Dancing in the rain.

I have a few things in life that I enjoy immensely but for no particular rhyme nor reason. They are things that give me pleasure instantly but I could not pin down exactly what it is that I find so pleasing.

There is a French word or saying that probably sums it up, joie de vivre, it means a delight in being alive; keen, carefree enjoyment of living.

Funnily enough all three things involve walking.



1. Walking in the rain or a thunderstorm
2. Walking at night
3. Walking down the middle of a deserted road



Give me all three of these things at the same time and I am in heaven.



There is something very special about being out for a walk in the rain, especially on a nice summers evening. Having spent the day being kissed by the warmth of the sun, when the air is still balmy and heavy, the smell of a BBQ still lingering on a gentle breeze and the sounds of children playing in a secluded garden, then out of nowhere you feel a few drops of rain, you instinctively look for the source, somebody watering the garden maybe, a child with a water pistol but nothing, you disregard it and carry on your way, then again, a few steps later another drop lands on your arm, warm and yet cooling to the skin at the same time. You look up and see a few odd puffs of cloud, an ever so slightly grey cloud looking somewhat out of place lurking amongst the others; you look down and see signs of drops of water on the parched floor instantly dried and absorbed.

You take in a deep breath through your nose and you can smell the water in the air, that fresh smell you only seem to get on days like this, almost as if the air itself is being washed clean as the rain falls. A few drops turns into a light shower, your body welcomes the release from the harsh summers sun, the hairs on your arms stand on end as your skin tingles from the earlier exposure to the strong suns rays. You stand in the open air, look up at the vast expanse of sky, your arms held out to your sides, palms facing upwards, you let your head drop backwards, close your eyes and open your mouth as the cooling drops of rain splash upon your face. You open your eyes as you feel a droplet land on your dry lips, your tongue tastes the clarity of the virgin water, another drop catches in your eye lashes making you blink. You stand in the cooling shower as your light summer clothes start to cling against your body, the small shower droplets start turning into fat dollops of rain drumming against leaves and the heavy dry soil.



A skip in your step now, you carry on your way, in no hurry, the rain is pleasing to your tiring body. With almost a dance you progress, on tip toes springing from paving slab to paving slab avoiding the cracks as the orchestral rain drums out its rhythm, every now and then catching the droplets on your tongue as they collect and fall from your brow. Watching as a young female blackbird baths herself in one of the many forming puddles, water beading against her feathers as she shuffles and shakes, preening herself. The musical tones of rain upon leaf climbs as a rumble of thunder forms on some distant hill side, the sky darkens and the rain pauses for a second as if to take breath, the now grey blue sky flashes with electricity highlighting the forming clouds overhead, a second rumble followed in quick succession by further flashes of light and power announce the brewing storm. And then still, the air feels electric, for a few seconds everything slows, just the sound of your breath and the gentle thump of your heart, you fill your chest with air, tasting the foreboding power in the air, your chest heaves as a fork of lightning flashes in the distance stretching out across the darkened skies, its fingers reaching out into the forming clouds as if to ignite them into life once more, a sudden clap of thunder rattles your very bones and then the rain resumes, heavier now than before it begins to fall once more. The summer light retreats from the threatening clouds as day turns into night, the earth lays still, hidden, as an animal might try to escape its predator, cowering in the darkness, hardly breathing waiting in some dark hole for the threat to pass it by. You feel like the only thing living as the threat prowls about you looking for its quarry. The streets are empty now; you step out into the deserted road and walk the centre. With every step a rebellious surge ignites your inner soul, as the shadowy hunter thunders about you, calling out to you in a display of might and ferocity, you stand tall and proud, defiant against its power and strength. His breath upon your cheek, your invisible foe stalks your every move. Walking the deserted tarmac you turn and watch for your antagonist as he lights up the ever darkening, brooding sky. Your senses heightened to every sound and movement as an indignant Mother Nature puts on a magnificent display in front of you, the rest of the world seems to have stood still as you walk along the road, you can almost sense the rotation of the earth beneath each foot fall.
In the chaos of the storm you find peace.





