My path to an ADHD diagnosis has been long and stressful. Maybe I’ll write about that some time in the future but for now let’s talk about today.
Today was my first day on methylphenidate, or Concerta XL. I’m taking 18mg a day in the morning, and after the first seven days that will increase to 36mg per day as I work with my prescriber to find the right dosage to manage my symptoms whilst minimalizing side effects.
I’ve tried to come into today with low expectations and an open mind. I’ve seen the videos on YouTube of the people who talk about their first day being a life changing experience and how it bought them to tears. I’ve also read articles where people talk about it taking time to build in their system. I’ve even seen people talk about how it increased their anxiety, something that left me concerned about how I might cope.
I took the pill just after 7:30am and nothing really happened. I carried on with the morning routine at home and then jumped in the car with Libbie and Lizzie. Libbie asked if I felt any different and I said no, just a bit nervous perhaps.
I dropped them both at school, popped on a podcast as usual and began driving to work. As I was nearing the office I suddenly thought about how I was really listening to the podcast and not just using it as background noise like I normally would. Maybe something is happening, or perhaps in some kind of placebo effect I’ve just made myself focus.
I arrive at work and get on with the day as normal. It’s not until around 11am that I suddenly think to myself that I’ve been working on the same task for 40 minutes now and haven’t found myself switching, or with the overwhelming noise of all the others things I feel I need to do instead. I again begin to think it’s probably a placebo thing, then I step back and think about how my constant assumption that nothing is wrong, that the medication isn’t doing anything is another symptom of my condition and my lifelong habit of not showing compassion towards myself.
I internally belittle and question everything that I do or feel. It’s not that bad Sam. Stop being melodramatic. Why are you being so ignorant and not listening to the person talking to you. Why are you so fucking lazy that you never get anything done?!
It was shortly after this while speaking with a colleague, who is unaware of my diagnosis or medication, that he made a comment that I had a “buzz about you” today. Is this actually doing something?
By the time my lunch break rolled around I was feeling really quite emotional and overwhelmed. My brain was being really quite quiet. The constant noise and narration and stress had not manifested today. I felt present and in the moment, something I rarely describe myself as.
I text Libbie and then my Mum to tell them a little about my day and how it was going, and then I just started crying. I sat in my car in tears as the silence and the “slowness” of the moment just took over me. I never feel like this, I never “stop”. There is a constant internal monologue that is either telling me what I need to be doing or berating and criticising me for everything that I do. It’s like that wasn’t there. Everything had got a little more quiet.
I decided to cut my lunch short. I wanted to make the most of this feeling and whatever was happening today. The rest of the day was positive but overwhelming. I found myself able to focus. When members of my team asked me for assistance I was able to really give them the time they deserved rather than spending the conversation thinking about all of the other things that I needed to do.
When I finished work I got in the car and drove home in silence. No podcasts or music like I would normally put on. I wanted to savour the quiet and the calm for just a little bit. I can’t stress to you enough what an alien experience that was for me. I just drove and breathed out, relaxed.
After getting home Libbie wanted to talk more about how it had been for me and I told her about it. I cried a lot. As she was talking I just kept thinking about all the conversations I usually have in my daily life. With my family, my friends, my co-workers and how I’m never really paying attention. I nod, I agree, I try to focus but I’m never really fully “in”. Within moments I have forgotten what they said, if I ever took it in at all.
It’s common for me to be in a conversation with somebody and suddenly realise that I have no idea what they are talking about. I hate that feeling. It makes me feel like a really shitty person. Like I owe people an apology. Like a bad friend, a bad parent. I am trying very hard to understand and accept that the things I have spent 39 years berating myself for are symptoms of a neurological condition. I’m not lazy, I’m not rude, I’m not selfish. Actually, I can be all of those things at times. This condition does not absolve me of blame or responsibility; but there are reasons why I am the way that I am.
This evening has been a continuation of that quietness. I feel drained. I am not tired, but I am drained. It’s been an emotional day and I suspect as this continues over the coming weeks there will be many more days like this. Maybe this is as good as it will get, maybe as the dosage increases and my body adapts it will get even better, maybe this was just a one off and the medication does nothing. I will do my best to accept whichever of these outcomes arrives, and to do so with open arms.
I feel incredibly grateful today to have been able to get a diagnosis. To be able to say there’s a reason for all of these things. I feel excited to see how this progresses.
I want to end this by apologising to everyone I know for all the times I never truly gave you my attention, but I hope that you will understand it was never my intention to deny you my focus. If you are reading this I can almost certainly guarantee that at some point I have internally argued with myself about how I have interacted with you at some point, that argument is a product of my lack of self compassion. That’s the next thing to work on as this all hopefully begins to normalise.
In the new year I plan to spend time (and money I assume) with therapy. To talk about all of the underlying thoughts and feelings that have bubbled away for decades. I hope to learn how to treat myself the way that I so often tell others to treat themselves. I would like to learn to love myself.
Today was very emotional.
(Holy fuck, I just spent thirty minutes writing this with no background music, no videos, and no distractions. WHAT. THE. FUCK.)
I wouldn’t call it an epiphany. That’s a bit over dramatic and makes it sound like a life changing moment of clarity, something that changes everything.
It wasn’t like that.
Instead it was just a thought that popped into my head.
It’s Thursday evening. Work wasn’t great today. I have a cough that won’t go away. I’m stressing about lots of things. I have a ton of really invasive paranoid thoughts at the moment. I’m tired. Once I get home I go upstairs and sit at the computer, my intention is to add lasts night Pathfinder rolls and data to my spreadsheet. Instead I fall asleep, only a doze for 15 minutes or so.
I pop over to the shop to grab something and as I’m walking back I’m thinking that I need to go to band rehearsal in twenty minutes. I don’t really want to go. I feel low on energy, I feel anxious, I feel unhappy. Over the weekend I shared some voice recordings of a song I had written with the rest of the band, they were positive and wanted to work on it this week. I wasn’t in the mood for that now. I felt low already, and sharing something I had written and having to talk about it would just feel vulnerable.
I started thinking about how I couldn’t go to rehearsal and be low. I had to be “me”. Sarcastic, happy, energetic. All the things that I just wasn’t feeling today. And then it hit me, this internal question that scared me a little.
I thought about how good I am at “putting on a show”. Playing the part even when I’m not feeling it. I thought about how often I do that. I thought about the version of me I portray at work. The version I portray around my friends. I even thought about the version of me I portray to my kids.
Then I wondered. If I am so good at acting and playing the version of me that people see, or that I choose them to see. Well, who is the real me? Do I even know?
That thought has stuck me with all evening and now into the early hours of the night.
I really am not sure if I know who I am. Am I the happy joker that I put on? Am I the insecure, scared boy I feel like most days? Am I the angry, venomous dickhead that I let out when something annoys me? Am I the strangely obsessive freak who has to wash the dishes in a really particular way and order every time? Am I the person afraid to face everyday life, and so locking himself away and painting tiny little superheroes? Am I the person so incredibly afraid of being boring that I just avoid conversation and small talk and just withdraw rather than engage?
Those are all parts of me, but which one is the real me? Which one is my true personality? Am I just putting these acts on even to myself?
I don’t tend to think of my strengths often, it makes me uncomfortable, but I do think I can confidently say that one of my strengths is in understanding from an early age that mental health is vital and is something that we need to talk about. I speak about my experiences often, and I try to speak to my friends about their own mental health when I am concerned for them.
I constantly tell my friends and my family that they need to be kind to themselves. That they need to accept that the things the voice in their head will sometimes say to them are not true. That they should be soft with the way that they judge themselves. That they should forgive themselves for things.
So why is it so damn hard to take that advice myself?
I feel like a failure to wake up as a 38 year old man and spend most of the day desperately urging to self harm.
I haven’t. I haven’t done for years at this point. It doesn’t stop me wanting to though, regularly. For me it was always an act of self punishment, a release of the anger I had towards myself.
I don’t know why I am angry at myself today. I do know that I should have seen this coming though. I’m on a run of really good days. I have not had bad dreams for weeks, maybe a month or more. I have been incredibly inspired and creative. I have planned and written a Pathfinder one shot to play with my friends over the Christmas break. I have done tons of work on the next long term campaign we are going to play. I have been writing notes on my phone constantly. I don’t know if I am writing lyrics, or poetry, or just thoughts, but I am writing constantly. I have written about the unexpected paths my life has taken. I have written about the fear I have of the future. I have written about the recurring anxiety attacks I have been experiencing for about 18 months now. It’s been brilliant. It is the most creative I have felt in forever.
I stopped taking my anti-depressants because I felt positive. I felt like I had a real handle on things.
Then I woke up this morning in an absolute black hole, pit of despair. I woke just after 6 but just could not motivate to do anything. I had planned to wake early, do some washing, prime some minis to paint, go for a walk. Instead I laid in bed until nearly midday. I didn’t do anything. I wasn’t reading anything. I wasn’t watching anything. I was just wallowing, and overthinking every single aspect of my existence.
