Confronting The Reality That Is Unknown

As Christmas Approaches

I shot myself in the foot this year. Massively.

I'm currently writing Christmas cards. Which I've done every year for years and I've tended to write them to the same people. Or, at least, have people in mind when I'm writing them in case Mum and I both do one to the same person with both our names in it. This year is different though. This year is different for a number of reasons. Firstly, I'm writing most of my own cards now. So I get to decide who gets them and who doesn't. Anyone I don't really know the address of or who I don't think would benefit from having one from me is for me to decide.

Secondly, I've starting to write cards to people who are no longer with us. Or, I started to write them before remembering.

This year, I went to a funeral for the first time. Then I went to a second one in a week. And, then, I went to the third funeral in as many months. I don't know what kind of drugs 2016 has been smoking but I suggest we collectively confiscate them and banish this year to the annals of history. Very few good things have occurred this year and, let's face it, those good things are going to be in our personal lives, not the public consciousness.

But I felt the need to explain this on a blog before I end up crying on my bed for the upteenth time over this.

This story stars early this year when my Mum and I discovered my great aunt, Phyllis, was diagnosed with stomach cancer and, because she was in her early 90s, she'd refused chemo. So she was terminal. We all knew her death was coming, it was only a matter of time. But it was how she would end up going which still makes me upset.

Back in May, Phyll was admitted to Salisbury Hospital after bringing up some black vomit. (This was later found to be down to a number of things, the cancer included). She was sent into hospital and put into an isolated room in case she had Norovirus. (A pointless fucking exercise if you ask me because she didn't have Norovirus). Anyway, she was promised a bed in a hospice soon after she was admitted but this sadly never occurred. She spent the rest of her life in that isolated room, shut off from other patients.

I went to see Phyll 3 times before she passed away. I didn't intend this to occur, it just kind of happened. But, as they transpired, I did this for a number of reasons.

1. I always thought a lot of Phyll, despite family quarrels, and I figured that, considering I hadn't experienced a close death by this point, the more I saw her before she died, the easier her eventual death would become.

2. At that moment in time, it was easier for me to get to Salisbury and make the time than it was for my Mum and my Nan (Phyll's sister).

3. I like being of assistance. So I went to help Phyll's daughter and grandkids if they needed it.


The first time seeing her was fine. She was a little shattered but, hey, hospitals. She didn't recognise me at first but then when she realised who I was she seemed happy I was there, as she was happy with everyone.

The second time was a little more tricky. By this point, she was starting to deteriorate rapidly. She wasn't keeping solids down, she wasn't keeping much fluid down either. And her morphine had been increased. So she was starting to come in and out of consciousness.

The second time was hard for another reason.

Long story short, my maternal grandfather, Donald, died in 1981. This was hard for everyone in my family to cope with. And he's continually talked about. Obviously, being born 13 years after his death, I never met him so I only know him from words and stories. No video footage exists so I don't even know what he sounded like.

During the second visit of mine, Phyll started to see various people from her past. (And, as it turns out her future! She saw her great-granddaughter as an adult apparently). But, at one point, I was standing at the foot of her bed. She looked at me for a moment, then looked to the side of me and smiled more. Before saying "Donald...Donald Frampton...what are you doing here?"

I couldn't help but feel my heart break a little. I ended up telling Mum on the way home. It was weird watching someone deteriorate like that.

The prelude to the second and third visits were somewhat weird though.

I was in my room one day after seeing my girlfriend off home. She'd been ill the whole day and her dad had come to get her so I was on my own. 10 minutes after she left, I got a phone call from my Mum. I answered it and heard her crying. I assumed that Phyll had passed away that day.

"When did she pass away?"

"It's not Phyll..."

"Then what?"

"Uncle Sandy died this morning..."

"..."

Uncle Sandy was Phyll's and my Nan's younger brother. He'd had dementia for a couple of years before he finally passed away, but given we were all expecting Phyll to go, Sandy was the first.

