An Outing, Entry One.

This weekend I decided upon an adventure. If you have followed my posts for the last few months, you will know I have devoted a lot of time to working. Truth by told, I have been going stir-crazy, trapped by the same four walls. My walk to work, my greatest outing, has been a flight of stairs at the rear of the building.

How best to present my weekend galavanting? I could type up the whole experience in one fell swoop, though you would get bored reading and I would get bored writing. Instead, I suppose I'll copy out my notebook entries, originally written as I travelled.

Friday, May 10th
One redeemable feature of living in the north is the undulating landscape. I have caught the train from Accrington to York. Between tunnels and dilapidated industrial towns I catch a glimpse of how the north used to be. Stone cottages sit in narrow valleys; the hills climbing hundreds of feet behind them. Here, ancient walls have outlasted the towns they once protected. Herons and foxes occupy this narrow window of wilderness.

Everything here seems to flow in unison. Rivers and walls, canals and train-tracks all carve a parallel path through Old Lancashire. I am approaching Hebden Bridge. A small station with organised walls, and  roofing that could have been stripped right off a greenhouse. Black signs fixed with pristine, white lettering denote the locations of general rooms and parcel offices. Wooden buckets in the centres of the two platforms play host to freshly planted flowers. They bring a little colour and chaos, interrupting the OCD-signage and alphabetised brickwork.

Finding a seat on a minorly-crowded train is a nightmare for the chronically unsociable. There should be a checklist provided to us for safe seating arrangements. Seating arrangements that will see us suffering as few interruptions and embarrassing back-and-forths as possible.

• Where possible, find a window-seat facing forward - with no neighbour
• If unavailable, resort to a similar, backward-facing seat
• Avoid areas for bikes, prams and wheelchairs
• Avoid tables - three potential neighbours are worse than one

Unfortunately, I settled for the third option. Now sat at the rear of a carriage where there is space for prams and wheelchairs. Making the best of a bad situation, I took the window seat in order to scout upcoming platforms for pesky disabled children and single mothers who might usurp me.

Bradford Interchange is where it happened. One of the few stations whose platform I could not recce, as it's at the opposite side of the train. A 20-something mother boards with a bright pink buggy, which she crams against my legs. I hesitate for a moment, a shy rabbit destined for the pie. Not wishing to be squashed against a window, shins covered in pram-bruises, I offered my chair to the mother. "Here, you take these seats, I'll find another." I would say more but already the cogs in her head are turning - "that's not a local accent" she's thinking, "'e's not from 'round 'ere" she will inevitably conclude, at which point the Yorkshire hivemind will activate and two tweed-clad moustachioed Yorkshiremen will hoist me up and eject me from the train. We were over an hour into the journey and nobody suspected I was an imposter. I had gained their trust and was not about to jeopardise it. Instead I wandered off to the next carriage, found no seat that met my new list of criteria and ended up sat in a fold-down chair between two carriages, where the bikes are meant to live. I'm not sure what was worse, the awkward fear of encountering an errant cyclist, or the smell of piss coming from the adjacent W.C.

Image Owner: Ingy the Wingy

The Chase

It is not every day that I get to feel like a hero - with this in mind I try to seize the opportunity when it presents itself. This story is a few months old. Unfortunately between university and procrastination I haven't had time to recount it, until now.

Our story begins on a wet Thursday afternoon, as all Thursdays in the North are wet. After walking into the city centre for lunch I made for the bus stop in order to get home. Safe in the knowledge that my bus wasn't due til 3.45pm I sauntered along quite merrily. Well, as merry as can be in a miserable, industrial city. My peaceful stroll was soon interrupted, however, as I turned the corner to see my bus leaving five minutes early.

Somewhat inconvenient.

For the common man, this would be the end of his story. He would feel a tad annoyed, find some shelter and wait for the next bus. But not me. Knowing the route the bus takes through Manchester, I turned and ran. I took a route through dark alleys, multi-story carparks and a section of China town. My short adventure through the city saw me leaping fences and bravely (recklessly) crossing roads in order to head off the bus.

