‘Here we are lads! The roaring 20’s! We made it and what a pleasant group of lads to real it in with’ I announced at about 10am on January 1st at an after party to a load of people I’d just k holed with, cut riffs with and pontificated on our dreams for the next decade. Must have been about dozen of us sat around that table, none of whom I’d met previously but I enjoyed their company immensely as we exchanged lines, cans and anecdotes. Deliberately I didn’t learn their names to keep a mystic about the party but I left feeling like I’d made a good impression. Like I’d shaken off the concusion of relentless bad luck and stress that was a near knock out combo towards the end of 2019.
I was starting a new ‘do fuck all job’ in 6 days, both Alex and I were starting to get the ball rolling on finding a place to live together and all in all the New Years eve was a blast. One of those New Years where all that bollocks about a fresh start, new decades reeling in and fresh exciting opportunities and all misgivings being forgot and moved on from felt real. And as the cocaine stopped working and I started to pour the dregs out of the dozen empty Guinness cans I now had scattered around me into my glass, paranoia started to set in and I began to believe my new anoymous friends were beginning to plot against me so I felt I should leave. So too shit faced to ride my bike I dragged myself back to my dingy Camberwell flat and through the impending comedown of a near 24 hour bender I began to feel optimistic for the year ahead, that I was about to embark on a new journey to a new beginning. I was like a passengers boarding the Titantic, leaving their shit behind excited for whatever adventure lay ahead.
I know I said I wouldn’t do this no more. But I really feel I need to let loose on this one. Feel free to abandon it I wont be offended. Wont take an expert to predict the tone of it and many of you would of heard me already spill these stories and theories many times over the last year. But half the reason I’m back is having at least 6 people recommend ‘You need to start writing again Lahm’ and 1 of those being even more sweet ‘I need your blog in my life right now’…. Well be careful what you wish for you sick fucks. Here is the annual review of the year that very nearly destroyed the Lahm Powder experience.
To set the tone 2020 started with a death. The client who I spent the previous year befriending had snuffed it and I was given the details of his funeral from a very sympathetic volunteer manager who assured me that through the time and effort I had put in to visiting an old gay geezer each week, I had made myself a stand out member of the LGBTQ+ community. Which is hilarious considering what I’ve been accused of in the past. I was humbled further when at the funeral when I introduced myself to his daughter after the service and she thanked me for having such a positive effect towards the end of his life…. Blimey! I walked from the crematorium incredibly moved. The geezer I befriended although only in his mid 60’s had lived a fulfilled live where he’d reached the upper echelons of the civil service, raised 2 kids who were now themselves in top notch careers with families, discovered his true identity and go remarried twice. He’d lived his life and it was humbling to know I had an impact on it as it was coming to an end. Anyone who says they dont get involved in charity to feel good about themselves is a liar lads…
Now I’ve gone over the first fall of my own little empire so many times in my head, with friends, therapists, potential employers, you name it I’ve whinged to them about it. But if you dont know it briefly went – had a bad month, which ended being evicted from a house I didn’t want to leave, abruptly losing my amazing job of 5 years due no fault of my own the week before I was due to move house, more shit befell me. My bike got stolen, my mental health declined to an all time low, I suffered anxiety so harsh that one night I thought I may be having a heart attack. You can kind of gather that life weren’t on my side. However I had quite a nice end where I spent Christmas with family in Ireland for the first time in years, I got successful on Tinder out there. I was offered a new job and had plans to sofa surf at Jems place until Alex and I found a place… You would have thought this may have slayed the demons? Apparently not. The start, in fact actually the whole of January was spent battling the most terrifying final boss level mental illness I’d ever encountered and due to it I lasted just one week at this nice new minimal effort placement. All it took were 2 bouts of depression where I simply couldn’t drag myself out of bed and I was given my notice but the worst thing about it was I couldn’t tell the governors at the place that I was actually feeling very unwell. I was embarrassed about not being able to get out of bed and I now understand the stigma behind the acceptance of mental illness. I didn’t know how to convey to these new bosses that I was so anxious and depressed I just lay there as my alarm screamed for what seemed like an eternity and finally found the strength.
So back to the last save point I was at in 2019 this time with very little ammo and almost no health to complete the mission I got back into the job hunt whilst I battled with brain scrambling insomnia and anxiety that would often manifest as painful muscle spasms. Living in a house with strangers didn’t help and being stuck in a room in winter where the broken blind didn’t allow much light into the room didn’t help the cause too much… Why didn’t I just replace the blind?
Then one day I completely reformatted my CV, handed it off to a couple of friends who handle recruitment, got it all finely tuned and had me at least appearing to be a dynamic and multitalented worker. Slung that off to a few agency and databases and out of nowhere the following day I was approached for 2 separate jobs that both advertised as events industry work…. Interesting…. My new favourite pass time had been organising events the last few years and being head hunted is always exciting. I also got interviews for more hospitality agencies knowing that its handy to be on their books. Shit was getting rolling even though just bellow my skin I was screaming. The interview for the first job was the following week and I already had to delay it because I’d been awake 3 days staring at my ceiling, by the fourth day I soldiered on. Put on my best business wear and made my way to this overcrowded office made up of many different companies of which I assumed some were pyramid schemes. But what really put me off was that the reception to this overly crowded and already highly stimulated environment was not just the freezing cold draft from the automatic doors that continuously opened to the elements outside, it was the blaring, god awful south American pop music being played throughout the office which really made me think something was seriously wrong here. Then the receptionist for the company I was interviewing me for handed me a questionnaire with questions like ‘whats the definition of success?’ ‘What words would those closest to you best describe you?’ ‘What is your ultimate goal in life?’ My brain was already scrambled and despite the constant chill being brought in by the army of suited men walking in and out of the office I broke out into a sweat and my mouth became so dry I thought I might heave. I managed to whack something together and pull off an adequate interview for a role I still wasn’t quite sure was required of me or even what it really involved…. They offered me an immediate start. But I turned it down on the basis that this other job, though seemed to be offering more pie in the sky promises appeared more legit. I was also on my 4th day with no sleep and didn’t want to start a new job anytime soon.
Throughout this month however I kept in touch with the 2 birds I may have mentioned briefly in my 2019 blog. 2 Tinder matches one of whom had a similar fucked sleeping pattern to my own who over the course of the year would converse with in Simpsons memes and nudes and another who I actually took a genuine liking to who announced that she was coming to London in February and that we should definitely set a date. Again despite my shattered mind I was able to keep these 2 attractive and interesting women on board and had a date to look forward to, which according to some drunken new years text messages suggested to me would end well.