In my own head, I'd mentally prepared and accepted Phyll's death to be first. Sandy's death, in my own personal life, was a complete blindside. My girlfriend text me to tell me she was home and my response was near enough me asking her to come back and help me because I'd been crying uncontrollably.

I suppose, in a way, Phyll was too out of it to realise Sandy was truly gone. Which might be a good thing? I don't know. But it was how he suddenly died that caught everyone off guard.

This also led to the third visit, the tuesday of the following week, a little weird. Phyll, by this point, was more or less gone. She was out of it most of the time.

The only coherent conversation I personally managed to get out of her was her telling me how she liked the Beatles. Oh, and she asked why I wasn't there with my Mum or Nan.

But there was one thing about that third visit that still gets me to this day and I still feel completely stupid for it.

Mum told me, when I started visiting, that the best thing to do in that situation is to not draw attention to what's going on. Act like everything's normal. Which pissed me off in a way because these were exceptional circumstances and I didn't see the point in acting normal. Anyway, I took Mum's advice.

When I was leaving, I gave her a kiss on the cheek and I ended up saying to her "get better soon!" To which she just smiled.

I felt stupid the moment I said it and I still feel kinda stupid now.

Why am I telling you this?

Both my mother and I nearly ended up writing Christmas cards for them.

Also, without going into too much detail, one of my best friend's dad's died suddenly in August. And I'd be lying if I didn't nearly write his name in their card instinctively.

The death of Phyll in particular has affected me most out of the three. Probably because I took the time to see her before she died. I still catch myself getting upset about it. And, tbh, if I hadn't just trolled my girlfriend in Arabic on Facebook asking her Syrian hamster to shit on her t-shirt again, I probably would've cried throughout all this.

So why have I written this?

Catharsis. I'm not going to really think much about Phyll, Sandy or my friend's dad over Christmas. I don't really see why I should in real terms. But it's just the fact that it is still weird. It only occurred to me the other day that I didn't get a card from Phyll because she died nearly 2 months before my birthday. It's little things like that that make the whole thing weird.

Mind you, one funny story that I think Phyll would've funny.

At her funeral, we found out she'd decided to have a wicker coffin instead of a big box. I was asked to be one of the the pool-bearers and I accepted the honour. However, I've never done it before. When the coffin was lifted up and put on our shoulders, we suddenly felt something give inside the coffin. I still don't know to this day what it was, but I was convinced that Phyll was going to make a guest appearance in the chapel!

I still don't know what I'd have done in that situation but all I know at the time is that I'd decided that, if it had happened, I'd look at my Nan (who'd probably horrified) and nervously go "ta-da".

Yeah, my sense of humour needs work.


So the moral of this?

Don't dwell on the dead. But spare a thought now and again. Christmas will be difficult, especially if you lost someone this year. I also know someone whose Mum passed suddenly so I don't pretend to be the expert but it will be weird. Especially for the kind of exposure we went through with Phyll.

Merry Christmas either way. I probably won't make another blog post now until 2017 so I wish all of you a merry Christmas and a very happy new year. And live life now. If this year has taught us anything, with deaths that are public and deaths that are private, you never know when things might just suddenly stop.

'Next To Your Heartbeat, Where I Should Be' [Short Story]

He sat alone in his armchair listening to David Bowie. His favourite armchair. The one he’d acquired nearly 60 years ago. It had lasted a long time and had seen many different things. It had seen him move in with his partner. It had seen him move in with her. It had seen them return from their honeymoon. It had seen their first baby. And the second. And the third. It even saw the various grandkids.

Anyway, the chair wasn’t important. It held sentimental value but that’s all. What was most important was the man sitting in the chair. 89 years old and sad. He was a very sad man. He was sad for a number of reasons. Firstly, he was in the house all alone. The house he and his wife had been in since they moved in together during their 20s. His wife had passed away nearly a decade previously and, when she did, it broke him. It changed him. He went from a happy-go-lucky guy to someone who would rather be on his own. The moment she died, it was almost like he died too.

