if

I’ve been wandering about what my personal values are, the morals that I choose to live my life by. But what are they?  Do I even have any?  Have they got lost down the back of the sofa with the old TV remote and empty crisp packets!  Will I find honesty, beauty, courage alongside a hair encrusted pear drop?

As a child, I remember My Mum telling me, always tell the truth, be nice to my brother, always say please and thank you, and tidy my room.  Stranger ones included always wear new underwear in case you’re in an accident!!!  Of course, as a child, I rarely told the truth, consistently battled my brother, only said please and thank you when I thought it would benefit me, my room was however spotless if you could find it under all the mess, and as for wearing clean underwear, I made a point of not wearing any!

In the Cubs, I would stand, upright and dutiful in front of the Union flag, with my hand raised in salute and recite the Cub Scout Promise.

On my honour, I promise that I will do my best

To do my duty to God and to the Queen,

To help other people

And to keep the Scout Law

What does honour and duty mean to a 7 year old?  They were notions found in the pages of ‘Victory’ and ‘Eagle’ comics or in old black and white war films.  Cary Grant, Victor McLaglen and Douglas Fairbanks standing proudly over the defeated and bloodied Thuggee forces, saluting the death of Gung Din.  And ask me now the Scout law……sorry, didn’t hear you, what was that?

At school, I was told, keep quiet, do my work, don’t be late, eat my greens, keep in mind that I went to school at a time when there was a spot on the wooden frame of the blackboard and a metre length wooden rule kept within arm’s length to ensure that these values were respected.  In case you’re curious, the spot was where the child was required to put their nose so that the backside was at the desired height and angle for a whacking.  I never witnessed anyone being dealt this punishment, but the promise of it alone was enough to ensure law and order in the class room.

Church taught me the Lords Prayer and the 10 commandments, of which I can only remember a handful, don’t lie, don’t covet, don’t murder, don’t swear, don’t work on the Sabbath, don’t worship false idols, honour parents…that’s not bad, I’m sure if I took a bit more time I’d get them all.  Which speaks more of my memory rather than my obedience to them, I can say that I remain faithful to only one.  But then, I didn’t make a choice to live my life by these commandments so does that make them null and void anyway?

And that’s the point, these values were instilled upon me in my youth.  These were the values of my elders, of society and when I left home, the Cubs, school and stopped going to church what became of my value system?  When I did break free these values where killed off and replace by ambition and goals.  That’s not to say that I don’t have values, but that today it feels that more emphasis is placed on what you can get, than what you can give.  The children I grew and played with are parents like I, and instead of values we teach our children ambition.  Values are seen as a weakness to be sacrificed at the altar of ambition.

I’ve realised that I’ve interchanged morals with values, are they the same?  Morals are a standard of behaviour, principals of right and wrong, values are a judgement we make on what is important to us.  Morals are the ingredients, values the recipe we choose, and my sense of me, is the cake….Concord cake if you please.

I heard a lovely tale today, about the Taliban.  When the Taliban controlled most of Afghanistan pre 9/11, they installed Sharia law.  Their interpretation exposed women to the most extreme and brutal repressions, one of which was the compulsive wearing of a burqa, a traditional dress covering all, not an inch of flesh was shown from head to toe.  Failure to do so would often lead to public beatings.

Within this setting of religious fervour, there was a band of woman, I think they were nurses, who took to wearing fishnet stockings and tights under their burqas.  This wasn’t done to tantalise or excite, it wasn’t designed to be sexual or erotic.  It was so they could remand faithful to their own, individual core values within an extreme and flawed moralist framework.  At the risk of public beatings or worst, they chose to rebel, to remind themselves of their femininity, their individuality, their identity. 

So, is this what is missing, do I feel a struggle in my life because I have lost touch with my core values, because I have no fishnet stockings of my own? Have I always accepted the morals, ambitions and values of others as my own, and now find that this recipe no longer makes the cake that I want? 

The more I try too identity and connect with my own personal values the more I feel grounded as a human, and the easier it becomes to see where I have been, where I am and where I want to go.  It may no longer be about ‘promises made to do my best and to do my duty to God and to the Queen’, but rather ‘promises made to do my best and to do my duty to myself and my family’. 