I’d gotten to the point with this other ‘events’ job where I had apparently made it all the way to the 3rd stage interview to take place in person in February. It would apparently involve me travelling the country in a company car attending community events assisting the over 75’s with the changing of the license fee. The pay weren’t bad and there was talk of it being a Tuesday to Thursday working week. They felt I was suitable for this because of my varied past, that I was compassionate and adaptable and according to the recruitment woman this final interview was nothing to be scared of. I took that on board, but the relentless sleepless nights and feeling that my body was going to fall to pieces at any moment still plagued me.
Then one night towards the end of January, I had a date booked to The Prince Charles with Alex to see a re release of cult classic Holy Mountain – A hilariously whacky, Mexican, Monty Python type number. Then a load of the lads invited me to a pub up north, said the beers were on them. Despite my crippled state I had mostly avoided all booze and not touched drugs all year. I’d also not really seen anyone and really needed the company. It went from a few drinks with a bunch of lads I aint seen for a while, to ending up at a rave in Bermondsey. By about 4am I could feel myself turn and I went home to my bed to lie face down for 3 days, pissing in glasses and chucking it out the window, eating hash browns and pot noodles and reading news reports and watching videos on this Corona virus which earlier that weekend Alex explained was a new flu that was going around which might cancel Chinese new year – apparently it could kill you if you weren’t lucky.
It was eventually a conversation with my near 69 year old, boomer, alpha male father who convinced me that maybe it was finally time to bite the bullet and go see a doctor. I like him had never been one for falling properly ill or ever seeing a doctor. Indeed the last time I saw a doctor was to fix a knee problem which even then took me 2 years to finally get round to admitting was to painful to manage. If I was in a physical and mental state where I was losing job, cancelling interviews and not sleeping for days on end then this was the time to get help. For 3 more sleepless nights I went to a walk in clinic in Soho where the pharmacy had loads of signs written in Chinese and the questionnaire asked if I’d travelled recently. I thought nothing of it as it been years since I’d been to China.
When I would eventually find sleep it would be graphic nightmares and perpetually more horrible montages. Before the morning of that doctors appointment I was on skid row in LA laid out in the gutter surrounded by decaying junkies, trying relentlessly to stab a needle into my arm. I’d recently fallen madly in love with the Tim Dillon podcast so would often try and sleep whilst he ranted away. In this case his screams broke the REM into this horror show dream. Perversely it was the best night sleep I’d had so far this year.
I was prescribed Propranolol by a very compassionate GP. Relieved that she didn’t cut me a prescription for benzos as that would have basically been like prescribing me 12 cans of Guinness to get me sleep each night and raise my mood for a few hours. At this stage I just wanted to feel normal and these pills did exactly that. If you’ve found you’re in a pickle I highly suggest getting your hands on some of these. They’re just beta blockers that lower your blood pressure slightly but stop the mile a minute, kneecapping anxiety without turning you into an unpredictable space cat like benzos will.
Immediately I started to feel better. I treated myself to several trips to the cinema. First to see the absolutely splendid David Copperfield film by Amando Ionucci, the awesome 1917 at the Imax and also the objectively good but in my opinion over rated Parasite. A really good host of films for the award season.
On the 1st of February I would be moving back to Woolwich to stay with Jem, Faisal and Petch. With Petch very kindly helping me with the moving of shit – a trait that after 10 house moves I consider the trait of a true friend which I have always had Petch down to be. Though shout out to the 3 of them for havin me. It was exactly the environment I needed for my continued rebuilding project. Chilled and quiet with the right mix of fun. Petch would often go back to Nottingham and give me his bed to sleep in so a lot of the time I had my own room. Over the next week I had a date with this Irish bird and my big interview and a box of pills to help me if things started turning dark. I began picking up the text books for my course again getting studying done. I was sleeping well, apetite back, cooking nice dinners. Smiling, laughing, then came the date I was to meet someone who was to become one of the very few good things to happen to me in 2020. I’ll need to give her a name so I’ll give her the most Irish one I can think of. Her name was Aoife.
The decision was to pub crawl on Stoke Newington High Road, where there are of course plenty of options. We drank nothing but stout and I listened in awe to her hilarious stories in her deep dulsit West Cork accent. She was a child psychologist, a festival veteran, a raconteur, an expert at the sesh and fresh out of a 8 year relationship. Just a year younger then me, Irish to the point of English being her second language and a total smoke show to boot. Think Winona Ryder in Edward Scissor Hands or Gina Davis in any of her red head roles. And she was fascinated by me lads. Kept laughing at my nasally London accent, on a level with my knowledge of Irish culture and was matching me pint for pint with complete ease. We went for dinner at Rasa, blew her mind with the game changing Whetherspoons app, then kissed as we stumbled to the next pub.
She suggested we find a pub with a quiet booth. Shortly after I suggest we find a seedy hotel room and she agreed. A night of loud, drunken, unprotected, seedy hotel sex followed. Though I was already punching way above my weight with how how hot this bird was, I felt like I absolutely crushed as she would also cum loudly with every 3rd thrust. I felt like I was putting in a career defining performance.
We said goodbyes the next morning and continued to text. Laughing at the events of the night before. ‘Do you remember spitting in my mouth?’ she asked ‘I dont’ I replied… ‘But you know, drunken, cheap, hotel room sex I have no doubt it happened’
‘No it wasn’t in the hotel it was when we was in the pub before’…. I was mortified by my vulgar public show of effection. But she found it hilarious. I said I’d make a visit to Cork next month and we’d hang out again.
That next week I had my big interview, but also had an interview for a hospital porter in Paddington… A total mission from anywhere but was a perfect back up in case this new form I’d found came to an abrubt end. The interview went well, the job was explained in more detail to me and again it all seemed to good to be true. Full training, expenses, company car, 25k a year for 3 day week. ‘Its basically going to be a really lovely summer’ The manager explained. He left the room towards the end of the interview and Columbo’d me. ‘If I was to offer you the job right now… Would you take it?’ Holding back tears of elation I explained I’d be delighted and shook every mans hand as firm as I could… When I went to unlock my bike in my inbox was an email from the hospital explaining that due to a change in management the job opportunity had unfortunately been closed. At the time I was relieved as being left to hang on a decision after an interview for a badass job whilst my plan B just gave the perfect time to leave me completely helpless. I had another month to wait for the job to start in which time I thought I’d find some bar shifts.
