Creative Writing

Today I wrote a piece of creative writing that I would like to share.  This is my message about alcohol and it is to any female that may read this.

15th January 2015. 1:40pm.
Why do I do it? Why do we all do it? Kind of hard to imagine that you don't grow out of it, considering with each passing month and year the hangover is worse each time. The thing about males in general to consider when dealing with them is that we only learn subjectively.

Having a hangover as a man is not really something to be wholly ashamed of, and can be related in theme and form to being caught masturbating by your mum at the age of 14. Yes, it's embarrassing and shameful in equal measure, but there are greater forces at work here, simmering under the surface; they already know what you're up to, having unrolled countless crinkly socks and crusty under shorts. And let's face it; it's not like they never did it themselves is it? And still we don't learn do we? We don't think; 'that must have been embarrassing for my mother, so I won't do it again.', oh no. Twelve hours later we're under that duvet again blasting away like a rabbit with epilepsy, and this is because the rewards outweigh the risks. This is our unique way of learning. Risk vs reward. Oh, and much like a hangover, it is also just a little bit funny.

With alcohol, the highs and the lows are absolute, and this very much mimics our personality. It is true that men struggle to multitask, and we experience our lives in a train of events, thoughts and feelings one after another. Evolution made this necessary, as we evolved at a time when we were hunters, and needed complete concentration when going for the kill. Just at that vital point when you're ready to thrust that spear home, you don't want to be thinking: 'I wonder what Sheila's wearing to tonights mating ceremony?'. Before you can utter 'short skirt please' you've got a buffalo horn sticking out of your arse and a shaman over you rattling beads. These individual thoughts and experiences are relatable to alcohol in surprisingly simple ways. Most men are never simply 'alright'.

We are happy, over the moon; dancing in the club, pint in hand, beautiful blonde gyrating down our bodies, buzzing with alcohol.
We are angry; unsteady on our feet, surging with adrenaline, looking to hurt that dickhead who threw that punch, wanting to destroy this meat-head bouncer, burning with alcohol.
We are lustful; dizzied and high, driving forward, gripping and pushing and animal, earthy and hot and guttural, base in need and want, surging with alcohol.
We are sad; crying out and keening for release, bitter and lonely, vomiting in the gutter, lying in state in the morning, desolate without alcohol.

These are tales of alcohol for the young, they speak of bright lights, neon signs and nightclub doorways. They speak of police sirens, glistening dark streets and tiny satin dresses over high heels, so alluring under UV and through alcohol tinted lenses. They speak of the future and of fun. But what is alcohol to a man? Why does he not grow out of it, but move on to brewing at home, whisky's and dark rum. The ambience steadies, the rhythm slows, and the accoutrements grow eccentric and quieter in tone. Gone are the kebab shops and plastic cups of cheap out of specification beer, sticky dancefloors and perfume; sexy girls in even sexier dresses. These are replaced with wingbacked chairs and footstools, demi-johns and carbuoys, late night panel shows and Tuesday night cheese and wine tasting. It moves toward exotic vodkas and travel to sunny climbs to sample home brewed tequilas in quiet urbanisations. We strive for a new sophistication; yet the drug, the alcohol remains the same, and we fail.

We are sorry when we do; honestly we don't mean to, but risk vs reward pops up again, and we move forward  having learned nothing. We believe that no great story was ever told that started with: 'So I drank a glass of milk'. It makes us into our heroes, giving us that courage to do whatever it is we are afraid of. It makes us hard, and we strut in front of the bathroom mirror saying: 'You lookin' at me?'. Deep down we like the person we become, just as we liked the feeling when we spunked into those socks all those years ago. Alcohol takes away the inhibitions of society and lets us be the inner children we never really left behind, and forces back that suit wearing, ziggurat climbing, socially responsible toss pot we never really want to become.

And finally, alcohol does all the things that we want our women to do for us. It stands with us and bulls our confidence. It embraces us when we feel sad or lonely, and it never lets go. It makes food that tastes better than we could make it alone. It helps us fall in love, and any time day or night, it never, ever says no...