Nope. I can’t think of a single reason why I like it so…

A Fathers Love

With Fathers day soon approaching my heart strings are being plucked. I always thought that at some stage in my lifes journey I would have children; I have always wanted them and kinda thought that I would make a good father. I have always had a good relationship with my friends kids and my god daughter, I think the trick is that I don’t treat them as children, just small people, like minded people who like nothing more than sitting on the carpet playing games, exploring woods or playing in the local park. I love nothing more than pushing all my worldly concerns to one side for a few hours or better still a day or two and playing. When I go to see my God daughter and her sister that is exactly what I do, within minutes of arriving I am being dragged into the lounge and am presented with an array of games pre-chosen for when Uncle Identity comes to visit. With scarcely enough time to exchange greetings with my adult friends and parents to the two most beautiful girls in the world I am on the carpet and in a make believe world of fantasy and fiction played out by various dolls and figurines, we are putting jigsaw puzzles together, playing guessing games, board games, drawing or reading stories together which I think is probably the thing I love most of all, a weekend just gone I was sat on the sofa with one of the girls either side of me, my arms around them holding the book in front of us, (so that we could all see the pictures of course) and we all read together, taking it in turns to read stories to each other.
I had the opportunity not so long ago to take the two girls to one of these adventure playground things. You know the type of place, huge climbing frames covered in brightly coloured padding and foam, climbing nets, ropes and pits full of a collection of plastic balls with more colours than a rainbow. On arrival all our shoes were discarded and we let loose, all three of us charging around without a care in the world, albeit I was a bit slower and redder in the face, before too long I was like The Pied Piper of Hamelin and I had a multitude of children playing with us whilst their parents either watched from the sidelines or relaxed in the café.
I will never forget the time I had spent the day playing and I was getting ready to leave and the youngest girl came up to me as I put on my leather motorbike trousers, she tugged on my trousers, looked up at me and said “Don’t go” at which point my heart just melted, she then proceeded to wrap herself around my leg and there she stayed as I walked about gathering my things trying desperately not to burst into uncontrollable tears.
I love it, more than I am able to express in words alone.

Can anyone truly know the meaning of life without first helping to create it?

According to scientists they believe that men as well as women have a biological clock, and why wouldn’t they? Yes it is the woman that carries the baby for nine months and quite possibly has a connection that maybe man might not be fully appreciative off, but, and this is something that should be remembered by some people, it does take two. A child is a gift to both the mother and the father, not a possession to be fought over. According to the scientists who conducted the study a mans biological clock starts ticking in his mid thirties, which means if mine isn’t already ticking it’s due to start any time now. I don’t like to think that it will never happen for me, I still hold on to some hope that at some point I will be building tree houses in the garden, kicking a ball about or playing games with my own children. I long to hold my son or daughter in my arms seconds after they have been born, to know that feeling, to experience the mass of emotions that must well up at such a time. Although I am fairly certain that at such a time I would be a mess on the floor unable to cope with the outpouring of emotion and feelings. I love my god daughter and her sister with all that is within me, but and don’t let this take anything away from the way that I feel for them I don’t think the love that I have for them would compare to that which I would hold for my own children. I just hope one day I will experience such love and be able to express it. I want to see my child grow and blossom into an adult, I want to be there every step of the way, trying desperately to guide them along their own paths, or at the very least setting them on their own way, on the right path, I want to be there when it is there turn to become parents, there turn to experience the love that I would have felt and to know a whole new love for my grandchildren.

To see myself in my childrens eyes, to witness the miracle of birth, to know that feeling of being needed, an unquestionable love, an everlasting love.

Is my biological clock ticking?
It feels like Big Ben is ringing in the hours…

Happy Talk

Earlier today I partook in one of my fondest pastimes of people watching, I observed a couple sitting in a fairly modern café, (you know the type, where you can’t just order a straight forward coffee anymore) on this occasion it was the conversation that grasped my attention, now please don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t eaves dropping, in fact I have no idea what they were talking about. What intrigued me was the way the conversation flowed. The couple were probably in their mid thirties and judging by their body language were either husband and wife or at least in a very close relationship.

I sat there enjoying my “skinny cinnamon latte” for nearly an hour watching these two converse, although what fascinated me is that during the whole hour the man said exactly three words, “yes”, “no” and “maybe” various other guttural noises of approval and disapproval were made along with the occasional “Hmmmm” but I am not counting these. Throughout the majority of the conversation the mans eyes were transfixed on the large plasma screen displaying a football game in progress, at one point, so engrossed was he that he had to stop himself from jumping up and cheering when a goal was scored. For nearly an hour the woman upheld the majority of the conversation and didn’t seem to mind that her partner was negligibly involved. She was quite content just sitting and talking, barely stopping to catch breath or to sip her coffee.


