Preventing My Own...

It has been nearly one year since my last blog post. Not that I haven’t had things that could have been said, more that I haven’t had the impulse to actually say them in blog form. It has been a long rollercoaster ride of a year. Amazing highs, terrifying lows. Maybe if the mood takes me I will take the time to get it out. It will probably do me good.

But not today.

Today I felt compelled to post, in homage to the reason for writing my very first post. Suicide. My uncle’s suicide. My first two posts can be seen here. Forever In Our Hearts and The Permanent Solution where I talk about it in case you haven't read them before. 

For today is World Suicide Prevention Day. But two years on, has anything changed in me?

But how do you prevent something like this, when the pressures, pains, anxieties and depressions that we feel as humans is a prevalent today as it has ever been?

I don’t know if you can. But we live in an age where we are encouraged to be open and talk to eachother about our feelings and insecurities. We are told it is ok to not be ok. We are told that asking for help doesn’t make you less of a man.

Therefore my way of preventing suicide, has to be preventing my own.

Now before I go on, I am not suicidal. I am not a risk. I am in a good place. But I am aware to the triggers which can bring me down.

Depression has been something that has been part of my life since my teenage years. Not that I have ever admitted that to anyone until a couple of months back. What started off as insecurities and negative self-perception, soon led to hating my thoughts, and hating them in the true sense of the word.

As I have grown older I have struggled under the weight of life’s every day pressures, anxiety and money troubles have made me to see myself as a failure. A run of issues in my life brought me down, and my mind took me deeper down. And people noticed and asked questions. Scary thoughts had entered my mind. What would happen if this bus hits me at speed? Or if I trip in front of this tube train would it be painful? Would people in my life be better off without me? And it was once I thought that, I knew that in the words of the late 
Chester Bennington, “my thoughts can be a bad place to be”, and that I needed to do something about it. So I spoke to people. One I knew I would talk to, the other who I wouldn’t have expected to open up with. But as soon as I felt compassion, I knew I could release the dark mental build up.

My uncle Charlie died by suicide at 41years old. He took his own life, found in his car in 1993. I was ten years old when it happened, and for years accepted the line I had been told that he had died by a heart attack.

I was ten, and I can see why I was told that. Suicide is hard enough to comprehend as a 35year adult, so there was no way a ten year old me could have been expected to understand the truth and what suicide is.

The questions. The fucking questions. Why? Why? Why? What could we have done? What did you need? Why didn’t you reach out? Why didn’t you talk to us? Why are we left here without you and why didn’t you think about us when you made that decision?

Maybe you felt you would be burdening us with your issues. Perhaps you felt like you had got yourself into this mess and only you could get yourself out. It could be that you did reach out to someone. Maybe it was someone who broke your heart, and they didn’t give you what you needed. Perhaps you couldn’t talk about it. Possibly you were like me and struggle to take advice from others. Maybe you did think about us, despite our absence from your suicide letter.

I can only assume your depression was such a dark horrible fight that you couldn’t fight anymore. In a way, I hope it was a long struggle. As horrible as that sounds, I crave the knowledge to know it wasn’t just an off the cuff decision one stupid drunken night feeling sorry for yourself.

I want you to know that your decision comes into my mind far too often than I would like to admit. It comes into my mind every time a black cloud comes into my life.

I know first-hand how much death by suicide can fuck someone else up. Therefore I know I couldn’t ever put my loved ones through it. I have two little boys who need me, and I made them both a promise of love when they were born, that I would be here for them in every regard. They are my reason for being here. I will move the world to give them everything they need.

Last year, I went to a group for those bereaved by suicide. I learned that your circumstance was definitely an exception to the rule. You wrote a letter. There wasn’t any one in the group who had a letter. Apparently writing a letter usually makes people cease their attempt. Also, alcohol isn’t really a factor in most suicides. The drink must have made you braver that fateful evening.

I didn’t know the type of man you were. I didn’t know what you were passionate about. I didn’t know what you did for work. I didn’t know why you weren’t married or why you didn’t have kids like your three brothers did.

I knew you as the playful loving uncle, with Benny and Deano, two dogs that I loved. I knew the uncle who took me to the woods and encouraged my passion for nature and wildlife. The uncle who bought me a blue Fila watch which I thought was the business. The inappropriate uncle who bought me ‘Robocop’ on video tape for my 8^th or 9^th birthday. It was a brutal 18 rated film. You bought my sister ‘All Dogs Go to Heaven’. The uncle who took us to Chessington a few times. The uncle who I remember once looked after me one weekend, and when you asked if I wanted a burger for lunch, you literally served me a burger patty, with a splodge of ketchup to the side. I was expecting a bun, and I told my mum about it in shock. You were the uncle who took us horse-riding, creating memories that would last a lifetime.

