Shit, fans and their interaction.

Shit, fans and their interactions. 

Sometimes words don’t come easy...as a song i believe once said. I find increasingly that they do not. But i will do my best. 

This has been a difficult year so far...health revelations and subsequent follow through (or not)...my fathers fall and subsequent fall-out from it for both him and myself...the underlying struggle that the business has become this past few years in particular. All in the mix and all with their own particular level of difficulty on the mental front. I find i’ve become increasingly self contained and routine based...I move from day to day and week to week with a mixture of dread, resolve, fretfulness and almost a sense of detachment. It’s like you know there is a big cliff there in the immediate distance but somehow you keep walking towards it in the hope that either it will not be a cliff or you can walk on air. But there seems to be no other course. I am locked into the trajectory and that is that. There is no change i can make...or change i can face more to the point....that will make any difference to the end result. Or perhaps it is that it is easier to stay on the path to this particular cliff than to change to a different one with a different yawning chasm at the end of it. That doesn’t really get to the heart of it but it’s as good as I can manage. At times in my head it’s like i’m wading through treacle and juggling things I dare only glimpse at in prospect...if I linger too long i may unravel. Perhaps i am depressed ...whatever that means. More likely it is just plain old anxiety taking its toll on the synapses. I find that the old anger is creeping back...the sort that is always simmering away and periodically bubbles to the surface in all sorts of ways and in all sorts of directions. I feel trapped. Well I am trapped so it’s only logical i’d feel it. If I look ahead I  see only trouble on all fronts...mainly financial...so I don’t look ahead. Which is not really all that sensible but it is the only way I can manage my feelings. It is the only way I can cope. At times i glimpse the various scenarios re my dad...the shop...myself...and i can feel the rising panic in my chest...I can almost taste it. Mostly about four in the morning when the defences are brittle and the mind is on overdrive. At those times I simply shut it off...I lose myself to fantasy or to some reverie...or just to nothing at all. I descend into blankness. Otherwise i might break apart. Whatever it is that binds my sanity (or what passes for it these days) together may finally loose itself and parts of me will scatter to the far reaches of the abyss. They say if you stare into that you may see yourself looking back. Well I’d  settle for that. At least it would be someone i’d recognize. Small mercies are the best. 

The law of 3.

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A while since the last blog. To be honest when i started this i thought blogging might be a cathartic realease...or at the very least a way of working through difficult feelings and emotions in the aftermath of a period of extreme personal upheaval.  I've discovered though that it is not as simple as that...increasingly i find it hard to actually express what i feel or to know where or how to begin to untangle the ever twisting mass of thoughts and emotions that writhe about in my head on an almost daily basis. I've finally decided to have another go at it...but cannot guarantee i will complete the job. Much of my thinking is discordant and laced with a combination of vague melancholy and persistent  anxiety which makes it especially difficult to gather thoughts together in a way that is coherent...at least to me. Here goes nothing. 

