The sheep were cheering me on...

I think I should tell you a bit more about my training that I'm doing. (Warning: this may be a boring blog entry so I'm trying to make it sound really exciting!).

I've been given a training program to adhere to in order to improve my fitness, strength and conditioning in agreement with the England coaches at football. So, from time to time, I like to do something that is a bit different from the normal 5 a side!

On Tuesday evening I went hill running on a hill near Ivinghoe Beacon on the Beds/Bucks/Herts border. I've read articles online about how hill running can improve your speed and stamina in sport and I honestly believe that it does.

The hill (pictured) is as steep as it looks. It is like the travelator in Gladiators except fortunately the grass doesn't run towards you. By the way, I'm not wearing the Gladiators get-up (blue/red vest, helmet, mouth protector) while I'm doing this- just shorts, T-shirt, football socks and a good pair of trainers. The only thing that can injure me is the pesky rabbit warrens that are all over the side of the hill.

There is something inspiring in running up a hill too, its like you're the King of the Hill! It is also completely exhausting. You sprint to

the top, then walk back down, then sprint the top again! Its as simple as that! It up to you how many times you want to do it.

Also, there was absolutely no one about last night. I was running up and down the hill and the only eyes on me were the sheep in the farmers field. They were cheering me on.

I have another trick to pulling myself up the hill. As I'm listening to my iPod while running, I wait until there's a good bit in a song that I like. For example I waited forever until I started sprinting up the hill to the crescendo in The Chain by Fleetwood Mac! Sprinting up to a chorus or a guitar solo is the only way I can get to the top.

Quite appropriately "Road to Nowhere" by Talking Heads started playing, as did "Running Up that Hill" by Kate Bush. Perfect songs for the environment I was in.

The strange thing is, after you've sprinted up a hill a dozen times, then try and do more sprints, you just find it so difficult. My legs were like lead weights at the end.

I can move this morning, but muscles that you don't really use when running flat have been worked, like my gluteus maximus! (aka my bum muscles!). Also, I hope that I will be faster when sprinting on flat football pitches!

I was on the side of the hill for about an hour and fifteen minutes. The sheep did get bored (I could tell as they stopped clapping after a few runs), so I was so grateful to my iPod after a while to inspire me to sprint more!

Did I also tell you that its a fantastic way to get away from it all? I'd had a busy day at work, and that session was completely fantastic to forget about everything. There was also beautiful scenery and animals aplenty (hold on a second- I'm turning into Julie Andrews!)

I think I'd better leave it there! I'll post more training updates soon...

I don't want to go home.

I just don't want to go home.

You see, it's feeling less and less like home. I feel like an intruder to as place that I don't recognise any more. Home, the family home, isn't where I want to be any more. I can't wait to escape, and fly the nest.

It'll happen soon, but it can't happens soon enough.

My family has changed. Really changed. I can't recognise the family any more. The memories of my Mum are driving me mad. I'm almost claustophobic with grief when I go home. I feel her presence. She's there at all times, yet I turn around and she's not there.

There's a new person at home. Someone who I don't recognise, someone who I don't particularly like, someone who is just differnt from the last person. I don't want to do the same things as we did before.

I can't move on.

We're supposed to be having a barbecue at the weekend. Dad, my Sis, my Sis's boyfriend and Dad's girlfriend. I don't wish to attend. I won't attend. Yet, it is my home. The place where I'll be welcome to join and eat. I want to be as far away as possible from the joviality. This isn't normal behaviour is it?

I need to start again. A new place, a new me. It'll be worth it won't it?

For the time being, I'll continue avoiding any sort of family occasion.

Suggs live

I went to see Suggs on Sunday evening at the Milton Keynes Theatre. The lead singer of Madness (real name Graham McPherson) was performing a one man show in front of a half packed arena in Buckinghamshire.

Now, usually Suggsy is backed by six other members of the 80s band; but on this occasion he was backed solely by a pianist on a Grand Piano. This show was all about Suggs and the story of Madness. For any Madness fan, this was a must see. McPherson, wearing a smart grey suit, stood and talked about the rise and fall of the band and his life; he looked like he really enjoyed the night. He did occasionally forget his lines, but this was where he treated us to the One Step Beyond style dance while he got his composure back (akin to the famous album cover stance, right).

