31 Days of Blogging - Day 24

Day 24 – Morcheeba – The Sea



There are times when music can soothe your soul. I love that.

The Sea by Morcheeba is one such song.

Mrs PM had the CD, Big Calm, and despite her otherwise dreadful taste in music (more of that to come), I really liked the entire album.

People sometimes need something to escape to and music has always been a suitable transitional medium to allow me to escape the real world and lose myself in my own imagination.

I have always had an active imagination and I managed to push aside my problems in favour of a trip to a calm place there – a sanctuary if you like.

When I hear this song, I imagine myself drifting off shore on a boat away from the stress and hardship of life, out to sea where all I could hear was the gentle lapping of waves against the boat and distant cry of a seagull riding on the breeze.

Of course, eventually you have to return to the things that you were trying to escape from but I find that it relaxes me enough to revisit and review them with a fresh perspective.

At night when I can’t sleep for whatever reason, I grab my trusty MP3 player, turn the volume down low and allow the music to take me on a journey away from the worries, that are keeping me awake, and into the weird world created by my own mind.

I’ve even found that it works when jet lag keeps me awake – well sometimes.

It’s easier to fight insomnia if you are tired but being kept awake by life’s problems. However, when you are stuck in a hotel room and your body thinks that it is noon, music does not always allow you to drift away.

Your body says:


NO SLEEP! GET UP! IT’S NOON! YOU SHOULD BE OUT THERE – DOING STUFF.

Your mind moans  “But it’s three o’clock in the morning!”


On the subject of insomnia, why do people think that counting sheep actually works? I’ve tried it in the past and it does not work at all. I can imagine a field full of sheep where each one of them wants to leap over a fence one at a time into the next field – but counting them is totally boring. And as the number of sheep increases, I find myself asking questions like:

How big is this damned field? I’ve counted 10,000 of the buggers and there are still loads of sheep left.


What’s wrong with the field they are in anyway?


I didn’t know that sheep queued up to leap a fence. Why would they do that?


And just how high is this fence?


Will they eventually evolve and sprout wings, if I count them for long enough?

See? That’s my weird imagination coming to the fore.

Let’s just say that soothing music is a much better option for me … unless I’ve just arrived in Hong Kong in which case I just have to bear it…

… and count thousands of flying sheep, soaring over a two hundred foot fence.

I’m a weirdo aren’t I?

Don't answer that.

31 Days of Blogging - Day 20

Day 20 – Enya – Caribbean Blue



Decades come and decades go. The 1980’s was over and the 1990’s were upon us.

So much happened to me in the 1980’s that I thought it might be a difficult one to top. The 1990’s however, proved to be as big a rollercoaster ride as the 1980’s – but for wildly different reasons.

It started off calmly enough, a calm that is reflected in this wonderfully mellow song by Enya.

By now we had moved to a three bedroomed detached house in Altrincham and W was happy and content. Her life plan was coming together and she was climbing the social ladder to the level that she wanted – to match that of her parents.

From my relatively lofty position, I was staring down to the life that my mum had envisaged for me. I was having dinner parties with bankers and managers, people who made conversation about promotions and career paths and not about life in general.

One of our neighbours wanted a personalised number plate so that people didn’t know how old her car was. As far as she was concerned, she was with the movers and the shakers.

I felt kind of uncomfortable with that.

I was entertaining people who drank brandy and port and looked down on those who liked a beer. Was I punching above my weight?

I didn’t really feel comfortable with people who urged me to climb the corporate ladder and appeared to judge me based on my car and how old it was.

My friends made me happy and as long as I was happy I was fine; as long as I could do what I liked I was fine; as long as I was able to buy what I wanted, go out with my friends, play football with the lads and enjoy my home life, I was fine; as long as I could travel I was fine.

And I could do those things – but there was something slightly wrong. The differences between my working class upbringing and W’s rather lofty ambitions were beginning to cause cracks in our relationship.

Looking back, it was obvious that W’s plan and my plan were diverging.

At first I thought nothing of it and I succumbed to her desires, under the pretence that I was somehow becoming a better person by mixing in circles that W felt comfortable with. She wasn’t that keen on my closer friends – she was friendly enough but I sensed that she considered them to be holding me back a little.

We had a big house and I loved it – I was happy. But W wanted more – not just yet but the signs were there.

Hints like “the house is too small” – we had a brand new three bedroomed detached house! Why did we need another one? It was easily big enough for a family of four. I didn’t understand it.

But I did try – in the interests of harmony.

At the time Caribbean Blue was released, we had a wonderful holiday to Greece and I recall walking along a cliff face staring out at the brilliant blue sea with a fabulous cloudless sky reflecting the sun’s rays as it made its descent to the horizon – and Caribbean Blue was in my thoughts – it was like paradise. On this holiday we were fine – I forgot about our differences.

We were abroad and I was relaxed. I was travelling.

We dined, we drank we danced and we talked.

When we got home, though, I was disappointed – not just because our holiday had finished; it was because I was stepping back into W’s world, a world in which she was happy and didn’t care about how I felt.

I should have been happy too but the problem was that I was increasingly outside my comfort zone as all of W’s dreams were coming to fruition.

The first feelings of discontent were beginning to show and I fought them. I wanted everything to work and I was determined, at that time at least, to try to make them work.

