To Be Wronged Is Nothing Unless You Continue To Remember It

Most people who know me will know that my glass is never half full, or at least not for very long. I do however lean towards being half full, or quarter full, rather than half empty or three quarters empty. I have the same feelings as most people, I am far from being anything different or special in that department. I get down sometimes, I can be a miserable bugger at times and rumour has it that my patience at random times can waver. What I try to do however is not dwell on things and move on, and usually, after a bit of sulking or a quiet spell, I snap out of it pretty quickly and the smile returns.

I have had a few conversations in recent weeks which have inspired me to write this blog. I was telling a story about how my girlfriend’s car was stolen on the last day of the first year of university when we were moving out. About 95% of everything I owned was in the car and we had just booked a holiday. Given that the car was stolen when I was in the shower, I didn’t have a clean pair of socks to my name, nor a change of clothes, and we had just booked an expensive holiday. I was heartbroken.

That was horrendous at the time, but far worse was when I lost my laptop/had it stolen last winter. More than possessions, losing photos, files, work, ideas, personal details and information is far worse.

When you are 31 years old, these things happen at some point in your life. Loved ones die, accidents happen, mistakes are made. Nobody takes any joy from these things, but after a period of sadness, upset and sometimes anger, there is a reflection period and then I try to look for positives. There may not be many, but in everything we do, you can always find a positive or an opportunity – something that can offer hope.

I am in Edinburgh today. We got up and headed to the train station to find that the first train was delayed for 21 minutes which would mean that we would miss the main connecting train to Edinburgh. There may have been a curse or two I admit – why can’t trains run in the UK like they do in Switzerland? After ten of the 21 minutes had lapsed, it had dawned on me that I had left the Bon Jovi tickets at home. A quick phone call to Uncle George, who zipped down the road to pick me up and we got the tickets and back to the station with two minutes to spare. If the train had not have been 21 minutes late, we would have been sat on the train to Edinburgh without our tickets. Some strange and affected people I know may say it would have been a blessing to miss the Bon Jovi concert, but I don’t see too much hope for them.

Funny how these things happen. I am not comparing it to death or stolen items, but it is amazing how these things happen. Coincidences just come around the corner when you are not expecting them and instances which may appear to be negatives can turn into positives. With virtually everything I do, or what happens to me, I try to find opportunities from them. It keeps me sane rather than dwelling on the consequences or what may have happened.

And the exact opposite is the same for me. I always try and keep grounded when great things happen. I sometimes get called out when I say something is ‘not bad’ rather than great. I like to keep things in perspective, and when I think something is great I certainly show it. I am the guy at Goodison Park who tries to keep people grounded when we are doing well, and tries to remain calm and steady when things are desperate. It is not that I do not have the highs and lows, I have plenty of them. Controlling my emotions and balancing them is key to how I deal with things and then I make my decisions.

I got lucky this morning. If the train was 18 minutes late, we would have been in trouble. There are some days when you hit every red light when you are in a rush. These things even themselves out, you’ll get the green lights some days, you just need to remember them when everything appears red.

A Hairy Situation

Two of the most important ladies in my life have a major conflict. You always hope that your mum and wifey-to-be will get along, but sometimes there are pretty major obstacles that get in the way of a harmonious relationship. For almost six years, this has been a major obstacle, and leading up to our big day, it could be even more contentious. So I have decided to end the debate here and now.

Some people like facial hair and others do not. It makes a difference I guess if you have to come into contact with it. Thankfully HJ loves it and has never complained even when I have gone for the Stanley Cup Play-Off style beard.

Mum however has not been Bearded Bobby’s biggest fan. Anything longer than a millimetre and Mum’s fading eyes miraculously spark into action even on the webcam, and a new shaving kit is ordered. When I make it back to Leeds and there is a welcome home kiss or a farewell kiss on my departure, I’m forced to pucker my lips out as far as possible to avoid any major bristly contact.

So you can see my dilemma and there is a compromise to be reached. I can hereby confirm that there will be facial hair on August 4th, albeit a shadow, nothing too bristly, but enough. Nothing too outrageous, but I am calling it now.

Shaving and trimming can be a pain sometimes, but I much prefer the facial hair to baby face. I remember being 13-years-old and sprouting my first little fury moustache, and finally plucking the courage to shave it off one day under the supervision of my dad and sister. They were ever so forthcoming in their help and advice, and suggested the use of after shave immediately after. So kind and thoughtful as they are.

Back at school, I was one of the most developed in a hairyfying sense. Nothing too monkey like, but I was one of the youngest to have hairs on my legs (apart from one unfortunate girl), and rather than revel in my maturity and masculinity, I always found it a little embarrassing. As soon as school broke up for summer back in 1994, I sat in the bath and impulsively decided to shave my legs. I thought it may make me look slicker, maybe run a little faster on the football pitch. And if I looked like a complete fool, I had six weeks to grow something back. Nobody warned me of the science behind shaving and that it tends to grow back faster.

I guess most kids go through this kind of stuff. The irony is that we are often desperate to get rid of it when we are younger and we are desperately clinging on to it when we grow older. Having a hair-challenged dad, I have asked two hairdressers in the last couple of years as to whether they think I will lose mine, and both have said not. Thankfully, I followed Dad’s advice for the aftershave, but got mum’s genes there.

So as I am reaching my prime, I am aiming for a happy medium and going for just a little facial hair, nothing drastic and nothing that will cause any facial rashes to any unsuspecting wife, mum, sister, auntie etc. But I’m calling it, so do not be surprised on August 4th. Hopefully the ladies will resolve their major differences and we will all live happily ever after.