If any one of my friends told me this had been their day I would tell them that there was nothing wrong with that. That it was good to recognise you had made it through the day and that tomorrow was a new start. But when it’s me I instead being to ruminate. I tell myself I am a failure for feeling this way and achieving nothing with the day. I think of how pathetic I am to be approaching 40 years old and still be unable to mentally prepare myself to just fucking get on with the day.
I don’t share the things I write when I feel positive. I’ll share this though in the hope that if you also had a shit day today you might know that you weren’t alone in that.
The first time that I can ever remember hearing this song was whilst watching the movie Billy Madison. That scene always stood out as just a little odd and funny. I didn’t know what the song was but I could remember and sing along to it with ease.
I didn’t really dig into Electric Light Orchestra until around 2018/19. At the time I had a habit of picking a band I had never really listened to and just back-to-backing all their albums to get a feel for them. I did it with ELO and I absolutely fell in love. Jeff Lynne is a fantastic songwriter, like one of the very best, and that means picking the entry that ELO would have on the playlist pretty hard.
The obvious choice would be Mr Blue Sky. The Atomic Kitten fan in me would vote for Last Train To London. Turn To Stone deserves a mention for sure. If I had to pick any ELO song to be in second place it would probably be Livin’ Thing, but nothing can top the emotional tug that Telephone Line has.
So let’s do this. ELECTRIC LIGHT ORCHESTRA – TELEPHONE LINE. The following listen along commentary is tagged to the above video so listen along for added excitement.
[0:00] That weird kinda sci-fi intro breaks into the intro which is immediately sad. It’s quite a cinematic piece of music and just immediately puts you in the head space.
[0:26] That fucking voice man. The effect on the vocals leaves questions in your head as a listener. Is he talking to me? Is this a conversation? The lyrics will slowly tell us that this isn’t a conversation at all, this is a plea. It’s the sound of somebody willing another person to answer, and to let them communicate. It fucking kills me.
[0:50] Those first two deliveries of the little breaks that will later become powerful band moments with the drums, but here they are simple and just a little flourish on the ride cymbal.
[0:58] I love the string parts in the verse. The first few times they come in it’s almost as a call-and-response reply to the vocals. “Don’t you realise the things we did, we did, were all for real” that line hits. This mattered to the protagonist and the idea that their subject might not feel that same way hurts.
[1:16] THE HARMONIES! The harmonies really stand out, until now every line has been delivered with nothing behind it, just a single vocal track, so when they come in they strike you. And then we get the breaks at the end of the verse but this time with some drum fills to add a bit of tension and build.
[1:34] We’re into motown doo-wop lyrics and I fucking dare anybody in this world to not sing along. I FUCKING DARE YOU. The melody of the vocals is mind blowingly good, but the arrangement really stands out. For something put to record in 1976 this is some really fucking amazing production going on. Some songs just nail it in terms of the music telling you everything, and honestly you could take away the lyrics and this would still be a banger.
[1:48] Here is my favourite moment of the song. The backing vocals answer back with this almost Lennon-esque sarcasm, it’s biting but delivered with such beauty “The love you need ain’t gonna see you through“. It always reminds me of Getting Better by The Beatles. “It couldn’t get much worse” it has this feeling that somebody else is almost poking at the protagonist, even undercutting the story.
[2:01] And before we can even focus on that we get the second half of the chorus. OOOOOH OOOOH! Those two oohs almost compete with another another. The melody just kills. All I want to fucking do is sway and sing along. The little flourish on the line. It’s those little bits that take a song writer like Jeff Lynne and elevate a good track to something iconic.
[2:28] And then we just calm down again. The telephone ring comes back and it’s a proper cool down moment.
[2:45] This third verse hurts. It’s the realisation. That conversation that our protagonist wants so dearly isn’t coming. Nobody is answering but the desperation is too much. He’ll just keep waiting. He has something that he has to say. The arrangement also changes up a little, we get some counter melody from the strings which give this extra tug of sadness.
Now we come to an important part of this series of blogs. I FUCKING HATE FADE OUTS! THEY SHOULD BE FUCKING OUTLAWED! Which means every time that I include a song that has one I will have to justify to you why we are allowing the song writer to make that sin.
Why is this fade out allowed, Sam?
OK. This song is about desperation, and the protagonist not giving up. He says it clearly in the third verse. He is going to let this ring forevermore. So that means in not ending the song it’s a representation of the protagonist carrying on with this need to speak to the subject.
This isn’t a fade out because the song doesn’t have a proper ending. IT’S NOT FUCKING OVER! THIS WILL NEVER BE OVER UNTIL YOU ANSWER THE FUCKING TELEPHONE MOTHERFUCKER!
If the song fucking ends then that means giving up. JEFF LYNNE QUITS FOR NOBODY BABY!
OK, point made.
So let’s get to the question and answer phase of this piece.
Question 1: Why do unhappy songs make such great slow dances? We think of a slowy being a romantic song but so often the best ones are the ones that are devoid of romance, the best ones are often about hurt and sadness. There is only one explanation for this, and that is that we are all going to die alone. OK, maybe that’s not quite the answer. There’s a great live video of this where the audience are all embracing and dancing together, and it does make me ponder on this question. Why do we end up taking this song about basically being ignored and turn it into a moment of romance and closeness to somebody? Humans are fucking weird, all of you.
Question 2: Did the call get picked up? It’s valentines day tomorrow so I should probably tell you that, yes, the call did get answered and there was a happy ending………… but I don’t think so. If the call gets answered then the message of the song changes. It’s no longer about wanting and it instead it becomes some form of reconciliation.
Question 3: Does the protagonist deserve a happy ending? We all deserve a happy ending, reader. Something that I really admire about this song lyrically that so many modern songs fail on, is that it doesn’t tell us what happened. Why is protagonist being ignored? Did he do something wrong? Did the other person? It doesn’t tell us. Modern songs so often fall into the trope of the “I’m the problem, it’s me” thing where they almost romanticise being the bad guy. I’m an emo kid, I love that shit, but I’m glad that doesn’t happen here. The song isn’t about what happened, or how it might be resolved, it’s just about the denial of contact. I think it is reasonable to read that the protagonist is likely trying to apologise or make up for some wrong doing but we don’t know that for sure.
So there we are. The first entry on the list. Electric Light Orchestra welcome to the playlist.
I have been debating whether to end each entry with a tease for the next, but I’ve decided not to. Mostly as I don’t know how long it will be between entries. I might add the next one this week, it also might be way longer than that. So in the meantime I suggest you jump into the back catalogue of ELO. I’ll leave you with a video of the live performance that I mentioned earlier along with the words of one of my greatest inspirations.
During lockdown I started spending a lot of time making playlists. It was a weird time with not a lot to do. The playlists would all have these loose themes and overtime started getting stricter rules; until I came up with the ultimate playlist. BEST SONGS EVER.
The rules were as follows:
Each song had to be the single best song by that artist (not just in some random persons opinion, not according to Rolling Stone or Pitchfork, this would be determined by the ultimate source of such knowledge, me)
An artist can appear multiple times on the playlist but the track must be attributed to a different artist name than other tracks (ie. Paul McCartney could contribute as a solo artist, as a member of the Beatles, as a member of Wings, and maybe even as Paul McCartney & Stevie Wonder for “Ebony and Ivory”. That last one won’t happen though, jesus fucking christ)
Cover versions are absolutely fine, there are plenty of songs that got far better a second time round with a different approach
Some of the songs won’t actually be that artists best song, instead it’s the track that gets overlooked because of something else (sorry Everlong, you really are an amazing piece of song writing, but because of you something else keeps getting overlooked)
Nobody got to see the playlist, they just couldn’t handle it. Nobody can.
I gleefully started adding tracks and then had to start going back and removing tracks when another song by an artist overtook it. That’s when the game really changed. I came up with a new rule. Once an artist was on the playlist, that was it. No second chances. Are you a current recording artist that made it onto the playlist? Well it’s all down hill from here then buddy.
I am super opinionated about music and equally as passionate. I knew a lot of the entries early on. So here’s some hints. Elton John. The Smashing Pumpkins. Counting Crows. Weezer. Joy Division. Everclear. Radiohead. Del Amitri. Face to Face. Hundred Reasons. Modest Mouse. Lagwagon. You can speculate about those tracks, we will get to them.
I’ve been adding to the playlist ever since. It’s now over 30 hours long. I added a new track just yesterday, February 9th 2024. About a year ago I started thinking that I would love to write about the playlist and about the songs that made it. I would talk about what I loved about the artist but especially what I loved about that track in particular. I’d be able to explain how that little hi-hat flair at the end of the chorus made me feel. I could tell you why that one line in the bridge was career-defining. I could be Beato (or maybe Pat Finnerty).
I never did anything with that idea though. Until now.
So there are the rules. I’m not going to write about each song in the order they were added. Instead I’m just gonna dive into the list every now and again and pull out a little gem to share. I’ll probably include a Youtube link with each episode and timestamp my thoughts so you can listen along at home and picture me stood in front of you, passionately waving my arms around as you fail to understand why the backing vocals are so important to the entire thing.
