. I just couldn't believe it, and our luck, it could not have looked any worse.

Stevie turned up and we decided to move the door into my dining room and start again, stripping and sanding it back once more before adding yet another coat of gloss. I called up our ever patient customers and explained that the paint had not quite dried enough to transport the door and that we had another job on so sorry for the inconvenience but they'd have to wait another day to have a bathroom door. Shambolic... Me and Stevie argued some more but there was nothing else we could do.

It took 2 more days until we felt the paint was dry enough and then we turned up at the house to 2 very unhappy and unsatisfied customers. We fixed the door back on, I looked up and saw my wallpaper was peeling, it was painful and embarrassing but even after all this the guy still remained calm. He was a really nice guy and even told us "I know you tried boys but you're no good at this job, here, take this, this is purely for all the effort you put in". It was a 20 pound note. We got in the van and I ripped it in half, giving one half to Stevie "that's it mate, we're done with this game", and we were.

Like me

There’s so much depression about these days, so much anxiety and so many different mental health issues. I’m pretty sure it’s getting worse, and I’m pretty sure is down to the rise of social media. Everyone has it in some form or another, we’re either on Facebook, tweeting, posting on insta or creating Snapchat stories of our day and all of these posts have pretty much one aim; to be liked, to get attention.

I grew up in an era when that pressure just didn’t exist. I had to come out of my house and walk 5 minutes just to get to the phone box which could put me in contact with one person, if he or she was home! Now you can instantly get a ‘Look at my breakfast’ post out to 700 ‘friends’ in about 4 seconds.

School was our ‘social’ time growing up and the factory floor when we left. I had my best friends and occasionally a girlfriend and that was my circle, my entire world. If you fucked up it was quite possible to do it anonymously and if you did well or accomplished anything it was your family and close friends that got you through or celebrated with you. It was them that asked if you’re ok.There just wasn’t the pressure and there wasn’t the judgement that an opinion aired to hundreds (sometimes thousands) of people can create.

I’d  go down the pub to make a dick of myself, I was pretty good at it to be fair! (Yeah, still am, ok...) If i acted up or was out of order I’d be told, or barred, or hit and I’d wake up the next day with lessons learned. I’d have possibly upset 3 or 4 people depending on my levels of chaos! Being drunk in charge of a modern phone is a nuclear bomb in comparison, it’s so easy to post something upsetting that your circle of hundreds, all family and friends included, have instant access to. It’s so easy to be judged, for opinions to be formed. Just the ability to text brought about chaos and regret, now you can snap embarrassing pics, tweet drunk abuse, check in to a club at 3 a.m and lose your job by 8 the same day.  It’s a minefield.

Two young men killed themselves in my hometown last week. Two life’s, both barely formed and hardly lived were over before they had even had the chance to really begin. These lads were both 21... it’s just ridiculous and so so sad that taking their own life became a viable option for them. How have we come to this?

I see friends taking a break from Facebook on a regular basis, that’s pretty much the only platform I use and it happens all the time. Why would you need a break if there was no pressure involved. Me personally I try and just post positivity, try and keep it light, try to make a friend smile. There seems to be a much darker side though with people craving attention and acceptance through it. That’s dangerous if nobody responds then do they think no one cares?

If it’s not fun, if it’s not an enjoyable way of keeping in contact with people you don’t see regularly then what is its point. Social media is clearly addictive, it’s clearly affecting lives in a negative way. If it’s affecting you this way then get away! Take a week off, leave your phone at home and go for a walk. We’re all guilty of spending too much time on our phones and I just hope there’s a way through it.

We certainly can’t go back to the times before so maybe it’s time to tame the beast. Set up a school subject teaching the next generation how to deal with the pressures inherent. Set restrictions for our kids and make the owners, these multi billionaires, accept a bit of the responsibility they try to project onto us users.

There’s no help from the government these days on any mental heath issues so maybe we just need to help each other more. The next time you scroll past a needy or pleady  post from a friend maybe just check in on them, send a private message so it doesn’t pander to the publicity seeker and just ask: Are you ok mate?

Old Swanny

It's that time of year again. If you drive the back road from Newton Abbot to Kingsteignton you can see them, just past the Teigngrace turn off encamped in the waterlogged field, there they are. There's dozens of them, (nearly) all in their pairs, all waddling around and swanning about like they own the place!