It's been an interesting four months or so. Interesting in the way that being hit by a bus then run over by a car is interesting. Welll actually that's only two things. But i digress. As i believe i communicated last time i was diagnosed with a massive hernia in April past...i can't remember the name for the type but as the  ultra sound weilding consultant described it , a proportion of my bowel has dropped into my scrotum along with an as yet unquantifiable amount of fatty tissue. The end result is essentially an enlarged scrotum, a fair amount of discomfort and a considerable degree of general bowel irritation necessitating some remedial action medication wise. I'm scheduled for corrective surgery early in the New Year ...well provisionally.  I could have had the surgery faster but due to my current situation  (as in i'm self employed with a struggling business with no back up whatsoever and a 91 year old parent for whom i am the sole carer) that was not really a possibility. I might even have to defer in Jan (assuming it's then) but that's another story. I recall mentioning to a friend back in April shortly after the (long delayed) doctors visit confirming the problem that these things normally come in threes. About a month later my nine year old VW Golf decided to give up the ghost...something to do with a piston rod penetrating the engine. That car had been with me through three separate homes and was the one constant in my life through marital seperation and it's attendant upheavals. More to the point although it had 100,000 miles on the clock it was in good enough order and i had no plans to part with it any time soon. So it's demise was not only emotionally problematic but much more importantly financially so. It meant another change...and with change comes insecurity. Also in this case there came a monthly HP payment for the next four years i had not planned on. So that was no 2. Now i have never believed in the principle of 3 but i might have to reconsider as about a month ago the aforementioned  91 year old parent...my father and business partner...fell down the stairs in the shop necessitating a quick rush to A and E. Fortunately he did not break anything though he did suffer heavy bruising to the ribs and sustained a gash in his forehead requiring stitches. He has now been recuperating at home for several weeks and in the time honored way of a cure being worse than the disease the cocodamol he was on for the severe pain of the bruised ribs has badly affected his already none to robust appetite. He is forcing himself to eat but has lost a stone from an already age weakened frame and while he is recovering well enough in terms of the physical healing of the bruises his general health is obviously causing me some concern.  Thankfully he is back on the paracetamol but his appetite remains poor...at 91 the body requires a lot less nutrition of course but it has its limits...and at 91 they are more noticeable. Perhaps even more worrying is the fact that with five weeks now passed he has not even mentioned coming back into the shop. To understand this you would have to know my father personally but suffice it to say he hates being at home on his own all day and even in his early nineties has been determined to come to work every day come what may...when he fell a couple of years back (requiring two days hospitalization) he was back in the shop within about a week and even the idea of spending a morning at home to wait on a delivery etc generally results in protestations. This time it is different however...perhaps it's the fact that he fell in the shop itself ...and on the stairs ...and it has badly knocked his. confidence or maybe he just feels physically not up to it.  Either way i'm playing it by ear...hopefully if i can get him built up and feeling a bit stronger he may regain some enthusiasm for getting out. To keep his mind active (and because it's necessary frankly) i take the bookwork up to him so he can keep in touch with things. When he fell before it was a warning shot to me that I was relying far too much on him...especially for the admin side of things. But it suited us both to ignore the warning (as is my modus operandi) and here we are again. This time it's different however as there is the distinct possibility that he will not be back down at least on a regular basis and that is a difficult thing for me...and him...to get our heads round. I find it tough on both an emotional and a practical level. I've worked with him for over thirty years in that place...for the last five years just him and me. I've been kept busy enough this past few weeks with schoolwear so i've not had much time to brood about it but now that it's quieter it wil hit harder. There is also the practical side...basically i cannot get out of the place without locking the door. While i could have left him for five or ten minutes before now to do a quick message that is no longer possible. In a funny way i could cope better if i was rushed off my feet as there is less time to think about stuff and you generally feel more energised and positive. However the way business is that is unlikely. The admin side is more difficult with him at home but that is workable...while he is up to doing it of course. Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise as I am being forced to face things and adapt before the inevitable. I am bad at facing things. Chronically bad even now. There's is the added complication of this bloody hernia of mine requiring attention...it's a bit like a time bomb in itself as even a violent sneeze could result in a trip to A and E or so i'm told. It can also cause seriously painful IBS intermittently...that at the moment would be highly problematic as i am skating in thin ice as it is. I'm occasionally asked why i don't simply employ some back up...valid question but sadly given the current financial predicament of the business to do so would mean paying myself and my father virtually nothing ...it's meager as it is and at present i'm carrying the full budgetary pressure for us both. It's simply not an option i'm afraid. Many look at me incredulousy at this revelation but that's too bad...they aren't running a struggling retail outlet in a town that's dying on its feet. Or put another way they have no fucking clue about how self employment works...or rather doesn't. They only add to my stress levels frankly. It's like the folk who in their well meaning way make suggestions as to how i might improve things...to be honest i feel like saying that if they really want to help they might consider buying something...or keeping quiet. If you ever see a friend who is a retailer in trouble instead of handing out lots of ill informed (and largely innappropiate) advice and thereby increasing their already high stress levels, try putting some money in their till...that's what they usually need more than anything. More about that latter. 