Therefore, your suicide was enough to prevent mine. As I would not want those around me to feel what we felt when you died.

84 men a week in the UK take their lives every week in Britain. 12 per day. That’s nuts. That’s 84 families affected. 84 versions of the ten year old me, who lost their playmate, and who for 25years will think about that person every day. The recent display on top of the ITV buildings by CALM was a huge eye opener. A haunting image.

If you are feeling down, scared of yourself, scared of your thoughts or fucking down in the dumps. Talk. Talk to anyone. You haven’t got to know them, you just need to get it out. Cry. If you need to, fucking cry. Fucking scream if you have to. Don’t let things build to the point where there is only way out, bottle of whisky in hand, writing your final letter.

If you notice in someone that something doesn't seem right, ask them. Talk to them. Show them you care. It might just save their life. 

World Suicide Prevention Day is a global event held every year on September 10th. 

With CALM I am calling on everyone to #StandAgainstSuicide by signing this petition demanding government action ➡️ http://bit.ly/SuicidePetition2018

Help is out there if you are in a bad place. Please use it.

CALM, www.thecalmzone.net, 0800 585 858

Heads Together, www.headstogether.org.uk

Mind, www.mind.org.uk, 0300 123 3393

Samaritans, www.samaritans.org, 116 123

The Boy who United Football...

All around the world, footballers are loved and adored by people of all ages. They are idolised, admired and hero worshipped. Their names are printed on the back of replica kits, so that young boys and girls can imitate their heroes.

In an age, where the top players can earn millions of pounds for simply kicking a ball around, they also take on a responsibility for those that love them. One such player who took his responsibility as a role model to another level, was Jermain Defoe. At the match between Sunderland and Everton the Premier League, a young boy named Bradley Lowery met his hero – the star striker Defoe. That moment, Defoe went further than most footballers meeting mascots. The footballer and the young fan made a friendship which united football fans and people in general, with the love which was clearly apparent between the pair.  

Bradley had been fighting a battle with a form of cancer named Neuroblastoma since he was 18months old. Having beaten the disease once, he was in remission for a number of years before it returned in 2016. His family battled and campaigned to raise vital funds to send him to the US for life saving treatment, but they were given the heart-breaking news that his illness was terminal. So the family vowed to continue to fundraise, and make a foundation in Bradley’s name, to help with the fight for other families affected. Part of the fundraising campaign included Bradley becoming a match day mascot at his beloved Sunderland football club, where he would meet his favourite player Jermain Defoe.

Bradley led the team out on multiple occasions, always holding Defoe’s hand. At times when he was clearly feeling weak, Defoe would carry the little boy in his arms. In the match against Chelsea, he was photographed with the team, and scored a goal which won the ‘Goal of the Month’ competition on the iconic show ‘Match of The Day’. Sunderland players visited Bradley in hospital, with one instance the little boy falling asleep cuddling his hero in bed. Other football clubs and fans offered their support, with Everton donating £200k to the fund to fight for his life, and he was a mascot for them in their match against Manchester City, wearing a Sunderland shirt with ‘Thank You Everton’ on the back.

Coinciding with Defoe’s recall to the England national side, the Football Association invited Bradley be a mascot for the national side. Captain Joe Hart stepped aside and invited Defoe and Bradley to lead the team out at Wembley Stadium. During this time, some beautifully poignant photographs were taken, of Bradley shielding his ears from the noise of the 90,000 crowd singing the national anthem, and turning to hug Defoe. Defoe states that this was a huge honour, and something which was truly special for him in his football career.

After the news broke that Bradley wouldn’t be able to win this fight, Defoe attended his birthday party, and continued to give love and support to the boy and his family, and continued his hospital visits.  

As a father, the story continues to choke me up. To see the love that was genuinely shared between the two is humbling. The way that Bradley looked at Jermain; it was a form of escapism for him. I wonder if Defoe will ever truly know the effect that his love, time, generosity and friendship had on Bradley and his family. Bradley pulled on the heartstrings of the nation. His smile was infectious, and the photos and videos that appeared of him in the football environment, showed a boy who for those moments forgot his was deeply ill. He was able to be the star for a short time, removed from the days spent in hospital. Defoe often said he felt the matches were more special knowing Bradley was in attendance. I am sure for Bradleys family, any time Jermain was able to give to Bradley, was every so more special seeing their little boy's eyes light up once again. Any parent would do anything to take away the pain, and for those moments, I am sure Defoe was able to do that for them, and help their son. It truly brings tears to your eyes to listen to the way Defoe spoke about the friendship. It was real. It wasn't because the PR team at the club told him to do so. It was raw love, raw emotion, raw human instinct in wanting to love and help someone.

