The Wedding

I have returned from my brother's wedding. Three days of emotion - intimacy, colour and genuine people.

Nick, my brother has also been particularly special to me. He is my big brother and we are close, people are always surprised how close, but it is a strong bond.

Nick has been with his partner Sally for ten years and they have two lovely daughters, Isla and Erin. Sally proposed in January and my brother accepted. The organisation began.

As close family we attended the legal ceremony on Friday, at a registry office. An off-shoot of Manchester Town Hall. There were anxious moments in the 'holding room'. My niece, Isla, felt the weight of her responsibility - holding the rings and was too afraid to play.

The legal bit was short, but emotionally charged. I've been on the cusp of tears for weeks. I can honestly say there is nothing more beautiful than seeing someone you love dearly express their love for someone else.

Saturday was the main event. Sally had arranged to have a humanist ceremony in Mottram-St-Andrew, a small village outside Manchester. We took over the village hall and surrounding green for the day.

The ceremony was conducted by Lara, Sally's best friend of old. She lead us through the vows (hand-written by the couple) with poise. The ceremony included music by Sally's brother Joe and partner Polly and a couple of readings by me. I chose two Robert Burns poems. I wanted to accentuate my brother's Scottishness (he wore a kilt on the day).

There were more tears and afterwards we mingled on the lawn drinking cava until we were called to dinner. Dinner was a sumptuous buffet put together by a family friend. Lines and lines of adults and children snaked around the food.

My brother and Sally said their thank yous before the cake was cut. My brother broke down when presenting me with my thank you gift. I was touched and had tears again. Not a good way to start my own speech.

The speech for my brother was the most important thing I have ever said. It meant so much that I chose the right words for him. I wanted to express how much I admire, appreciate and love him. It was nerve-wracking and I shook but somehow I got through it. I felt I had done him justice.

The rest of the evening was fun! I could relax. We danced our socks off at the ceilidh and then a hardcore few stayed on for Nick and Sally's music mix. Nick, Sally, me and one very tired 5 year old niece headed home about midnight.

I've put the transcript of the speech below. I gave my brother the original for posterity.
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My brother the hero

Speaking on behalf of my brother, Nick is an honour. Particularly at his wedding ceremony. I'm
not intending that this follow any sort of tried and tested format, I haven't included any jokes or cribbed any words from the internet, but what I'm going to say is from the heart and based on knowing my brother for the last 32 years and Sally for the past 10.

I want to start by paying a bit of a tribute to Nick. Nick is one of those people who lives life under the radar and out of the spotlight. I can honestly say (and yes I am biased) that he is the most caring, thoughtful, selfless, compassionate person I know. There are so many instances of this I can recall, ever since we were kids:

1) Nick fed me sweets when I cried as a baby (he learned very quickly that I had a sweet tooth and this would shut me up).
2) Nick invited me down to London when I was 16 to a party at his flat. This was one of the main reasons why I moved down to London. Nick spent most of the night getting pissed off with any guy who tried to chat me up.
3) Nick took me to my first ever gay club when I was 21. How many straight men do you know who would do that? And, he got more interest than I did!
4) Taking me out for meals when I was an impoverished student, even though he didn't have much money himself. I'll always remember the Spaghetti House in Leicester Square with fond regard, not least because we both fancied the Italian waitress!
5) Nick is the one person I know I can call in my time of need.

There are many more examples I could cite and many are deeply personal, but I'll stop here. Suffice to say, Nick is a very special man and Nick I love you very much.

So, what is Nick like and what does he like?

Nick is sporty and hugely competitive, a family trait (or some might say affliction). Nick has always been a mountaineer. He has our dad to thank for that obsession. He loves cycling and hint hint he really needs a new bike! I remember he had all the gear when we were kids. He took a while to grow when he was a teenager and did look slightly ridiculous in all the Tour de France gear, but I think cycling gave him freedom to get out and away, much like moutain climbing does and now, latterly, running. Nick regularly runs 10k in under 45 minutes. For those of you who aren't sport freaks, that is a very good time!

Nick completed his bronze Duke of Edinburgh Award when he was 16 with a little bit of help from dad who built a rabbit hutch on his behalf. He did the rest himself.

Nick loves football. His playing days are pretty much over, but I believe that he was one of the first ever wing backs when he played in orange for Kenwood Boys Club in Louisiana aged 6. His team is Machester City and Rangers (he doesn't like to admit that, but once a blue nose always a blue nose).

Nick is no dancer, but he's not afraid to post a few letters on the dancefloor. His music tastes have changed over time (he has always had slightly alternative tastes). In his teenage years he spent a lot of time in his room listening to Metallica and Iron Maiden. I think I was one of the few 10 year olds singing 'Harvest of Sorrow' (Metallica tune by the way). He had his dance era, acid house, club anthems and lots of nights out in clubs dabbling in a bit of this and a bit of that. Indie came and Nick came into his own. Oasis were a favourite and various other bands I forget or had never heard of (I was never quite 'cool' enough). Nick has always had a taste for 70's and soul and funk and enjoyed dressing up in big wigs and flares. These days he's quite into soul and funk and fittingly Northern soul given that he now lives in Manchester. But, he always loves getting his kilt on and dancing to some Scottish music.

