clinging to the wreckage

Strange thoughts on a dark day like why did I call my dog ‘Mr. Peebles’ (his real name was Sam). I think it may have been something I read in a book. I think there was a character named Sam Peebles. How long it took to remember that is something of a surprise too and, on this day, the birthday of an ex, I remember three years ago when her and I were in Casablanca and how today she is posting on Facebook that it is ‘the best birthday ever’ and I am not quite sure why that makes me feel a little bit sad. It’s like receiving one of those ‘let’s just be friends’ messages (got that yesterday from someone I spent time with on the weekend) and trying to make sense out of a world that is just too serious about everything all the time. People who cannot spend a second alone. Meetings in which no one can joke. Bills that cannot be paid online (imagine receiving a paper bill with no online payment method in 2017). I want to tear it up and throw it away as a joke, an insult t

I checked out of that New York Hotel room and started to walk the icy cold streets, the wind cut like a blade that had been buried in ice. The only destination I had in mind was the Public Library and that only opened at 1pm, it was now 11am. I walked past a comic shop that looked interesting, opening time 12:00, so I walked to Central park and lingered there a while, it is on lower ground and the wind was cut off so it was a lot warmer there. I walked around for thirty minutes or so and then decided to walk back to the comic store, which would be open by the time I arrived. Shortly after, I started to walk down 7 th Avenue, I walked past an inviting Irish pub and, needing to pee, I decided to step in and see if I could use the facilities. The barman asked ‘what can I getcha?’ and without even thinking, simple natural instinct, I responded ‘a Goose Island IPA, please.’ Before I knew it, I was at the bar and finishing my second pint. I decided to leave before I wa

It’s a time to pause for thought. A time to contemplate the concept of relevance and how to remain relevant whilst growing older in a world of constant change. It’s a rare day off today and in a few hours I will board a train destined for New York City. With thoughts of J.D. Salinger, Henry Miller, Woody Allen, the Beastie Boys and many of my other favourite things from New York I also realise that there is a fast-paced world out there that is almost intolerant of things such as vacation and that especially in America there is a work ethic, or a world view, that work comes first over all and that vacation is simply a luxury that most can’t afford, professionally. I have always had something of a death wish or a touch of a desire for self-destruction and I have always felt that life is simply not worth the struggle if there is nothing but work involved. Twice in my life I have quit my job to travel around and have moved to live and work in four different countries.

The captain came over the loud speaker and announced our location, estimated time of arrival, and the weather conditions in Boston. He then went on to tell us that he was turning off the seat belt sign as we were expecting a very smooth flight. No sooner had he made this reassuring announcement and the plane dived and started to shake in violent waves of turbulence. The seat belt light came on immediately and the passengers stared at each other in concern. Before boarding the plane, at the gate, I’d seen a lady who had made every happy moment of my life flash before my eyes such was her beauty and her manner of existence. I now started to think that was my life flashing before my eyes as is said by some to happen shortly before the moment of death. The turbulence persisted to the point where we began our decent into Boston. For some reason, I fear turbulence less when descending because I know that we are closer to landing and turbulence is a normal part of this p

The things that happen in the secret dark corners of miles away are often unbelievable. Out there, across the ocean, over a fence, behind a hedge, on a bench, in a park, fuelled by wine, a friend might kiss the one you love and it always all means nothing. The one you love might already be married and the friend might have a girlfriend or a boyfriend and it always means nothing and everyone is always looking for the next thrill but there is something in the back of the mind that says ‘be faithful, strive for the traditional relationship… the same one that your parents and your grandparents and every generation since the dawn of mankind has had.’ And it always means nothing. We spend our time worrying… ‘Will they leave me? Will they fall in love with someone else? Will they get bored and cheat on me?’ The answer is yes. Stop worrying. It happens, always, everywhere, to everyone and, guess what, it always means nothing. I sometimes hate myself a little bit these

It was mid-winter in Miami. I was there for a mixture of business and pleasure… the pleasure being primarily a company party that meant I’d be spending the weekend there. On Sunday, the day after the party, I met up with my colleague who was over from France and with whom I had worked for several years in Europe. We went to the beach and ended up on Ocean Drive. We walked the length of Ocean Drive, bewildered by what we were witnessing… two Europeans lost in an American fantasy land of loud music, bright lights, remarkable outfits, glamourous cars, palm trees, winter heat and a beautiful beach. The street is lined with bars and restaurants and outside of each is someone, or more than one, trying to convince passers by to enter and part with some of their cash. It was difficult to do anything else other than laugh or feel irritated by constantly having to say ‘no, thanks’ whilst trying to enjoy the stroll. Then, from nowhere, appeared one of the promoters… but she

I realised only tonight, or captured for the first time, that I have a love for things that are unnecessary. Things such as a little paved path to a door leading from a pavement, enveloped in railings, designed simply for aesthetic beauty. This describes my love of literature and art and why I occasionally fail to see something considered deadly serious in the corporate world as serious… things such as wearing shoes or producing a report that will not feed the hungry masses, that will not save the whales, that will not do away with air pollution and most certainly will not enlighten nor enrich the masses. And yet, as I arrive home, having walked through snow and icy winds, have a shower, slip into shorts and flip flops, it does not escape me how many of my dreams I have achieved in recent years and how grateful I am for the life that I have. First, I moved back to my home, England. Then, the opportunity to move to Madrid and live a magical three years came. I travelled