Women are incredible like that, as any man that lives with a woman will be able to tell you, their ability to talk knows no bounds, which is often manifested in the phone bill. I believe this is nearly an exclusive female trait, I am notoriously bad at making conversation, small talk fills me with dread, I just can’t do it. I honestly believe anything I have to say would be found dull and sleep inducing to the poor unfortunate stuck with me as company. I admit I am not what you would call a social animal, I thoroughly enjoy my own company, when I do go out with friends or to a social occasion I am fine in a group and with a topic of conversation given to me and will happily throw in my two pence worth, however leave me alone with just one other and my ability to talk disappears quicker than a white rabbit at a magic show and I retire into my shell. For this reason I am truly envious of woman’s ability to just talk. Women love to talk, and it doesn’t necessarily matter to whom, their partner, best friend, girl friends, strangers on the bus, if you give a woman the opportunity to talk then she will take hold of it with both hands and not let go. I find it one of woman’s most endearing qualities. They will talk for hours, days if you let them; it’s stopping them that proves to be difficult, especially when in a group of other women. A woman can spend the whole day with a girl friend only to get home and spend another three or four hours on the phone to them. All a woman seems to want is someone to listen to them, simple, listen and just listen to your significant other and they will be happy. You don’t even have to get that involved in the conversation, just as long as you have listened.


Men on the other hand are at the other end of the spectrum. Men don’t really talk to other men at least not on a level that woman can comprehend. A man can spend a whole evening with another man enjoying a beer and a game of pool and darts and leave not knowing anything new about him. Wouldn’t have a clue what’s going on in his life at the moment, couldn’t tell you what their last holiday was like or even where he went, chances are would struggle in telling you his kids names let alone their ages and what’s going on with them. However he would have a complete working knowledge of his new car, the full technical specifications of his new LCD television and cinema surround sound and a mental image as clear as a high definition picture of the new female secretary his company has taken on. A man can quite happily spend hours in the company of his best mate and only exchange two or three words for the whole evening and the two or three words would probably be, “Beer?”, “Yeah” and “Cheers”.

On the very rare occasion when a man calls another man the conversation would be deemed a complete failure if it took anything longer than a minute. A man approaches conversation in much the same way as he does shopping for clothes; know what you want before you set out, know where to get it and how much it will cost, get in and get out as quickly as possible, none of your trying it on or browsing, no going round to a hundred different shops only to go back and buy the first thing you saw. Say what you have to say, await the response, hang up, job done.
Men have a unique ability to understand the guttural grunts and groans mentioned previously. Whole conversations between men can be carried out with these Neanderthal noises, which is why we get into so much trouble with the opposite sex when we instinctively use them in conversation with them, the woman is under the impression that we are not listening where as we believe we have answered fully and adequately forgetting that women have lost their ability of guttural speech and evolved into a far more beautiful subject than there cave dwelling predecessors.


Man is a few steps lower on the evolutionary ladder than woman in the conversational department and if truth be know probably always will be. Man still expresses himself with hand gestures and incomprehensible noises, under the belief that the louder he is the more articulate he is. This is one of the reasons sport is more popular among men than women as it gives them plenty of opportunity to shout and wave their arms about.

Woman however speaks in poems and flowers, there words float on the air and bring harmony. A woman’s belief is why use one word when twenty can say it so much better, never is this more evident than when woman returns home and finds man still sitting on the sofa with a beer and the pile of dirty dishes still in the sink.


If man speaks in black and white then a woman speaks in vivid high definition technicolour.

Never Forget.

