Of Paris and Pain

I haven't seen as much of the Olympics as I would have liked to. Yet again, working full-time and having a young family has scuppered my chances of losing myself in a viewing orgy of sporting excellence. I'm not complaining though - I like being busy at work (despite moaning about it every time it starts ramping up) and spending time with my sons in the evening is just a joy. But I do miss that feeling that comes, once every four years, from suddenly being captivated by a judo match between unknown people from Belgium and Ghana, or from watching a sport I don't understand being played by people in weird outfits and then finding myself arbitrarily rooting for one of them.  It's such fun to get temporarily obsessed about something you would normally not even acknowledge the existence of and then learn lots of the key terms needed to sound conversant in it and then forget about it completely days later. It really is one of the delights of The Games.

In other news I seem to be escaping the latest wave of Covid, but I do have an unpleasant pain in an unspecified part of my right shoulder. It only seems to affect me when I'm turning to look behind me, so it's not a huge issue but has made reversing in the car quite interesting. Probably best if I don't drive for a while until it settles down. Probably...

Sorry the whole 'Poem Every Day Until The End Of July' thing didn't pan out, but I imagine you're more than used to me disappointing you by promising something in this blogspace and then not delivering on it. I'm nothing if not reliable in my unreliability.

RC 31-7-24

The sea could be the answer

I had a swim today and it made me feel glorious. All the pent-up anger, frustration, dismay, despair and depression seemed to be washed off me by the cold waves and I emerged from the sea a new man. I still have the same tired, middle-aged look about me physically, but at least I feel a bit better inside.
I do have a very slight sore throat, which is a bit concerning bearing in mind the high levels of Covid in our workplace, but I'm just putting that down to a reaction to the cold sea and therefore resisting the urge to take a lateral flow test...

RC 30-7-24

Unfun

Work is barrelling along at the pace it usually does during school holidays - which is to say, flat out - and the fun has been added to by a cute little outbreak of Covid that has affected some of our kitchen team. So we have hundreds of visitors being catered for by a combination of inexperienced teenagers and agency staff. We've gone with a limited menu and chosen not to reveal to everyone what is going on behind the scenes. The last thing I want is rumours of a plague infestation or bad online reviews criticising us for something that is basically everywhere anyway at the moment and is pretty much unpreventable.
I am 100% expecting to go down with it myself. It would fit in so well with the way things have been going recently. I've been run down, depressed and lethargic for weeks, I may as well top it off with a little spell of Covid.

At least we're having a brief burst of Summer to keep my mood higher than it might be.

RC 29-7-24

Olympics Poem (sort of)

Five rings.
Four years.
Three Medals.
Two weeks.
One extravaganza.

RC 28-7-24

The Tom Daley of the Blog World

This is the FIFTH Olympic Games that have happened since I started this blogsite. Just think about that for a few seconds - a global event that takes place every four years is now happening for the FIFTH time since the birth of The Chesworth Chronicles. I think I have finally disproved the opinion of my old teacher, Mr Turner, who said 'You strike me as someone who will never be able to stick at anything.'

I only caught the last hour or so of the Opening Ceremony last night. They tend to be over-blown, long-winded affairs and I got the impression that this was no different. If I had to give the past number of ceremonies a one-word review, and had to use a word that encapsulated thoroughly the whole evening's extravaganza, I might say the following:
'Dignity' for Seoul 1988
'Colourful' for Barcelona '92
'Commercial' for Atlanta '96
'Inspiring' for Sydney 2000
'Historic' for Athens '04
'Overwrought' for Beijing '08
'Breathtaking' for London 2012
'Crazy' for Rio '16
'Sombre' for Tokyo '20/'21
And my word for Paris '24 would be "WET".
I don't think it stopped pouring from Minute One to Minute Nine Thousand (or however long the bloody thing went on for).

I have to say, though, that the 'floating cauldron' thing is a wonderful idea. Having the Olympic Flame suspended below a hot-air balloon, 30 metres over Paris, is an original and awe-inspiring concept. I'm amazed the bloody thing didn't go out last night though. It was like watching a Bank Holiday Monday in Britain. It rained A LOT.