Now in the before times when ever I needed to find immediate work I would carpet bomb every pub within a mile radius with my CV and sure enough at the very least 1 would offer a trial. In this case one did and despite a text book trial that lead to the manager offering me a position. She said she’d give me a call Monday afternoon so that I could come in with my documents, get a rota together, sign the contract. I received no call on the Monday so followed the pub up. ‘oh yea sorry, I been meaning to call you, that position had already been filled whilst I was away over the weekend’… By this point I couldn’t even be mad at how piss poor the management was at this boozer. So I just said ‘fine’ and hung up. But again another situation where I’d done nothing wrong yet had taken it in the arse without asking.
I did however start picking up a lot of shifts at a pub all the way on Fulham Broadway…. I’d done a few shifts there through an agency then became so regular they started getting me off the books and paying me under the table. I liked the staff, the cash in hand of £10 an hour is better then any pub will offer and I also found myself getting many tips and drinks brought for me. The owners would also feed us. Plus it being a Chelsea pub I felt quite at home, even if it was an 80 minute cycle and I wouldn’t get home til 4am most mornings. Then when my next shift wouldn’t be starting till 5pm the next evening I would sleep in till 3pm thus completely fucking my sleeping pattern… I did have one shift end early when the pub was pretty much completely dead all night. ‘I blame coronavirus’ the manager said with some irony. But then his tone turned serious and added ‘if it does get to the stage where they have to play football matches behind closed doors without that footfall for the Chelsea games we wont last longer then 2 weeks’….
With February flying, the Bangface weekender around the corner and absolute confirmation that Me and a long time drinking buddy, confidant and DJ tutor Alex confirmed that over the next month we were going to find a place to live together. I was still in touch with both birds in Ireland with even the one I’d not met suggesting we go for cans on my next visit….
Sure enough March came and I took the train to Preston for my new job and met my new colleagues. A mixed bunch but all very experienced, educated and mostly grown up with kids and shit. I immediately made friends with this northern geezer called Michael from Preston who later gave me a lift to the weekender. After 3 days of all expenses paid meals in hotels and offices we were all set up with our new laptops, work phones, bags and what have yous. In the background however there was these murmurs of this bug that was going around. Football matches in Italy being cancelled and how our very clientele were the ones most susceptible to it… The media of 2020 had already been it’s own episode of The Day Today with roaring fires tearing through Australia and The US dramatically assassinating an Iranian general with the promise that they would retaliate. This bug that was going around would probably last a month before they found something else to convince us that we were all going to die, besides the numbers of mortality didn’t look too bad from a country with a population of over a billion. When I was travelling through China I read up about a particular horror story where a town had to be completely quarantined due to an outbreak of bubonic plague with an English couple also stuck in this quarantined town for weeks not knowing what was going on, this was surely a more publicised version of that? Just not as bad as the black death.
The induction went off without a hitch and sure enough the job description just got better and better. As I drove in the car my new friend Michael – who himself had just found employment after 6 months of nothing after being made redundant from his own cushty government job. Laughing about life and how easy shit changes, he suddenly clarified one of my own thoughts when he asked me… ‘Here, we only met those cunts the other week, we started the job on Tuesday it’s now Thursday and they’ve given us new phones, new laptops, paid for our lunches and dinners. Said they’d give us our own cars and told us to keep our receipts to pay our expenses and told us not to worry and that next 6 months is going to be easy and that end of it they’ll probably have another contract for us? Dont that sound mad to you as well?’ I laughed in agreement. But as we drove on with the radio tuned to Talksport more word was coming that European leagues were being suspended, more countries just miles away were going in to total lock down with an announcement to be made by the prime minister that afternoon. Could this new illness named after a beer actually stop the mighty Bangface weekender at the last minute? I said a quiet prayer in that I would vote for Boris Johnson in the next election if he let the Weekender go ahead…. Luckily I had my fingers crossed.
Despite the gloomy atmosphere in the rest of the world the Weekender felt quite unhindered. Granted there were less people and a lot of the headliners had to pull but the usual Hardcrew that I only get to see once a year were there plus a few others from around the globe who managed to make it and then those who couldn’t who were missed. When asked my opinion on the growing global situation throughout the weekend I responded soberly that it was a hoax that would blow over, then when I was shit faced fire off into mad rants on how it was a bio weapon released by communist China set to destroy the Western economy and catapult their next great leap forward of world domination. I never thought my wasted Alex Jones inspired opinion would be the one I’d still have more faith in at the time of writing.
I made a return to social chaleting and reforming of the Autism All-Stars, with Robin returning to the starting lineup after a decade on the sidelines getting married and having kids and owning a home. Stocked up on enough uppers, downers and gas to feed an army we nestled well into the grand circle of Southport Pontins, riffing like lunatics whilst struggling to make eye contact and offloading intricate pop culture facts from all corners of the spectrum. The highlight of the weekend being all 6 of us laughing and joking whilst we peaked on our cocktails of 2CB and ecstasy. I would look in every direction and there was the smiling face of someone I knew. If the shot started to slow down whilst the camera panned, the beat to Stand By Me started to kick in and the scene faded to black then it would have been the perfect ending to the movie. But yet there still was a Sunday to enjoy and I spent it either with Elliot bowling round chalets firing off jokes a mile a minute or with Alex discussing our plans for a new Powder and Buttonhead era living with each other. I ended up getting off with a bird on the Sunday night and went back to her chalet just before St Acid took to the stage for the closing ceremony ‘Welcome to the last party on earth’ were his opening words as me and my friend went back for a night cap…. I crammed into Mikes car with a load of the lads the following day heading back to London, I had a few messages from both Irish birds waiting to be responded to on my phone, looking forward to the training for my new vocation starting the following day thinking that this was it! I was back! And no Chinese virus could stop me!…
By the following weekend the flight I’d booked for an end of March visit to Ireland had been cancelled, I booked a different date and sure enough that went too, I followed up Alex on commencing the house hunt and he responded that we should probably wait until there’s some outcome to the now global pandemic. When I received an email from my manager saying training had been postponed indefinitely it hit me that this was serious and that I best lay low with my parents until the whole thing blew over. With talks of complete lock down I couldn’t stay sleeping on the sofa at Jem’s place whilst he was convinced he was going to die with each passing day, I would have gone insane. So I packed a suitcase and left the next day for Cork. Talks of furlough payments for workers for 3 months cleared my fears of anything going wrong with the job. In departures there was an overwhelming feeling that I was fleeing a war torn country. I sat on a near empty flight to Ireland believing that I’d be back to see out the rest of Summer, I’ll lay low and finally get round to reading Stephen Kings epic The Stand. I never anticipated that 8 months later I’d still be doing the former of those things…
By the first week of April I was unemployed again, with the project I was contracted to being shelved indefinitely and any chance of furlough being denied because there was no job to return to. Over the following weeks it would become clear what was ahead of us. My income had become the refunds to all the events I’d booked over the summer. One by one each fell. The week in Cyrprus for Laurens wedding which I treated as a 30th Birthday present to myself was gone. My 30th Birthday another thing I had now accepted would be spent alone and BOOM in Portugal also postponed with Ryan Air refusing to refund the £250 air fair. Oh and I wasn’t eligible for the dole for atleast 2 months, and though Aoife stopped round to give me quarantine cans during my first 2 weeks of self isolating at the end of those it was announced that no one could visit other households or go within 5km of their house unless for work or designated reason for the next 2 months… I’d just gotten through my own personal nuclear winter to be told Summer was cancelled.
