Working stuff out through blogging

Blogging helps me to remember and to rationalise, especially when I’m going through a difficult period in my life, such as I am now. It helps me to recollect how I reached a decision; the thought process and the feelings I felt. It enables me to ‘empty my head’ to somewhere that I can better understand and manage my thoughts. Right now, at this juncture in my life, I’m turning to my blog to help me get through the bad times, keep the faith, stay the course, and come out the other side in one piece (and maybe smiling).

Today I had the thought that the path I have embarked upon was – Gasp! – The wrong one.

It would be best, I told myself, for us to call a truce and work towards a settlement that kept our family together. That would be the easy option; the best option for us both. This is what I was telling myself! I know!

Doing the right thing is doing the hard thing. No matter how I look at it, the next couple of years are going to be tough; tough financially, and tough emotionally too. Yesterday I had to stop myself from crying at work over the thought of losing Thomas. I know I’d see him a lot, but not being able to see him each morning when he woke up and each night when he went to bed is killer. I don’t like the idea of being away from him. It hurts to think about it too much. As many people have said to me, staying together for the kids in the wrong thing to do and I agree wholeheartedly, but if there was one thing I would stay for, it would be Thomas. And it would be worth it in my own deluded little brain.

But I know it would be wrong on him, on her, and on me. A separation is the best course of action for two people who don’t love each other. Agree? Good.
So I come back to the blog to reinforce and remember why I made this decision and why I must stick with it. It’s the right thing to do and is already changing my outlook on life. I can’t turn away from that which is right in front of my eyes. If in doubt, reading my own words is enough to keep me on course.

Even though we’re getting on reasonably well at the minute, doesn’t mean we’re good together or ever will be. If we can co-exist in the same circle for the sake of Thomas, that’s great. And if we can be friends, that’s great too. But we’re not lovers; haven’t been for a long time, and won’t ever be again. The writing is on the wall, and has been for a long, long time.

The problem we have now is how to extricate ourselves from the situation we’re in. How do we undo a 30 year commitment in such as way that neither of us is left damaged by the fallout financially? How do I assuage some of the guilt I feel over this entire mess of a situation. Yes, I feel to blame. I dragged her from somewhere she was very happy with the hope of a future for us. Four months later and I’m backtracking. She should, by rights, hate every fibre of my being. Not just because of what I have done to her but also for what I have done to Thomas. I feel responsible. I feel guilty. I feel like I am to blame and need to make amends. I also need to consider that I have inadvertently wrapped Terry up in this whole mess. That’s total bad times. Not at all what I wanted to do and I feel responsible for that too.

Okay. The easiest thing for me to do is to say ‘goodbye’ to the entire thing. Force/push for a sale of this house at a loss on what we paid for it, and move back to my old house. I’d be happy there and I would manage very easily financially either with Terry with me or by myself. This new house can go under, I’ll take on the chin any financial penalty that come with it such as having to still pay off the mortgage after the sale or having to cover the bank loan. The risk is that the house doesn’t sell quickly and I end up having to pay for it and pay for the old house too (if I live there) and end up defaulting and suffering a repossession. That would ruin both of us financially for at least the next six years. On the flip of that, I have the old house so after the six years in the financial wilderness I’d have a house with equity, and be okay. She’d not come off as well and would be stuck in rental hell for the foreseeable.

Neither of us can afford to stay here by ourselves. I’ve said I’d leave, but she couldn’t stay if I did. She said she’d leave and the only way I could stay would be if I rented out both of the other rooms in the house in order to generate some income to help pay the mortgage. She messaged me today and said she wasn’t happy to remain on the mortgage and not live here. I can understand where she’s coming from in this, but there’s no way the bank will sign the house over to me until such a time as I can show I’m able to afford it; and that will only be possible through getting a few months rent history behind me.

It will be hard financially to keep it going, but the alternative is financial meltdown and I don’t want that for either of us.

Of course, if I do take the hard route of renting out the rooms, then signing over the house to just me, the rewards are eventually going to be great. How many other people in my position and with my earning potential will own two homes? Not many, for sure. It’s just that getting there is risky and tough.