As I made it to the town hall, I entered the courtyard and saw my bus approaching from the opposite direction. I pelted down to the next bus stop - managing to reach it and signal with seconds to go. If I had missed the bus a second time, I would have felt terrible. Then again, just reaching the bus put me on top of the world.

Here, for your reference, is the bus' route, and my own improvised shortcut...

The bus is highlighted in red, myself in blue - with arrows to show direction. After narrowly missing my bus at point 'A' I bravely traversed the city in search of success.

It's the little things.

Mind Over Matter

"Stand and deliver

Your body, or your mind!"

Of course you have little control over which you lose and when. But if you had the option, the choice of which to forgo, which would you go for? When asked, I cannot help but conjure the image of a highway man, armed and masked, threatening 'Your money or your life!'

Sat at the bar of our pub tonight were two old regulars. One was a demolitions expert for many years. While he is physically quite fit, a stroke some years ago affected his speech and cognition. With him was an ex-accountant. A small man whose body is failing him. Ravaged internally by bacteria and disease; withered externally by terrible muscular atrophy. Though his body is letting him down, his mind doesn't miss a trick. Apparently he is as quick-witted these days as he was 50 years ago. Seeing the dichotomy presented between these two men, I began thinking about which state I would rather be in.

I've recently been experiencing the position of the latter man - that of a tired body and a fresh mind. I rise each morning at 5.45am to walk 4 miles and travel two hours by bus. As you can imagine this activity takes its toll, leaving me aching and exhausted towards the end of the week. Why, even now, I am laid in bed forcing my body to stay awake and active while my mind puts pen to paper. Truth be told I am unsure which I would rather maintain, body or mind, if the other had to waste away. Luckily such decisions are somewhat out of my hands...

~

An interesting and brief aside. During the summer I bought some of John Green's books (an author who encourages people to leave notes in the front of his books for new readers). As I was buying books and taking notes, I felt it only fitting to pen a few brief notes of my own - for future bookshop customers.

Low and behold, three months later, I get a message out of the blue. A message from a girl who travelled to my city during the summer and happened across my note while she was shopping. To see something of mine in the hands of a person I'll never meet, and to know that little scrap of paper brightened their day, and is special to them is truly uplifting.

Now my note resides across the sea, cheering up someone I may never have known...

Who says writing isn't special?

Entropy

For those who read my blog, you may recall a post I wrote last month entitled 'The eye of the storm'. The post discussed how life can become very loud, busy and difficult on a whim - and that you should appreciate the fleeting moments of calm. Low and behold, last week life got hectic again. My time has been taken by a whole host of events;

• Crises of faith
• Family problems
• Friend problems
• Writing for other publications
• Managing a pub

Trust me, the list goes on. Thankfully I am working through a lot of this and have stolen away enough time to keep posting here.

Recently, a few friends have been having troubles. I'm sure you can relate. One day, out of the blue, a friend comes to you saying 'oh, my life is terrible. Nothing is working out.' We've all been there, and we all know how it feels to have the world against us. Over the years, as friends and family have presented this outlook to me, I have looked for a way to help and put their fears into perspective. This is my method of dealing with things when life gets to be a bit too much. 

Imagine all the good things in life in a pile. Your friends, your family, your passions and successes - these all make up the good pile. Then consider all the bad things. All the debt, health problems, upset and loss - these all make up the bad pile. In times of crisis the bad pile can be enormous; almost too large to bear. Heck, next to the bad pile, your good pile is a speck of dust at times. However, and this is the important part, these two piles do not influence one another. No matter how large the bad pile is, it does not diminish the good things you have. Those good things are no less special, uplifting or life-changing.

Of course this outlook works the other way. Should your problems be few and your 'good pile' be overwhelming - the bad pile is still important. It is still significant, and it should still be addressed. What I stress is this;

Add to the good pile, and chip away at the bad pile.

Image Owner: Donna St. Pierre

Persevere...