RC 27-7-24

Lover's Lament part 2 (July '24 poem 4)

How many confrontations before a good thing breaks?
How many times of being told that I have made mistakes?
How many wasted weekends? Trying; making worse.
How much do I put up with, before I put 'me' first?
How many failed apologies, delivered incorrect?
How many past progressions that I'm forced to now regret?
How many empty promises, and disenchanted dreams?
How much hope extinguished when 'it's darker than it seems'?
How many accusations fly before I just give up?
How much of this is in my mind and how much adding up?
How much maladjustment, to fit a partner's way?
How much do I want to go? Or do I want to stay????

RC 25-7-24

A boiling egg (July '24 poem 3)

Everything simmers.
Beneath a tumultuous surface,
energy bubbles and rises.
Thoughts burn and evaporate.
And, incessant, the temperature climbs.

RC 24-7-24

On reflection...

I am getting fed up with my mind being filled with thoughts about my marriage, but as it keeps happening, I may as well write about it here to try and get it out.
I think I'm just fed up with feeling fed up, and sick of being in an atmosphere that is seemingly designed to make me doubt myself and feel like an inconvenient partner. I know I'm as much at fault as Philippa is, and I know she is not deliberately setting out to make me feel bad (and the same is true the other way round, I assure you), but I just drive away from home with the impression that I haven't done anything right for about six weeks, and that it's unlikely I'll do anything right in the near future. Everything I do is questioned and every move I make is criticised and every word I utter is heard in a different way to the one I intended. I speak clearly, and slowly, and I think things through before I open my mouth, and there still seems to be a misinterpretation, which is then my fault for being a bad communicator. And if I stay silent, I am being distant.
God, I thought the 'awkward relationships' stage had ended when I left university. I thought maturity and experience would lead to an easier path with partners, but maybe I was mistaken. After more than a decade with my wife, and despite being in my forties, I still seem incapable of maintaining balance and stability with an 'emotional attachment' (as my Gran used to call them).
I wonder, in a way I just didn't think would be possible since meeting Philippa, whether I would just be better off on my own, dealing with my own foibles without forcing someone else to have to live with them. That may sound a bit extreme, but I do feel increasingly isolated in my own home and I'm starting to think that Philippa is starting to think that her life would be much easier without me. And I'm starting to think I might agree with her.

Anyway - I'll get back to the poems tomorrow, and I'll try not to make them depressing.

RC 23-7-24

Time to take a break?

I'll forego the poetry onslaught today, if you don't mind. My brain is rather troubled and I need to empty it out here, because - you know - I don't really have any friends I can do that with. Except Philippa, and unfortunately this one is about her.
We still seem to be having massive issues at home, within our relationship. I know this can happen when there are young children involved - I've seen it show up in other parents that we know - but this feels a bit more than that. It's not just that we haven't been able to spend as much time together because we have the little ones, it's that we don't seem to enjoy that time when we do have it. It's like we have different ideas about how we should spend our 'down time' and they're not particularly compatible. So we end up in a situation where one of us is grumpy or we're both doing something we're not happy with.
And it's really, really hard.
I'm not sure what I can do to make her smile anymore, and I'm scared of saying anything unless I say it wrong. So in the end, we fall back on the safe ground of talking about the boys, but then it becomes a practical parenting conversation, not a leisurely chat between partners. And a few things have come up recently on the parenting front that we don't agree on, so that just fuels an already smouldering can of worms. (if you see what I mean). So at the moment, for probably the first time I can ever remember, I feel much more relaxed at work than I do at home, and that is not a nice position to be in.

RC 22-7-24

Seaside Sunday (July '24 poem 3)

Heat haze dances on a sandy beach.
Visitors splash in the sultry surf, forgetting worklife woes.
The salty air replenishes.
Children dip toes in sea; bury feet in sand; construct castles.
An air of joy abounds.
Tides rise and fall as the meaningless hours drift unchecked.
Scents of a barbecue waft along the shoreline.
Tired bodies shelter in the arms of parents.
Evening plans give way to deep reflection.
Sunset kisses the shimmering water.
A day has ended; lives have been improved.

RC 21-7-24

Lover's Lament (July '24 poem 2)

Your lips had kissed a thousand lips before they brushed with mine.
You'd tasted every apple as you searched for love divine.
Your hands had held a thousand hands before our fingers met.
You walked a thousand avenues that now I can't forget.
I wonder if you think of them as we are locked as one.
I wonder if comparisons have flowed since we begun.
I wonder if you muse on them when lain with me at night.
I wonder if it matters? And if not, why do I write?

