Letters to eldest son 2 and the first of my life story

  Well...that is a long and boring title, if ever there was. However I'll try to make it up in the text. You see I've been meaning (I've tried several times) to write something worth reading and I think the furthest I ever got was about 10,000 words. That is with one exception: I did write a short volume about my 'Gap Year' adventures, which you can find here: https://www.amazon.co.uk/MUNICH-1972-Gap-Year-Adventures/dp/1095967819/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1DVYZ0FTDS0CS&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.Cg54A0gIQGs2UXxUQojciwoHJhPrJwAgXXRa8ggBbnM.nRKGmtnkMXBMv8qpbmsKh4VYuOvxPJV8yMOQIZXQmUc&dib_tag=se&keywords=munich+1972+gap+year&qid=1759736595&sprefix=munich+1972+gap+year%2Caps%2C91&sr=8-1

(I can't help noticing that that is one heck of a 'link', by the way. Anyhow it's just one click and you should be there).

So I'm almost certainly not alone in having made several attempts to write a book and fail. Let's face it I only managed 1 'letter to eldest son' unless you include this  - and by this I refer to the actual blog post itself. If I am successful in producing enough to create an actual tome - well then I can claim an achievement.

Why today then? You may well ask and the answer will hopefully be answered in (ideally) the 40 or 50 thousand words which I am hoping will follow. Now at this point it might be worth a quick read through my preceding blog posts, but that isn't absolutely vital.  Basically I'm driven to this by pure frustration, and a desire to avoid completely losing my sanity and my positive and (once happier) happy approach life: a sort of 'self-help' approach (and an inexpensive one to boot).

I am frustrated by modern technology: not because I am unable to use it (quite the contrary, in fact) but because frankly it is not fit for purpose. For example the internet is a fabulous tool, and one I thoroughly enjoy using when it works, but sometimes it does not work. Then, because of it's very nature (which I think is to take human beings out of the loop and make huge savings by employing many fewer people) there is nobody to turn (or talk) to for help. And as for 'recorded apologies'...

I am frustrated by politicians - that's probably a whole book in itself, but suffice to say that in dear old Blighty, my generation (commonly referred to as 'baby boomers') paid out taxes and our 'National Insurance' in the belief that we were contributing for the exact purpose of paying for our retirement state pension and our continued healthcare under the National Health Service ('NHS'). And we wonder why a politician by the name of 'Farage' is growing in popularity.

I am frustrated (almost beyond description) by current mores regarding such things as Freedom of Speech, (I used to love telling the jokes of Sir Les Patterson - the late Barry Humphries: once seen as bawdy humour, now regarded almost as a criminal act), the re-writing of history: an extreme example might be the censorship of the name of Wing Commander Guy Gibson's black Labrador in 'The Dambusters'.  The dog had a name - and not a name which was specifically designed to give offence: ever read George Orwell, have you? I fondly remember listening to the late Sir Terry Wogan, who on one occasion spoke (rather eloquently and without a trace of bitterness) about how there are, in these modern times, people out there actively looking for reasons to be offended, and waiting to make that an opportunity to create some sort of havoc of their own.

And sadly I am frustrated by my youngest son who, possibly because of technology, smart-phones and the ability to kid himself that he has had friends (he is no longer under this technological illusion) is an alcoholic. What makes it so frustrating is that: when sober, the boy is a delightful human being and  a pleasure to know and, of course, to love: when drunk his personality changes from great company to bombastic, bullying, very obvious lying and (in extreme cases, where I have actually called the emergency services for help because his capacity to behave as a human adult had been so badly compromised by the alcohol consumed) almost unrecognisable. 

I have recently become a bit of a fan of a YouTube site known as 'Classic Album Review'. So as Barry Richardson (broadcaster and owner of that YouTube website) would say: "Let's get into it, shall we?"

PS Do feel free to contact me if anything here strikes a note: just be aware that I don't have a spare £20,000 to send my youngest son to a 'Betty-Ford-type-clinic' or similar, and please know I've encouraged him to use the established organisations who are designed to assist, but he actually believes he can do better without such. My GP surgery has, sadly (but not surprisingly) also proved to be of little assistance unless they can offer me and my wife some 'counselling'. Imagine how useful that would be!!!! (I'm already thinking what 'Sir Les's response might be...)

Letters to eldest son 1.