I spent my 2 weeks of quarantine locked in the downstairs bedroom of my parents house in the the Carrigaline countryside, to the back drop of my fathers hacking cough followed by the flicking of the lighter to spark a cigar followed by ‘I know what you’re going to say’ to the look my mother had obviously thrown him. I was stunned by my situation. Not even a fortnight before I had comeback from cripling depression and scraping pennies to having a hot bird after my presence, a cool new job I was looking forward to progressing in and an exciting new living arrangement to now being even more unemployed then before what with both the agency that would send me work and the pub I was doing shifts for announced they would stop commencing business sharpish. I had nothing on the horizon, was turning 30 and living with my pensioner parents in the remote county cork countryside and there was nothing I could have done about it.
The initial watching podcasts being done over zoom and youtube yoga months of global lock down I focused on accepting my situation. But trying to find solace in the all in it together motif I looked at everyone around me either still in work, working from home or practically on gardening leave with furlough, dealing with the situation so much better then I was. Having everything I was looking forward to cancelled was one thing, plunging me into total isolation was another and one that without the structure and fulfilment or financial reward that work give me spent me off into a spiral of wondering what was going to happen next and I was so unprepared for it I still wonder how I didn’t drown in existentialism… Well actually that’s a lie, I survived because I had the support network of my parents able to take me in.
Another factor I quickly took into account was that my whinging meant nothing when there was obviously so many people out there who were having a worst time then I was. I thought of people who were in my situation who didn’t have the option of a rent free room in an idyllic countryside setting. I thought of dysfunctional families of 6 or more facing being stuck together for the foreseeable, young people in their late teens with pisshead parents and several siblings going insane on the 12th floor of a tower block having to adapt to this shit. Even the thought of people with functioning families with young kids sounded too much like stress. I considered the lads I worked with who also had families. I even thought about junkies having to break lock down to get their hits. I shed a thought for people who worked in essential roles, especially those in piece of shit jobs in customer service who were now having to enforce new laws under the same pay. This was before I started to think of people working on the front line and then I started to think about people who’s loved ones who’d gotten ill spending days by the phone waiting for that phone call. Though I could acknowledge my situation weren’t that bad comparatively, it still weren’t great. Just because your drinking habits don’t compare to the friend who has to drink 10 cans a night so that they can shut off and get to sleep don’t mean you don’t also have a drink problem.
The initial depression reached it’s conclusion on my 30th Birthday, where though I had a laugh with my mates on zoom, and my request for nudes from my facebook friends renderd me with a lot of donations from mates I wasn’t even aware were on Onlyfans was fun also. Hitting 30 alone, unemployed and living with my parents was not something even in during my last dark period at the end of 2019 had I truly envisioned and it completely knocked my confidence flat on it’s arse. Just like that all the cool things I had achieved and done mostly all by myself up until this point, had amounted to absolutely nothing and good Christ did that bum me out lads.
As I started to find some adjustment, I’d find that the structure of my existence would operate in fortnightly phases where for those 2 weeks I’d feel motivated and buoyed by either my persistence to get myself out of my rut or luck would strike in the form of a friend putting me forward for a role at their place, I’d spend a whole week constructively applying for work, I would complete a hefty cycle or match with a horny lock down bird on tinder… Case in point and one of the many huge blows of disappointment that would eventually floor me… Over the course of July I had developed a texting relationship with a very keen bird who had to move back to the Midlands when covid killed her job as a horse midwife in cork. Her parents were going away for a week on a staycation and she invited me up for the weekend with the soul purpose of shagging it away together. Also the whole of the Autsim All-Stars lineup were planning a visit in August via campervan – we’d camp out in the garden of my parents house, then do a small tour of the country in the van. I was excited to see the lads for the first time in what would be 5 months. A good and long time friend of mine had put me forward for a job at the company he worked for and I had an encouraging 45 minute phone conversation with a woman from HR and was told I would hear in a couple of weeks max, what’s more another horny tinder lock down bird had a free house one weekday night and invited me over for what inevitably ended in a steamy sex session where I put on a man of the match performance for a bird who was not only a top tier shag but also a laugh in general and who also recommended me a load of places to apply for which I immediately did the following day. Then there was Aoife who would spontaneously pop round every now and then when I was feeling low, feed me Ben and Jerrys, play computer games with me, laugh at my jokes, cuddle me and tell me how great I was, such visits would make my mood flip a 180 in just a couple of hours of her presence. I was cycling like a lunatic – at least 40 miles a day followed by at least one big cycle on the weekend. Chelsea had made the cup final. The weather was incredible and the Irish countryside was beautiful. The infection rate was depleting and looked like there was going to be an end to lock down in sight. Things were good, I dare say I was even happy…
Then the theme of the year would reintroduce itself in its uncanny destructive fashion when in the space of what must have been about 72 hours: The bird from the Midlands fell ill after having her tonsils out and displayed signs of covid, so had to wait on a test to be returned but did alter her parents plans for going away – No sexy weekend getaway for me. The lads came to the conclusion that logistically and financially a campervan trip to a strictly lock down Ireland (lock down was extended by the way, also worth mentioning) didn’t make much sense – no visit from the lads. The job I’d been so optimistic about stopped responding to the emails even my mate who worked for them sent in regards to the position which by now was blatantly filled. More and more further generic rejection emails filled up my inbox. Then when I was completing my morning cycle my 3rd attempt to make plans to see Aoife was responded to with a ‘Im quite busy at the moment’… I then asked if maybe I should stop asking and she told me she had quite a few plans with family and friends coming up she couldn’t get out of. For some unknown reason at the time this didn’t really bother me. But when I got in and showered from my morning cycle I sat on my bed and looked out the window as I did everyday since I arrived, noted it was late July, the height of summer. I was skint, lonely and now had absolutely nothing to look forward to.