RC 20-7-24

July '24 poem 1

Life is a door.
A series of doors.
We knock, and patiently wait.
Hoping for someone to answer.
We speculate.
And ruminate.
We guess who is waiting on the other side.
Are they tall, wide, wacky or wonderful?
Will they be kind, carefree, 'right', 'the one'?
We wonder upon the colours of the carpet.
The freshness of the paint on the walls.
The decor.
Will the air be clear and cleaner?
Will brighter light beam through spotless windows?
We imagine, infer and ideate.
We gently reach for the handle.
Knowing the action is right.
Knowing our life will get better.
From the simple changing of scenery.
Then we lower our hands.
And walk away.

RC 19-7-24
2020 BST

3,500 then ground to a halt

Been another tough week for me, physically. Been feeling very run-down and under the weather, without really having anything turn out or anything seemingly diagnosable. I'm starting to think that maybe the US Secret Service read my post on Sunday and put something in my cup of tea. Maybe I was getting close to the truth, so they're trying to take me out.
Or maybe I'm just tired because I work full-time and have two young children. Maybe it's that.
Anyway, I've been thinking about what I can do for a new blog challenge, to provoke me to write more often. I could, if I wish, have another year where I post a different number of blogs every month... Noticed today that it's happened by accident so far, so why not push on and try and keep it going throughout 2024? Be nice to get to the end of December and feel like I've actually achieved something...
But then I remembered that July last year was my 'Poetry' month, so I've just decided to relive that again. Maybe make it an annual event. So for the rest of this month I'll be concentrating on publishing poem's for you...
Such as this one - (a little taster):

DO NOT WASTE YOUR TIME ON DREAMS
WAKE UP, AND TAKE LIFE AS IT SEEMS

RC 19-7-24

Conspiracy theory ahoy!

Donald Trump was 'shot' last night at a Presidential rally.
But maybe, just maybe, it was a very clever set-up. Maybe no bullets were ever going to get near him. Maybe he ducked once the shots were fired, and nicked his own ear to make it bleed, to garner support and try to win the election from a 'Hero' position. Maybe it had all been planned.
Apologies if that sounds insensitive and insane, and I know my imagination is weird sometimes, but nothing would surprise me with America and Trump right now. I think it's a sad sign of my cynical state of mind that I just don't believe he was that lucky and got away with it that closely. A few millimetres away from having his head blown off? The shooter was that close but not quite close enough? It just all seems rather suspicious to me.
I'll soon apologise if I'm wrong, but right now I feel like it smells of something sinister.

RC 14-7-24
1530 BST

CCCD

Finally, I get round to writing my 3,500th blog posting...
I've been round and round the houses with this one, editing and altering and determined to produce something truly memorable. In the end, after days of deliberation, I decided to throw out my notes and drafts and just type something from the heart.
I have no idea if anyone else has ever got anything worthwhile from this blogsite, but it's certainly done me good to have written it. I've been through some very difficult times over the past 15 years or so - as we all have - and being able to reflect on it all here has been very useful therapy. If memory serves me correctly, I think I started all this when I was still living with my mum and both my sisters, and my dear old cat, Gerald. That all feels like a lifetime ago. Hell, I've even created new lifetimes since then!
So it's been quite a journey, and I thank you for taking it with me.

RC 14-7-24

Catching Up, and Milestone Eve

My plan for the next 48 hours is to watch the Glastonbury highlights from last weekend. I couldn't get into it due to other things, so I'm having my own 'delayed Glasto festival' today and tomorrow.

In other (big) news - my next blog posting will be number 3,500. I need to let that sink in a little bit after writing it. Since I started this blog back in God-knows-when, I have written (including this one) 3,499 missives. That seems incredible to me, and I am wondering whether I dreamt the whole thing and I'm about to wake up and I'll be back in my mid-twenties, overweight, confused and bewildered.
I feel I should mark the occasion with a special, specialist, long-form burst of creative scribbling for you, but I can't guarantee that will happen. It's just as likely to be a stupid poem, or a rant about the price of teabags or something equally as inane; (which I suppose would be appropriate as it would be in keeping with my other myopic, meandering musings in the history of this blogsite.)
3,500 though. Jesus....

RC 6-7-24

It doesn't really matter...