Bradley sadly died on July 7^th, surrounded by his loving family. Social media accounts of footballers and football clubs offered their condolences and best wishes to the family. After Bradley passed away, Defoe tweeted: “Goodbye my friend, gonna miss you lots. I feel so blessed God brought you into my life and had some amazing moments with you and for that I'm so grateful.  I'll never ever forget the way you looked at me for the first time, the genuine love in those cute eyes. Really finding it hard to express what you mean to me.”

Thousands of mourners lined the route to his funeral, where attendees including Defoe, wore football shirts, with his name on the back, with a message on social media that Football Had No Colours, meaning the football world would come together to remember this brave little boy. His favourite superheroes were in attendance, and balloons were released to the sky.

Although there are hundreds and thousands of gravely ill children around the country who do not get the level of attention that Bradley received, Bradley was able to raise awareness for many of them. His legacy will inspire many people and his foundation has raised hundreds of thousands of pounds, which will go into helping those families. Events are being hosted in his honour, including a celebrity football match at Everton’s Goodison Park ground. Additionally Sunderland donated a corporate box for each match to a family who are going through these struggles, so that the ill child can have this great experience.

To make a contribution visit www.justgiving.com/crowdfunding/bradleylowerysfight

In a time where astronomical figures are being spent for footballers, with their earnings and responsibilities in the spotlight, when compared with more everyday life hero's such as those in the Emergency services, it is great to see the human side of the sport. 

Such love, such compassion, such emotion, such support.

RIP Bradley. 

You touched the nation with your strength and your smile. You united football fans throughout the country. My thoughts and deepest sympathies are with your family, friends and your 'best mate' Jermain Defoe, the hero who showed us his human side.

In The End...

Aside from a dislike of elevators, I’ve never been claustrophobic, but as I have gotten older there have been a few instances where I have been overcome with a hot panicky sweat at being trapped somewhere. As I stood in my hospital robes next to the huge MRI scanner, I knew I needed something to focus on during the impending thirty minutes or so that I would be in the confined space. The nurse handed me a sheet of paper with various musical offerings to listen to: Adele – no thanks, Classical Hits – not for me. It didn’t look good. However whilst looking at my options there was only one thing which grabbed my attention; Linkin Park Greatest Hits.

As I laid there in the scanner, the hot panic hit me within a matter of moments. Stuck in this machine, consumed with a anxiety of being trapped. Then, in my headphones came the sounds of Linkin Park. I had envisioned that the music and vocals would drown out the machine as it scanned by brain, but it wasn’t as loud as I was hoping. However, I was able to focus on the music and singing, such a beautiful voice and powerful screams, and I was able to remove myself from that scanner, and take myself back in my memories to seeing them perform live in Abu Dhabi, back in 2010. Soon the sweaty panic passed and before I knew it, about eight songs had played, and the scan had finished. Losing myself in Linkin Park had again got me through a shitty moment in time in my life, which had been on mind since the appointment was booked.

Two days later I learnt via Twitter, that Linkin Park lead singer, Chester Bennington had taken his own life. It hit me like a ton of bricks, another one taken too soon. This man had been a huge part of my life for over fifteen years. I had listened to his music all too regularly. On the train, in the car, on the street, in the gym, or more often than not, when i wasn't feeling too happy in myself.

Like many teenagers, I had a phase where I questioned my existence. I felt low, I felt depressed, I felt worthless. Consumed by anxiety, I had just changed schools, and felt ugly and I felt dumb. I would spend a lot of time alone, and basically felt very sorry for myself.

During a Napster session in 2000 (sorry but we all did it!), I downloaded ‘In The End’ based on how popular the file was. Having not listened to Metal music before I was prepared to delete the file after hearing only a few seconds like I had done with other downloaded songs, however based on the intro alone I knew I would like this particular track. As the song continued, I immediately liked Mike Shinoda’s rap style, and when the chorus came in I had goose pimples. Chester’s voice was like something I hadn’t known before. How could someone sing so beautifully and then let out a real rock element like that? I listened again, and again and again. With each listen I would try to listen carefully to the lyrics. The lyrics to ‘In The End’ served as a release to me. I was able to sing and rap along to the song, which seemed to resonate.

“Ive put my trust in you, pushed as far as I can go, for all this, there’s only one thing you should know. Ive tried so hard, and got so far, but in the end it doesn’t even matter. I had to fall to lose it all, but in the end it doesn’t even matter.”

This chorus made me think of my relationship with so many people. My teachers, my parents, my friends, those I secretly envied and wanted to be like. I was looking to be anyone else but myself.  The song was definitely part of my coming of age, and accepting the person I was. Theres only so much you can do to please others.. I didn’t need to change for anyone else. Other people’s opinions didn’t matter.