Now I think at this point I should stick a fork in the Aoife saga to save having to reference her over and over. Now I always knew whatever we had going was limited. Aoife was a bird who had career plans, she was strictly monogamous, she wanted to have kids soon. On my end my current situation meant that I was only in Cork temporarily and soon I would be returning to England with an exciting new job… That was the plan anyway. I was acutely aware that though having a hot bird around the corner who would come over and kiss and cuddle me, make me laugh and generally give me a purpose was indeed a risky one when everything else was so shit. I knew it would end, it’s just I didn’t expect it to end so abruptly. Though for the first few weeks despite the cataclysmic disappointment I’d felt just a couple of weeks before it was a profound moment when I watched the flame die out on the candle she’d got me in my Birthday package that made me suddenly go ‘Oh shit’… It took a week of thoughts of her running riot rent free in my head and another weekend alone where my parents were in the UK where I felt strongly that I should get more of an explanation to her abrupt ending of things… Her response was swift and thorough enough. She was having a life shake up. She wanted to progress her career, she wanted to focus on losing weight, there were some family issues that meant she had to comit to visits to them more frequently on weekends. She wanted to quit drinking, take a step back from sex and relationships. Grown up shit. Responsible actions during a time where if you could it was the perfect time to do so. She thanked me for being a good friend during a time when she also really needed one and assured me that there was nothing in anything I’d said or the way I behaved that had influenced her decision, it was simply a matter of her coming to the end of a transitional period where just months before she’d ended a long term relationship, had her fun and was now focusing on the bigger picture. There was nothing I could do to argue and the only thing I could do as a friend was to support her decision and keep my distance. If I thought life was stuck on hard mode before, then it had now restarted itself and I was having to complete the whole thing again on nightmare mode. The one thing I was still unclear on however was whether this was a ‘goodbye and good luck’ or a ‘see you soon’. That’s the only mistake I made.
The following weeks and months our relationship panned out just how these relationships often so. Messages to each other were reduced to small talk on the rare occasion where I felt enough time had passed that I could send another. Her birthday came and she appeared delighted to hear from me though wouldn’t accept my offer of a gift as she knew I had little money. By the time it came for me to leave I asked if she’d like to meet up so that I could thank her for being so supportive when I needed it and say goodbye in an appropriate way. After leaving me on read for a week she apologised and instead offered to ring me. Like a cunt I dozed off one evening and woke to a missed call and a message asking if I was ok… I asked her to call back but she recommended giving it a couple of weeks after I settled in to try again. A few weeks passed and I recommended a phone call over that weekend. I called in a chipper mood that Friday evening. I got no answer. At the time of writing I’m still waiting for her to ring me back. Don’t worry I’ve taken the hint lads.
Now I can acknowledge why I’m so hung on this particular bird. Who wouldn’t be? I was at a time in my life when I woke up every day feeling like a total loser only to have a glimmer that I must still have something going for me because I have this hot bird interested who comes to sleep over and feed me ice cream. The relentless emotional blows of disappointment that plagued up until that point could be soothed knowing she would always respond to my messages and help me assess the thoughts and feelings I was having. Without her and with more combinations of disappointment yet to come, even the very idea of doing it solo was enough to have me hiding under the bed covers. I can acknowledge all the reasons why Aoife is no longer in my life and I can understand how with everything she has going on I am sure at this point I am but a mere blur in the rear view mirror of her memories of a weird and difficult year. I expect that maybe she wont find the time to squeeze me in for a dinner on her next visit to London, she’ll probably forget to mention to me that shes coming over. On her next big move she has planned she’ll no doubt meet someone else and my memory will simply be ‘that guy from London’ if I ever do still make an appearance in her memories at all. I acknowledge and understand all these things but just like events of the year itself I am still yet to find acceptance it and it upsets me greatly.
Obviously I’ve had plenty of time to think about why she played such a significant part in what was a fraction of time in the year. Yea the unrelenting support and pep talks, peppered with kisses and cuddles were indeed a factor. She was also my only friend in the country providing me with moral support. But it was when a drunken texting exchange got heated with the other bird who kept me company for periods of my time in the motherland that made me realise how much Aoife meant to me. My relationship with this other bird was almost entirely made up of Simpson references and exchanging nudes. I’d support her Only Fans and every now and then we’d get shit faced and have a back and forth… One night I guess her banter cut a bit too deep and the following day after I admitted I had to turn my phone off and go to sleep out of risk of saying something I’d later regret, she persisted that I drop the burn. Evidently it must have hit a nerve because I was blocked a minute later and though fat, sexy, shaved head Irish birds who converse in Simpson references dont come along too often, I think it would have been some time if we ever full filled the steamy sexts we’d send each other. But what I did realise is that I will hold my hands up and admit I was the cunt on this one and I should have said ‘forget about it, we were pissed and I was the pussy for getting pissed off’ I didn’t and now my chance with her was gone. But I didn’t care. Despite finding her sensationally sexy she was just another one of those middle class, shouty, raving feminist, gimmicks that I seem to find myself embroiled with more often then not now. I think I’ve reached my limit on being lectured on my male privilege by birds who’s parents pay their rent and fund their lifestyle.
What this did make me realise however was the attraction to Aoife was not just all the kindness, support and tenderness she showed me it was that for once it was coming from someone who was simply normal. She had no agenda she liked to constantly reference, there was no subject off limits that she’d be happy to joke about, she didn’t categorise herself as member of any of the usual tree houses. Her personality weren’t built entirely on the basis of the qurks in her life. She had no kinks, her only dogma was a strict following of monogamy and from what I could gather aside from the obvious Catholic guilt any mental health problems she was harnessing didn’t render her any more bat shit insane then I felt I was… Some years ago I found myself in an Irish pub in Kentish Town waiting for a gig to start surrounded by Irish immigrants young and old – an environment I’ve always found myself comfortable in. I looked over at 2 attractive Irish women having a conversation and for a point I wondered if I should just meet an Irish bird and settle down. Maybe even move over there if the job market allowed for whatever career I was vaguely chasing at that point. If this was ever to come to pass with Aoife, how long would it have taken me to realise how big a mistake I was making?
Another factor of grief was that I found myself in the rare and often dangerous territory of playing out future adventures together in my head like scenes in a film, and not even the sense of us as a couple. This was a bird where I got the vibe as I have with other cool women in my life that our friendship was a lot more then the privilege of it being a non platonic one. Even before we first fucked it felt like that our point in interest in each other was because we got on well and despite now being a seasoned vet of the rodeo I still naively never questioned this mindset until months down the line.