But then, anything worth having is worth fighting for. The combination of terrible alternative for us all and the promise of future rewards makes this a simple enough choice. I’ll take over the house. Rent out the rooms, and then eventually move to take it over solo.

And that, ladies and gents, is why I love this blog. It helps me to render thoughts into black and white. It assists in the making of decisions.

Well done if you made it this far. Treat yourself to some Janelle Monáe (and comment if you wanna):



This will be waffle but to hell with it.

It’s 23:41 (at this exact minute) and I’m drunk, sat in the conservatory, with the patio wide open. It’s balmy (good word). I’m drunk. But, for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m alive, living, breathing and human. I feel emotion. I feel pain. That makes me feel more alive. Feeling is living and I realise now that I have spent a lot of months numbed; unfeeling and emotionless. Human life is apart from animal life on account of our ability to feel. Feel hurt. Feel good. Feel pain. Feel free. Feel empty. Feel love. Feel vulnerable. Feel content. Feel drunk. Feel like living and loving. How can we exist in relationships that stop us feeling? A relationship should be about growing feelings not stunting feelings. I hate to say it but I have been blinkered by the relationship I was in. I was stunted emotionally, physically, sexually, sensually, by this relationship. But it’s over and now I can grow in love and life. I cannot express how good it feels to be free.

I. Feel. Alive.

It’s. Awe. So. Me.

Thanks, Kory:

The right thing to do

I am a coward and a pussy.

Last night we had a talk about us and we both agreed we’re not working and probably never will. The thing is; I’m not willing to change for her. I don’t love her (enough?) for me to go through a metamorphosis into a modern family man. I am me. I like being me. Sure, sometimes I don’t; but every genius is beset by self-doubt on occasion (delusions of grandeur!).

Man, it’s almost as if I can’t take this seriously. There is a certain comedy/tragedy about us. The number of times we’ve been on then off then on again is embarrassing. And, the situation as it stands is that this cannot go on any more. We cannot keep doing this. It’s unfair on us, it’s unfair on our respective families who have to support us when it all goes wrong, and ultimately, it’s unfair on Tom who, at three years old, cannot understand what’s going on. He’s had so many homes in his nearly four years that I feel sick. If there is any justification for my self-loathing it’s him; that ‘poor little soul’ who gets stuck in the middle of us when we destroy our relationship. It makes me feel a little bit sick. He deserves better. He deserves some stability, at least.

I hate that I can’t love her. That’s the crux of the situation. I don’t love her enough to be able to work at or fix what little we have left. That ship sailed.

BUT, and this is the killer. I need to remember that and live that and respect that. I can’t U-turn and try and put this all back together in a year or 6 months or similar. It’s done. It’s over. Am I trying to convince myself?

I don’t think I need any convincing. I cried a little bit when I saw Tom this morning. And it breaks my heart to know that I won’t see him every day. It’s killer and it almost makes me want to work at this. To stay together for the kids is a tragic mistake but one I have given much consideration. Can I sacrifice my happiness for living with my boy and forging a family relationship with them both? Can I forgive the lack of communication? The lack of affection? The lack of intimacy?

Is HE worth it?


But I will only be delaying the inevitable if I do. I will only be putting off an inevitable break up if I stick with this. And at least (excuses, Alan) now he’s young enough to bounce back from this and enjoy life. With two parent who love him, and two parent who are happy rather than resenting each other.

It’s so hard. It really hurts though to say goodbye to him. Even though I will see him as much as I can, it won’t be every day and it won’t be like it is now. I can ensure though, that he knows I love him, and I can make sure the time we do spend together is time spent well. Time spent in love a father has for his son. Quality time.

This is right. It hurts. But it’s right.

I have to remember that.

Rant: She must think I’m made of money.

Times they are hard. Not to the point of poverty, but I’m not exactly rolling in it.

Last month she asked me if I would like to go see George Michael. Not really, no. But I relented and agreed because I thought it might be good for us to do something together. Tickets in the region of £80 each. Who ends up paying for them? Me.