Fast forward ten years, and I was living and working in Abu Dhabi, UAE. As the post-race concerts for the Formula1 event were announced, I was delighted to see Linkin Park would be performing, having never seen them live before. Other songs of theirs had become favourites of mine – Numb, Crawling, Papercut, Faint, and One Step Closer to name a few. The day came round and I felt honoured to witness this band perform. It was literally one of the greatest live concerts I had attended. As they played ‘In The End’, the goosebumps came back as they always do to that song, but this time I looked back at all that I have achieved in the ten years from first hearing the track. I felt embarrassed to be in such a large crowd, overcome by emotion. But the beauty of that moment was that I was one of a number of thousands of people relating to that song right there.

Chester’s vocals were as impressive in real life as they were on CD.

Over the years, I have suffered from anxiety, loneliness and depression. As I have aged, I have understood a little more about how to break this feeling and to express myself. So many people have these issues, and music is a great form of escapism. In Linkin Park, I found an outlet who seemed to sing what I was feeling.

 A few weeks ago, a friend posted Facebook live videos of Linkin Park performing live from the O2 arena in London. Little did they know that they were going to be one of the final audiences to witness them live. I was completely jealous that they were there. They sounded awesome. Chester looked and sounded great. Weeks later, and he is no longer with us.

A man who despite his public acknowledgments of depression, seemed to have everything in place around him: a world famous band, millions of adoring fans, a large loving family, the respect of his industry. He had influenced more people than he would ever realise. A voice which gave chills. Only 41 years of age.

Coincidentally the same age that my uncle took his own life who will be Forever In Our Hearts.

Many people have views and thoughts about his final action. But ultimatley it was the demons in his mind that took control. He had spoke about how he had been abused as a child, he fought a long running battle with alcohol and drug addiction. He was open about his depression, and his music really served as a mirror into his world. The suicide of close friend Chris Cornell hit him hard, and he was found dead on the day that would have been Cornell’s birthday.

Much was written about Linkin Park's last record, One More Light. For me, I liked the new sound. I appreciated the difference. Many have called it Chester's suicide note, there for the world to see. Songs like Heavy offer a real insight to his mental state at time of writing. The title track One More Light was written in about a friend who had passed away. It was ever so poignant after the passing of Cornell, especially in the Jimmy Kimmel performance; and the way that LP performed it was as painful and grief filled as you could imagine. Listening to this song after Chester's passing absolutely wrecks me. Such a beautifully true expression of grief in one song. Beyond heartbreaking. You can see his pain within, in the way that Chester performed this in his final gigs, especially the Birmingham show, singing directly to the members of the audience.

Thank you for the music Chester, I wish that you didn’t have to take this tragic course of action. My heart is broken for your family, friends and band mates. I find a slight solace that your children will have so much footage of you at their finger tips, and that your music was an insight into your life. But that does not and will never replace having their daddy in their lives.

It shows the impact that a man had on the world, when millions grieve for the person who they have never personally met. But we all felt we knew you. You leave us with a vast musical catalogue, ensuring that your powerful, vulnerable, angry, emotional voice will forever be heard.

Your passing topped off what had been a pretty shitty week for me. Having been fearful for my health, and learning of the murder of my niece’s father, it pushed me into a level of negativity which I struggled to deal with. So i blogged about it.

There is always someone out there to talk to. If you have suicidal thoughts, seek help.

Who cares if one more light goes out? Well I do.

#FuckDepression #MakeChesterProud

A Stream of Consciousness..

As I sit down to allow a brief stream of consciousness to leave my fingertips into my computer, there is a lot that I feel I need to, and can write about at the moment. For quite a while I have struggled with what to write about with this blog. The blog itself has served as my release of emotions when I have needed it to. Although I have dear friends, I do not necessarily have a large network of people around me of whom I can confide in about certain sort of things. Only recently have I found a few people in the workplace who have shown a considerable caring nature towards my happiness, and who have encouraged me to get things off of my chest.

However despite this, I have still avoided writing this post if I am honest.

It is hard to describe to people the emotions I have been feeling in the past ten days or so. Never in my life have I felt so unsure and unsettled, compared to these preceding days.

There have been four huge things which are ongoing which are, and will be, major events in my life.

Then there has been one event which has served as a trigger to my negative mind state. All five together at the same time, and the result is that my head is a little all over the place. So I think it is important that I address them in order to allow myself to fully understand what is going on.

The reasons for this rollercoaster of emotions have been multifaceted. Each of the subjects which are grabbing the focus of my attention are completely personal, relating to my family, and the fear of not being there for them. Old feelings and concerns have been raised, and a sense of trying to manage the grief that others are feeling is overwhelming. 

