Can I be Frank?

Off to my meeting at lunch and I might say a bit about my 'letting go' experiences this week.

'Shares' can comprise of anything you want, with varying levels of intensity and earnestness.  If you were forced to categorise, however, I suppose the majority fit into two main categories: a recount of your history and decline into alcoholism, and your subsequent salvation in AA; or an account of your week's experiences being sober - what you got up to, how you were affected, and so on.

Obviously, as I've said, the content comes in very different degrees of emotion and feeling - some can be down-right harrowing, others can be bloody hilarious.  I believe, regardless of whether I like the person or not, all shares are valid and mean a lot to the person sharing them.

Tart

Now there is one bloke at today's meeting, Mr Butcher (not his real name. Mind you, the name he uses at AA might not be his real name; so my made up name may be a made up name for his made up name - a kind of pseudopseudonym...  erm, you get my point), who does not seem to share my view!

Mr Butcher tells stories of harrowing gloom and misery.

Now, there's nothing wrong with that - all shares, experiences etc. are valid.  However, Butcher reveals his disdain for anyone who dares be even on the very slight side of humourous, or have some levity about them.  "I can't be fuckin' hearing about someone who learnt to bake fuckin' bakewell tarts when they fuckin' turned sober", he will say, in his charming Glaswegian accent, "This is a serious business!"

Of course it is, Butcher!  Alcoholism is a fatal, evil disease that one should never be complacent about.  But, surely, whatever way the alcoholic in question deals with their disease is their entitlement. There are no rights and wrongs about this.  As I've said before, if it works, then work it.  Butcher fails to see this.

I must say, this man just exudes bile and nastiness.  Sure, I've encountered folks in AA that I don't particularly like; but Mr Butcher is, without doubt, the most unpleasant character I've met in the Fellowship; and he might well be in my top 5 of vile people outside it too!

You smoke, I choke... Cough!

I got an opportunity to flex my 'letting go' muscles this morning, and it was extremely rewarding.

I arrive at my local train station - an open-plan, underfunded, spartan affair.  There are 'no smoking' signs on the platform - which is daft, as this station is outside, in the middle of nowhere.  Folks smoke literally feet away from this Northern Rail-enforced 'exclusion zone' and, ironically, are very close to fellow waiting passengers.

looks like we got ourselves a reader...

This morning, I decide to head right along to the very end of the platform, away from the rest of the people.  I light up.  Remember, I'm outside, a good 30-40 feet away from everyone.  But not everyone...  An interesting chap was pacing up and down.  Walking past me, coming back, passing me again, turning round, and repeat.  He's not a train employee, has no 'official' capacity.  Just a fellow passenger.  One of us not one of them.

Well, my new friend engaged me and, within seconds, I'd got the measure of this character...

"The rules don't apply to you then?" he says on his downstream pass.

I shrug (bear in mind, my earphones are in. I'm listening to a very mellow bit of Tim Buckley).

"There are signs all along the station" he says, upstream.  My friend is getting agitated.

Now, the old me would, within seconds, find himself amidst a full-blown argument with this goon.  Not any more, I let it go - why should this 'little man' spoil my morning?

"Just go away, tedious man." I reply, wearily.

I smoke casually, enjoying every last molecule of nicotine.  Meanwhile, up and down my new pal paces, firing off missives on each pass:  I catch "No wonder the world is like it is today!" his blood pressure visibly rising; the next pass, he throws his arms up in consternation; and there were others, but I missed them due to my music.  As this pathetic man gets more and more angry, I can't help but get more and more amused.

Next up, the disposal of the dimp.  Normally, I would be perfectly happy to put this in the bin, but not today.  I flick the butt onto the railtrack - bad timing, he missed my gesture.  But, oh no, my little Urban Warrior has not finished.  Downstream, he has more to say.

"What now?", as I remove an earphone.

"I suppose you didn't put it in the bin then?".  Knew he couldn't resist!

"I ate it!", I reply.