If you wanted to ask, “will you buy tickets so we can see George Michael?” then just say that don’t drop a bombshell of “oh I haven’t got any money you will have to pay for them”. It’s not like I had any choice either when Terry had put them on his credit card.

I sold my bike this month in order to pay off a debt. I used £80 of it to pay for the roof to be fixed.

She wants me to pay the car tax (on her car) this month too. That’s another £80.

Yesterday she dropped the boy’s school photo order form on the mantle piece and said, “put your card details on when you’re ready”. That’s another £30. Running total, £190. From £341 for the bike. Once eBay have taken their 10% it leaves me with very little left. So much for paying off debt. This is what the selling of the bike was all about.

Annoyed doesn’t cover it.

But am I annoyed at paying out this money or am I annoyed that I am too much of a coward to say no?

Demon Bike

The same bike that I fell off in October, resulting on a broken wrist and broken elbow, has claimed another victim this week. Terry borrowed my bike on Wednesday, and in a collision with another cyclist, broke his leg in two places. He’s going to have to have surgery tomorrow, have his bones screwed back together, then he’s looking at 4 to 6 months recovery.

The demon bike is gonna have to be sold before it kills someone.

Dead before I’ve even lived

I’m in one of those strange lulls I get myself into sometimes where I start questioning the logic of maintaining the status quo. Can’t be arsed with work, can’t be arsed with maintaining my forums. Don’t want to think about money. Irritated by work and my impotent career. Unable to motivate myself to break the cycle of disinterest. I feel it start to creep into relationships with family and friends. My Mother will call and I will deliberately ignore the call because I don’t want to pretend I’m doing great when I’m feeling low. People at work ask me, “how are you” and I reply with a typically-false “fine, thanks”. Which is utter lies but they’re not asking because they’re interested, they’re asking because it is the thing to do. Typical British small talk. I discuss the weather with people too. I have no interest in the weather or in the people I am discussing with, but I do it anyway. It’s expected. Who the hell am I to deny expectations?

The same. It’s expected of me to be a good Dad. A good man. A good boyfriend. A good Son, friend, citizen. Pay my taxes, smile weakly as I get screwed by the Government. Yay for the stiff upper lip and all the crap it brings upon us.

I’m scared. I’m scared of the disappointment I will bring upon people. I’m scared of the disappointment I will bring upon myself for failing in the eyes of people I detest. What madness is this? I’m scared that they will be right. That I can’t do this. That I can’t be what they want me to be or who they want me to be. It’s insane. Why do we allow people who mean nothing to us to control us? Who gives THEM the right to dictate our lives to us? I have ONE LIFE and it is 33 years gone. I’m not getting any younger but I am afraid to resist the path others choose for me. Kid. House. Job. Mortgage. Debt (and paying back that debt). Sunday TV. Monday morning back at work. Wednesday trips to the parents. When did my life become so constrained, so scripted, so dull? Why do I not have the courage to fight back and tell them all that they are wrong and I am right? I look at the people who sit around their house all day and don’t work, or have never worked, and I curse them. Scum. Spongers. Wasters.

But what balls! To hell with society. Use society. Get a job. Why? Buy a house. Why? Do what they tell you. WHY!? Are they right and we are all wrong? If we all were to adopt the sponger lifestyle, society would cease to exist. We NEED people like me (mugs like me) to pay for those who are too clever to buy in to the ratrace.

I don’t want that. I want to work. I like nice things. I deny that I am materialistic. I’m a snob. I don’t like to think of Aldi and Lidl. I like to pretend I’m more Sainsburys. I want a nice car and I want a nice home that is mine. I’m stuck in a bit of a paradox. I want what society offers me but I don’t want the 50 years and then you’re dead to get it. I’m not stupid. Yet I work in a pointless job. I like to pretend I am paid for my skills and not my time, but nothing could be further from the truth. I’m an unskilled worker-bee. Not a warrior, not a fighter, a worker. The bottom rung. Be you a cleaner or a call centre worker you’re still trash. How dare I look down upon the cleaners in our building? I’m just the same! I just like to pretend I am different. I try to deny the simple obvious truth of it all, but I can’t. I’m just another pointless human-being on this planet; Destined to live unremarkably and die just as unremarkably. Remembered by few. Revered by even less. Just a.n.other statistic. Paying taxes. Paying for the lives of those smart enough to not buy into the system. Living a lie through gritted teeth. Hating every minute yet plastering on a fake smile and not letting them know I’m nothing to them.