These feelings have been bouncing around inside my head, crashing against one another, with some dominating the other at times, but with all playing on my mind simultaneously. It feels like a combustible mix that I need to address.

Outwardly I have trying to keep it together, putting on a brave face at times in order to portray an appearance that I am being strong for those around me. However, privately I have needed to get my views out to avoid waves upon waves of downheartedness and negativity consuming me. It is getting harder and harder to shrug off the sadness.

I am planning on addressing each of the five things in my blog in varying degrees.

The first thing was health scare. I have been struggling with and complaining about headaches for a good few months. These headaches were unlike migraines, and were only affecting two specific parts of my head. I had been taking paracetamol to manage these, but concerned at how regular they were occurring. Then over the last few weeks I noticed I was losing the ability to recall certain words in specific situations. Something a mundane as cutting the lawn and I would forget the word for lawnmower for example.  Around the same time I noticed I would drop things quite easily, which was out of character for me. The door keys, my phone, and other everyday objects would slip out of my grasp without me noticing. Then the final incident was a fortnight ago, when I was walking to the train station in the morning, when all of a sudden I was on wet muddy pavement, having fallen over for no apparent reason. This concerned my partner and I, and I googled what the symptoms could be. I know you shouldn’t ever do that. But I am glad I did. I then saw a GP immediately and was referred to a Neurologist who sent me for immediate tests and booked an MRI. The next day I spent 30mins in a MRI machine, listening to Linkin Park’s greatest hits in an attempt to drown out the noise. The results were back that evening, and I was given the all clear in regards to any tumours or things in my brain which shouldn’t be there. This was a relief to say the least. Further examinations will be required, but at least the big scary thing has been ruled out.

Two of the things which I feel I need to talk about are linked and will need to be addressed carefully out of respect for the people involved and the ongoing situation. It is to do with the death of someone in my extended family and the effect of their loss on a specific loved one in particular. The story is a heart-breaking one to tell, and still feels raw and surreal. The incident only happened seven days ago, and not all of the facts have emerged. Some reports are vague, others misleading and there are final parts of the event still to happen. But there are still actions that are needed from me and my family to keep things together for others. I will need to give more thought into that post, than opposed to my usual writing style.

One is a thing I am super excited about, but still completely scared of once again.

The final one will deal with another unexpected loss. However this time to someone I have never met, but whose influence had a huge impact. The way in which this individual died has triggered feelings in me which have caused me to reflect and be saddened by.

Once again, I hope that by writing these blogs, I can feel a sense of release. I feel annoyed at myself for only having this outlet. But it has helped in the past, hopefully it helps again.

I am not….

As we rapidly approach 11/11 - Remembrance Day, I have been filled with pride and passion in seeing the veterans, cadets, serving soldiers and volunteers giving their time to participate in raising funds for this year’s Poppy appeal.

Remembrance day and the Poppy Appeal, is where we remember, pay our respects and reflect on those brave individuals who have paid the ultimate sacrifice for our country and the commonwealth, and those who are currently serving for our forces in present day.

The date is significant as it marks the end of the fighting in the First World War, which ended on the 11^th hour, of the 11^th day, of the 11^th month of the year 1918. 

On the closest Sunday to November 11^th, as Brits we are familiar with the Queen, the other members of the Royal family, politicians, religious leaders and dignitaries from around the globe coming together to remember & participate in the laying of wreaths, observing the 'Last Post' and taking part the two minutes silence.

But always more moving for me, was seeing the veterans of the World Wars marching in their thousands past the cenotaph and saluting the tomb of the unknown soldier. It was something I watched every year, and continue to be totally in awe of these men and women, of the greatest generation, who were prepared to give their today’s, so that we could have our tomorrows.

As the years rolled on, the men of WW1 died out, and now we see smaller numbers of WW2 survivors marching. Alongside the WW2 survivors, we see younger veterans and serving soldiers, which is a stark reminder that men are dying today fighting for our country.

I had observed in recent years, that in my opinion, the number of poppies visible on my fellow commuters had dwindled. This may have been a misconception on my behalf, and not reflect the actual trends within the country, but on my commute, I was disappointed that so many were either too busy to buy a poppy, or too ignorant to what that time of the year represents.

However it seems that people are again taking the time to donate, to buy a poppy, to wear that poppy with pride, and remember and honour those brave men and women who have passed before us.

I think part of this is due to the ceramic poppy installation at The Tower of London in 2014, which raised huge sums for various charities, and helped bring the meaning of the Poppy appeal back to the forefront of our minds at this time of year.

The installation at the iconic London landmark was hugely poignant and significant, as it marked 100 years since the first full day of our involvement in WW1. Each poppy was carefully planted to honour each individual of the over eight hundred and eighty thousand fatalities in that world war. It became a place to see, a new attraction in London, and a place to reflect on what those men and their families went through all those years ago. It certainly seems to had a huge effect in the following years.

