Where is the Love Actually?

A good movie is like a great book. You lose yourself in it & find yourself immersed in an alternative reality for a couple of hours. The big budget, so-called Hollywood blockbusters are entertaining escapism when done well but they don't stir the emotions like a well-scripted drama with developed and believable characters.

This brings me to Love Actually, which I watched intently a couple of nights ago. I say intently because I could recall snippets of it from previous occasions it had been broadcast in a room I happened to have alighted in but I had obviously not deemed it worthy of my undivided attention. It's a man-thing to shy away from anything that might indicate to others that you are 'in touch with your feminine side'. We hide our emotions under a bushel.

The least believable characters in the film are Hugh Grant's newly elected Prime Minister, a chap who is neither psychopath or sociopath  & is missing the spouse that appears to be a pre-requisite for any high office these days & his Eliza Doolittle. They are the froth atop a great ale.

Much more interesting are the other relationships. Liam Neeson & son have to form a new bond after the loss of the wife & mother, who was necessarily the glue in the family unit. However, this is again something of a distraction. As is Colin Firth finding love in the most improbable of places. These love conquers all threads serve to uplift and temper the other, more melancholic messages from the film.

Emma Thompson & Alan Rickman are leading normal, busy family lives. Emma is content & secure but fails to notice how bored with life Alan has become & his head is ultimately turned by the office vamp who promises an escape from the banality of daily routine. Whether this relationship remained platonic or not is irrelevant. Emma discovers it & the idyll she thought she lived in is broken forever. She'll soldier on but things will never be the same.

The most interesting characters in the film for me, though, are those in the other office relationship. It's simmered beneath the surface for years & looks as though their unrequited love will finally be consummated but for the more profound love she has for her sick brother. All she will ever have is that one beautiful moment the pair share on the dance-floor. Oh! I would give anything to feel that emotion again. That feeling of complete togetherness with another human being. That desire. That pure & unadulterated joy. That LOVE! If & when it ever happens to you, for pity's sake, embrace and savour it. You'll most likely only experience it once in your entire life.

There, I've come clean - I'm in touch with my feminine side.

The Final Curtain Call?

This blog was meant to have been started some years ago. I have returned to it at a very low point in my life in the hope, not expectation, that a soul purge might actually save it. Crippling financial issues, a mentally ill wife & a decrepit dog have led me to the point of suicide planning as the 50 something life of quiet desperation & loneliness cannot be viewed as a viable option indefinitely.

With the plans in place, I took to scribbling down my own funeral service a couple of weeks ago & I thought I'd reproduce it here in the rough draft form in which it was left - a virtual congregation is better than nothing, I suppose. My aim was to make it to christmas for the sake of the family & this has been duly achieved. As another holiday weekend arrives, I feel safe from the creditors & it is likely that I will now see at least the first green shoots of 2018.

Anyway, here it is warts and all:

"Music In : Karl Jenkins - Dies Irae (because I fancy making an entrance just the once)

I was born on 20th December, 1964, on a snowy night at my grandparents' house & grocery store at *****************.

Later, in 1967, a brother would arrive, followed in 1971 by a terrible accident [my sister].

My childhood years were spent in Wymondham, Fakenham, Cromer, West Winch (nr King's Lynn) & Ormesby as my father moved around the county of Norfolk with each successive promotion.

In common with most people, I suspect, my memories of those years are an eclectic mix.

In Fakenham, I collected frogs spawn & fell through glass while adventuring in the garden.

Cromer provided a very uncomfortable cure for the constipation I was prone to, in the flat above the bank we lived in whilst our house was being built; traipsing to school in the snow wearing short trousers; careering down the hill we lived on, on my bicycle & obviously being unable to stop at the bottom without crashing; collecting frogs, picking bluebells, running for my life from a swarm of bees I'd upset & kissing Diana Hare 50 times in the bathroom of her parents' house. Then, there was the copper knocking on the door one evening because I'd cracked another kid's head open with a stone during a mud fight, provoking a bee to sting me to find out what it felt like & having to do a xmas reading to a large gathering - I believe this was because I was a voracious reader in those days & knew how to pronounce the long words, rather than on account of any public speaking skill or youthful charisma.