The thing that amazed me most was Suggsy's manner in which he addressed the audience and his ability to fill the stage entirely. He was always trying to keep moving, and of course your eye followed him. The audience were hanging onto every word that he said; and I was enraptured. I've heard stories of how Madness got together; but not from the lead singer of the band before. As a fan this was a real privilege.

It was a unique take on his life, how he tries to find his missing father, and without giving too much away, at times it was quite sentimental and emotional. There are various amusing anecdotes, like how the band fooled The Clash into thinking they were policemen, or the story about Madness causing a minor earthquake at their 1992 reunion. It is littered with stories and funny tales how the seven members of the band took on the world. Some stories are mad, (not Madness without a funny story!) and showcase how crazy it may have been in those days.

I must add it is interesting to note how Suggs quickly brushes over the unhappy times in his life. The final years of Madness post keyboardist Mike Barson's departure were only documented by a few words in this show.

It isn't Suggs without songs, and of course he delved into the back catalogue, singing stripped down versions of Baggy Trousers, Shut Up and It Must Be Love. There was also room for Lola and Cecilia, plus a wonderful take on See You Later Alligator (he did sing a version of this on the highly underrated film Take It Or Leave It). The songs were interspersed throughout the show, usually referencing what he was talking about.

A slight criticism from me would be that there wasn't enough songs. I would love to see him try a live version of a forgotten classic like Yesterday's Men or One Better Day with just a piano; as those tracks don't fit in Madness' live sets these days.

However with just the piano to accompany him, the tracks that you do get are quite something to take in. Usually at a Madness gig I'm usually bopping away, so to sit and relax and revel in the joy that these songs bring is absolutely fantastic.

I left the theatre thinking how much I actually idolised Suggs (and Madness) and how much of an impact they have had on me throughout my life. This is a top show, from a top man. Then again, I might be biased. Go and see it!

So I'm there

So I'm there, charging around with a juggernaut brow. The whole day I've been rushing, what can be the perfect antidote for a relaxed evening's entertainment?

That's right, Elbow. On entering the 02 Arena you can feel the anticipation. You're met by the dangling lights and pictures of the five piece band behind the stage. There is not a centimetre of available floor space that I can see. Seated and with my neck craned slightly to the left in the lower tier (Row V), I am with my Old Man and my L'il Sis. The demographic is mixed, old and young alike are fans, "Everyone's here".

Magically the band leaves the pictures and enters the stage to rapturous applause. They kick off with Birds, the first song on the new album, and with a fabulous walking beat throughout that has you hooked. Even my Dad (who only knows the hits!) is tapping along. The sound is superb.

We are truly off and running, Lippy Kids is marvellous. "We shouldn't be afraid of our young, we should nurture them" states Garvey as an intro, almost as if delivering a sermon. Typically, the audience cheers!

The Bones of You instantly reminds me of my Mum, so I'm holding back tears as Guy swoons through the lyrics, some are so poignant and close to home that often you are transfixed on Guy's stance, especially during the slower tracks like Mirrorball. He rocks backward and forward like a darts player, delivering the words.

A special nod must go to Garvey's crowd interaction. He is so warm towards the audience, and you can tell he absolutely revels in it. He constantly shifts his position and must have shaken every hand surrounding the smaller stage. Guy thanked Block 142 Row U for their support, the furthest people away in the venue. A standing ovation for them from the crowd followed. Also, his relationship with the other members means that you almost want to be in Elbow. I've never been to a concert where the band treats themselves to a half-time gig cocktail either.

Great Expectations, Grounds For Divorce and the beautiful Tower Crane Driver step the gig up into overdrive. My Sis turns and nods at me knowing this is our favourite Elbow song. I have goosebumps as Guy wails "Send up a prayer in my name.." with the terrific key change.

They do the intimate songs well. This is a massive arena, but they still manage to pull it off. The Night Will Always Win, with the four band members huddled over four keyboards and Guy singing is so haunting. You contrast that to the smashing, jangling Neat Little Rows and you'd be forgiven if you thought a different band had walked on stage. My Dad tapped along as a vast rate of knots for that one! They bow out once with Open Arms, then the inevitable encore One Day Like This concludes the show. A glorious finale.

That sums Elbow up for me, just like the body part it's just out of reach to actually define. Some of their songs are anthemic, some are joyous, some are melancholy, some you can join in with, some are slightly odd, some are beautiful. What is certainly true is that all songs are highly addictive.