However, over the recent years, there seems to have been an inevitable backlash and furore about the Poppy in some way.

 In 2013, a television newsreader decided to go against trend of most other people on television, and not wear a poppy, which caused a storm of controversy and heated discussion. 
In 2015, it was the leader of the opposition, Jeremy Corbyn, wearing a white poppy, to represent his pacifism. 

This year, it  is the global football organisation FIFA, stating that the kits worn by the England and Scotland national football teams in the upcoming match, scheduled for Nov 11^th, must not have the poppy on display. This caused outrage, and was discussed in Parliament, with the Football Association’s for both nations deciding to go against FIFAs ruling, and to wear a commemorative black armband with the poppy emblem visible as a mark of respect.

Last year, when the alarm rang in my previous job, to mark the start of the two minutes silence, I was enraged with anger at those around me. Two minutes of your time, at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month. To stop what you are doing, keep quiet, reflect, and show your respect. It shouldn't too much to ask? In my opinion that is the least we should be doing. That day made me so disappointed in other people. I would say only about 1 in 5 people on my commute wore a poppy. And in my office, when the PA system announced the start of the silence, so many people kept on working, typing away on the keyboard. It was just two measly minutes of the day to remember all of those people who paid the ultimate sacrifice, and people couldn't stop what they were doing. It pissed me off.

I have grown up respecting and wearing my poppy with pride. I will teach that trait to my son, I will teach him about the strength and courage, felt by those under circumstances we can only imagine. I hope that he will share my views on remembering those who paid the ultimate sacrifice to allow us to live the way that we do today. 

Recently, there have been arguments that true meaning of the poppy has been forgotten. That instead of remembering The First and Second World Wars, we are honouring those killed in combats which have not been universally popular, which have been opposed to by thousands of people, and for modern conflicts which we as a nation have taken upon ourselves to get involved in. But for me the political arguments need to be put aside. Whether we should be fighting these wars is a completely different topic for me. What the poppy symbolises is an opportunity to simply say "thank you" to the brave people who do not pick where they are sent to fight, they are simply doing what they are paid (not enough by the way) to do, in service of their country.

On social media I saw a poem regarding the poppy that I hadn’t seen before, and it sums up exactly how I feel. Apparently it was written in a space of a few minutes, by man whilst his wife watched The X Factor. I couldn't find the author's name, but my respect goes out to you Sir. It appeals to me as it sums up what it means to me. The poppy isn't to glorify war or to segregate races, it is a way to acknowledge the sacrifice, to ensure that we are not allowed to forget the lessons learned, or let those memories to fade.

I am not a badge of honour,

I am not a racist smear,

I am not a fashion statement,

To be worn but once a year,

I am not glorification

Of conflict or of war.

I am not a paper ornament

A token,

I am more.

I am a loving memory,

Of a father or a son,

A permanent reminder

Of each and every one.

I'm paper or enamel

I'm old or shining new,

I'm a way of saying thank you,

To every one of you.

I am a simple poppy

A Reminder to you all,

That courage faith and honour,

Will stand where heroes fall.

What the great generations gave us is nothing short of amazing. I cannot begin to fathom what the soldiers and every day people went through during the war years. 

I for one will always wear the poppy with pride, and I can't understand those who want to live in this country and not back the Poppy appeal. Desecration of wreaths and poppies by extremists should not be tolerated, and I hope that the due respect is paid this year.

Of course not everyone wants to wear a poppy, for whatever reason. Some say that the Poppy is no longer doing what it was designed to do, and is being used for political statements. I even saw an article today, which made my blood boil, claiming the Poppy is now a symbol of racism. 

Everyone nowadays has a choice, and with social media they have a place to voice that opinion. Just as I am doing with my blog.   But having that choice is something our generation fully take for granted. Many many men from the two world wars did not have a choice. And that is a huge part of what we are remembering leading up to and an on November 11th. In my opinion, an individual's choice to NOT wear a poppy, is a far bigger political statement by that individual, compared to the people who will be wearing a poppy at this time of year.

Over 100 years may have passed since the commencement of the First World War, and our troops are in various places at harms risk at present. Thank you for the thankless task that you are undertaking. I will wear my poppy to pay respects for any sacrifice from any conflict.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them.

Lest we forget.

http://www.britishlegion.org.uk/

The dust has settled and tears have dried...

Before I start, please proceed with caution reading this if you are one of the few people who are yet to see The Walking Dead Season 7 Episode 1.

In this post, I will avoid naming names and spoiling the episode. However, I don’t think there are people of the social media generation who have managed to avoid the spoilers. They are everywhere, and it is infuriating. But if you are one of these people, and have avoided the spoilers and yet you call yourself a fan of The Walking Dead, then WTF?!?!? How have you not seen the episode yet!??!