Now, granted, it is the law.  And rules are meant to be followed, or we have anarchy and all that.  But the very fact that this 'rule' is in place, is preposterous.  It's outside, it's not a 'proper' closed-in station, and I was further away from everyone (apart from my new buddy) than the non-law-flouting smokers near the platform entrance. But thanks to 'letting go', I just didn't want to dignify this pompous prig with any form of response.  And, my oh my, was it satisfying.  My morning has been thoroughly delightful.  I bet his hasn't...

Let's hope I see Mr Angry tomorrow - I think I'll light-up two cigs at once!  Maybe even offer him one?

Bourbon Boulevard

I've had a bit of a strange weekend.  Saturday was curious as my reactions to the inevitable defeat at Old Trafford surprised me.  Normally, I'd be filled with despair, anger, abject disappointment.  But, this time, I practised an old-fashioned bit of AA-esque 'letting go'.  And, by God, it works!  I just didn't mind.  Of course, I'm disappointed, but absolutely nowhere near the extent I have been in the past.

Sunday was oddly tough.  I was very very grumpy and M was really getting on my nerves (I hate feeling that way about my daughter, but she's particularly clingy these days and it's nigh-on impossible for me & L to get any Husband & Wife time...).  Plus, I felt as though I'd pigged out and ate far too much this weekend; and couple that with Sunday being my non-Gym day (which, taking into account my obsessive and addictive nature, makes me feel agitated), I was struggling.  There was a bag of giant chocolate buttons in the fridge and I just could not leave them alone.  I went through nearly the entire bag with a ridiculous voracity - and the fierceness of the way I snaffled 'em freaked me out!  Yeah, I know, it seems a bit excessive to feel this way over a bit of chocolate; but the nature of the way I craved them made me think of the way I used to go at booze.  Drink, drink, drink until there is absolutely nothing left in the house!  One chocolate button is one too many, and an ocean (assume they're melted) is never enough!!!

Anyway, feel a damn-sight better today.  I always have to remember that the lows are simply transient, the highs are a treat, and the plateau is cosy, calm and a jolly-nice place to potter along on.

Because of Derby Day...

The Manchester Derby is coming up at weekend; and will no doubt be watched through my fingers with a feeling of anxiety, nausea, and trepidation.  It's hard to imagine how one single stupid football game can matter so damn much - but it does!  The memories of these momentous occasions are mostly of vast disappointment and anger; with rare flashbacks of sheer bliss (Shaun Wright Phillips's goal making it 4-1 at Maine Road; and him celebrating with an impromptu robot dance followed by a fake collapse - Heaven!).  And this year, it means more than ever.  United could potentially hit the slump everyone's been waiting for and could have possible ramifications on which side of Manchester bag the title (never thought I'd hear myself say such a thing - although I don't think for a minute that we're in with a chance of being Champions!).  I will be kakking my knickers!

Being a City fan has never been an easy ride, and it's still torture.  I think my team are doomed - I reckon some ageing gypsy hexed us with a miserable curse that can never be broken! The misery of plummeting to the third tier of English football (incidentally, the genesis of the rather existential "We're not really here!" chant); Fergie-Time at Old Trafford (pfffttt!) allowing that shit Michael Owen in; and a million other soul-destroying disappointments, make for dysfunctional bitter and twisted souls.

Goaaaaaallll!!!

And to think, a lifetime of misery and disenchantment is down to piss!  I kid you not.  Yes, I became a City fan because of the humble human need to wee-wee.  Harking back to being 7 years-old at Junior School - the boys' toilets had three urinals.  It was customary and understood that the urinal you used denoted your football loyalties:  right for Man U, left for Man City, and the middle for all others.  I religiously (I didn't pray at it or anything like that!) used the left hand piss-pot.  Why? Well, my hometown is primarily United; and who uses a middle urinal anyway, when there's the possibility of someone stepping up next to you (actually, in adulthood, I've always found it very peculiar for people to use a urinal next to someone when they can put that distance in where another spot is available)?; as a result, there was never a queue for the pale blue loo!  Maybe, I was exercising the desire to be an individual; to not follow the crowd, sheep-like, and support the obviously more successful, fashionable team.  Or maybe it was simply because I had a weak bladder and, to avoid queuing and the subsequent  ignominy of dribbling in my under-crackers, I went for the fast-track urinal!  Either way, such an allegiance was ingrained in my very being, such that I am hopelessly devoted to Manchester City - and I thank piss for that!!!!