His children have more or less given up on him now. They can’t accept that his wish to be alone is actually a cry for help. They just think he’s doing it for attention. Or he’s doing it to be difficult. They just send him a card every birthday and Christmas. His youngest daughter visits him sometimes but the others can’t be bothered. They see him as a burden and that he’s the one pushing them away. Despite the fact, really, he just doesn’t know how to ask for help.

His grandkids, however, haven’t given up on him. They can’t understand their parents’ complacency and they do what they can to help their elderly grandfather. Sadly, many of them have moved away now and have gone on to do their own thing. Out of the 6 grandkids, only 2 live closer now.

The eldest is Charity. She’s nearly in her 30s now. She works in Lincoln and has 2 kids of her own. She’s a high flying lawyer and rarely gets the chance to come to Hampshire and see her dear old Grandad. But she’ll never forget the time she sat on Grandad’s knee and listened as he recounted the story of the Battle of Hastings in 1066. (She realises now that he did use some artistic licence. By all estimates, it’s highly unlikely that Harold Godwinson was killed with a Lightsaber).

The next oldest is Peter. Peter is around the same age as Charity except he lives in Cardiff with his husband and adopted daughter, Cara. He visits when he can but, being in Wales, it’s hard for him. Especially as he works for the Welsh Government. But he fondly remembers the day he went to the park with Grandad, Grandma and Charity where he fell off the monkey bars after arrogantly claiming he could do all of them. He remembers less fondly the fact that Grandad laughed at him hysterically when he did fall.

Then it’s Terra. Terra was originally born Tracey but adopted Terra after coming out as non-binary aged 15. Non-binary, asexual and aromantic, they live a happy existence in London. Despite the blatant generation gap, Grandad and Grandma were far more accepting of their non-binary status than their parents or other relatives were. They often spent time round Grandad and Grandma’s house as a means of escape and Grandad would always do the same thing. Hand them a bottle of Sprite and watch a terrible old comedy like Hot Fuzz or Arrested Development. They don’t come down a lot now and it upsets them that they can’t see Grandad as often as they’d like.

Sarah’s next. The jetsetter. She’s just finished university yet she managed to get a good job with a corporation that is based in numerous cities across the globe. She’s been to Sydney, Dubai, Caracas, New York and so many other exotic places. She’s currently in Beijing trying not to suffocate from the smog. She’ll never forget the dinner lecture Grandad gave her about how China is a fascinating socialist-capitalist society but has a lot of shortcomings. Something she’s starting to experience for herself. Her Chinese husband doesn’t seem to mind however.

Jack would visit more if he could. But, actually, it’s Grandad who visits him. Jack lies in the cemetery next to his grandmother where the family thought it best. Jack was sadly involved in a terrorist attack while visiting Terra in London. Terrorists opened fire in Waterloo station and Jack got caught in the crossfire. He was one of the first to die and it ripped the family apart further. Not only for the circumstances in which he died, but it was also because he died exactly 9 years after his grandmother. Grandad would never quite get over that. But, that said, Grandad would always remember putting a cape on Jack’s back and fly him around the room like a superhero. Grandad always hoped he’d like the Flash more than Superman but “each to their own” he’d say. Grandma was far from impressed, being a Batman fanatic.

This leaves Vicki. The youngest. Vicki was 19 and was the least ambitious of all the grandchildren. She never wanted to be an astronaut, a teacher, a scientist or anything high-flying. She didn’t want to go to university or anything like that. She just wanted to be a nursery school assistant and be a musician part time. She got her love of music from Grandad and Grandma. While her sibling and cousins would listen to the modern trash, Vicki would listen to the music Grandad liked. She got more into Grandma’s music as she got older but she would always prefer the music of people like Marvin Gaye and Freddie Mercury to Nirvana or Biffy Clyro.