So, these have been a trying few weeks. I am currently in the middle of resitting some exams. Exams on which my future literally depends. The outcome of these tests will influence the rest of my life, to some degree. Further, I am blindly stumbling through a spiritual crisis and balancing home and family troubles simultaneously.

I have been meaning to write on perspective for some weeks now, but I have not felt ready. I want to sit and write on understanding and perceiving the world - its technical brilliance and rich history. I want to write articles for those whose life is crumbling and tell them to strive forward. That the good and bad in life do not taint one another.

This is not an eloquent, redrafted and refined post. It is a chance to vent. To open up and say "I want to write, I want to explore - but I am tired, I am stressed. Inside I am shutting down - yet I am pushing on

 ...I am not done yet"

Image Owner: Kimiagar

Shoulders of Giants

There is a simple joy in cycling. It reminds me of a time, not long since passed. A time of lazy days, quiet villages and empty roads. So, as I cycled the ten miles out into the countryside, I felt conflicted. You see, every overhanging tree and chirping songbird was ruined by spluttering exhausts and noxious fumes. The horses and carts have given way to horsepower and burning rubber. Despite the journey's mixed signals - of gorgeous flowers and choking exhaust vapours, I reached my friend's home feeling upbeat.

The reason for my excursion? An adventure.

I was to stay the night at my friend's home. In the morning we would meet with others and head across the county border to explore Brimham Rocks - an area full of unique and precarious rock formations. And this, dear reader, is what we did.

Now, Brimham Rocks is unique. Awe inspiring and interesting. It is a place of history and heritage, a landmark of sorts. Having said that, boys will be boys - and boys like to climb big rocks. Hence, the day was spent climbing, negotiating, and jumping between the site's formations. I was also reminded of an obscure fear, a compulsion of mine. And I was reminded whilst atop a 40ft high rock. Don't fret, it's not a fear of heights - it is much worse.

I fear to be on top of tall structures, because I feel a compulsion to throw myself off.

It's a peculiar feeling. To look over the edge, straight down 40 feet and think to yourself "What if I were to jump?" As much as I try to rationalise my thoughts, it is still there - the voice in the back of my mind. "Go on Sam, we've never jumped off something so high before, let's see what will happen." I know what would happen, but I have to climb down. I have to climb back down because the longer I am up there, the greater the compulsion to throw both caution, and myself, to the wind. I am sure there are others in a similar boat. Others who occasionally hear a mischievous voice whispering in their ear, convincing them to go against sensibility and rationality. While you want to silence it, this voice howls and wails until the opportunity it saw has passed. So I climb down, and let the opportunity for a spectacular and ill-equipped skydive pass.

If there's a take-home message, or pearl of wisdom in my brief  adventure, it is the sense of achievement. In a world increasingly occupied by video games, and convenient living, a sense of achievement is easy to come by. What I rediscovered, while choosing to conquer 40 feet of shapeless sediment, was this -

Aim high, and achieve for yourself. While anyone can 'stand on the shoulders of giants', it is a greater feat to climb up there in the first place.

Image Owner: Stephanie (Violet Danger)

Incandescence

There are few situations that infuriate me more than an instance where my head is ready to burst, and I've nothing to put down on the page.

I'm sure everybody has these moments - moments where fantastical, absurd, bizarre and intriguing ideas bounce around in the old grey matter. You feel inspired, creative and eager to fashion some great literary work, write a perfect song or pen a revolutionary political statement...

But you can't.

You can't because these thoughts are similar to fireworks. They appear in the darkness, impossibly bright and indescribably dynamic. These rockets and Roman candles are sudden, screaming, stunning. But they are also fleeting. Rapidly disappeared. No sooner have you perceived them than they have dissipated into the darkness. And just as you might struggle to snap a photo before the firework fades in the sky, you cannot sum up your ideas with words as they have escaped you once more.

And so, this is how I find myself staring off into space, with the dull thudding of rain against my window to keep me company. Frustrated and wrapped up in my own fireworks.

At least I've managed to get one down on the page though.

image owner: Corey.C