Marlboro Red-handed!

M rumbled me having a smoke out the back last night!  Lots of wailing and gnashing of teeth ensued.  Jeez, talk about feeling guilty.  I'd promised her that I would stop as she get's very worried and emotional over me smoking  (down to some heavy indoctrination at school on the evils of tobacco); but I've simply needed to smoke lately.

Although it was unpleasant and sad to see her upset over this, I hate to say it, it was also very funny.  Some of the things she said required all the will in the world to stop laughing.  As she was lecturing and haranguing me, L was sat on the lap-top also doing her best to stifle torrents of laughter!  M was coming out with things like, "How long has this been going on?!!", "You've been doing this behind my back!!!", "You are such an idiot!!!" and the famous, "How could you??!!"  L said it was like some kind of flash forward to M having an argument with a scumbag of a boyfriend - and I see what she means (although, of course, M will not be allowed boyfriends until she is at least 30...).

Funniness aside though, it is a tough one.  I've said before, I'm not ready to give up yet.  I just know an attempt right now would be doomed to failure.  But, I feel so darn guilty for puffing away behind my daughter's back (as she so eloquently pointed out!).  I should listen to that advert (that I think the Tory scum have pulled anyway, to save money): "You'd do anything for your kids.  Why not do this?"  I just know I can't do it yet and I feel like such a heel.  But I really would do anything for my daughter, and I really ought to do this...

You'll know when I'm trying to quit - these posts will probably get really really dark...

You talking to me..?

I only attend one meeting a week these days.  Going more than that became problematic (for reasons I don't want to go into).  Although, I hear only one meeting a week is considered insufficient.  But that viewpoint just feels like yet another example of prescriptive and dogmatic behaviour from my fellow AA denizens.  Personally, that one meeting does more than enough for me - keeps me on the straight and narrow and reminds me that I'm not the only person who has a skewed-up, puddled head!

You even hear some folks in AA talk about '90 meetings in 90 days'!  And some really try and do this.  Personally, that level of soul-searching/exposing would literally drive me right back into the wicked arms of the Siren Booze!  At the end of the day, there are bound to be people in AA who I don't particularly like just as there are 'outside the Fellowship'; and to subject myself to such large volumes of 'shares' will guarantee (by sheer laws of probability) that some of them will annoy the bloody shite out of me!  Imagine that! Everyday, for three months solid!!!

Now, AA teaches us that we should not dwell on such negative thoughts about our fellow man - but, jeez, it's just plain fact that this isn't always possible.  You might as well try and ask me to feel positive about sitting on the bog during a particularly vigorous bout of diarrhoea!

More power to 'em!

These days, I feel I have very little new to say in this thing.  Life just ticks on by and I don't drink.  It's not a 'battle' nor a 'struggle' or anything burdensome at all - I just don't drink.  As result of having nowt much to say about alcoholism, I might take my first foray into sharing my musical tastes.

I adore Elbow - for me, Guy Garvey is a genius (a word used far too bloody often; but in this fella's case, the cap fits).  His song, 'Great Expectations' is quite possibly the most romantic song ever written (see and hear for yourself: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=khrDr5v_O2I).  Mind you, there are so many beautiful and wonderful songs in Elbow's repertoire, it's so hard to pick a favourite.

Their new single, 'Neat Little Rows', is out soon and, if you're expecting an immediately accessible smash, you'll be sorely disappointed.  On first listen, in all honesty, it's a bit of a curio.  But, I have a feeling it will be one of those songs that insidiously plants itself in your consciousness and, before long, you adore it!  Personally, I prefer the new song 'Lippy Kids', that will no doubt be on their new album.  Amusing, clever lyrics ("I never perfected that simian stroll.") coupled with beautiful mellifluous music.  There's even a whistled refrain in there!  You can check both songs out at http://www.buildarocketboys.com/

Tits!

And while I'm at it with music, why not books as well?!  I implore anyone to read the books of Paul Auster - they are truly amazing!  'The Music of Chance' and 'The Book of Illusions' are seriously top picks.  Eat your shoplifting, alcoholic hearts out, Richard & Judy!!!