So I’ll conclude with ‘The hot Cork bird I fancied don’t want to be my friend any more – waaaaah’ with this. Ok she was just another shag in time. My adult life has been nothing but them. But sine turning 30 in a nightmare scenario with a lot of time to think I’ve found myself having another ‘is this it?’ moment. Is my love life going to be entirely made up of brief flings with me gradually learning less and less from their outcomes? I’ve heard enough testimonies from friends who said they too used to think this way and now they’re still at time of writing in relationships. In the past they were always something I’d avoid because my spontaneous, nomadic existence or because my bombastic, drunken, arsehole behaviour would kill them stone dead. I’m becoming more exhausted from such a lifestyle. I’ve always said to never make predictions for life because the universe will always alter it no matter what you do. 2020 has proved this for more then just myself. But I’ll keep my faith that it’s decisions are ultimately benevolent. Lets see what the post pandemic boom brings.
Sumer in Carrigaline concluded in rock bottom style. The unprecedented summer weather soon turned typical with over 3 weeks of solid rain. This meant I couldn’t continue my routine therapy of a daily cycle. My other routine of spending at least 3 hours a day job hunting reached it’s climax when a job opening for a branch of Gamestop opened up. I was more then qualified for a job where the description specifically said that customer service experience and a knowledge for all things pop culture were essential. I sent off my tailored CV and when I heard nothing back I had to take a knee for a couple of weeks. I had a huge, boring health and safety module I had put off for too long on my electricians course and decided to tackle that instead until Phil and Christo were due to visit the start of September. But I needed to survive another 2 lonely weeks stuck in my room whilst the rain turned the roads into rivers outside. I was almost 6 months into lockdown and I could feel depression and anxiety start to take a grip over my mood and motivation so to help me through it I turned to Xanax once again.
Now I will be the first to admit my relationship with benzos started to finally turn towards the rocks this year. What was one an occasional sleep aid for festival benders or a little assistance to help me get back on track when I would have trouble with nodding off quickly turned to a vice for all lifes little problems. Then when my entire life turned out to be big huge problem, ol’ Benny was there to give me his warm loving hug and reassurance that everything was alright whilst I’d drift off to sleep or into a black out. Now in the past these blackouts have lead to silly things like waking up to a mess in the kitchen where I’d attempted to cook a meal, a nonsensical whatsapp message to an often amused friend. Earlier in the year this evolved into me having a straight up fugue state where I wondered around the house collecting various random items and bringing them to the bed room I was staying in… Still harmless and ones that my housemates who are usually always my friends can take humour in. Chuck alcohol into the equation and unpredictable benzo black outs are far more common, leading to an anxiety riddled hangover that would have me nibbling off another peach just to keep the demons from the door throughout the afternoon. But it was the August bank holiday where I was to accept that the universe was trying to warn me against my relationship with the little white bars. It wasn’t just that I was hoping to spend it slaying this assignment I had procrastinated over for so long only to have my laptop die on me that very morning, it wasn’t on my way down to the village to get a quote to fix my newly broken when my phone slipped out of my mounted pouch on my bike and smashed in the road. It was getting absolutely shit faced drunk, stumbling around the house like an arsehole and having my parents cotton onto my clearly more then pissed state, ask me what I was on, flush my stash and generally cause a drama all in front of my 12 year old niece who already thinks I’m too weird to have a proper conversation with… To make matters worse my mother assumed it was a suicide attempt and I had a heartbreaking conversation with her the following morning when she regaled to me her own previous attempts at wanting to snuff it. It was a new low. Though benzo’s didn’t break my laptop or my phone – that can be put down to some issue with the RAM and a pot hole in the road and design flaw in my storage pouch. It did instil to me that universe likes to take action when I may be getting out of control with something and benzo addiction is no day at the beach if you want to shake it. I got a text from The Woman that bank holiday Monday reminding me that 10 years ago we’d spent that bank holiday going to Bangface, attending carnival, seeing Aphex Twin support Leftield on their comeback tour and enjoyed cocktails with Ian and Rosa one evening and then spending the bank holiday drinking on the Southbank…. She told me it was one of the best weekends of her life and I agreed it was one of mine too… A long way from the contrast of a 2020 August bank holiday, smashing my phone, on my way to getting a quote for my dead laptop and then fucked up on drugs infront of my parents and niece and made my mum worry. Not my finest hour, but the only way was up surely?
As it would go the forecast was predicting sunny days. I looked forward to the following week when Chris and Phil arrived. What’s more a bird from the UK I was into was serious when she said she’d come visit me in early September, the day after the last of the lads were due to leave. I had forgotten all about this proposal as a lot of people said they’d attempt a visit only to be put off by perpetual lockdowns. As soon as I saw both Chris and Phil walk through the gates of arrivals I could feel any worries I had disintegrate. Then when we got home I received a phone call from an agency I’d forgotten was one of the targets of my many CV carpet bombs. It was for a porters job in a London hospital and the pay was the solid 25k I have been able to build a lifestyle around in London. I aced the phone interview and was put forward for training and 2nd interview which I was assured was merely a formality. Was this it? Just like that in the space of a couple of hours of 2 of my dearest friends to come visit me I was also offered a potential ticket back to London immediately after having plenty of fun planned with 2 sets of visitors, oh and whats more talks with Alex about finding a place together were starting to gain more momentum. This was it! In the dying light of summer I was back.
The cycling and camping trip with the lads that weekend was one of the rare highlights I will take from this year. Both Chris and Phil are 2 geezers who rocketed themselves straight to the top of my A-Team of friends mostly down to their strong chat made of hilarious anecdotes and wisdom from lives well lived, their relentless support as mates, sense of adventure and a rare ‘can do’ attitude which alone gave me confidence that they would make the visit happen regardless of any lock down restrictions.
The initial plan was to cycle to Clonakility – the destination of my own first big day out cycling trip earlier in the spring. When the lads arrived I purposely didn’t tell them that the cycle was going to be about 3 hours, I did however warn that cycling Ireland was the polar opposite of cycling the Netherlands. The weather was also due a change and though the thick fog and eventual rain masked the beautiful evening countryside backdrop it still had an eerie beauty to it. Noticing that I was much the fitter cyclist from covering this terrain every day for months, I’d often look back at Chris who was the least experienced cyclist by some way and caught a glimmer of pain in his eye. Though to his credit I never heard him complain once.
That night as we sat undercover in the campsite with a few cans I finally felt the tension I’d been carrying all through the pandemic fade away. It wasn’t a proper summer without spending atleast a couple of nights in a tent, it definitely weren’t a summer without cans with the lads and I had both those things now and the stresses of an uncertain future and frustrations of a never ending lockdown seemed miles away. Especially as Chris and Phil themselves had pretty much carried on with their lives regardless of the pandemic. It’s worth noting that both don’t buy into the hysteria the media sells us and both aint slaves to social media like many and it showed in their favour.