Nick has always been particular about personal hygiene. I'm not sure how many Dove deodorants he gets through a month, but I'm sure they contribute fairly significantly to the weekly shopping bill.

Nick is quite a fine cook. He does a mean curry and is always handy with a bit of fish. Most recently he has turned his hand to baking. Some of you might have sampled the birthday cakes he made for Isla and Erin in the style of a dinosaur. Aesthetically pleasing and tasty too.

What about girls? Well, Nick was always popular with the ladies, well once he grew. Nick was 5ft until the age of 16. He blamed it on his genes. It gave me cause to endlessly tease him about! I didn't realise how popular he was until I went to see him in London when I was 16. There were women all over him. But, Nick was never the arrogant type. He always had a girlfriend or some love interest but he never crowed about it. And they came and went, came and went.. until one day when Nick was about 26 he mentioned a girl called Sally. Nick was working for Mencap at the time as a manager. It was a stressful position and drinking post-work was a big part of the culture. It was through Mencap that he met another manager, Sally Francis.

Nick always had girlfriends so I didn't think too much about it when he said he wanted me to meet her. I think I was tired and didn't make too much of an effort, but I wasn't prepared for the rebuke I got the next day. 'I can't believe you didn't make any effort' he said as well as some other phrases which I can't repeat... I realised she was pretty special to him.

Sally or 'Frank' or 'Franco' as Nick calls her had arrived. I remember the first time Frank met my mum. She had had one too many Stellas and decided it would be a good idea to perform some acrobatics on the tube. Nick looked on in horror, my mum was silently bemused. The Frank and Stella show was one to behold. These days Stella stays firmly in the off licence.

Within one year they were living together in Tottenham. It didn't get much more glamorous than that. Six months travelling followed. Nick's sense of adventure was tested to the limit on sky dives and bungee jumps, as well as traveller's diarrhoea which succeeded in reducing the man to half his normal size.

But, they survived and within three years Isla was born in West Norwood, a South London suburb town, near leafy Dulwich, but not quite as posh. Isla was born at home in West Norwood on a pond liner. An important detail. I believe Nick dealt with the afterbirth. And a couple of years later Erin was born at home in Manchester, delivered by Nick.

They are both very happy in Manchester. I think the more laidback pace of life suits them. I find it hard to believe that it really has been 10 years, but that is testament to the strength of their relationship. Time flies and all that.

I want to finish with a list of my favourite Nick and Sally memories:

a) Going to see John play at UCL and meeting Noel Gallagher from Oasis. We were all awestruck except Frank who nonchalently asked him for a cigarette.
b) Going for an Indian on Brick Lane, drinking one too many Stellas and arguing about the Iraq war. This culminated in my then girlfriend storming off, closely followed by Nick. Frank and I stayed on chatting and finishing off our beers.
c) Meeting Nick and Sally at the end of their travels in Chicago. We swam in Lake Michigan and had a dance-off at a street party in the evening.
d) When Nick, Sally and baby Isla met me off the plane after my own 9 month world trip.
e) Holidaying in Kefalonia with Nick, Sally, Isla, Erin and my dad.

There are many more memories and there will be more to come in the future.

You are a lovely couple, welcoming and so easy to be around.

You have two beautiful daughters.

And I wish you all the happiness for the future. I love you both very much.

The Gite

No dog days.
Just a roaming dog giving love freely.

Two chickens: one bold, one shy both free to peck at will.

A fishing lake chock full of carp
The flash of scales occasionally breaking the glassy waters.

Pond skaters skidding on the surface tension.

Lakeside portraits in sepia as the sun goes down.

A grassy bank made good in tartan.

Breakfast al fresco.

Fish cooked on charcoal.

Rich reds in our living room.

A wooden staircase leads to the bedroom, where
supporting beams hold the up the room of our love.

Naked we roll in an earthy bed that smells of smoke and soon the rich smells of us entwined.

Star gazing and the milky way overhead.
A million tiny lights twinkle on and off.

You create a home from home.
Your domestic bliss envelopes me.

Birdsong, sweet and melodic fills the hours.

A millpond at dawn, the stillness broken by a silent beaver, rod straight, stealthy, calm.

A smile when you wake and before you sleep.

Love on the lips and
on the tip of my tongue.

Poem Friday #15

Quite how it got to #15 I don't know, but summer is most definitely upon us and there are multiple distractions from blogging... sun, football, tennis, outdoor swimming etc etc.

There is a guide to London's great trees which we now own and we have been two see two so far - a beautiful 300 year old London Plane in Brunswick Square (part of the grounds owned by Foundling the 18th century philanthropist) and Hardy's Ash in the cemetery of Old St Pancras Church. It is also several hundred years old. The young Thomas Hardy worked in the cemetery before his literary fame and left around 40 -.50? gravestones stacked against a young ash tree. The tree grew around them, and the stones have become part of it's form. Quite lovely really... We saw the ash tree as the sun set. The orange glow was beautiful.

