Finding myself

So, I have found this old blog again - the miracles of the wide-eyed wonder web never cease

Any enough rambling, here's a test picture upload from the mobile phone

A table of two tables.

The mind never ceases to amaze me. Its ability to create wondrous images is without comparison. When it goes wonky, its ability to produce the disturbing, frightening and upsetting out of the, what to everyone else is, seemingly normal is akin to the dark side of the moon. A place few have seen. A place that doesn’t register in most people’s consciousness. A dark, lonely cold and hostile world, the antipodean face of the bright and light side that we in a treat in blasé manner. I have written this blog as part exorcism of a haunting and distressing experience, part explanation of a sudden change in personality in the hope that it sheds some light on the debilitation effects that post traumatic stress disorder can have.

Having been involved in a RTA in May 2009, it astonishes me how long it taken for to make sense of events that in normal circumstances would be part of the ever dimming past. What should have been a really special event, a black tie dinner and dance, became a petrifying mess of social and emotional paralysis.

The accident saw me being hit hard – harder than I had ever been hit before - by a large and heavy car whilst I had right of way. The severity of the impact, aside from physical damage, sent me on a journey to the other side. Everyone who takes such a journey always has a different destination; those who made the return trip are left with an insight that burns into the memory. The thin grey blur that the mind sees between the solid blocks of black and white. My particular journey took me to a bright and monotone place of half light – the sort of light that one has on a bright moon lit night or caused by a modern street light near to the bedroom window. There, I saw friends and family from past sitting round a table enjoying themselves in a convivial style, totally unaware of my presence. I was not expected yet, although I had been seen.

Whilst, physically the injuries were healing well, although the effects of whiplash and the painkillers were still present, life was focused getting back on track and looking forward. I had been making short local journeys in the car and on the bike, and despite the odd worrying moment, my confidence was returning and fears receding. On the surface, things were indeed looking good.

The journey there was about 200 miles, mostly motorway. Driving on local roads had been going well, motorways being statically safer shouldn’t be a problem. Except for the fact that if something does happen, it happens big and people’s driving habits on the motorway tend to be a bit more aggressive and safety considerations more causal. Mile after mile, this grew and grew in my mind and within 50 miles of the journey I was just waiting to flattened from behind by something big and hard. My mind rapidly switching to hyper-vigilance mode fuelled by the paranoia of being hit hard again and sent back up the tunnel. As evening came, my mind moved up yet another gear. Unbeknown to my, by the time I reached my destination, the place that was going to be my sanctuary, I was a mess. The person I had been was rapidly turning into a silent frightened maelstrom of fear. Even the friendliest face in the world couldn’t put me at ease. The more I tried to convince myself that nothing was wrong, the deeper the void became.

As we went to bed, entwined in the arms of the most important person in my world, the place I should have felt so safe, I couldn’t relax. All I could do was to wonder if tonight would be the night they (my family and friends past) would come to collect me. Sleep was, at best a light doze between stints of mental hyper alertness. Only when the sun was up and had been up for a while could I relax my vigilance.

The evening of the dinner bought a whole different series of flashbacks. The journey there was one of further vigil. The conversation in the car taking place around me, as

I focused on my guard duty. Guarding against what, I know not, as we were in a four by four, driven by a very safe and competent driver, but the hyper-vigilant know no rest.

The black tie event, was everything one would expect of such a do. A stunning and beautiful (in every sense of the word) companion who meant the world to me, jolly people all around enjoying a carefree evening, an excuse to dress up, look good, relax and enjoy oneself. It was just the ticket, coming some 4 months after the accident. Could life be any better?

All it took was the crash of crockery from behind the large service doors in front of our table and I knew that behind those doors was a big black car waiting for me to drop my guard. Were I to relax my watch for the fraction of a second, it would be through the doors and it would do the job properly this time. That wasn’t going to happen again. Simple. End of. Not again. No. I was determined – my survival was all that then mattered. As for the table of friends, ah yes, the table of friends, I was sitting amongst them. The last time I had been amongst such a group in such bright conditions had not been a pleasant experience. The sound of the bass and the crash of the cymbals coming from the band just served to re-enforce the nightmare as the car hit – song after song after song, with service doors opening and shutting. I had to protect myself as I knew there would be no return if I were to go back to the ghoulish dinner table. The longer the evening went on, the further I shrank back into a tight steel shell the size of a pinball – nothing was going to get me. Not now. Not this time. I was determined, survival was the only priority.

By the Sunday morning, I was locked in my shell, I could hardly speak, my normally outgoing nature had gone totally, my tactile self couldn’t break out the small steel capsule I had now locked myself in. I had disappeared in all but my bodily presence, that to me had now become virtually invisible, nothing or no-one could reach me or touch me now.

It has taken me nigh on 16 months to rid myself of the demons and free myself from the tiny steel tomb I had enclosed myself in. Now I am firing on all cylinders, full of enthusiasms for different projects and, well who knows…

But life, life is back and for living.

there are bikes and then there are british bikes

This was originally posted back in July 2007 after a trip down the tarmac.

Back in the saddle after my enforced absence, me and my BSA firebird had a very jolly little runaround. In the morning we romped into the city of Lincoln to annoy good folk at the modern Triumph dealership. We parked up outside and attracted a small audience of admirers. Covered the pavement in oil and duly left by starting on the first kick. Yesss.

Later in the evening we set off to a local bike meet and came roaring round a corner, lining up a brace of harleys to overtake, to see a load of my mates parked up by the road side. Turned out that one of my mate's son was so impressed with my battlescared jacket that he decided to take a slide across the road rather than make the corner (just missing lamppost, road sign and tree! - he went one side, Suzuki Bandit the other - jap bikes just don't handle!). Turn back to find out what had happened and quick chat with my mate - son ripped his tendons in his shoulder, but nothing broken and van on the way to pick up the bike! Anyway off we go again, catch a sportster and give large going into Market Rasen in a full on brit bike styleee till we get to the meet. There, the BSA attracted a large gathering of grown men getting all nostalgic and muttering into their beers about how 'those were the days ... etc' and other rose tinted delusions, until it was time to go home. One of the girls notices my jacket and says "I've just noticed the front of Mort's jacket, it looks like he's been savaged by a werewolf!" On the way back we teach another Harley a lesson by cutting underneath him on the roundabout and then hustling a pair of sports bikes thru the corners after they had sprinted past us on the straight.

class night .








The more eagle eyed amongst you would have noticed the added scratches in my helmet from the little trip down the road a while back!!