I am very proud to report that, as of this moment, I still have no clue about any of the results from yesterday's UK General Election. I had avoided the whole build-up, I had avoided the whole debating procedure in the workplace, and now I have avoided any of the coverage of the past 24 hours. I imagine I am very much in a minority with all that, but I would argue that my mental health and my general sense of wellbeing will be in a much better state than most of the rest of the country today as a result.
So, you can take your 'informed viewpoint' and your 'educated decision' and your illusion of democracy, and I shall keep my low blood pressure, sense of calm, and well-groomed political cynicism, thank you.

In other news - because, believe it or not, there is still stuff going on in the world that DOESN'T ultimately involve No.10 Downing Street - I have had a couple of meetings this week about Christmas entertainment! It looks like we'll be busy right over the December period again, and Gavin seems obsessed with turning us into a big destination for families who have spare money to spend on Yuletide holidays, so I'm having to book in some extra acts before they all get snapped up. Otherwise we'll end up paying extortionate amounts, or getting crap entertainment that no-one else wants, or both in the same package. It's a bit upsetting, though, to be discussing this stuff when I'm still waiting for Summer to kick in properly. And it also means a possibly busy time at the end of the year, instead of getting a chance to enjoy a family Christmas, but we'll see how it all pans out.

I must be tired, by the way - it just took me about an hour to work out how to spell EXTORTIONATE before I finally realised that I was using an N instead of the second T. Honestly, sometimes I wonder whether I ever paid attention at school at all....

RC 5-7-24

Another rant?

Just for a giggle, I decided to enable 'Smart Predictive Text' on my mobile phone today, and I'm not sure the word 'Smart' is being used appropriately or forgivably. I was typing out a paragraph to Philippa and it literally got NONE of the words correct that I was aiming for. The whole thing was a shambles, but the best of the bunch was when I clearly slid my finger over the letters to spell out the word TOMORROW and the word that appeared on my screen was TINNITUS, which made no sense in any way and wasn't even close to what I'd swiped over. So I deleted that word and tried again, placing my finger precisely on the centre of the letter 'T' and then carefully tracing a path over the letters O-M-O-R-R-O-W in the correct order, and this time the word that appeared on the screen was GONORRHOEA.
So thank you, Samsung, because it's really useful for my troubled marriage if I start sending my wife messages that inadvertently bring STIs into the equation.

RC 4-7-24

Move out or move on?

I stumbled across a 'List of Possible Baby Names' in a notepad in the kitchen this morning and it has really pissed me off; probably far more than it should have...
Philippa knows my views on that whole scenario, and I thought we had left it behind us for now, and yet here she is, musing away on what Junior No.3 might be called. I'm really not happy about it, especially when one of the names on the list is 'Bentley'.
Anyway, I am being a grown-up about it and pretending I haven't seen it.

RC 3-7-24

July then...

I almost feel like the year is already coming to a screaming end and I need to be prepared for Winter depression and buying a new calendar. I think it's because the cold weather lasted SO long, and now seems to have returned after a brief (all too brief!) spell of Summer. The lingering SAD was still lingering and has now reared its head again, at the very time it should feel like both a distant memory and a future inconvenience. Right now I'm tempted to book a doctor's appointment for October ready to beg him for antidepressants.
My mind, as my wife so frequently points out to me, really is a very strange thing to have to deal with.  Fascinating, in its own way, but also rather annoying and at times rather debilitating. I can have days on end where I can do all sorts of things and they're all good and I can cope with being a busy manager and a father to energetic boys and it's all rosy. Then, other times, I can barely get my keys in my car without criticising myself for my efforts.
And, as much as it pains me to say it, and as much as my wife refuses to acknowledge the evidence, a large part of that is determined by the weather. Bright days lead to a bright mood; a full garden leads to a full heart; and warm air leads to a warm disposition. And conversely, darkness breeds darkness; cold breeds cold and stark views around us lead to stark thoughts within us; and I know I'm not alone in that truth.

RC 2-7-24

Still so sore

I was hoping the sunburn might alleviate after another 24 hours, but apparently not. I tried to blame Philippa, saying that as my wife she should have taken more responsibility for keeping me safe, but she loudly pointed out that I'm in my forties now and really should know how to look after myself, and also that she has two young boys to tend to, and is sick of having 'a third in adult form'. She also responded to my 'Let's Move Abroad' plan by telling me firmly that 'unlike me' she has friends and family that she's interested in and who care about her and that she has no intention of leaving them behind, and that I am welcome to 'swan off to Swaziland or wherever' on my own as that may well make her life infinitely easier.
I thought our recent times of difficulty were over, but apparently not...

RC 1-7-24