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.

Hold Your Drink

Some men are just repulsive.

Try as you might to find some pleasant aspect or redeemable quality you keep coming up empty. I had the displeasure of dealing with three such men last night - the joys of working in a pub I suppose. Two hours were spent listening to the most racist and sexually degrading remarks and stories you could be subjected to. If they weren't insulting a particular ethnicity, or the women they'd allegedly slept with, they were turning on each other. It's a tough position to be in when you would love to see these men beaten to within an inch of their life, and heck they're even offering to do it themselves. Of course with customers in and a reputation to uphold I instead spent my night negotiating and preparing to call the police every five minutes. Fortunately, I suppose, they sorted out their differences and were back at the bar unleashing a sickening torrent of abusive language like the best of friends.

I suppose I'm fortunate in that I have managed to grow up in an atmosphere that doesn't tolerate, nor celebrate such disgusting behaviour. It is strange to think that, should I have been born to different parents in a different part of town, I may also have become so thuggish and narrow-minded. There, but for the grace of 'God', go I.

I think this post addresses a few things. It is an opportunity to vent and to process the events of last night. It is also an opportunity to be thankful for where I was born and who I was born to. Finally it gives me a chance to express my feelings about such people. There are hundreds of words in the English language that could sum up these three men - disgusting, vulgar, horrid, unlikeable, blackguards (this one isn't used enough) but suffice it to say, I am thankful to not be one of them.

As I'm sure you can imagine I was glad to see the back of them and had to fix myself a strong drink once they'd left. The result of dealing with our town's dregs. Hopefully they wont be back tonight and I'll be in more pleasant company.

Image Owner: Damon Cowart

Wanders

Typical, really.

I sat down to do some work for university (in this case writing up a presentation on biofilm formation and signalling - I know...) and I haven't got very far. I suppose it's my own fault for putting on some 'folkier' music to listen to while working. For me folk music has this habit of dragging my mind, or my imagination at least, off to pictures of dense forests and stormy skies. It's interesting that simple songs can have such a profound effect. A few bars in and I am all set to pack a bag and venture into the valleys and hills of the North.

And so, because I cannot focus on molecular bacteriology, I feel I should do something constructive with my time. Next Summer I intend on travelling - starting an adventure of sorts. To bring you up to speed I will be heading North, and that's the only decision I have made. I suppose a route or schedule would be beneficial but I haven't got so far yet. I also need to start looking at the clothes and kit a 'would-be adventurer' is going to require. While a lot of people would look at all the organising as laborious, I love it. Every time I research a town to pass through I feel invigorated. Each purchase, be it simply socks or a rucksack, reminds me that my journey is growing ever closer.

Normally I am quite content to wait it out - yet there are always times like this. The clocks have gone back, plunging the North into long nights of thrashing rain and blustering gales. Outside, temperatures struggle to keep above freezing, and all around I can see flora dying back and withering away. But despite the weather and the darkness I sit here comfortable in the knowledge that things will look better soon. If I just ride out the Winter, the environment will become more welcoming. And I feel it is music like this - folk music with fiddles and long, deep chords that takes my attention beyond winter, to the next Summer in the North. These songs make me restless - encouraging that itch to pack up and run.

Tonight will be spent behind the bar. Pulling pints, serving patrons and resisting this itch.

Image Owner: Steve Bruce

Better The Devil You Know

It rained today...

It rained long, and it rained hard. The sort of weather that is accompanied by chilled winds and shadowed skies. A storm which feels at home out to sea. I walked through the storm, hood up and coat zipped - for reasons I'll tell you all about some other time. While walking I passed a small Methodist church. I have passed this church countless times, and whenever I do it has a witty sign outside. Usually the sign humorously encourages people in, or advocates a pro-God message. Today's message felt somewhat more sinister. The inky letters printed on dank, wet page read:

'Nobody is too bad to come in
Nobody is too good to stay out'

An interesting dichotomy. In two lines, the preacher has managed to capture everything I hate about organised religion. Nobody is too bad to come in? I dare say there is a plethora of minorities unwelcome in the Church - one only has to look as far as Christians blocking gay marriage to see that some of us are more welcome than others in this little community.

However, this is frivolous to me. A little white lie - a masking of the truth to save face. It is the second line that I find disgusting and utterly toxic. 'Nobody is too good to stay out.' This notion, that we are all evil or impure in some way. Regardless of the good we do, or the moral actions we take - we are still not good enough for this 'omnipotent creator'. I fear this is how we are to be suckered in. The Church tells us we are ill. From a position of authority and apparent wisdom, it tells us we are plagued. As if this news was not enough, it tells us there is no cure. 'No matter your course of action you will not treat this disease...

Unless!

Unless you come in. Come into our humble church. Accept our deity and praise Him with all your heart. Leave your families and friends. Leave your passions and ambitions to follow Him. Only then will you be on the path to a cure. But you will never be fully cured, you must remember this.'

What a truly rotting ideology. To forgo everything you know and love and aspire to be - in order to pursue blind faith and reward in a fictitious afterlife. If you'll permit me, I would like to raise an argument for the defence. An alternate ideology - one that you can choose to accept or discard as you see fit. My belief is this. You are not sick. You are not damaged. You are good enough to stay out. You are you - defined by your loved ones, your passions and your possessions. You do not need to dedicate your life to a phantom. Be truly great. Not for eternal life, nor because your deity commands it. Be truly great because you can be, and because you deserve to be.

You were created in the image of you

Image Owner: Maslavista

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?

The Fall

'This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whimper'

Ok, so the world is not ending, but the season is. It began earlier this week; shorter days, cooler temperatures and a distinct lack of blue sky. Summer seems to have passed us by in the north of England, as ever.
I had hoped the season would end in a flourish of brilliant sunshine and soaring temperatures. Summer seems to have a better idea. Summer intends to slope off, gradually fading into Autumn before anyone has the chance to ask where it's off to. Summer is the quiet girl at the party who slinks away after an hour or so - going home for the night because the music's too loud and her friends are too drunk.

For a lot of people Summer is the season. Perhaps it's the heat, the green on the trees or the blue up above. Or perhaps these people realise what comes after. The birds migrate, the leaves fall and Summer's bright colours fade into grey. For the majority, Summer is a brief 'warm-up' act - the year's headline performance is six months of icy winds and thrashing rain. It's easy to see why people are so attached to Summer.

Summer, however, is not for me. I find Autumn much more appealing. From the morning's frost-bitten lawns to the evening's inky-black, star-littered skies. I love seeing my own breath (as a child I pretended to be a dragon!), and I love the smell of smoke from chimneys and garden fires. Autumn for me is Halloween. It is treacle toffee and roaring bonfires. Autumn is fireworks, thick clothes and hot chocolate. While it is a little disheartening to see Summer on her deathbed, I am quite content.

...Autumn is coming.

Image Owner: Donna St. Pierre