Ok so here goes... Warning over…

Under usual circumstances, we do not get the new episode of The Walking Dead here in the UK, until the day after it premieres in the US.

However such was the nature of the cliff-hanger at the end of Season 6, the executives at FOX decided to air the Premiere of Season 7 at 0230 on Monday morning– so it would air at the same time as it was broadcast in the US. The same strategy employed by the team at SKY regarding Game of Thrones.

I went to bed on Sunday evening, feeling like a kid on Christmas Eve. I knew that when I awoke, there would be a present for me, sitting on my PVR planner, delivered overnight by the Santa like people at FOX (AMC in the US).

I personally knew that I could not take the risk of seeing a spoiler, so decided set my PVR to record the 0230 transmission, and set my alarm to wake me up early on Monday morning to watch the episode at 5am, before my partner and baby wake up, and before I needed to start getting ready for work. I knew that someone on social media or a news outlet would have posted something, and I wasn’t going to let the agonising six month wait that was almost over, be ruined by someone else.

In the week leading up to the premiere, there had been prominent marketing from the channel and programming itself about fans not spoiling the episode for other fans, unfortunately this wasn't hugely successful, as once fans had seen the show, their initial reaction was to flood social media outlets with their views, and to communicate their emotions with like minded people. It is inevitable and impossible to police.

I was up before the sunrise, settled in my comfy clothes, ready and waiting with anticipation for what was about to come. We already knew something BIG was going to happen. We had seen it from that characters point of view six months ago. But the question was who?

Soon the question we had been agonising over, the question which had led to the creation of hundreds of YouTube theory videos, the question we had been discussing on social media and talking about with friends and loved ones had been answered.

We knew the identity of Negan’s victim.

The Walking Dead was back in all of its gory ultra-violent glory, and was back with a huge bang. Well more than one bang. More like repetitive strikes of Negan’s barbed wire wrapped baseball bat named Lucille.

The dust has settled, tears have dried and the realisation of what I witnessed has sunken in. Opinions have been formed, reaction videos uploaded, online & print reviews posted and verbal discussions have occurred all over the world. But for the majority, the line between real life and TV has been crossed. As a viewer we, our main group of protagonists suffered hugely in this episode. So much so, that the show will have a completely new direction after this episode.

Personally, I felt a sense of bereavement and grief at watching this episode, as if it was somebody that I knew who had passed away, and not just a fictional character in long running television series about surviving in a zombie apocalypse. I had invested years of my life in supporting this group. So what happened really hit me hard.

The reviews of this episode have been mixed. Some fans have loved it for twisting the narrative, for breaking the character of Rick Grimes, and leaving the show with a new avenue to travel down in season 7. Others fans were left disgusted at the level of gore and violence, labelling the episode as “torture porn masquerading as storytelling”

I guess it depends on how you see your level of association with the programme. Super fans will have loved it, and every day casual fans may have been totally turned off. If you had viewed from the start, you will have seen the group’s struggles gain in intensity over the seasons, and the same can be said for the violence and suffering that they have suffered and imparted as the seasons have progressed. Some people have stated on social media that they will no longer watch the show. In my view this is just ridiculous. If you have invested years into something as graphic as TWD, then although this episode was shocking, it is not beyond the realms of what this show has been capable of. We have seen beheadings a plenty, a son killing his mother, a crossbow arrow to the eye, torture and cannibalism to mention just a few shock factor moments.

Such is the contrast of the critiques, that that the governing body who regulate what can or can’t go on television here in the UK, OFCOM, received complaints after people viewed the 0230 transmission, which lead to FOX having to make minor edits to the 2100 screening, to make it more compliant with the regulations. 

One of these edits appeared to remove one character's very poignant last words to another character, which led to confusion, as that particular line "I'll find you" was discussed in the talk show Talking Dead which airs immediately after the 9pm showing on FOX UK.

Although left depressed and in a mood of reflection after this episode, in my opinion it did everything that I wanted it to. I found out who the victim was after a long six months, I was left jaw wide open at certain things which happened, and I cannot wait to see how this season progresses from here.

I was in awe of some of the acting performances in this episode, notably Jeffrey Dean Morgan as Negan, and Andrew Lincoln as Rick. The way  they played their interactions was exactly what was needed, and completley believable. Notable mention to Lauren Cohen as Maggie, expressed what everyone at home was feeling. 

The episode is on track to be the highest performing show ever on FOX UK, and after spending three years working for the channel, I am delighted that they are receiving figures like that. The show continues to grow in the UK, with a 59% increase on viewing figures from the opening episode of season 6. Amazing numbers for a channel such as FOX, and a great place for advertisers to align themselves.