Speaking of stress...my last visit to the dentist revealed that i am now grinding my teeth. A filling on Tuesday was out the following morning and replaced on Thursday...grinding the culprit. No doubt the recent crap with Dad has contributed to this...on top of the existing dresses of the shop and health issues. Apparently the next step if it continues is a gum shield..i haven't worn one of those since school rugby so that should be fun. On the health front i'm trying to eat a bit more carefully (less fat,sugar etc and more fiber, fruit, fish etc) plus drinking at least a liter or more of water a day (i rarely ever drank water so that's proving a chore though a worthwhile one...at least when by bladder adapts properly). I'm also wanting to get out and walk a bit more but that's not so easy...six days on my feet all day in the shop leaves me fairly tired frankly and i'm very conscious of the hernia when it comes to long walks...i'm desperate not to inflame things, especially at the minute. But we shall see. 

I ventured down the road to Hillsborough Park for the first time in about three years or so the other evening...the sort of mild and sunny evening that shows its lake side walk off to best effect. 

That tranquil spot was a weekly haunt in the immediate aftermath of the marital separation ...along with Murlough beach it was one of the few places i was able to gather my discordant and tortured thoughts. If anything it was easier to do so then than it is now. Or perhaps now i've given up trying and simply bow to their inevitable sway...picking an ever narrowing path through their jagged terrain. But it's a start. 

Body horror part 2

Body horror part 2

So there i was ...lying on the doctors couch...lower body exposed...waiting to feel the sword of democles cone crasinug down upon my neck. In reality it was not a sword but a long needle which appeared in the doctors habds. He was pretty sure it wasn't anything "sinister" but any relief at that news was soon tempered by the slowly dawning the knowledge that he was about to stick the afore said needle into my scrotum. He suspected a water cyst...which i'dnever heard of ....but after a couple of excruciating probes with the needle (in a futile attempt to drain some fluid away) it became clear that there was nothing to drain. After quite a bit of deliberation i remembered that some time ago i'd reported a strange feeling just above the groin and had been diagnosed with a small hernia...said small hernia had it seemed become a large hernia and instead the bowel pushing out had instead decided to go downwards into the scrotum...hence the swelling and discomfort. An ultra sound a month later confirmed that this was indeed the case and i now await an appointment with a surgeon in a few weeks...we will take it from there. 

And here we are. I must confess to feeling an odd mix of things on the wake of all this. Firstly embarrassment at foolishly not having the affliction investigated before now. As it turns out such hernias are very common...i've since spoken to at least six people known to me with the same exact ailment. It's unfortunate if not had a conversation with even one of them prior to this...but then it never occurred to me that what i had was anything as mundane as a hernia. The broader issues around why i neglected to go sooner to the doctor are both...to me...oddly clear and yet at the same time slightly mystifying...and have as much to do with my personal psychology as anything else. But that is for another blog. The other thing is that having established what it was not i now have to deal with the offending thing that it is....an op could be less than straightforward and will require time off and recovery time...in my small business that presents its own particular problems...but we will take that as it comes. The diagnosis has also motivated me to lose some weight and try to get fitter...so far i have adjusted my diet a bit (drinking a seperate liter of water a day is a challenge) but getting out even to walk is not that simple as the hernia is making its presence felt somewhat. I also have a few other issues that may need attention....but i can only cope with so much at once. Anyway that's enough body horror for now 

Body Horror

It's been an interesting few months. 

For some time now i have not been well. A number of niggling things which may or may not be connected plus a couple of bigger things. One thing in particular of note. The following contains graphic detail of my anatomy which will not be to everyone's taste. You have been warned. 