Many years ago, I came across a poem ‘If’ by Kipling, I had always thought of this as being a perfect blueprint for how I want to live my life.

IF you can keep your head when all about you 

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;

If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,

if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

An Invitation

I think I should offer an explanation, I suspect that if anyone is reading this, they may feel it’s rather indulgent and maybe even a wee bit pretentious, well it is.

I’m not blogging for anyone other than myself, this is part of my journey, my exploration into the unknown wilderness that is me. As ancient mariners would mark uncharted waters ‘HC SVNT DRACONES’, the fear of what dragons may be hidden in the recesses of my psyche has caused me to feel that I have never truly fully discovered me.

I don’t anticipate that anyone will read this, or even be tempted to click follow, but if you do, hello and thank you. Maybe some of what I write rings true with you, maybe not, maybe you might feel inspired to answer some of the questions I ask of myself for yourself, maybe not. Maybe you’ll route for me to succeed, maybe jeer for me to fail, or maybe you couldn’t care less. But importantly, you’re here, and for this digital moment our histories collide, and we become a narrative in each other’s story.

Prince once sang,

‘I scan my computer looking 4 a site
Somebody 2 talk 2, funny and bright
I scan my computer looking 4 a site
Make believe it's a better world, a better life’

Well, this is me trying to make the make believe a reality.

Thank you for reading, I’m not sorry that I lack blogs on food, yoga, healthy lifestyle, make up. I won’t offer advice or tips. Feel free to comment, to share, to explore if you feel inclined too. It would be gratifying to feel that what I write has found a common rhythm within your experience, but it’s not needed.

So, I invite you to join me as hoist the main sail, bring the anchor home, stern the bow to the horizon and guided by the Southern Star seek out these pesky dragons. I expect they’ll turn out to be no more than irate Guinea Pigs.

The Life and Times of a Nobody

Hello, so you know when you go for a job interview, palms sweaty, tongue dry, nervous fidgeting, and then they ask you the all-time, no 1, worst question….’tell us about yourself?’.  Suddenly the walls come crushing down on you, you struggle to breath, a hot flush seeps across your face and you look longingly at the window calculating your chance of escape!  How is it possible to encapsulate ‘yourself’ into a 60 to 90 second reply?  What even is ‘yourself?’, do I even know?  And then when you have finally stopped dwelling in this kafkaesque torment, you tend to give a list of professional accomplishments, and hope this is enough to impress and deceive that you have started to doubt that you truly understand ‘yourself’.

Now that I’m really confused lets really think about this, if you asked me to ‘tell you about myself’, and if I wanted you to understand who I am and what is important to me, how would I answer?  So, I’m thinking I’m going to write my obituary to see if we can work this out together.

‘Nobody’ - The man. The myth. The legend.

‘Nobody’ died today as a result of being too stubborn and doing things that he knew better than to do.  ‘Nobody’ was killed when he rushed into a burning orphanage, tackled a troop of blood crazed tigers and saved a group of adorable children. Or maybe not. We all know how he liked to tell stories.

‘Nobody’ loved take-away food smothered in Burger sauce, Zombies, sleeping, toy soldiers, Supernatural, one beautiful woman, and Diet Coke.  

He hated vegetables, tying shoelaces, injustice and hypocrites. 

‘Nobody’ didn’t suffer fools and had a certain disdain for people.  Individuals were OK, he would even go so far as to say that he liked a few of them, but people, a collective mass would have him running to the hills in terror.

Peas were the food of the devil and Julia Roberts the Devils ambassador.

He was master of the remote control and ruled the television with a fair and equal hand, providing it was nothing medical or slushy.  He excelled at never losing competitive illness and reading any history book he could find.

‘Nobody’ loved to tell stories. And you could be sure 50% of every story was true. You just never knew which 50%.