It could be argued that Vicki and Grandad got on the best out of all the family combinations. And a lot of this is down to music. Music connected them. They’d spend whole evenings discussing music, discussing musical history and, on very rare occasions, Grandad would show her his vast record collection. Weird and wonderful compositions ranging from the heavy metal of Black Sabbath and Motorhead to the slightly more upbeat dance songs of The Specials and Blondie. She also fondly remembers a time, when she was about 6 or 7, when Grandad sat her on his lap and they listened to the whole of Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band in its entirety. She wasn’t overly fussed on the Beatles but she always loved vinyl. When she was younger, she felt that Vinyl was magic. Leading to her saying one day, aged 4, “please, Grandad, put the burnt pizza on so we can hear the music!”

But Vicki’s visits filled Grandad with a lot of positivity. And, for a while, he’d be like the man he was before Grandma died. He’d smile, sing, dance, just be the fun loving grandad she remembers from when she was younger. A man who now seems a stranger.

“Grandad, it’s only me!”

“In the living room, love!”

Vicki walked in and saw her Grandad in his usual position. His favourite armchair, coffee on the table, The Guardian on the coffee table, listening to another vinyl. This time, it was Bowie. Vicki put her guitar bag down and walked over to the turntable to peruse the album. She picked up the sleeve and nodded approvingly.

“The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars. Good choice!”

Grandad smiled.

“Ziggy was the first Bowie album I acquired. I had it on CD for a long time. But then your grandmother borrowed it and, despite living together for nearly 60 odd years, never gave it back!”

Vicki chuckled and carefully put the sleeve down. Suffragette City came on and she suddenly felt the compulsion to dance. She started to play the air-guitar, strut and do all the moves she thought Bowie would’ve made in the day. Grandad laughed as she continued the show. She held out her hand for him to join her but he refuses.

“Oh, come on Gramps! A girl needs a partner!”

Grandad chuckles but continues to refuse. Vicki accepted his refusal but did note that it was unusual. Usually, he’d jump at the first opportunity to dance. Yes, he’d been moving more slowly in recent times, but he normally made the effort. She loved their dances but she didn’t take it too much to heart.

The song came to an end and Vicki took a deep breath. As she does, Grandad points to the turntable.

“Vicki, love, could you change it please?”

“Sure can! What do you have in mind?”

“Could you put Ed Sheeran’s ‘X’ in please? And skip it to ‘Nina’?”

“Coming right up!”

She does as he asks but notices that something isn’t quite right with him. She tries to ignore this feeling.

“Isn’t it Ed Sheeran that Terra likes?”

“Hmmm? I’m not sure. How is Terra? Have you spoken to them recently?”

“Not for a while. Aunty Isla says they’re ok though. Well, her exact words were ‘yes, Vick, SHE’S fine!’”

Grandad scoffs in disgust.

“We raised your Aunt Isla better than that!”

Suddenly, Grandad coughs violently. Ed Sheeran plays as Vicki attends to him. Grandad stops after a few moments and struggles to catch breath. Vicki can’t shake the feeling anymore that something isn’t right.

“Grandad…are you ok?”

Grandad slumps back into his chair and looks at Vicki. He shakes his head softly and looks very sad. Vicki looks confused.

“How long have you been feeling like this?”

“A few days now…”

“Why didn’t you say something, you stupid old codger?”

“Because what’s the point, Vick? I’m an old man, I’ve had my time”.

“So, what, you were just going to sit here and listen to your records until you slipped away?”

“You and I both know there are far worse ways to die…”

“That’s not funny”

“Who’s laughing!?”

Vicki thinks for a moment, looks back at the Ed Sheeran record and then back at the man in front of her. She realises.

“Photograph…Photograph’s next…you and Nan’s song…”

Grandad starts to cry as he realises how upset Vicki’s becoming.

“Vick, please…”

“We’re going to get a doctor and we’re going to get you the help you need!”

“There’s no cure for old age, sweetie…”

Suddenly, the next song starts. Photograph by Ed Sheeran. The acoustic guitar intro fills the room with a subdued atmosphere. Grandad starts to cry a little more. Vicki looks at the pained man one more time and realises there’s nothing she can do. She closes her eyes for a moment before opening them once again and sitting cross-legged in front of him.