 My Dear Fellow,

I was lying in bed last night, having re-watched Mish.Imposs. Dead Reckoning 1 (prior to watching the sequel) and it came to me that we communicate far too infrequently these days. So here is the first of (ideally weekly, but it may vary) my letters to you to redress that. I thought about actually writing letters and using the old-fashioned postal service, but decided that modern technology is not only easier, cheaper and requires no storage, but also compensates for my (nowadays) rather poor-ish handwriting!
Undoubtedly one of the reasons for this all too infrequent contact is our Edward. I now fully understand that his condition is incurable (though the frequency of incidents is markedly lower than it was 2-3 years ago): but I tolerate it, continue my mission to help and to work on it/him, without evicting him, because it provides me with some (self?) satisfaction to see improvement, I really do not want him living on a shop doorstep in a sleeping bag, and it makes for less stress and the maintenance of most (if not all) of my own sanity: not to mention my noticeably unpleasant bouts of bad temper in recent years. The untidiness in our home doesn’t help, but I now see that I am not entirely blameless in that. So I’m improving too and that’s not to be ‘sneezed at’ as my Mum would say. I’m also being a tad more sensible health-wise: consuming few, if any, sweetie bars and excercisng with dog walks and a morning routine of stretching and sit-ups. That little dog was one of my better decisions.
In terms of our prospective move to Sheringham Ed and I have done a couple of ‘boot sales’, our shed is now almost empty, the garage is slightly improve (clutter-wise) and I know that patience is the key. My musical endeavours continue to keep my brain excercised: in fact I am now considering a cello (electric for portability and versatility): I’m researching it currently and, if I go ahead, I’ll take professional lessons. Both Mum and Ed consider I spend far too much time in the house, and this would definitely improve that. I recognise that effort will be required, but effort is usually rewarded, and it just might open up further opportunities if/when I become moderately proficient. 
I do hope you enjoy your trip to Jamie’s wedding: remember that Biarritz is a Casino town - so keep yourselves away from trouble (it's always there in Casino towns). I know you will, and give my love to the Stevensen team. 
Well…I’ve enjoyed writing this and I do plan to make it regular. Let’s try and organise a lunch together: the two of us - my senior railcard makes the trip to London pretty cheap these days. I trust that life/work is treating you well, that any health niggles are under control and please do give my love to Manami. Next time I’ll try to have some updates on my old chum, Wayne: sadly I suspect he may have become a lost cause, but I’d give him a friendly handshake if he should return from his apparent self-isolation. An old friend is an old friend.

“I am your father!”

Love, D.

I’m off to the vet now to get Mr. Phelps’s flea and worming prescription.

Resolution

So here I am on a Monday morning, having let myself down again. (Clearly I haven't been writing my Blog regularly on Sundays - and I have disappointed myself). I was just walking the dog and I felt a vibration in my pocket as my smartphone received a message. I had a quick look and the phone displayed (no idea why) my average usage: turns out I spent nearly three hours per day last week just looking at my screen. Three bloody hours! And it's so easy to do; what with emails (most of them unwanted - seems that when I 'unsubscribe' from a sender who is trying to make me invest in something about which I haven't a clue, another 'bot' (or whatever) picks me up and then adds me to their email list. AAArgh! 

Anyhow I will now attempt to get organised: and I now have good reason to do so.  My wife has agreed that we should sell up here in Cold Norton and move to our holiday flat (bequeathed to my sister and I by my wonderful late father), put a large-ish wad in the bank and live fairly comfortably. (As opposed to spending huge sums on Council Tax, heating oil etc., as long as we live in this 5 bedroomed, decaying pile. A pile which my family - and I am not altogether innocent - has filled to the gunnels, making us look like clutterers of the decade. I have been known to say "I hate this place": not true really, but the untidiness brings out the very worst in me. And it is largely due to my wife's job (Parish Councillor): we store paperwork here which makes the place look more like a warehouse than a home. I truly loathe it. We will be living in a smaller space. My wife (I hope) will accept that storing clothes, shoes and various other paraphernalia on floors must become a 'no no'. I'll miss the space, but I shan't miss the endless and unnecessary expenses. And we shall be beside the sea.

So I hope to make at least a couple of weekly trips to the tip between now and whenever we leave. It won't be easy: chucking stuff one has owned (even if not used for years) for a long time somehow grates against human nature. I shall therefore try to keep a photographic record (here) of what gets thrown. 

Wish me luck.

Please follow me as I embark on my own 'End Game' as this is likely to be the last move I make . If I, in doing this, amuse, assist or enlighten you in any way then please share my ramblings. And don't forget to shove a pound or two my way. Having an alcoholic son at home is something of a burden, not least financially, but he's bloody lovely when he's sober. (we just replaced yet another toilet seat he managed to demolish whilst being completely outwith any control of his physical faculties!) I shall keep you posted . Here's the link: https://www.paypal.com/donate/?hosted_button_id=NG5HGGTVT789L 

Meanwhile I shall keep benefiting from the company of my dog. 'Mr. Phelps' and posting the odd tune on my YouTube page, which is always there for you to enjoy a laugh - maybe one day I will be able to hold a tune??? Click Here: https://www.youtube.com/@PaulCDyer

Pip pip