Category Archives: Uproar

The Eclectic Path The Storyteller Must Talk

I am not what one would describe as ‘an open book.’

I tend to be a bit closed with feelings and emotions and all that jazz, preferring to self soothe over self-pity and self-suffice over self-indulgent.  However like the rest of the populace, when things are out of my control on occasion I have no option but to react to other people’s behaviours and this can lead to a little self-reflection after the fact.

On this occasion, the catalyst was my inability to lie

If I were a different person I wouldn’t feel the need to start considering the permutations a lie can take and the damage a single untruth can bestow.  If I were a different person I would have let the molecule of fantasy roll off my tongue and guild the surrounding air with the taint of falsehood.  If I were a different person I may have smiled a little at my own tenacity and silver-tongued my way through the intricacies of the literally landmine-strewn conversation topics until the lie was sold.

But I’m not, I’m very much me and I did the only thing I could have done in the circumstances without actively incriminating myself and yet at the same time provided a response tantamount to an admission of guilt.  I offered a self destroying answer that not only convicted me but also laid open my internal struggle over whether or not to stick to the truth.

I did the only thing I could have done being the person I am.  I hesitated.

In that single moment of hesitation I considered the pros and cons of perpetuating the lie, the actions to be taken to continue the story and propel the sinking account into the ether to be taken as gospel or torn apart.  And I considered the moment in the future when the truth would emerge, battered and bruised from its fairytale cocoon, and whether by that time the truth would still be a beautiful ally or perhaps an ugly stick for the beating.

I hesitated and therein lay my answer.

In hind sight I should perhaps have answered fast and false to save further questions, accusations and recriminations, but I am not that person to whom a lie comes easy.  However I am also not the person to feel obligated to prostrate my life and times on the line for public scrutiny and peer approval.  In fact if there is one thing I value above all else it is my ability to compartmentalise, my skewed views and my right to keep both to myself.  Both in my head and in my life.

Hundreds of pigeon holes litter my world, literal, metaphorical and symbolic.  Tidying away the stray thoughts and random musings scattered across my days, pulling up the emotional trickles that would follow the scars of past wounds and keeping track of the plethora of philosophical nonsense connected to every mis-stepped slip, slide and stumble along the road I have travelled.

To ask to see the intricacies is not only an affront to me but to the careful and crazed paths of the world I’ve built; the very world from which I watch the path’s you’ve chosen, laid out like brazen roads flaunting their straightness, their destiny, their certainty.  Showing their strength and power and sense of purpose.  But look closely and I see the rigidity allows no deviation, no about-face, no change of mind, of heart.  You have your paths, I have my holes, to ask to trawl the depth of mine is to request the very access I build my maze to prevent.

And yet you, who have known me so long, seen me so well and had every opportunity to learn, have come up empty-handed.  How can it be that you look so hard and harsh and only come out with exactly what you went in with?  What did you hope to achieve.  Beyond asking, you assumed to take what isn’t yours to be shared and tear it asunder, fluttering the pieces of my calm across the tides of your anger like ash through the breeze.

I guess you forgot that boxes is not all I am.  For I do not like to lie and prefer my crazed maze to your open paths and emotion strewn ways but that which makes you different makes me curious.  Whereas that which makes me different you simply do not comprehend.

Whatever I am, whatever I do, however I do it, I’ll always have something you can never understand.  If all else fails I can retreat inside and spend time and again within my boxes, reshaping, re-learning, reorganising and if needs be; retrying.  you with your rigidity and structure mean you see no other option, you see no other path you see no other right.  And left, to your own devises you may emerge unchanged from the maze, but rest assured you will have left with nothing.


Sieval Outcry

Emotional outburst against a backdrop of firey fuelled righteous indignation

Against a plan that wasn’t there for a source that isn’t provided

And yet still you burn and burn and burn

Against the tide of injustice only you can percieve

Fighting the inequality of life amidst the stain

Of your equally unwarranted vile and vitriol.

And yet, do me a favour?

Keep it to yourself.

See how you like living with it.

Just try it.


Options paper: 2.5 hours

It’s been a tumultuous time of decision consequence and adventure.  Time has spun so fast, a fantasy round-a-bout of facts and fiction but now I would like to get off.  The dizzying tilt of reality is starting to make me feel nauseous and claustrophobic in this shell and I need to find air to breathe.

Who knew that coming back could made this hard?  Thank the God’s I didn’t think to try taking this on on top of the post-operative effects but when did I stop realising how much I had on my shoulder.  And how light could I feel without the weight of responsibility not grounding me but driving me into the ground.

Thing is, this is all in my head and tonight it is coming out in fits and starts and explosion of incoherence. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will sit down and lay this out in a cold, hard, clear, practical harsh-light-of-day kind of way.  And I will piece it back together.

And I don’t care whether you like what you see or not.