Just maybe deep down, as men we wish alcohol were you...

University!!

Well, quite an interesting few days to be honest, considering it's back to school after Christmas!! Back in uni, and to be fair, this semester is already feeling much less fun and lack luster. I've only had literature to attend this week as it is graduation for the third years, and the whole place has shut down the rest of the week. Just to let you all know I'm doing a foundation degree at the University of Derby here in the UK, and really having a great time!!
    
If you're thinking of going back to Uni or going for the first time as a mature student, do it! Honestly, I was blown away with the quality of the people I've met there and have really enjoyed how everyone just gets on with it. There is a real sense of all being in it together, and no judging people because they're a little older at all! I absolutely love all of my new Uni friends.

This is a photo I got the other day on my way home from Uni, sat on a bus on the A38 dual carriageway in rush hour. Nature has a way of doing beautiful things where you least expect them. Who said England isn't beautiful?

Last night I went to the Mushroom Hall pub in Albert Village again, as Paul (the landlord) was kind enough to be a co-signatory for my passport application, and in return I said I would play pool for him in a friendly match between three pubs. Well, I got very drunk to say the least, but we won this leg 6-2, and will got to the return leg in a couple of weeks. Thank you Rosie for the lift home, really a lovely thing!!

But why do I need a passport? Well, this summer I'll be doing a little traveling around Europe, and of course you need a passport for that. I'm doing a volunteer placement in Poland for two weeks with a company called 'Angloville' and you can look at their website here. I will be staying in an amazing place talking to people all day long! A four star hotel and all my meals in exchange for conversation. Sounds good to me!! Then I will be traveling over land for two weeks before landing in Spain to do the same thing but with a different company. I plan to take in a few places I went on my travels before, and see how they have changed or stayed the same.

Signing off now, but going to give you this piece of writing of mine I did for a Uni project, as a thank you for reading this Blog. It is about the village I live in, so Google it!

            Newhall is a village lost in a timeless place, neither past nor present, but somewhere in a non-descript void, stoic in its unmoving stasis. Don't expect uniform terraces that destroy the mind and soul here, you wont find them. Every corner yields a new type of building, every streetlight illuminates a new style of house. But, equally, these are no tree lined avenues where children whoosh and whoop in piles of autumn leaves. Dark red brick from an era long since lost dominates, rising from uneven, over repaired pavements up through drizzle-moistened air to a uniform slate sky.

            William Allitt school rests in the hub of the village, bizarrely bringing children by bus from outlying smaller villages into its cool embrace. Lunchtimes bring them down the short hill to the shopping arcade, piling into 'The Big Fish' or 'The Cob Shop', often smoking openly, believing themselves to be the picture of maturity, laughing, shouting, and swearing beautifully.

            Locals will proudly tell you that it is 'the biggest village in England', but no evidence seems to support this. It is big never the less, easily being big enough to be called a small town. Pubs litter the streets; ugly down trodden spit and sawdust dives that older men seem to Lord over. These pubs have names as unimaginative as their décor, 'The Lamb Inn', The Crown', and worse still, 'The Freehold Tavern', 'The Constitutional Club' and, amazingly uninspiring and set back off the road 'The Newhall Labour Club'. Patriarchal hard-men reside in the pubs, and resolve their differences the old fashioned way, before a walk-home kebab from the seemingly always open 'The Big Fish', but most definitely after 8 pints of Pedigree. Hard families ascertain their local ranking here, and there is more significance to the comings and goings of a Newhall back street boozer than an outsider will realise.

            People here embody working class England. Mothers are young, poorly made up, frustrated and tough, and will happily black your eye for you, should you deserve it. Fathers are young too, hard working for family businesses that specialise in gardening, window cleaning or building. Others commute to nearby Burton for the brewing industry there, just like their fathers did before them, then spending lost evenings with their own fathers in the pubs, jostling for small superiorities and waiting to become the new 'hard man' just like their forebears.