Episode 1, coming soon, and we’re gonna go hard. Electric Light Orchestra.
2022 did not end particularly well. The last two months of 2022 and the beginning of 2023 saw a real drop in my mental health and I began to have frequent, sometimes daily, bouts of suicidal ideation. I don’t think the act itself was likely or much of a threat, but it had reached the point where I was making plans on how I would do it. Really detailed plans, like what day of the week would be best, what way would least impact the people around me. Really not nice shit. I had been off any kind of medication for my mental health for around 3 or 4 years at the time.
A few days before the end of 2022 I spoke with Libbie about it and decided that I really wanted to revisit medication options. In the new year I was able to speak to a professional and I was put on a new medication I had not used previously and at a higher dosage, it really worked for me. I specifically remember one morning in February whilst making breakfast for the kids that Libbie mentioned how fucking annoying it was that I was so happy and singing every morning. I’ve stayed on that medication and it has been working really well for me.
The only lesson to take from that is the same one as ever, talk to somebody. Seek help. It is out there.
So I guess the next obvious thing to talk about would be me hanging upside down in a crashed car. It’s weird because something that felt like such an important event at the time quickly faded into just “something that happened”. At first I had some issues with nightmares, a panic attack whilst the passenger in some one else’s car. There have been a few times whilst driving alone that I’ve hit a little wet patch or felt the car steer just ever so slightly out of my hands and it has set me off. I have ended up ringing Libbie a few times from the car just to talk to somebody and calm it down. I quite often think about the paramedic who told me I was incredibly lucky to have walked away from the crash. I feel incredibly lucky. In the grand scheme of things it was a relatively small thing, I didn’t survive a plane crash or a hostage situation; but it was terrifying and traumatic. I think it really stay with me in some way for the rest of my life. I joke about it now, and that is fine, but every now and then I think about it and it brings tears to my eyes. If the car had flipped and landed slightly different then perhaps I never see my kids again, I was told if I had a passenger they would have died, that bit stays with me often.
When I was back at work after the crash I ended up on a phone call with a client who I think I can at this point call a friend. Johnny is the singer in an awesome band, Pet Needs. They have a new album coming out this year, I strongly urge you to check them out. He told me about a similar experience he had when he as a pedestrian was hit by a car. He talked about how the trauma stayed with him for so long. He was really kind and spoke about the importance of taking time to deal with the emotions of what had happened and that by walking away without physical harm doesn’t mean there is not an emotional and psychological form of damage involved.
The next notable thing that happened in 2023 was a podcast I was listening to on the way to work one morning. Now, I will start this paragraph by mentioning that I am not somebody who self diagnoses. I think it’s really dangerous to google your symptoms and just begin deciding what is happening to you without consulting a professional. Anyway, the host of the show was talking about a medical condition they had been recently diagnosed with and the symptoms that had led them to seek help. Honestly, it was so fucking strange. Every single symptom that they listed was like a massive tick box for me, the way they described the symptoms was like using my own words. They spoke about the medication they had been given for the condition and the amazing change it had made in improving those symptoms.
I arrived at work and started looking up this condition and reading more about it. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick. All of it, from personal blogs people had written to the NHS’ own guidance, it all made sense with my own symptoms. I messaged Libbie and said that I hate to be somebody that diagnoses themselves but asked her what she thought and shared some of the stuff I had found. She suggested that I should look into it, she also mentioned that she knew somebody with the same condition and that they had recently gone on medication that had improved things massively.
I contacted my GP, I explained it all and said that I really don’t want to be trouble or to self diagnose etc etc. As this was an e-consult I had to wait for a reply. I got it back and it felt condescending, belittling, and told me the wait for any kind of process would be more than a year. I felt like I was a time waster and I never replied.
I have just found the email again and re-read it. I don’t actually think their response was rude at all, maybe I just was having a bad day at the time. Regardless, I did nothing more. Now I think about the fact that a one year waiting list would mean I would now be nearly there. Instead I have progressed nowhere.
In November Libbie watched a documentary and then messaged me to say that she was more convinced than ever that I needed to seek consultation and diagnosis.
Private diagnosis is an option but it’s expensive. I need to think but one way or another I will progress this on this situation in 2024. I think it would be for the best.
The next thing of note in 2023 was the death of my granddad, in so many ways my hero. I have two grandfathers on my maternal side. I have the man who is genetically my grandfather, and then I have the man who loved me like a true grandfather. I have not spoken to my biological grandfather in more than ten years, I will never speak to him again. He has never met my son or my daughter, and he never will. He is the man who belittled and joked about my suicide attempt, the man who called me a wimp. He is the man who has spent his entire life bullying the people around him, until his own weaknesses meant he needed them. Once that needed lessened, he goes back to being a bully. He is the embodiment of everything that I don’t want to be.
My actual grandfather, Brian Taplin, only ever showed love, selflessness, and affection. It is no slight against anybody else in my family to say that he was the person that I most admired and aspired to be like. He was amazing. He also lived with the knowledge that something was going to kill him for quite some time. I don’t know how he felt about that in private, but the very few times he ever said anything about it to me it was always with his trademark smile and a bit of a laugh. I was very lucky to spend a minute or two alone with him on the evening he was rushed into hospital. I held his hand and got to speak to him. He wasn’t at his most alert but my granddad was there still. He didn’t die that day, but it was the last time I actually got to speak with him, and the only thing he wanted to speak about was my kids. He asked me about their holiday to Disney Land, and he told me to love them for him. That was all that he said. Simple, and full of love.
A few months later it was him that I kept thinking about whilst taking part in the Isle of Wight Ultra Marathon. I was so gutted to not complete the challenge and still plan to go back again this year and smash it. I lost three toe nails in the end, maybe I will go for a full set this time 🙂
Other things of note in 2023 that I want to remember: I got to see Bruce Springsteen live. I went to AEW All In at Wembley. Lizzie and I watched The Eras Tour at the cinema in our matching t-shirts. I managed to plan and arrange what I think was an awesome birthday gift for Libbie. I fell deeply in love with Ange Postecoglou and in turn back in love with Tottenham. I finished a two year D&D campaign set in my own homebrew world. I held mum’s hand when she needed it. I started playing golf again and got to do that with Cormac. My auntie came home. I went to Disney Land with family and had the most amazing time. I danced with my kids at my friends wedding.
There will be so many other moments I will remember that are not on that list either.
365 days is a lot of time to make good memories, and to try to outweigh the bad ones.
It has been neither a good year, or a bad year. It has been a year. 2024 is likely to be another.
A few months ago our CEO at work posted in one of our work chats suggesting that we should put a team in for the IOW Ultra. I had never heard of it before but found out it was a 106km continuous walking event around the costal paths of the Island. Now I’m a fat dude but I do consider myself relatively fit, I can run a respectable distance at a respectable pace, and walking is easier than running right? And if nothing else I know that when I put my mind to something that my stubbornness and determination will see me through. So I signed up.
I will be the first to admit that I didn’t take preparation as seriously as I perhaps should have. My only real preparation being a 25k walk and buying some new walking boots and blister plasters.
In mid-march we went away on holiday for four days to Disneyland Paris and when we got home I looked at my phone and found that I had done just over 40km over that entire holiday. Hmmmm, my feet were a little sore after that and it wasn’t even half the total I’d be doing. Fine though, right? Right?
My 25k walk had taken me 5 hours so I went from that, added in some time for rests and decided that I was hoping to finish the Ultra somewhere in the 24-28 hour range.
So roll around the 29th April… actually, let’s start on the 28th instead. I had been offered two guestlist tickets to see Lottery Winners and Pet Needs at the Engine Rooms in Southampton by the lovely Johnny, lead singer of Pet Needs. I couldn’t turn that down right? Yeah it meant a lot of standing the night before the ultra but that will be fine though, right? Right?
Pet Needs were fantastic, as ever. I got to chat with Johnny and his brother George after their set. We talked about the t-shirts we’ve been printing for them at work and how much their fans have loved the change to a sustainable option. They are off on tour around the US in a week or so with The Bouncing Souls then coming back to for an as yet unannounced support tour which I think might be NOFX!
So 7:30am on Saturday and I leave the house. My bag is packed light, with just my hoodie, two water bottles, a mobile phone charger, and some painkillers and blister plasters. I’m wearing jeans and a t-shirt, in retrospect not a great choice but it’s my default attire for literally everything.
I met up with the rest of our team and during registration I got talking to another participant. This was his fourth ultra challenge. He was really friendly, gave me some advice about pushing through when you hit the mental barrier, and the euphoria you feel upon finishing. This really does set the tone for so many of my interactions over the weekend. I had assumed a slightly competitive atmosphere but everyone was so lovely and supportive. Most of the people I ended up speaking with had travelled over to take part and this was rarely their first. It seems like this is the sort of thing people really get a taste for doing.
There was a brief warm up and then we set off at 8:30am. So I’m not really very good at conversation and chat, so despite walking as part of a team from work my plan had been to use podcasts and audiobooks as the soundtrack for my walk. I walked with some colleagues for the first few km and chatted before eventually putting my headphones on. I listened to the latest episode of Acceptable in the 80s, a few times wondering if it was too loud and if anybody walking alongside could hear my laughing as the hosts discussed how much pubic hair they thought various 80s celebs likely had.