‘The time has come’, the Walrus said…

I cannot utter the first four words of that sentence without swiftly following them up with the latter three.  It’s like an incomplete statement if I don’t.  Unfortunately that sentence often only comes out to play when there is some decision I need to make or unpleasant action to be undertaken and I am girding my loins to take it.  Procrastinating is the other thing that comes out.

‘Girding the loins’; who does that nowadays? Moving on…

The time has come, some three months after beginning this, to return to life as I once knew it.  Time to leave my sanctuary, my bolt-hole and rejoin the society I have left behind for over quarter of a year.  And I just don’t really want to.  Oh, it’s not fear of what has changed since I have retreated, it’s not even worry about how I will slot back into the place I left behind because that would all too easy to do.  It’s not even concern over whether there is a place for me the way I left things or whether the tide has come in and washed away the footprints I left behind.  No.  My trepidation is due to the fact I know I’m not the same person as when I left. And I have no intention of fitting neatly back into the sunken hole I left behind.

  1. Health

Upon my departure I was sick.  Not in an infectious, illness kind of way no, but more in a withheld, withdrawn, incapable kind of way I can only see now with hindsight.  For two years I have been a shade of me with tranquillised edges.  Now, I can feel again beyond the L5/S1 vertebrae and have found that desire to keep feeling this way for the foreseeable future.

Not only that, this is the most I’ve exercised in a long time and I’m actually enjoying it.  Who knew recovery could be so damn good for you!

  1. Happiness

Having avoided looking at what makes me unhappy – beyond that vertebrae combination – for some time [the only attempted foray into it ending in disaster from some dubious decisions, calling into question my confidence in my own judgement – all in all a depressing and counter-productive exercise], the time to confront what has dropped me lower than the stereotypical Essex girl’s knicker elastic has been more than a little terrifying.  But also incredibly enlightening.  As a wise and trusted friend has told me on more than one occasion, ‘you cannot change other people’s actions, only your own and how you react to others.’  Looking at what makes me unhappy has also made me face what truly makes me happy and how much I have been neglecting the positive in my life without meaning to.  And as Nickelback have taught me, ‘It’s hard to see through bullshit when it’s up above your eyes’.  I was in fact a self-fulfilling prophesy and now I see that, it has fulfilled its last

  1. Selfishness

Mm, to the crux of the matter.  This is something I have forgotten recently and have frequently rearranged my plans to suit anyone else’s intentions rather than my own.  And this is something I have recently decided need an overhaul.

I have always believed that the word ‘selfish’ gets a bad rap.  To be selfish is defined as being ‘concerned primarily with one’s own interests’, which so many people would agree is a horrible way to live and that selfish people alienate people, lose friends and will in general die lonely and alone because they have lived their lives purely for their own gain to the detriment of all others.

However at this juncture I would beg to differ.  At what point did making yourself a priority become an evil to rival the seven deadly sins?  Since when did putting yourself first become behaviour worthy of disgust?  And just when and where is it written that you must, at all times, put the needs and desires of others before yourself in order to avoid committing such an immoral taboo?  Believe me, I am just as anti ‘selfish, self-centred, unrealistically full of their own self-importance twats’ as the next person but to be perfectly frank; if we’re not selfish once in a while who else exactly is going to primarily concerned with one’s own interest?  Because it sure as hell isn’t going to be anyone else is it?

  1. Insight

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.  But a little further knowledge is always appreciated.  From time to time I look at myself and wonder if I have it wrong.  I thought I knew me pretty well but time and perspective has made me realise I’ve underestimated a fair few points about me that actually should be considered important.  It doesn’t matter what they are and quite frankly it’s not anyone else’s business but there is never anything wrong with a little extra insight into your own world.


I have changed in three months, to the extent when I’m starting to like myself again.  I’m not the person I left behind and I have no intention of return to her sorry shell.  I’m perhaps apprehensive, maybe sometimes anxious, a touch tentative and possibly even a little scared of what is to come.

But the one thing I am not doing, is hiding from it any more.

Integrity, Honesty and Rugby

A day for rugby, the greatest game known to man! We started with an entree of Franca vs. Italy (or the build up thereof) at 2:30pm before scooting over the water for a light main of Leicester Tigers vs. Newcastle Falcons at 3:00pm and then up to the frozen wastes of Scotland for the start of England’s 2012 Six Nations tour at 5:00pm for dessert.

A sport I can appreciate and enjoy from the aspects of playing and watching, I find the simple pleasure in rugby comes from just being a part of it.  From the youngster clad in replica kit to the pinnacle of the sport on the Twickenham pitch and every level in between, rugby in a game for all.  For without those hidden layers it would not be the game is still is today.