The Walking Dead airs on FOX UK @ 9pm on Mondays. – Not sure if they will continue to simulcast with the US for future episodes.

The Disconnect Between Action and Consequence..

Every day, unknowingly, our actions affect other people. Mostly they are unintentional, mundane actions, but the action of the individual, more than often, has an impact on someone else.

There are certain types of people in the world who I encounter on a daily basis, who drive me slightly crazy with their actions. They probably get on your nerves too. From the unwitting tourist in London, who doesn’t know which side of the escalator to stand on and makes everyone stop in their tracks, and the charity volunteer with a clipboard trying to get us to sign up to something. How about the nuisance cold sales calls we didn't ask for? Not forgetting the people who walk along the train platform with their smart phone in their hand getting in everyone’s way and slowing everyone down. Or the person who knocks into you at the bar, spilling your drink and not apologising? These actions affect us and can easily blow up out of all proportion if someone involved is a certain type of person.

But much worse than those people you encounter with unintentional actions, are the people who think they are above everyone around them, and the laws of the land. These people do not give a shit about their actions. They are the ones that make my blood boil. We have all encountered these people in our lives. And in my opinion, there seems to be a plague of these types of people in our society. The type of people who do not think twice about breaking the law, attacking people, committing crime, sexually assaulting someone, just because they think they can get away with it.

Last weekend, a young man, Oliver Dearlove, was killed in Blackheath, London,  as he waited for a taxi with friends after a night out. 

He was killed after being punched just once, by a man who quickly exited the scene. A man who thought he could punch someone and get away with it. However instead of just assaulting someone, the attacker killed him.

Police in Blackheath after the attack

In my opinion, the attacker is synonymous with an alpha male type of knuckle dragger mentality. A culture within a generation of men not really giving a f**k about the consequences of their individual actions. The type of person who is desperate to be feared, and respected amongst his peers. The type of person who swaggers around with bravado and an attitude of not giving a shit. The sense in his life that he is untouchable. I cant stand these types of people.

 

For whatever reason, the attacker found it acceptable to punch the victim, not caring for the implications that single punch would have. Sure, his argument in court will be that he didn’t mean to kill the victim. But he still thought that he could punch an innocent person and get away with it. 

 

Earlier today, a 31year old man was charged with murder. The accused pleaded 'Not Guilty' to the charge, on the basis that he did not intend to kill or cause serious injury to the victim. It makes you wonder how many other people has he attacked over the years, who haven’t ended up losing their life? We just don’t know. What we do know, is that the accused’s brother is serving life in prison for brutally murdering someone over ten years ago. It indicates to me, that if guilty, the accused comes from a background where violence is common, and there is no fear for the consequence of your actions.

What drove the attacker to do this is unclear, but there was a clear disconnect about his action, the consequences, and the implication that could have on so many people. Part of the problem in my view, is just how slack our judicial service is. There is no real deterrent for crimes in this country, as the courts are simply too soft. We offer ridiculously small jail sentences for awful acts of crime or violence. In my opinion prison is supposed to be hard time. It should be a hell on earth. It should be there to scare people into not wanting to commit crimes and violence. Also in my opinion, a life sentence should be mandatory for anyone who kills another in an act of violence. Even if the attackers intent wasn’t to kill, he did just that. Kill. Therefore life imprisonment is what the verdict should be if found guilty.

Assaults and fights are far too common in our society. Go to any town or city in the UK and there will be something for emergency services to handle. A fight could easily lead to far worse than intended, which makes you question, is it actually worth it?

The implications of the attack were not on the attackers mind at the time, and who knows why he decided to attack Mr Dearlove’s group that night? But the attack would have huge implications. And not only on the victim, but his family, his friends, his colleagues, the emergency services, medical staff and passers- by who tried to save him, and other people in the local community left completely horrified by the nature of the attack. 

The outpouring of emotion and heartbreak has spread far and wide in the local community, with the shock of what has happened to someone who was known and loved by so many people. He was in a good career, with a loving partner who he was planning his future with. He had a large loving family and had recently become an uncle twice to two baby boys.  He was living his life the right way. And now he is no longer with us. His parents have lost their son, siblings lost their brother, partner lost her boyfriend and nephews and nieces have lost their uncle and so on... All because, one man, decided to punch another man in a senseless, needless and tragic attack.

I was heartbroken when I realised who the victim was, the step brother of an old friend of mine. I cant begin to imagine what he and his family are going through. To everyone who knew and loved Oliver Dearlove, my deepest condolences and thoughts are with you. I can only hope that you can be there for one another and get through the tough times ahead.

I sincerely hope that there will be justice for this attack.

RIP Oliver Dearlove - gone far too soon.