            A particular pride for residents is their very own 'Waste Management and Recycling Centre'. It is known as 'Newhall Tip', and is the one and only reason a person would enter the village without living there. Look westward on a warm summer evening and you will see the underground methane from the landfill being burned off, creating an unexpectedly attractive six-foot high blue flame. It's a glorious sight for sure, but if the wind comes in from the west, the village acquires the smell of rotting refuse which never fails to entertain me.

            Ask a local what they think of their strange home, and they'll announce smiling "It's a shit hole!", and laugh. Don’t come in from the outside and agree however, unless you actually want your other eye blacking and a brief two-word diatribe on where you belong.

            Yet, despite all its eccentricities and failures, beauty shines through. In the car park of the abysmal Sainsbury's local, a single tree stands watch. Each springtime it buries everything for a quarter square mile around it in the thickest blossom you ever saw, and for a short while, children literally shower themselves in tiny pink dreams.

            So take a walk up Higgins Road, leaving the park behind, past the community centre and 'The Freehold Tavern'. Leave Wood Lane behind and cross the road away from The Local, and look at the white house there. It isn’t much, but it's where you'll find me, and all that I am.

            It's where you'll find my heart.

Until next time everybody, I love you all!

It's a dog's life!!

Hey there me again!!! Wow interesting stuff has been going on!!

Went to the pub last night to play pool and won two games!!! It was an overall defeat 5 to 4 though. I play pool for a team out of the Mushroom Hall pub in Albert Village. Google it, you may see it online. The fixture last night was against the Royal Oak. It is fun and next week I'll get a few photo's for you. 

 

Speaking of photo's.....

This is me this morning out for a 'short walk' with our dog Tin. Turned into a long walk. A long agonising walk in the sweltering heat. Well, I use the term heat. I'm sure that if you are from southern California you may think: 'Looks kinda dull there', but believe me for English weather, today was a hot one. 

I'm trying to lose a little weight at the minute, and I'm sure you'll agree I'm a little bit of a bloater, so I've got to get out there and get the exercise. I got lost today though, so what was supposed to be 45mins turned into 3 hours!! 

Here's Tin the dog!!

It really was funny, as I wasn't really ever that far from home, but took a detour and lost my bearings. It's good to get a walk though, and I took a little bit of film footage too as I thought it was funny!!

I saw an old man coming toward me so I shut off the recording and decided to ask him where I was. This was the result...

Anyway, I came out somewhere I knew thankfully, and took the long walk home.

Swad and Back!!

So, who am I? 

My name is Jonathan, but friends and family call me Jonny or just Jon. I'm 31 years old, and due to a period of ill health, had to move back in with my parents. 

I live in England! Google my postcode, DE11 0HX, and you can get a look exactly where. I live in Newhall, one of the larger villages in England, but no less great for it.

Newhall's wikipedia page is HERE and I'm sure you'll find it fascinating.

I believe the old adage that a picture tells a thousand words, so I've took some photos of the local area this morning on my walk to Swadlincote to show you where I live.

I love living round here, and have done my whole life. I had to go into town to pick up a prescription for my Dad, and walked there and back. 

I shall post more things soon!!

Enjoy and comment!!

Diary Of A British Guy

Hello all! 

Welcome to my brand new blog!! 

The idea of this blog is to provide an insight into the life of a British guy. I have read often that people from all over the world are as interested in what life is really like in other cultures. I have a huge fascination with all other countries, and different ways of life, but always find myself asking the question: What is life really like? Do they do the things I do? What do they do for fun? And so on. 

That lead me to think: Well, maybe other people are thinking the exact same thing! Maybe they are just as interested in my culture as I am in theirs. So perhaps they would like to read and look at aspects of my life. And even better, maybe they will begin a post of their own so we can share our experiences. The world is more connected now than it has ever been, and I for one think it is a beautiful, wonderful, frightening and fascinating place, full of mystery and wonder. 

So here goes then, the blog of a very normal, average, unique life in Blighty.

The diary of a British Guy.

Enjoy and comment!!

It's me!!!