I have often been told that there are no rules to rugby and strictly speaking this is the truth.  Rugby is governed by laws and as such, speaks to the uninitiated of absolutes, of pillars of truth deeply imbedded in the very fabric of the play.  The fact is that the people who play the best game are those who know how to work around the laws without actively breaking them.  Please, don’t misunderstand me, I don’t for a second mean to imply that you should cheat to be successful at the game!  More that the understanding of the game must be so complete that you are able to dance that close to the line without setting so much as a toe across it.  But rugby is more than a set of laws, 30 men, 3 officials, a smattering of support and some questionable bathing habits post match…

It is a lifestyle to adopt.  Much like the football way of life with the fast cars and faster women, one step ahead of the paps and the image that sells more than the sport you play, rugby is a way of living.

From youth to pension, beginner to professional, confused to coach the game affects everyone it touches and leaves it mark.  The game of rugby teaches those who have yet to love it about teamwork and sportsmanship as all sports should but it goes the extra mile and also promotes the ideas of determination, support, conduct , fair play and respect.

I have yet to see another sport send a man from the field of play for conduct unbecoming of a gentleman and ‘against the spirit of good sportsmanship’ (Law 10(m)), nor have I seen a team going so far as to stop play in order to draw an injury to the referee’s attention.  With very few examples to show otherwise there is rarely a cry of wolf on the rugby pitch.  The players are aware of the dangers and have often seen the resulting injuries a match can produce and do not take injury calls lightly.   And if it does occur – the infamous Bloodgate incident for example – you only need to view the shock and indignity that follows to know that this type of behaviour is not, and could not become typical because of the sheer volume of people who could not bear to see it happen to the sport they love.

The expression ‘play to the whistle’ is probably used in many sports meaning, ‘don’t just stop because you think you should, the ref is in charge if he says play on; play on!’  In rugby the other meaning behind it is ‘what the ref says goes’.  There are three officials on a rugby pitch – four if you’re lucky enough to playing at televised standard but the referee can overturn all of them.  He is the equivalent to The Almighty for those 80 minutes and as such should be treated like it.  There is no bumping, cussing, pushing, shoving, pulling, deriding, or general bullying of the referee as can frequently be seen in football matches, they are addressed as ‘sir’ at all times, and should you not be the captain, the vice or the pack leader – or even nominated speaker should all the above mentioned be indisposed – you do not even speak to the referee.  Did you know that in rugby a player can still be shown a red card for up to an hour after the match?  Tempers can run high in a physical contact game and it is not often that the law often comes into play but it is there, in the background, ensuring that what goes on the pitch stays on the pitch.  The fact that tempers are held, referees are not sent off in ambulances and the game continues just exemplifies the control and respect learnt to continue to play

There really is no ‘I’ in rugby.  No single performance, no lone celebrations to be applauded and spotlighted.  Yes of course all people have good days and bad days and some play better than others, but the teams that are the most successful are those that play – win or lose – together, as a squad.  Take a look at England’s performance yesterday!  Yes the media have rubbished it and the Scottish have played down their own inadequacies by trying to highlight England’s, but just look at the video again.  See the union in the English team, when one mistake is made all the players rally round that person, when someone works well and hard, it is accepted as a whole team effort.  There was no showboating, gloating, playing to the crowds, just hard honest graft and the result to show for it.  Ugly rugby people call it?  I still think, even with messy play like that it’s the most beautiful game to watch.

The old saying is that football is a gentleman’s sport played by hooligans and rugby is a hooligan’s sport played by gentlemen and this is the description that will always define rugby for me.  But the thing that has always grabbed me about rugby and appealed ever since I began to understand the difference between the rugby players and the footballers, is the attitude.  This carries forward from the minis and right up to the adult teams but it is in the junior rugby it will be most apparent.  In those players of years to come and the most susceptible age range for making decisions that affects their entire futures.  These rugby boys who play are mid-pubescent, emotional, erratic, hormonal and discovering themselves all at the same time.  And as a hobby on a Sunday morning they chose to ruck hard and fast in the mud, scrum close and personal in another teams body heat and run into players twice their weight and height with a joy and fearlessness no other sport has seen.  These boys are taught from touch to contact not only about how to behave on the pitch, but valuable lessons for all aspects of life.  Respect for authority (even if you don’t like it), support for your teammates (because showboating doesn’t win you prizes – or friends), not to take yourself too seriously (because clubhouse banter will knock that right out of you) and to know there are people who would put their body on the line for you and the team, just as you would for them.

Rugby could never be just a sport and be as big as it is.  It seeps into countries you would have expected to shun it and is played in the places you would least expect it.  It joins people together and brings a sense of belonging to millions.  And all the while it teaches and moulds us for life’s games and field’s of play.  There is a certain pride that being a rugby fan brings that no other sport can match and it is the feeling of being a part of something great; a feeling I wouldn’t trade for all the transfer fees in all the world.

A hooligan’s sport played by gentlemen?  Just remember; we’re all living proof of the future of that.