Vin Diesel, The Rock and Jason Stratham were his movie heroes. And he was the hero for his three children: Cuddle Bear, Baby Bear and Poppy Bear.  Too Mummy Bear, he felt that at times he was more of a burden, but despite this he loved her with a furnace of passion, she was the ballast that kept him afloat and for which he was eternally grateful.  She taught him the importance of laughter, generosity, compassion and wisdom.

‘Nobody’ was a fashion trend setter, he took cues from no one.  He exclusively wore his soft trousers with pride and often formed long lasting deep and emotional relationships with them.  He was also a champion for Crocs, who can forget the stoic look of ‘Nobody’ trudging through the snow in his Crocs and socks?  But of course, given the choice, ‘Nobody’ would choose to be naked, bearing his buns to the sun.

‘Nobody’ lived his life to the mantra ‘Carpe Diem’, providing he could do it tomorrow, and if he couldn’t, the day after that would be fine.

‘Nobody’ lived with a shadow throughout his life, a fear that he could not find his original voice, that he was missing out, that his purpose would be lost, that he was without passion.  But then in a lightning bolt from Zeus, he discovered that his original voice lay within his family of bears.  His children are his passion.  He just hopes that the realization hasn’t happened too late.

‘Nobody’ would like to feel, that despite the struggles he did a wonderful job at life.  That he’ll be remembered for his smile, his warmth, his creativeness, his playfulness, and that he made a difference.  Each day he would try to do at least one thing right.

But most of all for his lifelong crusade to educate on the dangers of holding in your farts.  He tried to find humor in every situation, whatever life throws at him, he tries to get through it by laughing.  Unfortunately, not everyone had such a finely and uniquely attuned sense of humor so wouldn’t always get the joke, which just made ‘Nobody’ laugh even louder.

So that’s my attempt.  Do you feel you understand me better now?  I tried to be as honest as I dare, and it felt good. 

Interesting, strange, fascinating, useless and amusing things I learnt this week.

1/ Brussel Sprouts are the food of the devil!

In recent survey’s the Brussel came trumps as Britain’s most hated vegetable, and a few years back a warship even banned the veg from her decks.  However, our fear of this little green faux cabbage appears to go back to the Middle Ages.  The sulphurous smell produced by the vegetable and sometimes by those eating them was a sure sign that the devil lurked among the leaf’s of this tiny bud, cutting a small cross into the base of the Sprout was a way to bless and exercise the demons within.  And to think all these years I thought that it only helped to evenly cook the Brussel Sprout!  On a side note, Brussels as the name suggests come from Brussels, maybe another reason to leave the EU, or not?

2/ In 2017 a new continent was discovered!

Ok, so that’s not strictly true, it was actually found in 1995, but not confirmed as a continent by scientists until 2017.  So how does a land mass 1,900,000 sq miles and home to 5 million people remain hidden for up to 23 million years?  This cunning and devious land decides to sink 93% of its mass under the Pacific Ocean.  I’m not quite sure if that’s allowed within the rules of hide and seek, but like toes poking out from under the curtains, this continent was given away by rocks breaking the ocean waves, giving homes to Hobbits and New Zealanders alike.  While it’s officially been named Zealandia by those in the know, I would like to believe that this could be the fabled Middle Earth.

3/ The Queen’s banana’s!

Oh on, the Queen’s coming for tea and all we have is this bunch of bananas’!  Oh, what to do?  It’s ok, the Queen eats bananas, but how she eats them might seem a little ‘bananas’.  While you and I , might be tempted to grab the fruit and peel it like the monkeys do, the Royal Ma’am prefers to cut away the top and bottom of the fruit, slice away the peel with surgical precision and then proceed to eat the Banana with a knife and fork! 

Now there are some foods that need to be eaten with cutlery and some that don’t.  Surely the Banana falls into the latter?  It’s even comes in a handy wrapper.  I must admit that sometimes I’ve eaten pizza with a knife and fork, it depends on how heavily and precariously laden it is with toppings.  Just before Christmas, while out celebrating a friend’s birthday, I witnessed one of our number order a hamburger and then begin to cut into it with knife and fork, I watched rather baffled and curiously fascinated.  But a banana?  Maybe if it’s covered in Ice Cream and smothered in chocolate