When that podcast ended I switched to an audiobook. My wife has been telling me for a year or so that I should read James Acaster’s “Perfect Sound Whatever” so I had purchased the audiobook and dove in. It was really good, especially helped by some early discussion of Bowie’s ‘Black Star’ one of my favourite of his albums.
The walk up until the first rest stop at 10k was mostly uneventful but quite scenic. There were a couple of spots where we had to make our way down some very steep, muddy steps so there was a bit of a bottleneck as the long line of participants headed down. I did the classic slip and regain balance once.
Arriving at the first rest stop I spotted the rest of the work team, other than 3 I knew where shortly behind me. Everyone was in good spirits and seemed to be feeling very confident. I grabbed a pastry and a banana at this point and then decided to deal with a blister I could already feel developing on my right foot. This was the same spot I picked one up during my one training walk so I wasn’t too surprised. I stuck a compeed on and prepared to continue. This was probably the last time I would see my feet in a state that I could call normal.
I had also worked out by this point that the jeans were a truly terrible idea. I had messaged Libbie who was going to go into town to buy me some non-denim shorts and then see if somebody could bring them out to me at the next rest stop.
There were two routes to the next stop, depending on if you were doing the quarter challenge or the half/full. For those of us doing the longer challenges it was 11km away. This is where things started to change, for the first time hills became a thing and they are a game changer. Nothing horrific, but we were now outside the realm of just placing a foot in front of the other and repeating. During this section I caught up with George from work who was struggling badly with blisters on his feet and said that he was considering dropping out. I told him that getting this far alone was an achievement if he was already covered in blisters and wished him luck. I was determined coming into this to keep my own pace, I didn’t rush to keep up with others or to slow my own pace down and elongate the challenge, so on I pressed.
I decided to really give myself a little extra oopmh on the hills I would switch from an audiobook to music instead and hope some energetic tunes would keep my pace steady. I popped on the album ‘Fractured Party Music’ by Pet Needs and I also posted something in their fan group on facebook noting that just a few hours before I had been at their gig and was now using their tunes for motivation on the challenge. Amongst a few replies, one of them was from a guy named Darren who mentioned that he had also been at the gig and was now on his way to the Island as he was one of the Trek Masters for the second half of the course, leaving the halfway point at 1am. He then replied again saying he had found me on the event tracker and that my times were going well so far. I remember thinking what a coincidence it was for us to have these two events in common and how kind he was to check my progress. I told him I was hoping to be past the halfway point by 1am but that I would look out for him at halfway. Remember Darren, because he will become a big part of my story.
When I reached Freshwater Bay there were two things to note. Firstly, we were off grass for the first time and walking across a shingle beach. The hard, uneven surface really made a difference to the soreness of the blisters and hot spots on my feet. I decided now that I would really like the rest of the trail to stick to grass. It did not. The better thing however was spotting my step dad Steve and my brother Cody waiting for me. They had headed over with my new shorts as well as extra blister plasters, some anti-blister roll, some water, and some chub rub (I have fat thighs, sue me).
I nipped into the nearby toilet and got changed and immediately knew the shorts were a far better choice. More comfortable, less weight, plus a chance to show off my killer calves. Steve mentioned that if I needed anything else over the weekend just to let him know. I would take him up on this in a number of ways as it turned out. For now he was a motivational support but in a little over 24 hours that would become much more literal.
Around 40 minutes later, after climbing Tennyson Down, I made it the the second rest stop. The rest stops alternate between a minor and a major stop. The minor stops have medical stations, light food options (pastry, fruit, drinks) and toilets; the major stops have more of a meal option as well as room for supporters to come and see their friends and family as they progress. At this stop we were given a sandwich lunch which was really good quality. Just before arriving I had passed our CEO on his way out, keen to continue. The rest of our team were all here, other than the few having to do a slightly longer walk to make this the finishing line.
Whilst I had lunch and recharged a little an older guy sat next to me and began chatting. He told me that he was 68 years old, weighed 18 stone, and had a lung problem, but had completed 16 50k challenges before but he had just withdrawn from this one at 21k as it was too much for him. He told me how disappointed he felt. I remember thinking how crazy he was to think that when he had done so much. This is another feeling I will re-address later in my own challenge.
The walk between the second and third rest stops was longer than the first two and had a lot more changes in terrain. We started by heading over Tennyson Down to Alum Bay, then over Headon Warren which was quite steep and slippy in spots. From there it was down into Totland Bay and along the front to Yarmouth. The change of scenery was quite nice but there was a lot more hard surfaces which again were really starting to hurt my feet. Whilst walking along the seafront a gentleman named Paul asked if I would mind if he walked with me for a short period. He wasn’t taking part in the Ultra, instead he was on the Island to take part in the bicycle randonee the next day. He walked with me for about 2km, we talked about his own experience having done some walking challenges around Guernsey and Jersey, and that a few weeks ago he had been taking part in a kayak race from Devizes to Westminster! He was a really sound guy, told me what a great effort I was doing for a first timer. He asked why I had chosen to walk for cancer research. We spoke about my Nan and how she had been given a terminal diagnosis when I was a young child, and that through the help of charities like Cancer Research UK she was still here today. I then told him about my Grandad and how he had died very recently. Grandad hadn’t died of cancer himself, but I very much came into this with him on my mind. The cause I was raising money for was the reason he got to spend 30 more years with his wife than he has expected. I teared up a little bit and Paul said that my Grandad sounded like a truly great man. On the off chance that you ever read this Paul, thank you. You also seemed like a truly great man.
I continued through Yarmouth, which is much bigger than you think! Then we headed off the roads and pavements and onto the coastal path through Bouldnor. Darren had told me that he had heard there was a very muddy section between 36 and 38km and he was not wrong. It was horrible. One participant had slipped in the mud and badly injured his leg. He was laid on recovery blankets in the mud whilst the medical teams were trying to figure out how to get him off the path and to an ambulance, whilst we all careful sludged our way past. At this point a group of three ladies began talking to me and asked if I had done this before. I told them I had not and one of them laughed and said that she was surprised “I was watching you walk and you seem like a very methodical walker, I can see you just focusing on the end and pushing onwards even with all this mud”. This made me laugh. When I had first told Libbie about this walk she also laughed, then told me that I was arrogant for thinking that I could do it, then she said that she also thought that I would do it because “you’re weird like this and will just keep going even if it hurts”. I walked with them for a while, they asked what I did for a living and they seemed genuinely very interested in our work and asked for our website address. As the mud continued I pulled ahead of them and did not encounter them again. They were only doing the half and I wish I had remembered their names to check their finishing times at the end.
Eventually I reached the third rest spot and was delighted to find pick and mix including Haribo jelly babies (gods gift to humanity). Some of the work team were also here, all of whom said that last stretch had been hard. Aidan in particular was in a lot of pain with one of his feet and decided to go and see the medical team to see what they could do. I had not used the medical stops yet but had heard they were great, I would later be able to confirm this hand as they stuck things into me multiple times!
I left that rest stop before the work crew, and pushed on. As I reached Newtown I saw Libbie, Lizzie, Cody, Steve and Bowser all there waiting for me. I got to hold Lizzie’s hand as they walk with me for half a kilometre or so. It was such a great moment and really perked me up. They also gave me a headlamp as I had forgotten to borrow one earlier in the week. Lizzie told me she had been making me a sign but had not yet finished it so she would send me a photo on facebook later.
As it started to get darker, just after the 44km mark I saw a lady in front of me just collapse sideways into one of her friends, then down to the ground. Luckily the friend had spotted her going down and was able to kind of catch and lower her safely. Whilst her two friend tended to her I rang the emergency number for the event and explained the situation and where we were via What3Words. She was conscious but her blood pressure had dropped severely. The lead medical consultant for the event advised she would be unable to continue and that they would send a vehicle to collect her and take her to be checked on. I felt bad for not waiting with her but her friends insisted I should carry on.
Walking through Porchfield the crowds of walkers had really died off and I was mostly alone, just with my headlamp and the sound of occasional passing cars. As we neared Northwood the path turned off the road and into the forest, a warden warned me that there was a very muddy uphill section coming. He was telling the truth. I made it through there in the darkness and then found myself walking in the dark through Parkhurst Forest. I could head the movement of wildlife around me but could see nothing, it was actually quite exciting. This was now an adventure!
From there we came out near the halfway point at the county showground. Walking along the road here I got speaking with a lady who was doing this for the second time. She was alone but had started with a friend who had withdrawn for health reasons. The previous time she did it she had a similar experience, when her walking partner developed shin splints. We walked to the halfway rest stop together, discussed our plans for how long we were planning to stop for and agreed that we’d both aim to be here for 90 minutes or so and perhaps we would walk the next stage together.
