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Fathers Day

A reflective fathers day this year. Later this week it is twenty five years since my father died. Twenty five years, a quarter of a century! I got the call and drove my battered Ford Escort flat out from London to Southport and he died in our arms. It was shortly after David Platt scored the winner for England against Belgium (he loved football), and with Pavarotti singing Nessum Dorma. He was only 71, but of a different generation to most of my friends’ fathers.

My father never met my children, or saw the internet, or computers or mobile phones. He would have loved Sky Sports News and have been utterly bewildered by most of what we think is normal today. I was pondering Periscope today and have no idea how that could have been explained to him. He fought in the war and would never talk about it, saying simply that he had seen things that no-one should see. He didn’t like ‘foreign’ food – “Tried it in the war, didn’t like it”, so my mother used to slip garlic in when he wasn’t looking.

He hit his tennis serve by holding the racquet like a frying pan, drawing it down on the ball to give it acute backspin. When he his a forehand his right leg went up in the air. He was truly awful at DIY. My father loved small children, but didn’t understand anyone over 5 years old; and teenagers, oh the battles!

William Thomas (Terry) Terrett was a cool man with a dry sense of humour. He worked hard for his family and kept little for himself. He offered little encouragement when we were growing up but was rarely critical.He retired at 63 and within a few years began to fade, badly. I have always thought, that like many of his generation, the war broke something in him that could never be unbroken. When military service ended, work began. When work ended there was little left.

My father was a maths genius. We used to race to add up vast lists of numbers from his Sales Conferences, him by hand and, me on a calculator. He was never wrong, and always faster. In another life he would have taken the University place denied him as a youth  and then who knows?

There have been many times when I needed his guidance in the last twenty five years and have just had to work things out myself, today I feel it more than usual.

As Leonard Cohen sang “It’s Fathers Day and everybody’s wounded”

It’s been a year, dear blog and I have been neglecting you. A year ago today I arrived home from a meeting in London and took our beloved Gizmo-Cairn to be pts. I guess I have needed some time to process what happened, the unfairness of it, the shock and the effect on the family. I decided to make that a year sabbatical from this blog and a few other things that had been troubling me.

This gap year, things in general have been better. After a few years of trials and tribulations, when at times I wondered if I was becoming a man diminished, I now know that I am not. It is the same me, with the same energy as ever – perhaps I just needed a little time to think, to mull things over, to make cunning plans and to settle back into a rhythm.

We now have two strange and interesting new Cairns, Hattie and Bella. Rescue sisters who are 9 years old and can honestly be described as characters. They have helped mend broken hearts and restore a sense of lunacy that was crushed a year ago today.

Take a deep breath, gaze across the shore to the sea, feel the salt spray and let’s begin.

Little Black Spot

gizmo1

There’s a little black spot on the sun today.

We lost our handsome, beautiful, opinionated Cairn Terrier Gizmo this week, to cancer. He was only 7 years old. My wife cries, my daughter is withdrawn and my chatty, noisy son is silent. I have a Cairn sized hole in me. When his predecessors left us (Woody at 14 and his brother Homer at 16) there was time to prepare. Time had caught up with them. For Gizmo it was less than 7 days from diagnosis to gone. He was an absolute delight, and lest I ever forget:

  • He had a strong belief that (when he woke us up by standing on our chests, madly wagging his tail to go out for a pee at 2.30 a.m.) we would be as happy about that as he was,
  • The way he ran downstairs to greet us at the front door, earning the nickname Thunderhooves,
  • That he learned (with my daughter) to do the cowboy trick – she drew imaginary pistols and made shooting noises – he rolled over and raised his paws,
  • When let  off the lead he didn’t run, he galloped,
  • How he slept on the big bed on his back with his head to one side and all four legs pointed to the ceiling, AND made puppy noises when he was dreaming,
  • That chasing a small tennis ball was great, but chasing three at once was the BEST THING EVER,
  • He loved licking faces, and my son’s face was his favourite,
  • How he was my bacon sandwich, sausage, cheese, tuna and afternoon sleep buddy.