The following day Chris unfortunately took ill and Phil and I stormed around the backroads and beaches of Clonakility swilling cans and talking bollocks. The following day we headed back to Carrigaline. We cycled through the long beaches, quiant villages and epic landscapes of the south Irish countryside of the Great Atlantic Way and stopped for lunch in the lovely port town of Kinsale. The beauty was not lost on us lads.
Chris unfortunately had to leave for work the following day, however Phil and me did not waste another day cycling to all the local hot spots such as Blarney Castle, Spike Island, and general jaunts around the city. Making the most of what we could with restrictions in play. We spent ages trying to find a pub that was flouting the rules and eventually we found a pub in Cobh which was offering food from a takeaway but the restaurant just happened to be closed so it was pints only. It was fun spending quality time with Phil and it was an added bonus watching him fall in love with the country, though I assured him it’s a completely different experience once the weather changes.
We both said our goodbyes the following Wednesday with my next guest due to arrive that Friday which just happened to coincide with another of my parents trips to the UK, the same morning of my 2nd interview for this out of the blue job, oh and fears that the laptop that died on me a couple of weaks before were extinguished when a family friend sussed out what was wrong with it and I got it back working better then ever. If these were to be my last memories of my stint in Ireland then I’d of left with some semblance of it being a success. Of course this was wishful thinking.
My friend in the UK had a last minute cancellation and the apparent formality interview instead threw a load of scenarios at me I thought was way too far out of a porters remit. Another weekend spent on my own in the dying embers of summer and I was truly running out of ideas. I’d blown my load on the job hunt. After an entire season of relentless applications, generic and formal rejections, ghostings and a whole load of wasted time for both myself and the friends I had help me with specific applications only to get as far as the 3rd phase of a job I couldn’t even remember applying for was enough for me. Though the gauntlet didn’t stop there. I was offered a job from a fella my parents had sold something to over Marketplace driving a van around the city and replacing the city hire bikes. The role would also being trained in bike maintenance which felt right up my street. This was scuppered by having to change my driving license, which due to Covid was going to take at least 6 weeks before I even could attend the interview to start the process of changing it. I wasn’t too disheartened though because a manager from the company that I lost my job too at the start of the pandemic got in touch telling me of a remote working opportunity that was yet to go live publicly but said as they were trying to do right by everyone they had to let go they’d give us first dibs. He assured me that because it was remote it wouldn’t matter where in the UK I was based. When I passed the personality test and initial questions I was offered the position only to be kneecapped at the last minute when I was asked how far from the Manchester headquarters was I based? Though a remote job it was actually crucial I lived in Manchester because these were the offices I’d be getting all the kit for the role….
Despite these knock backs October had rolled in and lockdown had loosened to allow drinking in pubs without having to fork out on a substantial meal. This lasted all of 3 weeks until restrictions were reintroduced but those 3 weeks were glorius lads. I’d go out with my cousin and sit at the end of the table whilst I watched characters that even the savviest of authors couldn’t conjure up get drunk and tell tales. Some nights I’d just go down by myself, sit in the corner in full view of the football on the telly whilst a turf fire hissed next to me and I downed pints of Guinness like they were coca-cola until I was too pissed to focus on the page of my book. I’d started to see a therapist, initially to get some clarity and rectification on my woes but more so just as a platform to talk to someone who was neutral and who would listen. I liked enjoyed this time, it was like being interviewed for a podcast where I could just let rip. Cycling was becoming more limited due to the daylight hours but with the changing of the seasons the countryside gained more character with its rich changing colours. I’d cycle the banks of a river that lead out to the sea whilst a blood red sunset reflected off the still water, the sweet smell of turf soothing my nostrils and that slight chill in the air that brought in the long stretch of the evening and warned that winter was coming. These were days that like in summer would seduce me into a sense of Stockholm syndrome with my situation, apart of me never wanted to leave. But of course 2020.
One weekend towards the end of autumn my father complained of a pain in his knee. Then a day later he complained of feeling a bit ill, then he announced he was going for a lie down in the afternoon. Such an out of character action triggered alarm bells with my mother who immediately called the doctor. 2 nights in hospital later and after what was first a covid scare – mainly due to his hacking smokers cough was instead actually a type 2 diabetes diagnoses. I can remember seeing my old man ill once in my life and that was on a family trip to Florida in 1995 where he refused to let on how sick he was because he was having too much fun and ended up with blood poisoning. Despite the shock to the family it was I remained pretty unphased by it, which I put down to the acceptance that my dad is 70 years old, has smoked his whole life whilst eating whatever he wanted all the time during this period – diabetes is what happens. Also and this is another aspect worth mentioning that I took from my time with them and that is that he’s old now. Shit like this is going to happen. Infact in the first month or so of living with my parents again for the first time since I left university I recognised how old they’d grown and I quickly accepted that over the next 10 years at the least the next huge drama I will have to live with is which one of them is going to get either seriously ill or die first and that is a reality I cant escape. If nothing else though this diabetes diagnoses could be a blessing for him as a dramatic change of lifestyle – giving up smoking and switching to a healthy diet at his age could probably buy him some extra years.
The atmosphere had changed dramatically within the house. Just some weeks before my brother true to his style had to tap out on his living situations and move back with us for probably the god knows what number time in his sad life, this coupled with my old man getting ill gave me flashbacks to being 14 again and all of us living dysfunctionally under one roof. Then on the night the clocks went back to usher in a long winter my ma mentioned that the local Dunnes was employing Christmas staff. I applied for the job and then stared out into now even earlier hours of dark abyss from my bedroom window and whilst I thought of myself still living in this same room whilst commuting to my piece of shit supermarket job in the village – no mates, no plans, no pub with god awful weather. The abyss outside my bedroom window stared back at me. It was time to leave.
Meanwhile in London both Alex and his partner Emily had been house hunting on my accord. This was when I was actively looking for work in the UK and was getting so close I felt it only a matter of time until something came in. Of course it never did but a situation where by Emilys sister would make up a 4th person for at least a year meant that I could spend some time living for free until something came in. This whilst an unbelievable and generous offer from the 2 of them was made even sweeter when the gaff they found turned out to be an absolute golden egg of a property, again made more manageable by the current situation and a rent drop on its monthly price tag. Then when the Irish dole office told me that I wouldn’t need to go and physically sign on anytime soon I literally had no more reason to be in Ireland. I booked a flight for the following week. Word came from the UK that restrictions were being reintroduced the day following my arrival, I was leaving lock down for another lock down but I didn’t care.
