Second Chances

Facebook says no. I can’t write any more notes. Every couple of weeks most of my 103 notes disappear. I’ve tried emailing someone about it, but there’s no-one to email. The best you can achieve is a post on a message board that you can’t guarantee anyone reads. Which is nice.

Thankfully I saved them, but as a little word of advice, make sure you’ve got any notes, movies or photos, make sure you back them the fuck up.

Not that I’m a complaining kind of mood, though. We had a result last week. The pictures have been all over Facebook, so I won’t go into detail. Sadly, though, I was so drunk that the rough outline of a speech I spent an hour thinking about as the awards began was forgotten as our names were read out. I was also so drunk that I couldn’t stand by the end of the evening, and the next morning I had to leave a note for the maid apologising. For the mess, I mean. Again, I won’t go into detail. It’s a shame though, as I remember very little about the previous night. I spent most of Saturday in bed, and still feel shit, four days later. Way to go, McGario. One of the best nights of my professional career, which I remember sod all about and have probably mangled my liver.

Because I was drinking like a (nervous) fish before the awards, I missed my chance in the spotlight. I didn't actually miss it, you understand. As usual, I'm quite able to move, and generally talk when under the influence, but the lights won't be on, and I won't remember any of it. Sadly, though, unlike my Facebook notes, I couldn't back up these memories when I malfunction and I'll never get them back. Sure, there are videos, but I'll be offering good money to have them deleted. All because I got the fear.

Every weekday morning on Radio 2, there's a charming little feature called 'Pause for Thought,' one of the few elements from Terry Wogan's old breakfast show that made the cut into Chris Evans' format, where each day a guest delivers some words of wisdom (Don't get me wrong, as a TOGG for many years I wanted to dislike this new young?! upstart edging in on Terry's turf, but I have to say I really can't fault his show. At all). Today was the turn of a regular contributor chap called Father Brian D'Arcy's, a priest from Enniskillen in Northern Ireland, and his chosen subject was 'Best Friends.' Something he said really struck me.

"The only thing that can stop us from what we want to be, is that wee word, fear," He said. And he's right, you know. I've lost count of the opportunities I've turned my back on, for no other reason but my own insecurities, of which there are many. "Courage," he went onto say, "is so important...it helps us to act in spite of our big genuine fears."

So, I’m sitting here burning karaoke CDs trying to get inspiration for the coming audition, and trying to pluck up the courage to try out to them out to my wife, knowing that she’ll rather watch Eastenders, but hoping she’ll pick the one I think will be ok to sing.

This time I’m under no illusion, though. I’m going to pick my song before I go, and even try and learn some lyrics. I know how long I’ll have to wait, and even if I sing my heart out, I probably won’t get to the next stage. But I can get over that and still make the most of it. Unless I smuggle in a hip flask, there'll be no using drink as an excuse this time. I'll remember every euphoric moment, or, most likely, every sphincter-clenching frown and a shake of a head from a judge. Clear as a bell.

Blackbird

I don’t have many constant chores, but the single regular job I have to do each evening is the washing-up. It’s the one thing that I’ll do without being asked more than six times. We don’t own a dishwasher. I’m the dishwasher. Don’t get me wrong, I hate it, but I’m usually so crestfallen after a lengthy stint on the M25 that I’m too tired to act up and risk a turn on the naughty step by stamping my feet. So, after dinner each day, on go the marigolds, the digital radio fixed on Absolute Classic Rock, and I crack open the tub of elbow grease, resigned to the task ahead.

Over the last few days, though, I’ve been transfixed by a single Blackbird that has appeared at exactly the same time each evening to hop around in our semi re-turfed garden looking for food. I know it’s a she (as when I was younger I remember being puzzled about how a Blackbird could be brown) and I know she’s seen me watching her bounding around the recently mown grass because she’s stared directly at me as I’ve bobbed my head to the Blue Oyster Cult and then turned about and carried on foraging for food, regardless. She’s out there right now; I’ve just turned my head and seen her zip away out of the corner of my eye.

For a perennial daydreamer, it’s amazing how the simplest things can hold your attention for so long.

I like birds. You’ll see that in all the photos I’ve taken from my study window. I mistakenly thought that clearing the bushes and small trees from my garden would cause a lot of our feathered visitors to relocate to a more protected area. What’s actually happened is that by digging up a bordered area of soil I’ve exposed about a thousand worms, and it’s drawn even more. It’s like an aviary out there. What the hell am I doing writing about birds in our garden, you might ask? The problem is, it’s created a bit of a dilemma for me. For someone born into a Catholic family, I’ve got unorthodox views on karma. I feel guilty because I was the one who disturbed the worms, and because I didn’t lift a pan to bang on the window when the bird eventually caught one. This is the strange way my mind works. If a cat found its way into our garden though, I’ll happily chase it away. I prefer birds. And dogs. All the enemies of cats. Still, it takes my mind off the fucking washing up.

As you can tell, I don’t have much to say today. There’s no childhood memory, or epiphany this time around; I just wanted to write something down. I should probably be discussing the biblical ash cloud drifting over British airspace, or how last night’s election debate made me reconsider not voting this time around. No, I saw a Blackbird hopping around in my garden today. I found that no less interesting.