He could also subdue a rubber chicken, stand for hours in plant pots, drink pond water and generally be magnificent.

As a family we already know that we have unfinished Cairn business, but this one, this little furry one was special.

Oh and if you look carefully you will see that the little black spot on the sun is Cairn Terrier shaped.

Goodbye to 2013

Annus_Horribilis

I want to say goodbye to 2013. No really I will pleased to open up 2014. This has been a strange and difficult year for me and our family and we need to move on. HIT THE REFRESH BUTTON.

On the good side my daughter turned 21 and got a 2/1 in her degree. My son turned 18 and my marriage turned 25. We have been largely healthy and Gizmo the Cairn has been a delight. There have been some fantastic supportive people around and I thank them all.

On the down side life has been tough and will be for a while yet. Sadly a number of people have let me down in business. They know who they are and know what they did (or didn’t do). While I wish them no ill-fortune I hope that in future they deliver on what they commit to. Enough of this and of them.

I did not see the sea in 2013, perhaps for the first year in my life. So if we are going to build a bucket list for 2014 it MUST include this. When you grow up by the sea it is just part of you and the separation is a strain on the soul. I am building my bucket list here.

We move into 2014 quietly and with purpose. As a good friend of mine pointed out to me this year “It is time to stop dicking around”. Quite

See you in a more sparkly and productive 2014.

Mojo

Lost my Mojo

I confess that I’m suffering a bit at the moment. While sleeping, sometime in the last few weeks, someone SNUCK IN and stole my mojo. Or maybe it decided, all by itself to go on holiday on its own and have a (well-deserved) break from me.

Those that work with me know that I’m an optimist and strive to be the person that my dog thinks I am. At the moment there are no outward signs that anything is different. We have to accept that at times the way we behave towards others is supported not by rampant mojo but by a quiet determination not to let folk down. Frankly, between us it feels a tad inauthentic and is making me grumpy with myself, which again, is not my natural state. This Phil is usually happy in his own company – but right now I’m bored witless with myself.

So research has been done, but I’m not convinced by what is on the internetwebthang. Apparently I need to:

  1. Drink less alchohol (nope, haven’t had a drink yet in 2013)
  2. Eat better food (we do quite well on that front, thank you)
  3. Do something different ( Ok I can work on that one. My friend Lucy has just given up television and gained 3+ hours per day. But what to do – crochet? Water polo? I guess it has to be something unrelated to earning a living)
  4. Relieve stress (easier said than done)
  5. Spend less time online (Just how much time do we all waste dicking around online? Sometimes it is madly stimulating, but at other times it just sucks the life out of us)
  6. Getta betta social life (I hear you)
  7. Go on holiday (Not this year)
  8. Do what you love (I’m trying damn it)
  9. Get some exercise (Point taken)

I always quite fancied living on a WiFi enables barge, gliding gently from lock to lock in the summer sun, making a handsome living in two hours per day trading PORK BELLIES and selling DIESEL POWERED NUNS online. But I digress.

Do I now have a plan having got all of that off my chest? Not really but sometimes the simple act of writing it all down makes it better. A bit like by making a list of all of the things you have to do makes some of them go away! I’m leaning towards Lucy’s viewpoint, but need to find a mojo-regenerating project that is not work or chores. Something just for me.

Failing that, will whoever stole my mojo please return it pronto – it’s mine and won’t suit you anyway. Or…when it has had its fill of sun, sea, sand and whatever else mojos do on holiday, it will send me a postcard and return refreshed.

Plucked

Last week was a week of laughter, fellowship, celebration for a friends wedding-come-birthday, re-meeting a smiley old friend and some new contacts. Sometimes appreciation is about the simple things rather than for an individual act. Have a great week. Laters…..

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