Then again, I might be slightly biased!

Show some emotion

So yes, I'm, er.. how can I put this without sounding all too sad? I'm missing my Mum.

I'm not the best at conveying my emotions and I tend to be quite reserved in my opinions. One of my Twitter pals encouraged me to "chuck out my chintz"; so that's what I'm doing.

My Mum. She's in my head, my heart and my soul, but she's just not there any more. In front of me. I feel empty without her. This feeling of emptiness and numbness has been explained to me as grief.

I am a Mummy's Boy you see. I was so fond of her ways and loved her to bits. We got on like a house of fire and really she was my best friend. We still lived together under the same roof when she passed so I saw her every day for 22 years before she took to the skies.

The moment those curtains closed at the funeral, I was at a loss. She was no longer a name in my birthday card, and there was suddenly an empty place at the dinner table. Her mobile number in my mobile phone book was redundant (I called it plenty of times after, just to hear her voice on the Answer Message). Our house phone stopped ringing. My Dad, Sis and I realised that the only people who rang the house phone wanted to speak to our Mum. Letters continued to hit our doormat addressed to Mrs Fox. When the Funeral was over, and you try to resume normal life, is when the loss and the grief hits you most.

This is the hurdle I've found most tricky. Life has a massive Mum shaped hole in it. When I finish work there's one less person to ask me how my day has gone. She always seemed interested in what I had to say, so I used to tell her all my secrets. I bottle them all up now.

Since she's gone I've massively lost my confidence, and now I don't say boo to a goose. I want to emulate my Mum's 'joie de vivre' but at times I'm still a little jaded and low. I hope that I can get a bit of good news from somewhere which will boost my self-esteem.

I still live at home with Dad and Sis but our house feels different now. Its a shrine to my Mum; her pictures and mementos are everywhere. I don't know if this is any good for me to see these day in and day out.

Before my Mum got ill I was seriously looking at moving out to my own place. When my Mum was diagnosed everything was paused. Now that the trauma is over and my Mum's in a better place I have pressed play again on my life, but currently life seems like its just creaking along. Its been eighteen months since she passed but it feels just like yesterday. I'm doing a lot of reminiscing about the past, but I don't know whether that's because I'm reminded all the time. I think I need to get on with that plan to move out.

I must point out that I do have good days too, and I'm relatively happy in general. Its just at certain times I feel at loss. I have been going to counselling sessions, and must admit that it helps as the woman who I talk to does not judge me at all.

She has pointed out that I should cry. I'm not really a crier, but I have cried a few times in the last eighteen months. At these sad moments I can't really turn to my friends and tell them how sad I feel, or at work, because I don't want to be a burden to anyone. I don't do feelings with my Dad, and my Sister is often wrapped up away with her boyfriend. The only people who I can talk openly too is my lovely Nan and my Aunt (my Mum's sister), who I rarely see. So at times the only person I talk to is myself!

I see things which make me upset; even watching the lambs and sheep in the field was sad. The baby lamb was sheltered, safe and tucked in next to its Mummy, and I recognised that that was what I missed. I ended up crying at some sheep for goodness sake!

The Kate Bush song "Wow" also caught me unaware (one of Mum's favourite records) and I burst into tears the other week.

So, yes. That's my grief that I'm currently dealing with. I've probably said way too much however I felt I needed to write this down. In truth, the reason I've probably wrote this is because I've actually had a few days off over Easter with nothing to do. Keeping myself busy is good, but I think subconsciously I did keep myself busy on purpose to avoid thinking about the past.

If you read this and you can relate to what I've said, do get in touch. It would be nice to know if there are others who have felt or are feeling the same. Is it OK to cry at sheep?! I just hope at some point soon I can move on, things will get better, right?

Have a happy Easter, and make sure you speak to your loved ones during this time. Life is too short for squabbles and arguments; slow down and take stock of what's good in your life. The good I have learnt through what's happened is that I realise how much I love the people in my life and my family (past and present).

Rich. x

ps. I think I chucked out a lot of chintz here!

pps. You can probably tell I'm still talking to myself!

Talking

Good evening,

I am going to write about talking. Something which I am not that good at. I'm more of a listener. I can talk, but most of the time it is just waffle I'm afraid.

See, I reckon there is a technique to talking. The technique is to slow down. I've tried it, and it helps massively. That millisecond that you do slow will allow you the shortest fusion in your brain, so that your mouth knows what to say next.