I have never liked going to the doctor...this is a trait i believe in men generally but i am not convinced about this as i've met plenty of women who don't either. Since my separation about six years back i've been only a handful of times and even then it's been about something fairly trivial..i always ensured that the subject stayed on trivial matter and that we did not digress into matters of more general health. Not that my doctor is the issue ...he's a perfectly charming and avuncular chap who is easy to talk to. The problem is entirely mine. I'm not exactly sure what it is but it's gotten worse since i've been on my own...as most things do. When your life is turned upside down and you are forced to adapt to a new situation certain things happen which are hard to explain. Ones way of thinking changes...in my case living from week to week (in my head) and not thinking much beyond that became my default setting ...that and my propensity to avoid making decisions and facing things in general increased exponentially. There you have the foundations of manys a problem....especially when it comes to health. For some time i'd been conscious of a particular physical problem which was slowly but progressively getting worse ...and which for a variety of complex reasons i chose to ignore. Since my early twenties (i am now 52) I have had what i choose to call "issues" in the "down below" area (i.e. the scrotal region and all associated with it) ...over a period of years i've had various examinations etc showing nothing of note so in the end i put a lot of it down to my imagination and just an in built discomfort with that particular part of my body. About six years ago i began to intermittently experience what i believed to be severe IBS (this was mainly self diagnosis though as it tended to surface at times of extreme stress i was pretty confident in my conclusions ..,turns out i was at least partly right. )   This would come and go sporadically and since i am self employed (effectively a one man band) and have a reasonably high pain threshold i struggled on with it , occasionally medicating with pain killers etc. During this same period however i detected a swelling in the scrotal region...i am being deliberately vague as i kept it deliberately vague...i knew one of my testicles (as i thought ) was becoming larger and while i was aware that it can  be common enough to have one bigger than the other i also knew that something was wrong if the size was increasing albeit very slowly. . I should point out that i studiously avoided examining the offending item...indeed i avoided all but the most minimum of contact with the offending region other than what was strictly necessary for personal hygiene. I prefer bathing to showering so it was relatively easy to have little contact...i refused even to look down at myself in the bath for fear of what i'd see. I was however aware that the swelling was increasing as i was becoming increasingly uncomfortable in my clothing...twelve months ago i could have worn a pair of regular fit jeans (though i tended not to ) but by this April past i was finding it difficult to get even track bottoms to fit comfortably ...especially  given the current fashion trend of everything being made to grip the crotch like a vice. I had gotten to the stage where i had to wear track bottoms all the time and could not go anywhere that would involve a suit or any formal dress. Given that i do not have much of a social life and rarely dressed formally anyway and that my work allowed for casual dress i was able to get by without it provoking undue attention but i'm pretty sure some folk must have wondered why i was always in loose track pants, even on the rare occasions when i went out for a meal etc. Things came to a bit of a head when i attended my mother in laws funeral...a rare event i could not get out of. For this i had to resort to an

old pair of (way to big) hire trousers which i hid under a long trench coat (fortunately the day of the funeral was wet) ...even then it was a struggle and i felt incredibly self conscious. I knew at this point I was not going to be able to camouflage things for much longer and that i could not keep going like this. About a week later, whatever way i was standing, a friend happened to notice that there was a bulge where there shouldn't be and being the type of friend who would not take no  for an answer insisted that i go see the doctor and threatened to make the appt for me if i did not. While i'd known about this issue for several years at this point it came like a terrible shock to the system to finally be discovered and to have to face the prospect of dealing with it. I wanted to go back to blissful and willful ignorance all the time fully aware that was impossible.  I would now have to do something ...including tell my family (that's an estranged wife, two teens and a 91 year old father) that there was a

problem. That unerved me more than going to the doctor but i managed to cobble something together for them (could be serious but not sure etc) and eventually (it took a further two weeks of threats and coercion by said good friend  ) I made the fateful appointment. 

What happened next is salutary and can wait till the next blog. 

Like wading through vomit while having excrement constantly thrown in your face. 

Some years ago this is how a mate of mine described the week after Christmas in retail and while it's a bit graphic it does get across the message quite cogently. And that was in the good old days. 

There is no doubt that for the modern independent retailer on the high street Christmas is the ultimate poison chalice. 

What used to be a bumper time for such a business has turned into something of a nightmare scenario. I can speak from experience after over thirty years at the sharp end as a small town retailer across a number of different product sectors. 

The first thing i'd say is that you should be very wary of what so called retail analysts tell you. Generally speaking these folk have little to no experience of actual on the ground retailing. Moreover examining broad trends ,while useful, does not tell the full story...as always the devil is in the detail and detail generally gets overlooked.  

Moreover there is a tendency for those that are asked for feedback on the retail scene not to tell the complete truth..gilding the lily pretty much goes with the territory and it's rare for any retail representative to come clean about how bad things really are. Most hedge their bets.  

