It’s been a tough few weeks. It shouldn’t have been, but the green screen in front of which I live my life has an uncanny knack of producing a landscape that is very different to the one I had anticipated.
It started with two pieces of excellent health news on consecutive days. Firstly, I got the results of the latest cancer tests. I only had my prostate removed last October, but the consultant wanted a picture three months on. Thankfully, there was no trace of any cancer. He said that there was no rush to arrange the next round of tests and suggested December for the next investigations. Two days later, I went for the results of the annual diabetes tests and the results were great. Apart from some more weight gain, all the key organs are functioning well. Come back in a year.
A large space suddenly opened up. For 24 hours, I felt fired up and determined to get on with the two things that have been on hold for ages. The last time I went to the gym was March 2019. Then cancer, a heart attack, more cancer, a hernia, a third cancer recurrence and finally the recovery from losing a prostate all intervened. My fitness level is shockingly low and now is the time to get back on the treadmill. The other thing that has been on hold has been writing the follow up to Lines, which was published in July 2020. I know the stories I want to tell, but have been unable to write anything cohesive. Unsurprisingly, my mind has been elsewhere.
So, a large space opened up. But it quickly turned from being a space of hope and new beginnings into a void. A very dark void. Lots of issues that I thought I’d worked on since the first cancer diagnosis, returned in a much darker, disabling form. From feeling like I was on the cusp of a major second chance, I now became convinced that I’d missed my last chance. For over two months, I managed to find the energy to do my normal stuff with Steven, but the rest of the time, I hid under the duvet on my sofa. Lots of crying, lots of confusion and absolutely no focus or insight.
The universe sent me messages. I knew they were important, but I couldn’t decipher the code. Last year I brought a book about the history of Southall Football Club and it contained a photo of me at the first game I ever attended in 1970. One afternoon, whilst in the void, I was mindlessly scrolling through Facebook and saw an advert for a site called “Bob’s Non League Programmes.” And on the home page, Bob was selling the programme from that very same match vs Harwich in 1970. Why am I getting these reminders about that match?
I told the diabetic nurse about my resistance to returning to the gym and she said that she would refer me to their “health and well being coach.” My heart sank. I’m a bit sniffy about people with job titles like that. Besides, I know full well what my resistance is all about. The postman delivered Bob’s package and the fog in the void started to clear. My Dad took me to that first game. I remember his irritation during the match when the game was held up for twenty minutes after the goalposts collapsed. He never went back to another game. But I had fallen in love with the club and I was 11 and the ground was across the road from where we lived, so I went on my own. A few months later, I asked my Mum why Dad never went back. She was guessing, but I’m sure she was correct. Dad had been a very good non league player. He was 31 when I was born and had to retire due to an injury two years later. Mum’s theory was that although he could avidly still follow professional football, it was too painful for him to watch non league matches and be reminded that part of his life was behind him. Bang. Bob, you’ve done it. I am my Dad’s son. Back in 2019, I was in serious training for my first over 60s bodybuilding competition. Then all the health issues intervened and I grew old. For 5 years, my goalposts had fallen down. I know that I can’t get back to my 2019 condition and it’s painful to settle for less. Have some pity for the health and well being coach – I’m going to dump all this on him.
And what about Lines 2? I know that I want to tell Fred, the murderer’s story. I have follow up stories about Tom Fleetwood and James Neary from the first book. There are also a couple of good, solid, filler tales from new relatives that fit in with the other stories. But what is the theme? What links these stories together? Friday evening, the fog further cleared. It still throws me when strangers contact me, having read my writing. I received an email from a Mary who had read Lines. She told me that she lives in Harrow and she had been shopping in the High Street earlier and a shop was up for sale and she was pretty sure it was the shop my great great grandfather brought in 1830. I checked the address and Mary was right. It was the grocers shop that James Neary lived in with his parents and three brothers. All the brothers worked in the shop, except for James, who left home aged 13 to join the Navy. I don’t think he ever went back. For some reason I kept thinking of the scene in Field of Dreams where Ray and Terrence Mann pick up the younger ghost version of Archie Graham. The scene for the book immediately appeared- I go, in 2024 to Harrow to view the for sale shop and a voice behind me says, “Oi Mister. You going to buy the shop?” and I turn round to see a young lad in a naval uniform….
I’m no longer in the void. I don’t know where I am, but it’s not the void.
One other thing feels significant. Last year, we took on an additional support worker. He’s the cousin of one of the regulars and is a lovely guy. I’ve only been able to offer him one weekend shift each month. On Saturday, he expressed to me that he feels like he’s failing as he hasn’t bonded with Steven in the same way as the other workers. I told him that he certainly wasnt failing and that each person needs a long time to build up their own relationship with Steven. Yesterday, I watched them interact and it hit me that Steven is in a very different phase. He’s more confident and comfortable in his own home and understands the world so much better, so he needs different things in his support now. The other workers have been with Steven for years and the relationships are cemented. The new guy has a new, but exciting task. He’s the new breed, the gateway for Steven’s future. Steven is a different, mature man, so needs a different type of support to reflect that.
I may not know where I am, but it invariably is a place that throws up lots of fathers and sons stuff.
Love, Belief and Balls 