I am getting better. At school around about ten years ago I didn't really speak. Something happened when I went from Primary to Secondary and I completely lost all my confidence in speaking. I remember we had to present on stage something to the rest of the class. I was so nervous, and so awkward. I can't think why. I'm sure it was just nerves so that I didn't make a fool out of myself. I remember all eyes dawning upon me, and I was a goner.

Thing is, I've learned to deal with that now. I've presented things at work to many people, everyone from a class of 9 years old's to Gordon Brown! I didn't get that nervous then. I suppose it was due to my hormones being in a juxtaposed state.

Those teenage years were spent mainly on mute. I only grunted, or made quick comments, something which enabled me to become "Wittiest Person of the Year" in the sixth form awards. I must have been doing something right. I actually remember my English teacher Miss N (not going to say her name) turning to the person next to her and whispering "How has he won that?" Yes Miss, I did hear you. I just didn't speak up in class much.

Really though, I'm happy. I've managed to keep playing football at a fantastic level, and the next two years of my life could be my finest yet. All I've got to do is speak coherantly and slowly and then everyone will understand me.

If it don't work I'll still be around, just listening in on your conversation!

Comprende?

Compassion for customer

So there I was, at work, whiling away the time.

The phone rings and I answer. It's a woman from one of the banks which our helpdesk looks after. She's having trouble connecting remotely from her home. This is a common phone call that I get from a variety of customers.

The call starts by me explaining how I'm going to help. I ask for the keyfob serial number, which allows me to look up her details. She says she's been off on long term sick, part of me wants to ask why, but I know it's not my business. She's forgotten her username to log in. I know exactly what the problem is straight away when I look this up, and duly tell her to put in a different username. This allows her to connect fine and she's able to log on.

While she's checking her side to make sure she's connected we start some small talk, which goes a little beyond the basic weather conversation. She explains that she has been retraining for new processes in the company as she has been off. She expands on this to say that the reason she has been off on sick leave for 6 months is to care for her husband, who has cancer. I immediately draw in my breath and the memories that I have of this exact situation with my Mum come flooding back. "...And it's terminal", she continues. "I'm so sorry to hear that", I can only reply. Once it was the opposite way around when people replied to me like that. There is nothing else you can say.

She explains about getting her husband into a care home, a task I remember so vividly with my Mum. I expand on my Sorry by explaining, "I went through the same thing.." I am a complete mess of emotions at this point, part of me wants to cry, part of me wants to hug this woman and say everything's going to be OK and part of me wants to kick that bastard cancer illness into touch once and for all and stop hurting innocent people.

I really felt genuine emotion for this woman who I don't know and have never met. I didn't expand on my Mum's story too much (as that is a novel in itself) but I felt her pain. She knows the outcome it seems. When I tried to be positive; "I hope your husband gets better", she replied quite openly and in a real heartbroken manner, "he won't". I was amazed at her strength to say that. She didn't, or at least I didn't hear her voice break at all.

She did ask rhetorically at one point, "Why am I telling you all this?" I didn't need to answer, I used to talk all my feelings away to complete strangers. I know exactly how she feels, seeing someone you love so dearly taken away from you is a terrible wrench. My Mum was 46 when she died from stomach cancer. I had just turned 22. The person who guided me through childhood is no longer there, I have to guide myself now.

So, this woman, who outpoured all her story down the phone line seems an inspiration. I called her an "angel" at one point for caring so well for her husband. My Dad, who was fantastic throughout my Mum's journey/torture (depending on your optimism) has been there, done it and sold the T shirt.

I left her able to logon to work remotely, she said thanks for talking through helping her connect, and also to listen to her story. She asked for my name at the end of the call, I said "it's Richard". That made me feel quite proud and threw me completely again, no one ever asks for my name unless they think I've done a good job. "Whenever I ring your company, I always find you really helpful". "I'm doing my best" is what I could muster in reply as I said Goodbye.

Our best is all we can do. What a marvellous woman.

I had to go on a break after that call, and I fondly recalled some great moments with my Mum when I was little. To say that phone call didn't move me would be an understatement.

Would love to know how that woman and her husband fare in the future. Sadly, I may never find out. They deserve happiness, I'm sure the place that serves it is where my Mum is now. God bless you, wherever you are. x

Rich.