Trees
Admire the pillars of our space
Quietly respiring
in parks
on roadsides
and gardens.

Shielding cemeteries,
As old as graves
they stand.

Lie under the bough
of a London Plane
Look up and see
the sun shimmer through
green-hued veins.

Touch the bark of an ancient Ash
Texture rough
Protecting a hollow core.

Stand on a hilltop and look upon
the weighty form
of a great oak.

Deep in a pine forest
Inhale the fragrant scent
and listen
as the wind whistles
through sharp needles.

Red berries in winter
on the holly bush
Fruit for all seasons.

Admire the trees
as they stand
tall
quietly
observing
the changes we make.

Poem Friday catch-up

Poem Friday #10

Election 2010
Good morning Britain.
Today well-hung.
Not drawn
or
quartered.
Two halves might make a whole.
Just don't be conservative.

The counting continues.
Fascists out.
Greens are go.
One solitary independent stands out from the crowd.

Scotland the brave
Defeats the auld enemy
again.

Swingers are in
we hope.

But regardless,
Change is a-coming.

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Aah the glorious days of election fever. We are now faced with a Conservative-Liberal coalition and two men who have morphed into one another. Who knew that Mr Clegg would sell out on such a monumental scale.
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The Psyche and the 25 mile walk.

[If you walk too far you risk losing your mind]

I was psyched up for 5 miles.
10 was achievable.
15 became a curse.
20 and my vessel wasn't functioning quite so well.
21 and my psyche was lying face down on the grass.
22 and my limbs shook like jelly.
23 and my eyes were flickering open-shut; open-shut.
24 and my psyche came back for the finish.
24 and a quarter - when a quarter becomes a lifetime.
24 and a half - each stile feels like a mountain.
24 and three quarters - I can see the end.
25 - Done
in.
A pint in hand.
A medal round my neck.
Mind and body at peace.

[til I stand up anyway and realise nothing works anymore]
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Dorset Circular Coastal Challenge - 25 miles in 10 hours. We completed in 7.5. It's the closest I've come to breaking point. And all in the name of fun.

Astral Showers

A thousand glittering stars rained down from the sky.

The night lit up.

Celestial powers enlightening the unloved.

Channels of energy propping up limbs.

A manic force field from heaven.

Sparking up the ignition.

The Zombie

Looks just like me and you.
a head,
2 arms,
2 legs,
a mouth a nose and 2 eyes.

Walking like you
to an office somewhere in a city
to sit at desk like you do.

To punch at the keys for 8 hours a day.
Then retire
to a home cooked meal
and a glass of full-bodied red.

Moving, seeing, doing,
just like all the other humans
but feeling nothing
No connection
no sorrow
no euphoria
no black days
no anxiety nor mania.

Just a flat line
Undetected by modern medicine.
Unexplained.

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Modern day philosophers are undecided as to whether 'zombies' exist. By zombies they mean hypothetical beings who are physically indistinguishable from 'normal' people but are not conscious.

It seems a crazy thought and yet perhaps not too alien when you get to thinking about it. Consciousness is about being, feeling, making connections. Connections, real connections are so hard to come by; mental states can be explained if you seek the explanation. So what is real? I know what makes me feel real and it's not conversations or substances or things or shaky mental states; it's intimacy and it's hard to come by. But when you find it, even for just a moment, it's glorious.

The Psyche and the 25 mile Walk

Last Saturday I completed a 25 mile walk in 7.5 hours (it was an event - the Dorset Circular Challenge run by the Dorset Fire and Rescue Service). We had to complete in 10 hours and the route was circular starting and finishing at the Square and Compass in Worth Travers.

I didn't have time to fully process the challenge this might pose physically - busy week and the election was taking up a lot of my mental faculties.

Anyway I travelled down on the train on Friday. Several beers, a Cornish pasty and a curry later (ideal preparation for an endurance event) and we were holed up in Swanage YHA. Six in the dorm, zero sleep (there is something distracting about the incontinence sheets that crackle every time someone turns and the light blazing through whenever anyone makes a nocturnal trip to the toilet) and up at 6.30am.

We started at 8 and our group was being led by a very fit woman (I'm still not convinced she is entirely human). The pace was blistering. I had not prepared for that or the sheer cliff faces we stormed up and down for the first 14 miles.

They say that when you run the marathon you hit a wall. I definitely hit a wall on that walk. From about miles 18/19, but especially 21 onwards I was well out of it. It is not something I have ever experienced, the feeling of my psyche leaving my body, ostensibly giving up, whilst I looked down on myself putting one foot in front of the other, again and again and again. My mind kept saying 'I will just lie down on the grass. Go to sleep', my body continued. It was a battle to keep the two connected, but my desire to complete seemed to overpower the other thoughts. Crazy. I guess that is partly how it feels when you're training for the SAS or something. Anyway it adds fuel to my ideas on the psyche as being separate to the vessel (body).

We finished.

And I'm now contemplating a 48 mile walk in 18 hours. Is this possible? Am I mad? Time will tell.