That’s me at the halfway rest stop, and honestly I felt pretty shit. I spotted one of our team who was doing the half challenge. I unfortunately missed the rest of them arriving and finishing whilst I was grabbing some hot food. Spaghetti bolognaise was great and a really nice filler but I didn’t want to eat too much and fill up. After I finished eating I removed my boots and socks and my feet were pretty disgusting. My left foot was swollen and covered with blisters but the right was really worrying me. It hurt a lot and my pinky toe was a really purple colour. I wanted to stop now, so I decided I needed to get moving again before this thought had time to develop.
Whilst mulling this over one of the Trek Masters walked over and asked how I was doing and what I had made of it so far. I didn’t recognise Darren initially, having only seen his profile picture on facebook earlier in the day. He introduced himself properly and we began talking. We discussed the show the previous night and how awesome Pet Needs had been. He told me he wasn’t really into Lottery Winners which is absolutely fair. He also mentioned he had hosted one of the Pet Needs house shows on the Borrowed Toothpaste tour last year, incredibly cool! We never planned to walk together but that is how things would develop.
I got up and went to the starting area. After dark you can’t leave on your own, you either need to be part of a group or wait for one of the Trek Masters to head out. I waited for a little on my own before a group of the event staff said nobody else was waiting right now, why don’t I go and grab a cup of tea and when the next group was ready they’d come find me.
I sat down with a tea and I immediately felt a change. I had gone to leave because I needed to get moving. Now that I had sat down again I was done. I messaged Libbie and told her that I couldn’t do any more. The organiser who had told me to take a seat came over and offered me a foil blanket to wear under my hoodie over night and that the next group would be leaving in a couple of minutes. I told her thanks but I was done now. She sat down next to me and asked why. I told her my foot really hurt and my pinky was a strange colour. She asked why I was walking and what charity I was doing it for. I told her Cancer Research and she looked me in the eyes and said “Firstly, as a cancer survivor, thank you” then she said that must mean I was walking for someone. I told her that I had recently lost my Grandad and I began to cry. I haven’t really cried much since he died, but I guess the exhaustion and tiredness just put it all out. She told me that he would be proud of me no matter how far I got but asked what he would probably tell me if he was sat with me now. I thought about it and all I could think about was him laughing at the thought of it all, really. She told me to go see the medics to look at the toe, and that if they took care of it in return I would have to promise to see her to the finish line. So I did, and I headed over to the medical tent with Grandad heavy on my mind.
The medic looked at my toe and started by telling me that the toe nail was a write off and would fall off in the next few days. The colour, she told me, was due to a large blood blister. She could drain it but it would likely refill. That was ok though as it could be drained again if need be. She couldn’t drain it as much she would have liked as she couldn’t see the condition of the skin below the blister itself. It instantly felt a million times better though. I asked her if the toe nail would grow back and she told me it should do but it can take up to a year!
I headed back out and found Darren now preparing to leave with his group of walkers, four women. I joined them and off we headed down the cycle path and into Newport. One of the ladies in the group had a knee injury and talked about how much harder she was finding the tarmac in comparison to the earlier grass stages. Another of our group was a lady named Kate who was nothing short of inspirational. She is in her 60s, with two hip replacements. She does every Ultra challenge, every year. She has done more than 130. She has done the London marathon twenty times, and numerous other marathons. She told me she raised money for a learning disability charity which was important to her family. She didn’t speak much but she was probably the most inspirational person that I met all weekend.
Coming into this I hadn’t thought that the overnight portion would differ from the day, but man did it! Your body clock is telling you to stop so hard. Kate was struggling to keep pace with the rest of us so Darren stayed with her and said I could carry on ahead if I was comfortable. I was walking the Newport to Whippingham cycle track in the dark, I passed the 60km mark at 2:58am which is around when Darren caught back up with me. It was a very misty night and you couldn’t see much at all. Gone were the scenic parts of the challenge and instead it was just pavement and mist.
Darren was a fantastic partner to walk with. When I wanted to talk, he did. When I was feeling a bit surly and wanted to keep quiet, he respected that and let me continue on. As we headed through Binstead towards Ryde I could feel tiredness setting in. I thought I could fall asleep on my feet a few times.
The day before my good friend Jake had told me that he would meet me at the rest stop in Ryde and reward me with a whole packet of Haribo Jelly Babies no matter what time I arrived. As I was approaching the stop, headed down St Johns Hill at 5:30am, there he was as he had promised. The fact that one of my friends had gone out of their way to not only meet me, but to buy me jelly babies and walk with me really meant a lot. I introduced him to Darren, and the three of us walked on. I wasn’t massively talkative still but it was a good morale boost.
I didn’t want to slow for anything so Jake took a picture of me passing the 70km mark as we arrived at the rest stop. I sat down and became really aware of how painful my left foot now was. I told Jake I wasn’t sure about continuing but like any good friend he wouldn’t hear any of it. I took my sock off to take a look, and unfortunately for Jake he got a look at just how bad it was.
I headed to the medic station again and asked them to take a look. The medic said the left foot was covered in blisters, so many and so wet that it was hard to say how many there were. One had definitely bust so he cleaned that one up a little and bandaged it, before draining three others. He asked “You’re not scared of needles are you, by any chance?” I just nodded and said I would look away! He told me the blisters were pretty far gone but the drain would reduce the pain for now.
Darren and I decided to head back out and Jake said he would join us for a bit before heading back to his car once the local shop opened. The three of us chatter and I once again felt reinvigorated and ready to do this. As we passed Puckpool and into Seaview, Jake said he would need to turn back here. I’m not very good at being serious with my feelings so I played it off as a bit of a joke “Well thanks for coming for a bit, mate”. What I really meant to say though was “Thanks mate, I think I was going to quit again if you hadn’t been there”.
Darren and I made really good time on this next section. We had a 12km walk to Culver Down, then 12km to Ventnor, and then one final 12km stretch to the finish line. We were hitting 4km per hour which I was happy with. I felt more awake and able to talk. Darren and I spoke a lot during this segment. We spoke about how Darren got started doing this, we spoke about how I knew Jake, we spoke about who would be at the finish line when I got there.
I haven’t said too much about the event and the staff so far, but writing about Darren seems the perfect time. Everybody involved is so lovely and supportive. I can not say enough positive things about Action Challenge as an organisation. Darren, in particular, was amazing for me. I never asked him to do the rest of this with me but he just did. When I struggled he kept me going, and when I was positive he stoked that even further. We spoke a little about keeping in touch after all this and how when we got the to the finish we would never to get a picture together for the Pet Needs fan group, Fractured Party People.
During this section we passed the 79km mark and for some reason this really sparked me. It was the first time I truly thought I was going to get there. I started picturing the finishing line and the feeling of crossing it. Coming into all this I had known the song I wanted to listen to as I finished, a song that means incredible amounts to me. I won’t say what that is, until I get to the finish line.
At the bottom of Culver Down we met a female walking alone who was looked pretty defeated. Her knee was in pain and she was tearful. We spoke briefly and then I was quiet and watched as Darren did his thing. I recognised him asking her some of the things things that he had asked me over night when I was struggling. It was then that I realised he wasn’t just a volunteer who was walking the trail, he really knew how to read people and to support them in whatever way they needed at that moment. The three of us then headed up the steep climb and made it to the 6th rest stop. ALL THREE OF US WERE GOING TO FUCKING FINISH THIS!
I had a pizza bread for breakfast at the stop and it was great. I also changed into some dry socks. My feet were looking really bad now but I had to keep going. My Dad rang me and asked how I was going. It turned out he had been tracing my position through Seaview and Bembridge in his car to meet me but we kept missing him as we went off road. He told he how proud he was of me for getting this far and it meant a lot. My Dad and I have never had a bad relationship at all, but when I was younger I found him difficult to speak to. I think I was still in that period where you are young, and you don’t want to show weakness to the other males around you, so I never spoke about my feelings or my mental health with my Dad until I was in very dark places. I always remember the way that my Dad responded to my suicide attempt, and how loving and open he was to it. Since that time he has always been one of my biggest supporters with my mental health. Even though we hadn’t met up this morning, just knowing that he had been out there looking for me meant so much. My Dad is a legend. (It’s also thanks to him that I’m a Tottenham fan so he’s not all great!)
We set off again feeling positive. It was just Darren and I again. The downhill section here was tough as it means your feet slide forward in your boots and put pressure on any blisters you have. We made it to Sandown bay and then the walk along through to Shanklin Chine. Darren and I got talking about football. He is a Brighton fan and told me they had won 6-0 the day before! We soke about Graham Potter and what a bad choice the Chelsea job had been for him, and we spoke about what a wonderfully run club Brighton are.
We climbed up around Shanklin Chine and towards the path to Ventnor. The hills loomed ahead and I knew this next section would be tough. I didn’t yet know this would defeat me. We climbed up a hill, then down. Then up another, and down. We went up some stairs, then down. I started gagging a little and felt like I desperately needed to throw up, and on a few of the climbs I felt a little light headed. I was definitely dehydrated and could feel that, I was also sunburnt.