“Grandad…tell me about that day?”

“Our wedding day? I’ve told you that story so many times…”

“Please? Once more?”

He looked at her on the ground for a moment, closes his eyes and then reopens him. When he does, he sees a little girl sitting in front of him. The little brunette girl he used to have on his knees. He smiles and nods.

“It was June. We were on a field in my hometown. We’d hoped for nice weather and, well, did we get it! I stood at the altar with my best man and I was shaking like a leaf. Don’t get me wrong, it felt right but I was a wreck. I never could understand why. We’d been together for a few years so I couldn’t grasp why I was this nervous but I was nevertheless. Suddenly, the music began and your Grandmother walked down the aisle. I decided the night before I wouldn’t look back as she walked down but, in that moment, I couldn’t not. I couldn’t not look at the beautiful creature coming towards me. So I did. I looked. And I cried. She looked…amazing. I can’t think of any word to do her justice to be honest. A long, flowing, white dress. She looked just as nervous as I did but she was just as determined. We wanted to make that commitment. And now was time, now was the place. The service itself was particularly uneventful. Everything went as it should. But it was the reception that I remember most. Because Photograph was the first song we danced to. Just her and I on that dancefloor. We just danced and it felt like it was just us. As far as we were concerned, no one else was in the room but us…”

Suddenly, the memory goes fuzzy.

“And then…then…why…I can’t remember…”

Vicki realises. She holds back tears as she watches her hero start to fade away.

“Grandad, why don’t…why don’t I put on Sam Cooke? We can have a sing song together?”

Grandad shakes his head violently.

“No…I need to remember…I need to remember that moment…”

“Grandad, please…”

“NO. I NEED TO REMEMBER! WHY CAN’T I REMEMBER!?”

Vicki puts her hand over her mouth. Grandad calms down a little and looks at her.

“I’m so sorry, Vicki…take my hand…”

She does so swiftly. She loses control of her tears and they come pouring out.

“Vicki, don’t cry…”

“I don’t want to lose you…you’re my hero…I lost Jack, I lost Nan and I can’t lose you too…I can’t…I love you too much…”

“I love you too, Victoria…”

She buries her face in his torso and starts to cry uncontrollably. And with all the strength he can muster, he leans over and strokes her hair. He kisses her head, smiles and starts to sing.

“You can fit me; Inside the necklace you got when you were sixteen, Next to your heartbeat where I should be, Keep it deep within your soul…”

Vicki starts to laugh and cry at the same time. He continues.

“And if you hurt me, Well, that's okay baby, only words bleed, Inside these pages you just hold me, And I won't ever let you go…”

Vicki starts to cry more. But she takes over.

“When I'm away, I will remember how you kissed me…Under the lamppost back on Sixth street…Hearing you whisper through the phone…”

She waits for the final line from him, but it never comes. She looks up and sees him staring transfixed at the door. She looks at the door and then back at him. She notices him smiling. She looks once more.

“Grandad, what are you smiling at?”

He looks and sees his wife standing at the door, exactly how she was when they met. All those years ago, He smiles and then cries as he realises why she’s there.

“Grandad?”

“I’ll be with you soon, sweetie. I promise…I’m coming”

Vicki realise who he’s seeing and starts to cry more. She swallows her tears and looks at him once more. His wife walks over to him and settles next to Vicki. She holds out her hand and caresses his cheeks. She smiles sadly.

“You got old…”

He chuckles.

“You never did…”

Vicki tries once more to hold back tears as she realises what’s going on. She sits and watches, her heart breaking with every second.

“I’ve waited so long for you…”

“I’ve waited too. I always made a second plate of food, always made up two sets of pillows, always bought two drinks at the pub…”

His wife smiles.

“You always were a sentimental old man…”

“I was a sentimental young man too”

She smiles once more.

“Remember the ball?”

“Our first date. Remember London?”

