The Butterfly. Effects.

It’s fair to say I’m quite bored of being at home. It has been good to spend some time with my parents, to see my sister and her family, and nice to see some old friends around the village. Unfortunately, my lack of things to do has now transported me to the point where I'm almost looking forward to getting back into the work cycle. I’ve spent my free time at home watching DVD box sets; The Wire – Season 1 - which was very realistic, so took some time to get into, but well worth it, and Peep Show, which I’m working my way through all 5 series of. Its very very funny – the two main characters narrate their real thoughts over the top of the actual dialoges, and its hard not to laugh at how true some of the situations are. Its reached the point where I’m now seeing a subtitle of what my actual thoughts are on each real life situation I find myself in. I’ve also played quite a bit with my infra-red controlled helicopter, which is surprisingly stable to fly, eat vast amounts of cheese and had 2 bouts of man flu.

The AnnE thing hasn’t moved on - ive not heard from her since an exceptionally bland Christmas Day text - and I’m still hopelessly unsure of what my best course of action is for when I return to the Plym on Sunday. I spent the first week or so hoping every text I got would be from her saying something about it all being a mistake and she wanted me back, but they always turned out to be someone else, or a service message from Orange - both of which, in their own way, said that I need to move on. I genuinely don’t know what to expect when I get back, which is at least slightly exciting, even if the majority of what it remains being is quite shit.

The time has quickly emerged during which I have to get back into real life. Early Jan is the time for planning what is going happen this year and I have been making some mental lists; I’m going to join the Uni gym, just so I can get my cycling up to some sort of decent standard before the spring-time triathlon training starts in anger. I’ve got a slight ankle injury, but after a good 3 weeks of rest I’m hoping I can start running regularly again next week. If I can then there are quite a few races in Jan and Feb that I might as well enter to keep myself motivated. Ill probably do the Bath Half again in March too. I think I’m going to join the Plymouth Tri Club, as then I can enter the south west race series, which will give me even more motivation.

I’m not sure what the girl situation is going to be like- the thought of AnnE bringing some cock back to flat still makes me think angry thoughts, but at some point one of us (and by one of us I mean her) is going to do that. The possi/proba -bility that there is/was someone else still makes me feel sick. I think that the statistically likely risk of getting dumped three times in a row is a bit too unpalatable and best combated by not getting together with anyone else. I’ve had a lot more sleepless nights this year than ever during my single years. Part of me is already thinking ahead to my end of contract and that perhaps it is best to be entirely unserious with girls this year, then I can save up some money and if there are no decent jobs about next March (when my current funding runs out) I should head off round the world for a bit. I can’t really see the downside of that at the moment. Despite that though, I seriously do need to put some hours in at work this year and at least get the first few papers out, if not a grant proposal which would be a lot more positive and make the potential job situation more probable. I have also possibly got some consultation work, which will be great if it comes off, and might involve some trips to Holland. Finally, there are at least 3 holidays being talked around the group at the moment, and already 2 good weekends for before Easter, so fingers crossed it will turn into a great year from a shit beginning.

The most strange and beautiful thing since being at home was a Peacock butterfly that was on the outside bin on New Years eve when I took out some rubbish. I still don’t really understand what has happened to make it hatch out in the current below zero temperatures, but it is a wonderful thing. I brought it inside and warmed it up on a lampshade and fed it some sugary water. It is still alive now, but is not flying around as much. I think my Monday morning job at work is to investigate what could have possibly happened…



Happy New year plans.

Who my parents were

I had a trip home the other weekend. I pulled the car up onto the drive and looked at the lounge window to see Mum and Dad waving me in, just as they always do, even when I arrive late. Mum had made some multi-grain bread and a fruit cake, as she has for the past 4 visits, all stemming from an off the cuff remark about quite liking them 5 months ago (my Nan did the exact same thing with Welsh cakes for a decade). Dad is eager to show me his new iPod and is grateful for me posting him the software to get it up and running on his computer. He hasn't quite grasped the magnitude of what 80GB is though, bless him, as he has only put 2 or 3 songs from each of his 16 albums as he 'doesn't want to fill it up with rubbish.'

I settle in with a cup of tea, and we have an hour or so of chatting about how I've been getting on at work and what the family have been up to. My parents both show smiles and flashes in their eyes as they talk about how much 'the boys' - my nephews - have grown up. Myles (my 5 year old nephew) had apparently seen me running the London marathon the previous week, which was a surprise, as I had been severely hungover in bed at the time it was on. He had seen a tall blonde guy (I later worked out to be the American Ryan Hall) and had decided that it must have been me. I'm happy with this, as have recently been compared to Peter Crouch (again) and Johnny Rotten (oh dear), both of which are a level down from America's premier distance runner.

Anyway, I digress.

Dad had made a new collage of photos in the study. He does this quite a lot. There are collages of my holiday photos, my sisters wedding, and old family photos scattered all around the house. He has made a photo area under the stairs, and there must be 50 pictures there, so tightly packed that its hard to take them all in. Dad once found a picture of his mum when she was in her 20s, taken just as she was about to tee off from the 18th hole of their local golf course in Bathampton. The next week he was up there pulling the same pose, on the same tee, but some 60 years later. The next Christmas all of his siblings got a framed version of both pictures, which dad just couldn't smile enough at as he gave out.

The study collage is a little more interesting though. It's old photos of my mum and dad. There are a few photos of their wedding which I've seen before, but some new ones of them camping, my dad surfing, and playing the guitar. In an age of waterproof digital cameras and several attempts, I've never got a photo of me surfing that is as good as this one. Maybe its the black and white, maybe i can, or would like to see shades of myself in my dads youth, but they're the most interesting photos I've ever seen.

In one, my mum and dad are sat having a BBQ by the sea, which is my favourite ever pastime. My dads car in the background with the boards on the roof is the coolest thing I've ever seen. There is one of dad in a garden, with his sister and his old 8ft Bilbo fibreglass long board that I can just remember being in the loft when i was a kid. I remember stories they have told me which are suddenly more real with these pictures to illustrate them. I start to see pathways through their life to mine; memories of being a kid, sitting on the work bench while my dad fixed the car and told me every step of what he was doing - he probably learnt those skills on the car in the picture. My mum is unrecognisable, with long brown hair, looking away from the camera, probably a bit shy. It reminds me of my group of friends camping, and some of the girls being shy of a camera - I wonder what my mum was like at this young age. The photos are long before me or my sister came along, long before there were the pressures of parenting and paying the mortgage. They're just a young couple on the beach, but the same young couple who went on to become my parents, who made me, who moulded my character, to who I owe everything that I am.

I think about these pictures a lot over the next few weeks. I think about how I'm much older now than they were at the time, and what, if anything this means. I think about how much older they are now - my dad is 60 next year - and try not to think about how frail and old they currently looked with a picture of their prime to compare to. Most of all I think about the fact that they wont be around to ask me about work, or bake me multi-grain bread forever and I vow to make more of an effort to make them happy and proud.






To Mum and Dad, I love you