We made it down another hill and saw a steep climb ahead. For the very first time between rest stops I told Darren I needed to sit down for a moment. So we did, and we sat in silence for a minute or two then Darren said to me “I think you need to consider whether you call it a day at the next rest stop.” He said he could see I was struggling with the hills and that he knew the last section had the worst climbs of all. I immediately started crying. At this point it was so fucking close. I could picture it. I could hear that song in my head. I could see my Grandad, and I could remember holding his hand and speaking to him one final time in the hospital just weeks ago. I cried, and I was even a little angry at Darren in a way. He said it was my decision but he thought I needed to properly consider it.
We got back up and pushed along and I found the hill really hard. My left foot was agony by this point and our pace was shot. We made it to the top of the hill and then I turned to Darren and said that I think he was right. We were at least going to make the rest stop though. At this point I was walking through the streets of Luccombe with tears down my face. Tears of pain, but most tears of disappointment. I felt like such a colossal let down. I was letting myself down. I was letting Lizzie down after her sign and all the video messages she had sent me. I was letting Steve and Cody down after they had twice gone to the effort to come and meet me. I was letting Libbie down who had worried so much about me doing this. I was letting Jake down who just hours ago told me I was going to smash this. I was letting down the lady who at midnight had made me promise to see her at the finish line.
By this point I was basically dragging my left foot. I stopped to sit down again and Darren was brutally honest to me “Listen mate, you’re done. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, but I don’t think I can let you carry on for your own safety”. I just sat there and cried. At this point I knew that Steve was waiting to meet me once again at the next res stop, but at 93km (well, I actually stopped about 4 metres short) I was finished. I could barely stand up.
I rang Jake and asked if there was any chance he could come and pick me up to go meet Steve and see the medical team. Then I sat on the pavement as others walkers passed me. I alternated between more tears and with just feeling sorry for myself. Each walked that passed either said “Come on mate, not far now” or “Are you ok? You can do this” Every one is so supportive but I was checked out now. I could barely muster a polite reply.
Jake arrived and I barely got to my feet before throwing myself into the front of his car. He took us to the next rest stop where Steve was waiting and Darren took me into the medics. I am told it was the worst foot she had seen over the weekend so I am taking that as a victory. As I was not continuing she did not want to do any more draining or poking and instead wrapped it all so I could get home and then assess. Darren told me that a normal Ultra Challenge was 100km, and that with all the extra walking I did at the rest stops (and the two times I went off track!) I could still get a 100k finishers medal but I told him I didn’t want it, it wouldn’t feel right. So I would get a 50km finishers medal instead.
One of the staff let me lean on him out of the medical station and then Steve put his arm round my shoulder whilst I leaned my weight onto him and hobbled to Jake’s car. In the car there was Jake, Steve, Nic and Leah. They were all so positive and having fun. I tried my best to not sour the mood but all I wanted to do was find something to punch. I had let myself down so badly.
We got to Chale where my car was parked. Jake dropped us off and I slumped into the passenger seat of my whilst Steve went to take my geotracker back for me. As I sat there I just wanted to scream. Then I saw Steve walking back over with Darren. Darren was bringing over me 50km finishers medal and t-shirt. I thanked him for everything and we agreed that we would meet up again. I told him I wanted to come back and finish next year, he said that if that was my goal he would meet me to do some training walks ahead of it.
So there is me and Darren, at the finish line. Not as victorious as I had hoped but I know now that looking back I had achieved something. I also can see how right Darren was to make the call and tell me I was done. It had all been an amazing experience, and I think my genuine highlight of it all was meeting this amazing guy.
Steve drove me home and all my muscles were beginning to ache. I felt myself drifting to sleep a few times. I got home and spoke with Libbie and the kids before hobbling, practically crawling, up to bed and falling asleep.
The following morning was gruesome. My bandages and plasters all came off and we got to see the state it was all in. My toes all stuck together with a combination of blood and puss. I couldn’t bear any weight on my left foot. I made it to the toilet only by leaning on the walls and the banister. Libbie insisted I did a 111 online check up. It told me to go to the hospital but I just couldn’t face it.
I’ve been using crutches to get around whilst trying to spend as much time in bed as possible. I haven’t left the second floor of the house for 48 hours now! If I still cannot take weight on the foot tomorrow I need to go back to 111 and go to the UTC so they can assess. I feel melodramatic and pathetic but I just can not walk on it. I had been putting slippers on, to then go to the toilet but the slippers have been getting stuck to my feet and toes and leaving lots of fluff and hair in the wounds!
I also feel back into the bath when trying to get out! Go me!
So in conclusion would I recommend an Ultra Challenge to others? 100%
Libbie doesn’t want me to do another one but to me this is unfinished business now and it will niggle away at me. I still cry when talking about not making the finish line. I need to hear that song. I am hoping with some training and time she will let me do it next year. Like I said, unfinished business.
I didn’t complete it, but I did raise £545 for an amazing cause close to my heart. I did it thinking of you Grandad.
Thank you to all of my amazing family and friends for the support during and after the challenge. I truly believe it when you all say how proud you are, but I don’t feel proud of this and that’s why I need to go again. I need to cross the finish line with that song in my headphones.
Splintered piece of glass falls, in the seat, gets caught These broken windows, open locks, reminders of the youth we lost
“Understanding in a car crash” Thursday
It’s Thursday the 2nd of February 2023. I stay a little late at the office to catch up on work as it’s been a really heavy week. I leave at 5:50pm and get in my car. I put the podcast app on and continue listening to the true crime podcast I had been listening to on the way in this morning. It’s the story of a man who killed his wife by faking a crash, and then tried it again later with his second wife. Sounds like a real piece of shit. I briefly consider switching instead to Spotify as I’m on a bit of a Postal Service kick right now but decide instead to stay with the podcast, then set out from work.
Quite often I give somebody from work a life home with me but this evening it’s just me. Which is fine, I selfishly quite like driving alone. It means I can either indulge in a podcast or turn the music up loud and pretend I can actually sing without anybody hearing.
I start making my way down the middle road until I reach The Sun Inn at Calbourne. The road is closed here (I’ll later learn that a lorry or van turned on to it’s side. Hold my beer.) so I turn left and head over to the Yarmouth road.
So push the seats back a little further I can see the headlights coming So push the seats back a little further Roll the windows down and take a breath
“Understanding in a car crash” Thursday
I reach the Yarmouth Road and as I stop at the junction I note how weird it is, that there is a car indicating to turn off at this junction. Instead of just turning off, they stop and hold up the traffic behind them to flash me out despite really not needing to in anyway. I pull out and continue about my journey. I don’t think I am a dangerous driver. I don’t toddle along at 30mph every where but I’m also not a speed demon. I frequently seem to get people behind me angry on the middle road as I will not overtake a cyclist until I am absolutely sure there is room and nobody coming the other way.
I take a bend as the podcast speaks about this guy crashing his car into a tree before setting it alight with his drugged wife inside. Then I don’t really know what happened. The steering wheel violently pulls right. It’s already a blur but I remember pulling the wheel back to the left to try to get control. Then I remember this really loud noise. And then gravity changes. FUCK. The car is rolling over. It rolls over and I’m upright again, but the motion continues and it again rolls over.
The next thing that I remember was being sat in the car but I am suspended upside down. The seatbelt is holding me up as gravity pulls me down. I instinctively look to the passenger seat and the back seats to see if anyone is there. In this moment I am having the most surreal experience of my entire life. There is glass all around. I pull on the driver side door handle but it doesn’t really budge.
I can see the headlights coming They paint the world in red and broken glass
“Understanding in a car crash” Thursday
I try to take off my seatbelt but my weight and the gravity has it pulled really tight. So I press downwards against the roof to release some pressure and then undo the seatbelt. I push against the door and it scrapes on the road as it opens enough for me to crawl out.
All the random shit in my car is all over the road. There’s a camping chair that has been in the boot since we went to Cormac’s scout camp back in July. There is an old pair of Libbie’s boots. Some jump leads. A random screwdriver set. Lizzie’s swimming costume which we threw in the boot, covered in sand back in August when she wrapped herself in a towel in the backseat. I don’t really know what has happened, where I am, or what to do. So I start picking up the camping chair to move it out of the road. As I do a man puts his arm around my shoulders and says “Calm down. Calm down. Are you ok? What happened?”
I don’t know what happened. A woman then dashes over and tells me to sit down. An Asda driver gets out of his van and runs over alongside a young guy. The two of them begin working out how to control the traffic and get cars past as I have blocked the road. I sit down on the muddy grass next to the road as two women and a male off duty fire officer ask if I am ok, ask if anybody else is in the car. They ask who they can call for me and I blank…….. “oh, my wife. I need to tell her that I’m ok.” I touch my pocket but my phone isn’t there. I go to get up and look for it and they insist that I don’t move. One lady asks what Libbie’s phone number is and I struggle to remember it before suddenly it comes into my head. We dial but no answer. And again.
I then try typing a message to Libbie on my Apple Watch but it takes too long and the lady again tries to ring Libbie. This time she answers. “I’ve got your husband with me….” I can only imagine what must have gone through Libbie’s head. I tell her what happened and say I’m fine but she doesn’t believe me. I do feel fine by the way. If these people would let me I could get up and help do whatever needs to be done.
