I’m writing this post whilst doing 12 miles on my exercise bike. I haven’t got anything to say really except I’m writing this post whilst doing 12 miles on my exercise bike.
Actually, I have got something to say. Sod off Facebook and your glee at poking your members with memories from their Facebook past. I don’t know whether its Memory algorithm has gone on steroids or whether I always have action packed Januarys but the memories are coming thick and fast at the moment.
The last two years are getting a lot of memory recycling right now. January 2018, I posted several photos of me to mark four months back in the gym. I had never looked or felt fitter. Facebook memories programme lacks hindsight though, so I’m left with looking at these “hench” photos with the knowledge that I had a large tumour growing in my bladder at the time and one of the major arteries to my heart was corroding at a remarkable speed. The camera sometimes does lie.
This morning I was reminded that it was a year ago today that I came home after a week in intensive care following the cancer operation. The original post is suitably brief, befitting my total exhaustion at the time but the Facebook prompt means that a year on, I’m sidetracked by a trip down catheter lane. My main memory of a year ago today, which I didn’t record on social media, was phoning and speaking to Steven for the first time in a week and his refreshing disinterest in my week long adventure. The whole conversation was about blackcurrant Fruitellas and Bernard Cribbins’ appearance in Fawlty Towers. And by crikey, was it a relief to have that conversation. My other memories of my first day home are the lovely roast dinner my sister turned up with and the excruciating pain from the catheter now that the hospital had taken me off all pain relief.
This Facebook memory jogger wrongfooting is going to last all 2020 because this year marks the 10th anniversary of Steven being kidnapped to the ATU. In those first few weeks, I took to Facebook big time and reading back the posts a decade on, I can see the state of shock I was in at the time. Short, one sentence posts – a scream of bewilderment. “They said I can’t visit for a fortnight! How can they be so cruel to him?” “In tears. They just phoned me to say Steven had kicked one of the staff. He (Steven) must be so distressed. What can I do?” I think that over the next few weeks, I became more focused and found my love, belief and balls but it’s upsetting to be reminded of those first couple of weeks.
I always have eventful Januarys. Both my parents died in January. I often leave jobs in January. Steven had his big liver scare in January. And Pilot recorded a song about the year’s opening month. I don’t do half as much in April.
I’m looking ahead to 2021 and what Facebook might nudge me about from this current year. This month so far has been about my attempts to get some weight off and fitness back prior to my hernia operation. And the new book. I teased a few weeks back that I’m going to serialise it on this blog. That is still the plan but I want to have about 10 chapters in the bag first in case I dry up or get kidnapped by Bernard Cribbins. Well, you never know what’s waiting round the corner.
Except with Facebook you do. A daily diet of reheated memories, some that comfort, some that are joyous and many that stop you dead in your tracks in the present and hurtle you back to a place that you’ve long thought you’ve left.