We are now in the week after Christmas as i write this and to give some perspective here's a comparison. Four years ago on Christmas Eve alone we would have lifted more in takings than we took in the entire six days prior to Christmas Day this year.  Considerably more. The week after Christmas used to be our busiest of the year...that week at the height of things five or six years back would have compared to an average quieter MONTHS takings. This year we will be doing well over the five days to match a normal to average to busy week...and that will be pushing it. I'd say if you compared our figures from say 6 years ago we would be down as much as 70 percent...to be honest I no longer do so as it is too demoralising. Seeing it in black and white would perhaps finally push me over the edge. As it is last festive season was the worst ever for the shop...this year it will be a big achievement to get within shouting distance of it. Very few people would actually believe how bad its become...but it has. And it's getting worse. 

The reason? Well several no doubt but chiefly the Internet. Nothing has done more to devastate high street retail over the past few scant years and that trend is set to continue unabated. At this rate within a decade i'd be surprised if there are any of us left. Perhaps I am being over generous allowing a decade frankly. All the talk of bricks and mortar retail cohabiting symbiotically with the net is wishful thinking bordering on delusion...flys rarely cohabit with large hungry spiders. A few larger chains may be able to combine the two for a while but the soaring overheads of  maintaining a presence on the high street will make any such long term fusion of the two mediums a forlorn hope. The Internet may be a driver of volume, especially for the larger operators but it is a graveyard for profits...at least as far as any third party retailer is concerned. As more business moves on line (with limited margin available) the diminishing returns of physical retail will soon render itself obsolete. It's good bye high street...along with the jobs and business rates that go with it. If you think differently you are either in cloud cuckoo land or have no knowledge of modern retail. Then when you add in the general economic squeeze, and allow for the uncertainty of Brexit , not to mention the preponderance of discount/outlet selling then you have a pretty bleak outlook if you are a small, independent business trying to stay afloat. A minnow in a sea of sharks with the water draining. Basically we are fucked. We are a walking corpse only refusing to lie down through sheer stubbornness and an awareness that there is not much else some of us can turn our hands to. So what is to be done?  

Well on the face of it not much to be honest. Ongoing financial uncertainty combined with the pre-eminence of the internet will ensure that there is no respite for independent bricks and mortar retailers. Perhaps the fight is just lost and that is it. The end. 

And what of the "if you can't beat them join them" argument and go online? Well if only it were that simple. For a small cash strapped  not so tech savy retailer to get on line is not easy...and not cheap. Also assuming you actually get set up on there, competing with the big boys is almost impossible...for a variety of reasons. Specialization and niche appeal are words often thrown around but they still have to overcome the overwhelming difficulty of SEO and all it's myriad complexities. Then you have to try and make money...turnover alone won't keep you in business. 

For myself i suspect this coming year will be the last throw of the dice. I am considering doing something with Shopify, one of the better "template" crowd ...low set up costs and minimal ongoing maintenance charge combined with (hopefully) reasonable performance and visibility. The latter remains to be seen. As to what exactly that "something" will be well i'm not quite sure. It will be outdoor product...but i suspect it will have to be a bit more focused than in store. That is assuming i have the cash to buy stock...there is no guarantee. 

When I began this blog it was the day after boxing day. It's now New Year's Eve and trade this week has been nothing short of pitiful. No one can survive indefinitely on scraps and I am no exception. That may not matter much in the grand scheme of things but according to the experts SMEs like myself are the backbone of the local economy...well in that case the local economy is well and truly fucked. As I remarked to a smart arse "shop visitor" recently, Amazon won't pay for the local leisure centre or supply a voucher for the local football club's tom-bola. He was of course far to too thick to make the connection. In the end if you want the option of local retail and the money it pumps into the area then you need to support it. Otherwise it's history. Use it or lose it. I think it's too late for myself but we shall see. Perhaps i will be proved wrong. 

There is more to be said on the personal front but this will do for now. If you are reading this then you are part of a very select group and I wish you a fulfilling and healthy New Year. 

We can always hope. 

