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”
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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.
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“One day your life will flash before your eyes. Make sure it’s worth watching”
I always know when it is coming, but usually have not known why – of course logic and reason can be applied, but it’s the feelings that count, that make it inevitable. And those feelings are semi-conscious feelings, a moment of wistfulness, a hypnagogic interlude, the whisper of a song, a long forgotten smell.
It starts with broken sleep, not bad sleep but broken, lately waking up at stupid o’clock, dozing on the sofa in the evening, getting woken by Mr Cairn at 1am when he has caught wind of a potent smell drifting in from the garden. Then coincidental hearing of music from other times of change – this morning flicking channels a film had Blue Moon (revisited) by the Cowboy Junkies playing in the background. Then a smell – summer rain and dust mixing. Then a desire to travel again, to be on the road in America or back in Moscow.
This is a pattern I know, and may be illogical or may be coincidence, but really it is neither. It is a shift in me that will lead to change. I tell clients that nothing remains the same, it either progresses or deteriorates. At pivotal points restlessness sets in and the outcome is inevitable. Am I going to leave home – of course not, or pack it all in and knit yoghurts for a living, of course not.
Watch this space.
“May the bridges I burn light the way.”
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