I’ll forever look back at my time in Ireland with poignancy and some sadness. I hit record lows during my time and despite a few records on Strava never really achieved anything. I’ve returned not even being able to give a proper critique on the city of Cork. I couldn’t tell you how good the music scene is, I couldn’t tell you what my favourite pub was or even my favourite restaurant because they were of course closed the entire time I was there. There were points when even I actively tried to find ways to meet people, for instance I thought now would be a better time then ever to take up a martial art to which all my findings were clubs at reduced capacity and full memberships. If anything I came back having lost the friends I went there with. I couldn’t find work in again what was already a tough market to find it and every adventure I did go on would lead to a shut down town where I would shrug my shoulders and turn my bike around and cycle back. My creative output was never inspired. After getting bored to death by Jordan Petersons ’12 Rules to Life’ I did have ideas for my own ‘Guide to life’ format blog to be released around my 30th birthday but considering my situation I didn’t feel I was in any position to tell other cunts how to live their lives. Then when Glastonbury came round I did actually have this burst of inspiration and started writing a full on memoir of the festival to coincide with the 50th Anniversary… Then the BBC coverage finished and I realised the gargantuan task I was undertaking could never be completed with the integrity it deserved. I was reminded why I gave up writing in the first place and that was because I just aint that good at it any more. Even my parents, or more particularly my mother. For the first couple of months they were very understanding of why I would want to spend my time in my room, but after a few months I probably should have made more of an effort to spend time in the living room watching shit telly with them. Now that they may be moving back to the UK in the near future I may never have another reason to return. Ireland is my Waterloo… I just hope I get the chance to conquer it again in the future.
Immediately back in London I felt opportunities open up. Alex let me know that a friend of ours worked for a charity in the local community delivering food and groceries for those effected by the virus. Our friend immediately hooked me up and since I have tried to throw myself full into every aspect of the charity. I registered for the GP, booked dentist appointments, put all the motions in with the banks to do with debt managements and so forth. I met up with my old friend Liz on a few occasions. I attended a bit of an illegal house party to see all the lads and despite the odd crippling hangover my mental health seems to be repairing itself every day. Then a few weeks ago Rachel – my world champion of birds announced that the hotel she worked at was closing down for the month January and that she wanted to spend most of that time visiting me starting from the 27th December. I couldn’t think of a more perfect way to end a more tragic year… Of course the theme of the blog wouldn’t be what it is lads if it ended that way. Tier 4 was announced and a tearful Rachel called me to tell me she could no longer make it. For everything the gauntlet of 2020 threw at me it never once brought me to tears. This phone call however was a liver punch that literally brought me to my ears and brought tears down my cheeks. After one day of grieving the callose I’ve grown for disappointment helped me accept that it was inevitable this was going to happen. It was always too good to be true.
Now despite that some what sombre end to the year that will forever live in our memories I guess I should run it out on a couple of positives. First off Friend of the Year! I’d like to give a shout out to everyone of you who came forward to lend a hand in anyway. Whether it was letting me sleep on your sofa or in your bed. If it was messaging me to let me know about a role you’d heard of that opened up, you helped with an application or a CV or you were coked out of your brain giving me career advice. If you wanted to moan with me at how shit a time you were having or of course you simply wondered how I was doing or if you simply responded in kind to a black out text of mine. I cant name you all because there are too many but you know who you are and I am grateful for all your support. The winner or winners I should say this year are of course Alex and Emily. They have thrown me an overwhelming opportunity to get back on my feet and one that even in words I cant find the right adjectives to express my gratitude. When I was drowning they threw me a rope and this is a favour I will never ever forget. Any comeback I make is entirely down to their help.
Then I guess where do I go from here? I did have a full on red pill, pro freedom speech in regards to the lockdown and the virus planned for this blog but fuck it, there’s enough of them online im pretty sure you can find one that suits you. If this pandemic aint effected you in any particular way or if the lockdown and the situation itself has helped you thrive in any way then more power to you I am pleased that you are the few who were able to do that. But for me regardless of how big or small you think my problems may be try and consider this. Though I have not personally been effected by the virus – no one I know close to me has died from it everyone I know who has caught it has come back and said ‘yea I was sick’ and gotten over it and my heart goes out to you if you’re reading this and you have lost a love one to it. Personally I lost a lucrative job opportunity and a sense of recovery from one of the worst losing streaks of my life only to be offered no support from the government in return. I’ve lost my confidence and my swagger. I lost my autonomy, my financial security. My mental health declined to points where I developed ailments I had no history of for example there was a point where I was so stressed I developed eczema. I started to grow a dependency on self medicating, with drink and pills becoming a far too familiar habit to help numb pain and sleepless nights. For a long time I lost my sense of purpose. All of these losses have made me relate to the old fighting saying of ‘losing your chin’ when a winning fighter gets properly knocked out for the first time they are unable to return to their original form due to this one experience. I struggle to find positivity in things any more because I’m far too aware that disappointment will strike and send me crashing back down to earth. If I can pin point what exactly has knocked me so off kilter it is the complete lack of control I’ve had towards the current situation. I didn’t lose that great job because I fucked up in anyway – a global pandemic ended it. The birds I could have potentially laid or indeed the one I was shagging didn’t mug me off because they thought I sucked it was for their own reasons that I no right to influence in anyway. I’ve not been able to find work, not because I’m lazy cunt with no experience or qualifications and who dont know how to graft but because entire industries have now shut down and the market is it’s most challenging in a generation. I didn’t end up spending my 30th Birthday alone and living with my parents because I fucked my life up – life fucked me up and thats the problem lads. I’m a proud control freak and there’s not a lot I can do about that.
All this being said and I say this to those of you who were also knocked out by 2020 – Things will get better and I aint just saying that from my own experience but because history itself dictates that following every world crisis is a social and/or economical boom. We’ve started to see this in part with the BLM protests back in summer, there has never been a better push for universal basic income, when shit opens again and we get the all clear everything is safe people will be out in their droves celebrating, live events and social gatherings and all the shit we never knew how much we took for granted until it was shut until further notice will be ever the more sweeter. The cities will even out – the mega rich will stay working from home in the home counties. The scientific community has never been more connected to one another – we have never been more connected to one another regardless of how much you may hate zoom calls. Shit will get better lads.
My resolutions for 2021 are to sober up, get back to the grind, re discover what makes me happy in life, come back from the deferral of my course and nail it, and start making goals and figure out how to achieve them like I used to do. If there’s one thing we can all take from this year it’s that we lived through it and we got to the end of it no matter how ugly it may have been. We will all ultimately come out better from this. Until then cut down on social media and stop believing everything you read in the news. I will hopefully see you I the not too distant future.
Powder, punching out lads.