In the Dark

Always dangerous to write a blog when you are in a bad mood but here we go...well perhaps sour is a better description than bad. It's been a while since i've done one....just haven't had the inclination to be honest as i'm not a natural writer of things really. Back to that aforementioned mood. It's like a sour feeling in the pit of the stomach basically...but it's been ongoing for a while now. Nothing has been particularly right in my thinking for the past few years now to be honest...and being honest i'm not really sure how i feel about a lot of things. I know i get angry...not outbursts like a couple of years back, more a sort of underlying, rumbling anger that is akin to background noise as much as anything. It's not really focused on anything in particular but it's there and it rankles. There's also this sense of detachment from things...like i'm in a kind of bubble at times. And yet i'm far from detached ...reality very definitely bites on a regular basis whether it's business related or stuff with the kids or niggling health issues.  In a way i'm pretty settled into the routine of being back at my fathers place...at times i annoy myself with wondering why i didn't make the move back sooner instead of frittering away rent to a stranger. Another reason for anger i suppose...there's nothing like a bit of self recrimination to get the juices flowing. The shop is a struggle...to put it mildly. Business is practically non existent at the minute and i see little prospect of an improvement. It's a bit like grinding along on the exposed axle...the tyres having long departed the scene. Running on Empty to quote Jackson Brown....though i'm sure he wasn't referring to a failing outdoor clothing business. Struggling to pay suppliers...thinning stock...lack of customers through the door...basically the slippery slope if i'm honest. Trudging on cos it's all i know and there's really no viable alternative...not really in the best frame of mind to engage with the increasingly demanding and obtuse consumer...what few there are of them. That contradictory feeling of being glad to see someone come in but also almost afraid to approach them in case you miss the sale. You can only understand that if you work in retail to be honest. But there it is. Standing in the shop these days trying to stave off suppliers baying for blood while putting on a brave face for the few visitors who do grace the place with their presence (mostly just lookers) is akin to mental torture frankly. Last week i had a couple of days running with no takings...not for the first time of late....something that would have been virtually unthinkable a few years back. Two ducks in a row is hard to stomach. On many days it is a struggle to do three figures. Yes you read that correctly. And it is not just me and not just here. I speak to enough retailers to know that. Things are dire...whatever anyone says publicly. Unless of course you are a coffee shop...or a funeral undertaker. I have not the capital to invest in the former nor the temperament for the latter. What to do?  Well i've no idea...at the minute i resemble a rabbit caught in the headlights of an approaching train...and i am rooted to the spot. The story of my life in some ways. I still cling to the hope that things will turn..that there will be a bit of an uplift...that some more of those FB likes will turn into actual sales...that the companies will be patient. All doubtful but we shall see.  At  present there is nothing to do but keep the head down and carry on...even if it continues to produce the same result. How depressing this is . And i still haven't even got to my sour mood. In truth it is as a result of something and nothing...a perceived sleight and of no real consequence. But these days it doesn't take much. When you are brittle the slightest touch can shatter you. I've learnt that the hard way so tend to avoid much contact. There are also several things which i am deliberately ignoring...they are not to be faced at the moment. I'm sitting in the dark here in the car waiting for my daughter to come out of her music lesson...too much time to think you see. Especially today. The mind wanders over things best left to posterity. I've learnt that no matter what you cannot really escape the past.....it may be another country but it's borders are too easily breached. Fingers of memory poke and prod at every piece of scar tissue, looking for a response that too often still comes. I'm not even sure anymore what lies beneath those scars...but i do know they are still raw enough. Perhaps i am angry because i can no longer take big sips of pain the way i once did....now there's just this vague sense of unease and..well loss i suppose. Perhaps i should be grateful it's not as keenly felt. Or as all pervasive. Somehow though it doesn't work that way. Pain is a blunt instrument at times.

I will upload this shortly. And trudge on.

Gutters and rain.