Time runs through our veins (It starts and stops and starts and stops again)
“Understanding in a car crash” Thursday
The accident happened at 6:10pm. I’m still sat on the muddy grass at around 6:30pm when a first responder on her way to work as hospital stops to assist. A really nice guy lends me a coat to keep warm and tells me not to feel stupid and that he did something similar on this road when he was younger. The first responder takes my blood pressure and checks my heart rate. It is, unsurprisingly, pretty high. She says she will need to take a blood sugar test which means a quick prick on my finger. I tell her that I’m terrified of needles or any kind of injections and she laughs and tells me I just walked away from a car crash, a pin prick is nothing.
Somebody is on the phone to the police and hands the phone to me. They ask for my details. They ask if I have been drinking (I haven’t by the way). They then tell me to ring my insurance company and ask them to arrange vehicle recovery. I pass the phone back and go to ring my insurers, the people stood around me tell me not to bother and that the police should sort it themselves.
At 7:30pm an ambulance arrives along with police and fire crew. I am taking inside the ambulance and they ask me some questions. They ask if I have any pain or feel I could have broken anything. I tell them I am fine. I honestly feel fine, just a bit zoned out and confused. The paramedic tells me that looking at the state of the car I am incredibly lucky to even be walking away. I genuinely do not know if I feel happy or sad at that. She says she needs to do an ECG and asks me to lift up my t-shirt. I start laughing.
The weekend before this I decided that I wanted to shave all my hair off. Lizzie wanted to help so she did some of my head but once that was done she wanted to carry on, so I left her take the clippers and shave my chest. It’s regrown a little and I basically have stubble on my chest. I remember at the time that Libbie said how ridiculous I would look if I got rushed into hospital like that.
The police ask me some questions. I expect them to breathalyse me but they don’t. He says he is confident I am not intoxicated. He says the ambulance needs to take me to hospital as they are concerned that the airbags going off could have injured my chest. He tells me they will get the car taken away and that he finishes his shift at 11pm. He is going to ring me then to update me on what has happened. I never hear from him again.
I don’t want to feel this way forever A dead letter marked return to sender
“Understanding in a car crash” Thursday
I want to rewind now. Towards the end of 2022 I noticed a very large slip in my mental health. I had begun struggling every day in a way that I had not for years. Although I never harmed myself I had suicidal ideation episodes and they got more regular. A few days before Christmas I told Libbie that things were getting worse and they I wanted to reach out for some medical help. The Christmas and New Year break put all that into slow motion but shortly after the new year I was put onto an antidepressant I had never tried before and at a much higher dose (4x) any dose I had been prescribed previously.
I was pretty cynical about it to be honest. My experience with anti-depressants in the past was that if they had an effect it was barely noticeable, but I will try anything right now to be the best that I can be for my kids more than anything else.
This new prescription and higher dose works wonders. I feel significantly better after a few weeks. Libbie starts commenting that I am annoyingly happy around the house. People at work comment that I am lively and irritating. I even started writing something one night to go on Facebook to explain what a positive effect it was having and to encourage anybody struggling to seek help and try a new medication and to be open to it. I decided not to as sometimes I think I overshare or that I come across preachy about mental health. I don’t think we talk about it enough or openly enough, still.
Back to the crash. The ambulance arrives at hospital and I am taking into accident and emergency. It is so busy that they have no spare beds and I am offered a chair to sit on, literally in the middle of the room as beds and patients are wheeled around me. I am told there have been 5 serious road incidents that day. Somebody in A&E tells the ambulance paramedics that Libbie and my mum can’t come in but the paramedic goes and gets them anyway. It’s all a bit tearful as I insist repeatedly to them that I feel fine. I ask what the kids know and how they are. They can’t stay and have to leave. I tell them I will ring when I can go home.
I sit in the A&E ward for a while when somebody comes and tells me there is someone in the reception/waiting room looking for me. When I was at the road side somebody found my phone for me and said I should message somebody from my work, so I sent a message to our WhatsApp group chat. One of the members of my team had seen the message and had worried enough to come and check on me at the hospital. She tells me that I am acting weird and don’t seem myself. We speak for a bit and then she goes. I wait and wait for nearly two hours before a doctor can check me. He checks my stomach, chest and ribs for pain. Listens to my breathing. He tells me that tomorrow I will feel really bad but that I should consider myself lucky and to check back with them if I need anything. I can go home.
3 and a half hours ago I was hanging upside down in a smashed car with glass everywhere. Now I am just casually told that it’s over and I can go home like nothing happened. I leave the hospital and I just want to walk home. The cold air is beautiful and I don’t want to sit in a car, but I know that Libbie and my Mum will panic so I ring them and tell them I will start walking and meet them at Hunnyhill.
I crash my car everyday the same way
“Understanding in a car crash” Thursday
That night, after Libbie and the kids go to bed. I lay in bed and I replay it over and over again. The feeling when I lost control. The motion of the car rolling. Every time I get to the bit where I am suspended upside down and I feel like I could scream out.
I get a little bit of sleep. I wake up Friday morning feeling like I have been in a fucking boxing match. Every part of me aches.
And that is basically how it has been since. I’m not sleeping well. I go over it all again in my head constantly. I spend all day Friday and Saturday in bed. That isn’t like me at all. Sunday I paint for a bit. I play a little bit of Pathfinder in the evening with my friends. After that Jake and I speak about various things. Usually at this point I’d be keen to suggest a game to play together but it hurts sitting in this chair, and to be really honest I just want to be alone again.
I know how incredibly lucky I am. I could have broken something. I could have had long term injuries. I could have died. I didn’t though and that is what matters, but with no melodrama at all intended I truly feel like I might as well have done right now.
Was it my fault? I don’t think I will ever know now.
On Sunday I got a lift from my mum to Ryde and back to pick up Cormac from his dads house. It was fine on the way there, but on the return journey to Newport I start feeling travel sick. My stomach tightens up and I talk less as I begin to feel like I am going to vomit. We get home and I get out as quickly as possible. I rudely barely say goodbye. We go in the house and my heartbeat is through the roof. Libbie tells me I am having a panic attack.
As things are right now I feel scared to drive a car, but even more so I feel scared to be a passenger in a car. If I’m a passenger I have no control, I can’t slow down and take the next corner a little lighter.
I feel like I need to get a new car as soon as possible so I can just get out and face it. That is the right and rational thing to do. One thing I am great at is rationalising things. I think I have lost the ability though.
I feel so scared of cars right now. And even when I do get a new car, when I do drive it, I still know I need to leave work around the same time, drive that same route and face it. Typing that now actually made me cry. It genuinely scares me.
And what scares me more is knowing that at some point I have to take my kids out in the car again. Knowing that their safety is in my hands. The hands that I’m not sure I even trust right now.
I hate that this has pushed my mental health backwards when I was doing so well. I hate that I feel like I could have killed somebody had things gone a little differently, if I had given someone a lift that night. I hate that everything is just carrying on like normal.
I have this horrible black bruise across my stomach, but if you saw me in the street today you’d have no visual sign that anything had happened. To everybody else in the world this didn’t happen, but it did. It happened to me and it has shaken me so fucking hard.
I made the mistake of reading the comments on local news sites that reported it. All the people calling me a druggie, or a drinker, or a bad driver. I want to reply so fucking much but what’s the point.
And it’s over In a flash And I’ll never Ever understand Understanding In a car crash In a car crash In a crash
“Understanding in a car crash” Thursday
I am truly not posting this for sympathy, or for empathy, or for people to even reply and say anything. Perhaps you think this is my fault and that I am a bad driver, that is fine. I am posting it in hopes that venting this and telling people how fucked up and scared I feel right now might release a little pressure in my mind and that tonight I might sleep a little better.
Tomorrow I need to cancel my old insurance policy. I need to arrange to have the old car scrapped. I have seen a new car that I like and I have had a very kind offer by an amazing person to help me buy it. Tomorrow night I am going to see Frank Turner. It is Cormac’s first ever gig. We are going there with one of my closest friends, and I know that if in the car on the way to the boat I feel something happening that I can say something to him and that he will respect that. I am lucky to have friends with whom we are able to discuss our mental health with one another. That means the world to me.
Tomorrow night I will sing like I would if I was in my car, alone, with the music turned up loud. I’m not dead yet.
It’s been four years since I added something to this blog. The fact that the last post was about a player seemingly wanting to leave Tottenham, the same subject of this new one, may make it seem like I am flaming with anger right now. You might think that I’m ready to start replying to Harry Kane’s social media accounts with sweary rants. Maybe I’ll boo his every touch for the rest of his career.
That’s not how I feel. In fact I’m not actually that bothered. I’m not angry at him, I’m just disappointed.
I said it in my Danny Rose blog, I don’t begrudge any football player wanting to move clubs for more money or for a better chance at silverware. Harry Kane has given a lot to Tottenham Hotspur, and he doesn’t owe us his loyalty. What he does owe the club though is the respect of fulfilling the contract which he chose to sign.