“We went to Hamley’s”

“We had milkshake”

“And dinner on Whitehall”

They chuckle. His wife smiles sweetly.

“We can relive all those memories. We can be together once more and do all those wonderful things again. A second chance. Would you like that?”

“More than anything…”

“Then you have to be ready…”

“I’ve been ready for a decade…”

His wife holds out her hand.

“Then come…”

He nods, looks at Victoria and, with all the energy he has left, he stands up out of his favourite armchair. As he stands there he turns to his beautiful granddaughter one more time.

“Goodbye, Victoria…”

Vicki nods.

“Go, Grandad, she’s waiting…you mustn’t keep her waiting…”

He nods back. He turns to his wife and holds out his hand. She grabs him and pulls him into an embrace. His heart warms as he feels the sadness of the past decade fade away in a single moment. It’s almost like time has stopped yet gone back to when they were in their 20s. Full of promise, life and ambition. It was like he was young again. He pulls away, softly puts his hands on her cheek and kisses her. She smiles at him with the sweetest and smile.

“I missed you…”

“Not half as much as I missed you, girly!”

He notices his hands as he pulls them away from her cheeks. They’re not wrinkled. They look almost unfamiliar. He feels his face and can’t feel the wrinkles anymore. He can’t feel the ridges and canyons of experience. He’s young once again. He chuckles and looks at her, the biggest smile he may have ever smiled.

“Now we have eternity…”

“Then what are waiting for?”

“GRANDAD!”

They look back for a moment and see Vicki frantically trying to get Grandad, a crumpled heap on the floor in front of her, to wake up. She can’t accept he’s gone. Grandad feels sorry for her in a way but, selfishly, he’s got his girl back. His wife takes his hand and smiles at him once more.

“I love you…”

He smiles back. He's waited 10 long years to hear that from her again.

“I love you too…”

Then, somehow poetically, the vinyl finished.

Vicki sat by her grandfather’s body, processing what just happened. That was more than anyone her age should have to go through but she was glad she was with him at the end. What’s more, sad though she was she didn’t get to see her, she was glad Grandma was with him too. Guiding him to whatever was next for him. She sat alone in the now eerie house singing ‘Nothing Can Change This Love’ by Sam Cooke to herself over and over again. 

Their favourite song. 

However, she couldn’t bring herself to sing the very first line. “If I go a million miles away…” She couldn’t get over the fact that he was with her in the same room yet gone, God only knows where. She cried a little more and sat in his armchair. Singing old songs as she did, hoping he’d be proud of her for liking such tunes.

Now the armchair had seen everything.

Recipes For Disaster [Thank You To Josie]

Welcome To The Great British Fake Off

What makes a disaster in this world? Well, there are so many things and so little time. So, please allow me to get through them in verse!

Beetroot with banana

A poor, broken farmer

Spinach with kale

Palestine, Israel

Cookies and Mash

ITV's 'Splash'

Pasta and Cream

England's Footie Team

Cheese and Broccoli

A game of Monopoly

Peanut Torte

Nuclear War

Chocolate and Celery

Boris as Foreign Secretary

Pie and Ale Pudding

Another school shooting

Pepper and Flour

Donald Trump in Power

Crisp Stroganoff

NATO pissing off

A Turnip Pile

Climate Change Denial

Pike Strudel

Saville's Memorial

Fig Batter

Sepp Blatter

Orange Gravy

Tidal Wave-y

Potato Sauce

A University Maths Course

Cow Bacon

Return Of Ronald Reagan

Cooked Gazpacho

Return of Margaret Thatcher

Another Pike Strudel

A 4th High School Musical

Leek Cajun

Kim Jong-Un

Kiwi Meringue

Another President Erdogan

Roast Puma

An Isolated Cuba

Pickle Chow Mein

Trump Returns Again

Raw Chicken

Putin Kicking

Mouldy S'mores

Greece Needing More

Pond Paella

That Farage Fella

Salmon Risotto

The Pope Going Blotto

And

Pulled Pork

David Cameron