At West Winch, I continued to read & excelled academically; at primary school at least. At 8 years old a teacher suggested I had a career as a writer to look forward to, which impressed & encouraged me greatly as a little bookworm. I also remember the free, daily milk we were given before Thatcher put a stop to that. Then there was the new kid from America hurling the chalkboard rubber back at Mr Bray, at an even greater velocity than it had arrived because he didn't know any different, having my face forced into the ground by 'Fatty' Fuller and riding home on my bicycle one lunchtime, thinking it was the end of school for the day.

My academic career really peaked at age 11. I passed the entrance exam but failed the London interview for a scholarship to Gresham's School. I was still a shoo-in for Grammar school but the emphasis on learning by rote didn't appeal and neither did the formality or discipline. Smoking behind the bushes, lunchtime expeditions out of school when they were banned & fights on the playing field ensued. I did manage an 'A' in English Language, which I took a year early & a few more 'O' Level passes but nothing to bang a drum about.

Further disappointment was to come on leaving school when my dream of becoming a detective was quashed by a failure at the final interview for a place at the Metropolitan Police Training Academy in Hendon. My honesty let me down, once again!

At this point we'll brush over my 'career', except to say that it was unfulfilling, unrewarding, fitful, largely unplanned and not much fun. Application to routine, discipline and the desire to be instructed never were my strong suits.

In 1990 I began dating the love of my life, Dianne. It all began on April 22nd that year and I proposed 10 weeks later on July 1st. She always lets the side down by not remembering the dates. My memory will consign anything it regards as inconsequential to the recycle bin so I think this emphasises the importance I attach to these dates.

We married on 9th March 1991, moving into our flat-pack filled new home on our wedding night. Della Luisa arrived, over 2 weeks late, on 30th September 1992 and the nuclear family was complete on our anniversary in 1996 with Max Angus' arrival - the longest baby in history and the second whopper for poor, diminutive Dianne..

They've now turned into 2 fine, young adults. I hope that the love, encouragement & freedom of expression they were afforded will be passed on to the next generation, should they choose to have children themselves. I'm very proud of them both and I can say, without ego, that Dianne and I should give ourselves a pat on the back for a job well done!

Reading : Dylan Thomas - Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
                (if you can get a recording of  Richard Burton reading this, that would be great)

Thomas wrote that for his sick father.
To me, though, the dying of the light begins on the first day of our lives. So, please, if you can, roar through the metaphorical pearly gates, completely knackered from a lifetime of excess on a tricked out Harley. Bright eyed, bushy tailed pedestrians you are not!

Some Life Lessons - What I've Learned But Not Necessarily Acted Upon

1. If you're obese or stupid at 16, that's your parents' fault. If you're fat & stupid at 26, that's your fault. What have you done with the past 10 years? Did you change your diet, read a book, try critical thinking? Why not?

2. Don't judge strangers. That drunk, disheveled man sheltering from the weather, under cardboard, in a shop doorway, was once a small child running down a street somewhere, carefree & full of hope and joy. His path has probably been a long and tortuous one. He's not made a lifestyle choice!

3. If you have a dream, make it a reality. Stop dreaming or wishing. Make a plan and every day take one step towards making it come true. One day that almost imperceptible light in the distance will be bright as day and right in front of you.

4. Surround yourself with positive, motivated people and avoid the naysayers. If people say something can't be done, take up the challenge and prove them wrong.

5. Keep an open mind and question everything; even if you believe it to be true.

These are the lessons I should have taken on board and acted upon and for the most part did not.

Now, go forth and eat, drink & be merry and lead full and happy lives.

Take it away, Joe.

Exit Music: Joe Cocker - Fire It Up [Live in Cologne if possible]"