Odd title. Well to be honest I couldn't think of one and the reason for that one will become evident. I don't find these blogs easy...it's like I clam up inside when I go to write them so we will see if anything remotely useful comes forth. Two subjects I rarely address on here are faith and relationships. Well not head on...I skirt the edges of both now and again...I'm not sure I'd call this head on to be honest but it's not quite skirting either. The last few months have been...well...flat I suppose is as good a word as any. The shop has been a grind ...nothing new there...and my health has been indifferent. Whether it's diet or stress or just ongoing niggling intestinal issues I've been struggling a bit physically ...oddly enough pretty much the same as last year around this time. When people ask me how I am these days I find it hard to come up with an answer...pretty much the usual tends to be the stock one and in truth it's as good as any. The thing about living alone (well pretty much alone) is that after a while you kind of lose track of yourself a little...if that makes sense. Maybe "drift" is a better word. There is drift basically...nothing dramatic or particularly notable but it's there. A certain withdrawal. A feeling of detachment that while not marked is definitely there. I don't go out much...I have no real desire to socialise and have to force myself to do so...even with the small group I would consider close friends. I make excuses for not going places...I put off visits...I am becoming what is known as odd. I had an uncle ...Bob (long dead) ...who we used to call that ...he had never married and lived a solitary but contented existence...people knew he was a bit odd so they didn't bother asking him to things which I used to think was a bit unkind though having entered that territory myself of late I now consider that he was quite fortunate...he did not have to compromise his oddness.  He was a quiet, simple soul who worked hard all his life...physical labour. Bob was small but very fit...or tight as we might say. He lived with my great aunt next door to us most of my life...well until I was a teenager. When she has to go into residential care Bob would come and get his meals with us...not all the time but usually on set days...basically he came and went as he pleased. I had always had an affinity with him...from my earliest memories of him as a child there was something that pulled me to him...that fascinated me about him. He was not a talker...nor was he well educated...I expect these days he might even be considered to have learning difficulties...then he was just a bit odd. He could be awkward and stubborn at times and did not take advice well...but he was...well...totally without guile...what you saw was what you got ...it wasn't filtered through anything first. I suppose you could say I was close to him...I spent a lot of time in his company as a kid...Newry was not that welcoming a place and I rarely had friends to the house...I was a bit of a loner...not unlike Bob. I don't ever remember having an in depth conversation with him about anything. But I do remember that I felt at ease  in his company...he was always working outdoors, from gardening to cutting hedges (a particular obsession with him though we did have a lot of hedges) and I was often to be found "helping" him in the school holidays ..especially the long summer months. He  was a rough man..always wearing those thick cotton brushed work shirts (the ones that had the spare collars) and often dungarees or boiler suit. He had sideburns...and a thick head of hair...picture if you will Logan/Wolverine from the Xmen but a shorter less photogenic version. He was tough...and a hard worker...even when approaching 70 he was doing the work of two men about the place. I don't ever remember us really falling out...though I'm pretty sure I must have been a pollution to him as he tried to work with me in tow. I remember his watches...big round faces with leather straps...I always wanted a watch like Bob's. I remember those  summer days now with a certain amount of nostalgia...but they were good days. It's the only time in my life that I remember being completely happy...I'm sure there were darker moments but I don't recall them. Perhaps it is just that nostalgia we associate with certain parts of our youth. Of course nothing is permanent. Around 78/79 my parents decided we would move to Banbridge

..it made practical sense as I was at school there amongst other things but it meant that Bob would be left alone. He could of course have moved with us but there was no way that was going to happen. I recall the sense of unease I had when it sank in that things were going to change...I'm pretty certain he felt it more though we never broached the subject between us. I still remember the December night we drive away from the house for the last time with him watching...he wasn't generally expressive of his emotions but I'm fairly sure he was crying. Of course despite initial difficulties he adjusted to the situation and was a frequent visitor to our new location....it wasn't the same of course but I was well into my teens now and had other fish to fry....I guess I was too preoccupied to think too much about Bob or how he was feeling. Fast forward nearly 15 years and I was engaged to be married...I still saw Bob on a regular enough basis but he was getting on and had not been very well...he was as tough as old boots but this time he was very sick and unable to keep food down for more than a few hours...he was also heavily jaundiced. The inevitable diagnosis of pancreatic cancer came and went and almost six months to the day of it Bob was laid to rest. His last few weeks had been a struggle...to put it mildly. The last time I ever saw him alive I went out of the hospital room and prayed to God that he would take him that night ...he'd suffered enough. Now I would say that it was coincidence but when the phone went later that night I knew that the prayer had been answered...Bob was gone.

And the point to all this? Well none really. It's been a long time since I thought about my "wee" uncle ....since I've thought much about my childhood to be honest. The emotional dislocation of the last few years has pushed many things just out of reach...or it feels like that. Hard to explain. More than anything it's maybe that my description of myself as becoming a bit odd sparked off these recollections. Perhaps I am becoming like Bob ...in my own way of course. That would be ironic of course...given our closeness all those many summers ago...but maybe it would also be fitting in its way. Maybe. 

And the title...you'll have to wait... I'll get back to that.