They come back every year, on the way to or from the next long established stop off, probably hundreds of years of habit or instinct even, bringing them back to the same spot at the same time with the same mate to do just that, mate and procreate. All that is except one guy, a 'cob' if you wanted his correct descriptive term. He's not with anyone, old Swanny, at least not any more.

He's memorable because of the damage to his beak, he must of caught it on barbed wire or a lost fishing hook. I'm speculating because I don't know but he's always had that slight tear, a rip curl if you like on his top beak. It's not too bad but it's obviously caused him some pain some time ago and it certainly adds character. It Probably  happened back before her, his 'pen' as a female is known. Old Swanny's  mrs, his partner, his love of his life and mating partner. She used to be here with him, they used to be a thing, they used to blend right in. They bond for life swans, which is great until a life ends.

They were here the first time I drove the road, I noticed them in amongst the other pairs. I didn't notice them in particular as they just blended in to the malaise. Not like you notice Swanny now, alone and somber in contrast to the cavorting couples. They were here the first time I was here walking, having gotten out of my car to see the scrap dealer on the corner. I was told to wait so I wandered off to have a smoke and investigate the swan phenomena that had always intrigued me.

What were they doing here? There's no pond, no lake, no real river.
Well there is water, and on closer inspection there's quite a lot of it. With a big rain the field floods, and it's England so the big rains come on a regular basis and the field is flooded almost as often as it isn't. But even during the rare dry years there's a ditch system in place dividing the fields, giving them drainage and there is a stream, albeit across the road in the opposite field. It's there though, trickling merrily and I guess it was here before the road was built so that boundary is irrelevant.

I'm halfway through my smoke when I notice them. Her so beautiful, him so adoring and such a handsome fella, even with his scar. They're mooching, playing, flapping wings and creating almost a magical dance between themselves, necks intertwining as they move as one. They don't notice me, they don't notice anything. The only thing they see is each other, around and around in their intimate bubble they go completely oblivious to my nosey observation. Oblivious too to the other mating pairs, to the road, to the noisy scrap yard, to the world. Pure love, right there, as pure as I've seen anyway.

I wander off back to check how much I can get for the battered old Vauxhall i'm scrapping and I'm not impressed with the offer but my mood is still good. Improved vastly in fact by a wonder of nature, by two swans demonstrating such a bond and standing out amongst a field of maybe 15 pairs.

That was the last time I saw them together, probably not the last time they came back as a couple but I never got out of my car again, never had a reason to stop and study, not until I saw him all alone that was.

It was probably 2 but maybe 3 years ago that I first clocked him. There in the happy field, there and anything but happy, there and alone. He was just sitting there, just waiting I guess, waiting for her. I must have driven past a dozen times in over a month or so before I finally pulled over to investigate.

The odds being what they were, roughly a 1 in 15 chance, I just couldn't believe it would be him, I mean I'd only paid attention to that one pair, only remembered Swanny by the rip on his beak but when I got close enough there it was, there he was. I was in the same boat at the time, feeling pretty much the same misery that he was exuding. We were brothers that day, or souls connected by the loss of a loved one. His gone forever and mine just gone. But that didn't lessen my feelings of a connection made.

Where is she Swanny? Where is she mate? I asked him, between long deep drags on my roll up and with a tear rolling down my cheek. He didn't answer, didn't need to. She was gone and she wasn't coming back.

I drove past today and he's there now. He's there every year. He strolls about in a crestfallen manner, looking for a fight, shunning company. If anything or any happy couple pluck up the nerve to go near him they're sent packing. He's the epitome of a grumpy old man, but in swan form. I feel his pain, I really do, and I could relate to him on so many levels a few years back. But that's the thing, 'could'. That's what occurred to me today when I drove past again and saw him, again; lonely, desolate and miserable. He can't move on, that was his mate for life and that was his life so there's no new, no replacement, no recovery. Just the same shit life, missing her and having it rubbed in his face by all the happy lifelong couples he's surrounding himself with.

That's why I felt lucky today, I even had a smile at his expense, sorry Swanny. We can recover, as humans we can move on. It's not easy and it hurts like hell but we can and we do, it's a human necessity. Things go wrong, people leave, people split and people die. He's helped me with that old Swanny, helped me and hopefully his example will help others as well because sometimes they just aren't coming back.

The next time you drive that way keep an eye out for him, you can't miss him as he'll be the only one all by himself so spare him a thought but be thankful we're not swans. Be thankful we have choices and the ability to recover and move on from loss.

Stupid swan...