On to them or not. I’m an impotent warrior. Toothless. Unable to fight back. Dead before I’ve even lived.


Terry is moving in here. Kinda strange as last time we lived together things didn’t end well and we probably had the darkest period we’ve ever faced in over 13 years of friendship. I probably wrote about it in this blog somewhere, but I don’t want to revisit it just yet.

He’s split with Linzi and I think this time it is for good. No chemistry is the reason, which seems odd considering last month they were planning a wedding. It’s sad to see, because even though they were never has connected as he was with Lou or Heidi, I have no doubt there was love there (probably still is). But she’s young, and I think this is the right thing for them both.

He’s moving in here for a couple of months to give him an opportunity to get some stuff paid off and be in a position to move into my old house after the summer. At least that is the current plan. It is a relief for me (and J primarily) to have him in Lodge, as it means we have someone we trust and who will look after our investment.

I am quite looking forward to it though. A single Terry is one who likes to do a lot of working out, and I think that will be motivation for me to do so too. It might also mean that I get out more, which can’t be a bad thing.

It will be wierd though sharing our home with someone else. I guess I will have to wait and see how it pans out.

Someone that changed your life


When I was 19 or so and living in Grimsby devoid of job and bereft of opportunity and prospects, it was you I could turn to and know you would save me. I was lost. I was smoking way too much dope, mixing with the wrong people. I was thin, unhealthy, anti-social, broke, depressed (maybe) and I needed an escape route.

If you had not suggested I move to Darlington I might still be there scratching a living from the filth of that town.

I just wanted to say ‘thank you’ for giving me the opportunity to start over.


Day 27 — The friendliest person you knew for only one day

Dear Lady who rescued us from the rain,

We didn’t really need rescuing, and we could not have been much wetter than we already were, especially me in shorts and a t-shirt caught on in a tropical (seemingly) downpour.

But that you stopped your car to pick up three strangers and their dog and ferry them back to warmth speaks much for how much of a good person you are.

I was sorry to hear that your husband had passed, but take heart from the fact you were ready to talk about it, to us three strangers.

Anyway, I just wanted to say ‘thanks again’ for what you did. I’ll remember it, and you, for a long time.



We’ve had a bit of a struggle recently with the boy and a reluctance to go to bed. Compounded by a lack of resolve (effort) on behalf of his Mum, and a lack of commitment on behalf of his Dad to ensure he goes to bed on time.

*immature comment of the day* Seems like it’s my job to enforce a routine. If I am not down here then she won’t insist he goes to bed.

Last night I came down stairs at twenty to nine. And Tom was on the laptop playing cbeebies games. He’s three. Part of me was thinking its pretty amazing that he knows how to use it, even the mouse-pad. The other part of me was concerned that he was still up AND on the computer so far past his bedtime. I’m not going to apportion blame here, as I could have come down stairs earlier and helped convert wired and awake Tom to going to bed now Tom.

I didn’t.

This morning, partly due to my ability to sleep through nigh on anything, she was exhausted. Tom had been up half the night, didn’t want to go to sleep (I was asleep before him) and finally went off about 2am, or so I’m told. I slept through it all. It’s more blessing than curse. 😉

I said to her this morning that we’d make a pact. Tom to come in or start settling at 630, PJs on by 7 and bed at 730. Tonight was the first test.

I took the boy up at 730 as planned. Read a story, give him a kiss and a cuddle. He wrapped his arms around my neck and said, ‘I’m never letting go’. I extricated myself from his embrace, came downstairs and 10 minutes later checked on him and he was fast asleep.

Sleeping children; the best kind