It’s been sixty five years since the day the world stood up in unison and said “No” to Nazi Germany. The Allied Invasion of Normandy began shortly after midnight on the 6th June 1944 with an air assault, men parachuted into enemy occupied France and for nearly seven hours had only those that jumped with them as support. At approximately 0630hrs the amphibious assault began, using landing craft over 160,000 troops ran onto five French beaches spanning a length of 50 miles, the largest single day amphibious invasion of all time. Within five days of the initial landings approximately 326,547 troops had come ashore by sea or air. Due to the nature and scale of the assault there have never been any verified figures for those that lost their lives on the day and days to follow.
Fathers and sons, uncles and brothers, friends and strangers stood shoulder to shoulder and fought for their country, laid down their lives so that others could live.
We rightly commemorate them and remember the sacrifices made by so many. I can not even begin to imagine what it must have been like for the men. What must have been going through their minds as they rode the waves hurtling towards occupied France and then as the ramps dropped and the assault began? Under constant fire from entrenched enemy forces, as you witnessed people with whom you have trained with, lived with over the weeks and months leading up to the attack fall in front of you.
We have been shown tiny glimpses into what it may have been like from films such as The Longest Day and Saving Private Ryan and television dramatisations such as Band of Brothers. But even the best of these cannot encapsulate what it must have been like to have gone through and survived such a traumatic experience. I cannot envisage the sites that awaited our men, the brutality, the destruction, the death, the sacrifices and the heroism.
World War Two changed the way we live, saved the way that we live. We need to honour all those involved, from those that fought to those left at home who in their own way fought their own war. Every one a true hero, courageous and worthy of recognition, we must never forget, it is our duty to make sure that the following generations are made aware of the events that preserved our way of life.

For what it’s worth my heart felt thanks go out to every one who bravely took part, in whatever way, home or abroad that has made it possible for me to have the life I have.

Thank you.

Behind every mask.

We all hide behind the masks that we wear; more often than not we are unfortunately hiding than being our true selves. We do it to protect ourselves, to show the person that we would like to be, to cover the way we truly feel or maybe to try and make ourselves feel better. There can be many individual reasons as to why we put on our masks and which mask we put on.
A couple of the girls at work always say things to me like, “you are always so happy”, “can I have some of what you’re having”, “you are always singing”, now unfortunately if truth be know this is more than likely them responding to one of my masks, I am in general a happy person but quite often can be hiding behind my happy persona. As my good friends know I often use humour to hide my true emotions or to help me through difficult situations, I was in a motorbike accident a few years back and for the whole experience, from initial impact and during my time in hospital I didn’t take off my humour and happy mask until I was left on my own, I was the only patient on the night in A&E laughing and joking with the doctors and nurses, when I got sent down for the required surgery the anaesthetist couldn’t believe I hadn’t been given any drugs other than an asprin because I was so happy and care free, he even phoned through to A&E to check. In this situation I believe I wore my mask to try and protect those that I loved from worrying about me and to lighten the whole situation.
I truly believe that you can find good in most if not all situations and always try to find the silver lining, granted sometimes you really have to look and really want to find that glimmer of hope, but it is always there although sometimes it doesn’t seem apparent until after the event.
I believe that life makes us into the person that we are today, and it is how we deal with life that builds our character. I have always said that age does not guarantee wisdom but life does. The way I respond to a sad event, in public, maybe completely different from someone else, and maybe that is a bad thing; maybe I should feel free to show my true feelings at the specific time. But I have become accustomed to dealing with things, as we all have, in my own way, I protect myself by wearing a mask and only when I feel safe do I remove it. This is something that I have always done and is probably considered a very male trait. During my college years I was one of only a few guys in my class and in my circle of friends I was the only guy. I always felt that I had to be the strong one and in some Neolithic way thought it my job to protect those around me. I have become very adept at burying my true feelings and emotions, keeping them hidden from sight and only ever letting them out in what I would probably perceive as a moment of weakness. This is true for the deepest of my emotions, you will still catch me crying through my favourite weepie film or at a story of heroic exploits, my heart strings are often tugged and often display themselves in a physical way, but to get to the roots of my feelings you would need to dig deeper than just a tear wiped from my cheek.

Maybe all this means I am a difficult person to know, or to know well, but that is what makes my close friends close friends. They have gone to the effort to know me, they have been with me through some of lifes attacks and victories and now know that in a moment of trauma that I am feeling the pain and sorrow even if my outward persona doesn’t display it. We do what we do to survive, some of us need to show our emotions to others, some of us bottle them up and store them away, some of us, like me put on a brave face and then in a private time grieve. I don’t see a problem with the first and third of these, the second can be a hazardous path, emotions need to be released for us to deal with them. If you bottle up your emotions and store them one day you will run out of room, and the next time you open your cupboard door to put away another bottled emotion you may find them all come crashing down on you.

Deal with your emotions as you see fit, but they must be released, either in private or with trusted loved ones.

Emotions that are kept locked away will one day try to break free and in doing so may just break you.