The main person to blame in this current situation is Harry Kane. He signed a six-year contract with a team who are best known for not winning anything. Nobody held a gun to his head. Signing a six-year contract at any team is a bold move. He choose to do that. And yes, Spurs have regressed in that time. The club haven’t matched his ambitions in terms of performance or investment. But they don’t have to. The deal was they would pay him a wage and he would turn up to train and play. One side of the deal have kept their end of this bargain. The other side of the deal have burned the bridges with the fanbase who have defended him for years.
As football fans we project our own love for our club onto the players. We want every player who pulls on the shirt to love that badge the same way that we do. The truth though is that even when that player is a fan themselves, they are swayed by their own needs and desires. We got suckered in to it all. The Roy of the Rovers story. The youth academy boy done good. He became the best striker in the country, the second best striker in the world (maybe the best depending on how you feel about Lewandowski). He became captain of his country. He was one of our own.
I fucking loved that fairy tale. Very few fans in football will ever get to experience what we have with Kane. It was proper football magic. And now it’s ruined. It doesn’t matter what happens now, it will never be quite the same.
When the Gary Neville interview leaked back in May I said that Harry Kane wouldn’t be leaving. I stuck by that every time the subject came up. And for the record, I still don’t think Harry Kane will be leaving Tottenham. It’s a depressed market right now, and nobody is willing to pay the asking price. With three years left on his contract there is no real pressure for Tottenham to sell, and lord knows that Daniel Levy has a lot of work to do to rebuild his own bridges with the fans. Selling Harry Kane right now is not going to help that cause.
If Harry Kane wants to leave and Manchester City want to buy him, that is fine. City can pay the asking price. They are set to pay £100m for Jack Grealish so based on their own value we can open negotiations at £150m. Nut up or shut up.
I don’t know how Harry Kane thought that no-showing training was going to play out. Maybe he thought this was a power play? I don’t believe it is. It will get Sky Sports talking, sure. It has also irreparably harmed his relationship with the Tottenham fans. Football fans are fickle. If he stays, we will cheer when he scores, but no longer is he one of our own. He’s just another mercenary being paid £200,000 a week. Some fans may forgive easier than others, but for me he’s now just a Tottenham player. I always had this image of him as a hard-working, down to earth guy. Somebody that understood our love for the club. He may well be those things, but the lack of professionalism, more importantly the lack of respect is annoying.
No player is bigger than the club. Remember Hossam Ghaly throwing the shirt down on the pitch? To me that is less disrespect than what Kane is showing the club. He’s paid to attend training sessions. Not doing so is disrespect. It’s disrespects the club, the fans, the manager, and his teammates. I’ve seen talk of this gentleman’s agreement but what is a gentleman’s agreement? Does it somehow supersede your contract? Does it fuck.
And if we want to talk about silverware, how about the three cup finals he has played in for Spurs? I don’t think it’s fair to point the finger for losing those games solely on him, but it’s not unfair to say that his performance in all three games was pretty underwhelming. Success or failure is not purely on one player, but he is an integral part of the team that has failed to win anything.
Tottenham fans stood by and defended him through a lot. That embarrassing mess when he insisted he touched the ball to get another goal on his tally? A bit pathetic really, and maybe telling of the man, but at the time we stuck by him. As the diving creeped into his game? We stuck by him.
What price is a fair one for Harry Kane? City will argue that £100m is fair for a 28 year old with repeat ankle injuries, Tottenham will argue that £150m is fair for a talismanic player who simply cannot be replaced. No matter what the fee, Spurs will be weaker without him. The power here is with Tottenham. There is a lot of time on the contract. City can use their sports washing bloody money if they really want him. Otherwise Harry, get in training and start doing your job. It’s pretty simple.
I don’t believe he will go. If he does, then fine. I’ve seen great players leave before. A year or two ago I’d have been hurt at the idea of Kane going, but now I’m genuinely over it. He’s not the same Harry Kane to me any more. And if he stays, I will clap when his name is on the team sheet, I will cheer when he scores, but the love can’t ever come back. There’s no going back. He’s not Roy of the Rovers. He’s not one of our own. He’s just professional footballer Harry Kane.
When Dane Scarlett breaks through, somebody remind me not to fall quite so hard for the narrative next time. Remind me not to put my hopes and my emotions on him. But you know what? I will, because I love my club and I want the players to love it, and respect it, too.
So first thing this morning my thoughts could be summed up as “Fuck Danny Rose”.
Let’s start by being honest, nothing that was said in that interview was news to anybody. Tottenham are a club that have bucked the trend of exorbitant wages for professional footballers. We’ve long avoided extravagant spending in the transfer market and instead make an effort to sell players to cover the cost of new signings.
It’s important that I start this by describing that I consider myself a very rational football fan. I’m not one of those who will slag off every player who leaves for another club. Football is a short career and I don’t begrudge a player leaving for more money or for a better chance at trophies. I didn’t begrudge Berbatov, Modric, or Bale leaving (though all three could have handled their moves in far better fashion).
Some fans would love for our club to go wild and start making marquee signings and paying wages comparable to those of the Manchester clubs. That’s fine but that’s not what I want my club to be. I like that, for the most part, we have not become another part of the broken football financial machine. The entirety of top-level football is based on the false economy of clubs either running at continual losses or having their spending underwritten by billionaire owners (let’s not waste our time pretending that Financial Fair Play is in any way relevant).
More than anything, having had time to take it all in and gather my thoughts, the thing that annoys me the most is the timing of the interview being published. This coming out mere days before the first game of the season has been done for no other reason than to generate bullshit football media headlines and, in a more cynical thought, lay the groundwork for Danny Rose to leave the club (something that I don’t think will happen this season, for the record).
The fact that Danny Rose shares an agent with Kyle Walker should be a strong hint as to where some of the influence in all this is coming from. “Here, Danny, look how much Kyle is earning now!”
Is Danny Rose capable of earning more money based on his performances the last three seasons? Certainly, but let’s keep in mind that he was happy signing his current deal less than a year ago so you’ll have to excuse me for not having a lot of sympathy if the man feels he is worth more. I know that if my employer offered me a new contract which I felt was significantly worse than what I deserve I would turn it down.
At Spurs, we are in a very difficult position where any signing we make would have to be real world-class quality and therefore probably involve breaking our current wage structure, or it needs to be a player who is happy to play second choice to a Kane, an Alli, or an Alderweireld. Fans have complained on twitter all summer about the lack of signings but who do we really want to bring in? I know that I’d rather us sit back and sign nobody than for us to splash money on another Moussa Sissoko.
This brings me on to Rose’s comment about not wanting the club to sign players that he as to google. I suspect this was more of a throw away humorous comment but it’s worth remembering that anybody wondering who Danny Rose was 10 years ago would have been googling him. Dele Alli when he signed for the club had made a good number of appearances for MK Dons but let’s not pretend we all knew about him and what he would become. We have a manager in Mauricio Pochettino who has a proven track record of significantly improving the performances and form of players in his squad, and for the most part has made good signings that have benefitted the team. If our next signing requires me to google his name I’ll keep my faith in Poch to help assure me it was a good move.
Oh yeah, Danny Rose wants us to sign Ross Barkley. I’ve never been against this move but it’s not something I’d like to see us put too much money into. He’s been a very inconsistent performer for Everton but maybe consistency is exactly what Poch could give to him.
The long and short of this is that sometimes professional football just fucking sucks. The system is broken and flawed and there are no signs of it being addressed anytime soon. So we as fans have to make the most of what we can. Perhaps as a Tottenham fan that means accepting that this current squad now has its days numbered and that in three seasons time Danny Rose, Toby, Kane, Dele, Eriksen, and Lloris will all be playing for other clubs and all we will have to show for this period will be a second place finish and some great football to remember. You know what? I’d prefer that than for us to become the next Leeds and piss money away into the wind at the potential detriment of the club’s future.
Without some foreign oligarch taking over, not something I want by the way, we’re unlikely to ever be able to seriously compete with the silly-spending clubs of the world. This summer, if nothing else, has taught us all that transfer fees are now meaningless in terms of valuing a player and instead just show how much money there is in the game following recent television deals.
A friend of mine pointed out to me on twitter last night that “Palace, West Ham, and Watford are now paying more in wages and transfer fees than us”. You know what? Let them. We’re building a new stadium, we have a squad that most teams in the world would be envious of, we played (in my opinion) the best football in the country last season. Maybe this year we will go and win something, more likely is that we’ll flirt with some form of success and miss out as that is the Spurs way but I’m not sure I really care. I find myself loving the club and the players more than ever each game regardless of whether there are medals and trophies at the end of it. I’m enjoying football and that’s what, in the long run, I really care about.
To steal some words from the legendary Bill Nicholson “There’s no use being satisfied when things are done wrongly. I want perfection.” Similarly, I would find no satisfaction in us risking our financial stability for large transfer fees and massive wage bills. I want perfection. I want a club that lives within its means, and who knows maybe with a few seasons at a larger stadium under our belt we might just have the money to do that and still balance the books.