I therefore put up with it – I succumbed and I played the doting husband despite the increasing number of arguments.

I fitted nicely into W’s plans and tried my best to keep her happy, despite the dinner parties and the fact that more and more of the things I wanted were being shelved in the name of peace and harmony.

The holiday in Greece and Caribbean Blue  remind me of a happy time with W – an oasis of calm and contentment – the calm before the storm, if you like – a time when, perhaps, the differences between our outlooks on life were tolerable.

31 Days of Blogging - Day 19

Day 19 – Richard Marx – Hazard



There aren’t many songs that make me cry – but this one does. I think it is truly beautiful and as I am typing this I am struggling to focus on the words that I are appearing on the screen because my eyes are teary – and I am not making that up – because I am listening to the song as I type and it always fills me with emotion – without fail.

I’m not sure why the song does this to me. It is such a sad song and makes me imagine myself suffering the same plight as the poor soul in the song.

“I swear I left her by the river – I swear I left her safe and sound” – that line gets me every time.

It is quite amazing really that a song can have such a profound effect on a person. And for a man to admit that he openly cries at music is something that is quite difficult.

But I am admitting it here and now – and I don’t care. I will face the consequences and the piss-taking from my mates who read this blog.

I cry at a lot of things – but most of the time I try to disguise it. Why? Because I succumb to the macho man inside who considers crying to be a thing that only girls do.

I have sat in cinemas and watched movies that have actually grabbed a hold of my heartstrings and wrenched so hard that my entire body has convulsed forcing a waterfall of tears to flood down my cheeks.

And I have been embarrassed by that.

As I have got older though, I have to say that I care less about being embarrassed.

Hence my confession in this post.

It’s not a bad thing, is it, dear reader?

I am sure that female readers will sympathise with me and male readers will possibly be torn between saying – “You big girl’s blouse” while others will say “Yes – I struggle with that too.”

To those men who regard this as a struggle, I suggest that we make a pact – you and I – to allow ourselves the privilege of showing our emotions openly in public.

How can we do that?

I’ve started by admitting that a beautiful song makes me cry.

We can also not try to “pretend to be tired” when the lights go up at the end of heart-wrenching movie and admit that the film was so emotional that you simply could not help the tears gushing out of your eyes.

And best of all, get your mates to do the same, even those macho guys who reckon that they never ever cry.

I have a message for those guys – I don’t believe you.

There must be a movie that makes you cry – or a song that fills you up.

There is emotional empathy in all of us – even meatheads.

You just need to turn on the tap and let it all out – just like I have (though there may actually be something in my eyes - BOTH of them).

31 Days of Blogging - Day 18

Day 18 – Talk Talk – Life’s What You Make It



I love this song and at the time it was re-released, 1990, it was a time for reflection for me. The 1980’s was over, a decade that I will always cherish.

My life had changed so much; I had a good job, I owned a house and I was married. There were times when I had to pinch myself.

A year earlier W and I had pushed the boat out and splashed out on a massive four week holiday to the United States of America, a country I had always wanted to visit. I was in awe of the place it lived up to my expectations completely.

I was young and impressionable and fell in love with the place so much that I actually considered leaving my job and my country to go and live there.

We flew to New York and then immediately on to Washington, spending two days there before heading south to New Orleans. After a day or two there, we headed west to San Francisco before visiting Los Angeles for two weeks to stay with a friend of W. Finally we headed back east to Cleveland to visit another friend of W who had been her pen pal since they were kids. Finally we drifted back to New York for a couple of days before flying back home.

There were many highlights and, of course, a couple of cultural mishaps. Here are some of them:

We saw all of the sights in Washington, but one of the funniest things I saw were a bunch of Americans at Dulles airport standing looking at Concord with looks of pure reverence. One guy turned to me and said “Wonderful, isn’t she?” As soon as I replied he shook my hand – because I was British, as if I actually had a hand in creating it.

In New Orleans in the French Quarter, we enjoyed listening to traditional jazz, while sipping Dixie beer in a bar with one of the most attractive barmaids I have ever seen. And she considered my accent to be very sexy.

I loved San Francisco and actually got cramp walking up and down the legendary hills of that city. It is still the only place on Earth where I have been in a jail cell; I hasten to add that it was on Alcatraz.

In Los Angeles, a woman was so enamoured by my accent that she said “I would do ANYTHING for an Englishman.” All I asked for was change for a dollar. In case you are wondering, she was in her seventies.

I met and chatted to KITT, the legendary Knight Rider car, lifted the A Team van, climbed on a giant telephone from Land of the Giants, met the shark from Jaws, was involved in a simulated earthquake and was attacked by Cylons – all in the space of three hours.

In Beverley Hills I saw a pair of trousers for sale in one of the shops on Rodeo Drive for $500 – and that was in a sale.

I swam in a swimming pool with one of the best dogs I have ever met – the golden retriever owned by the woman we were staying with. I wanted to bring that dog home with me; sadly W wasn’t keen on dogs and the owner wouldn’t let me take her back anyway.

I went to a drive-in movie – a surreal experience – but fun.

In Cleveland, an American guy was waiting for me to say one stereotypically English phrase – so that he could crack a totally unfunny joke. His girlfriend called him an “Asshole” when he kept trying to get me to say it – I didn’t have the heart to tell him that most British people do not say “Cheerio”. His “joke” was also not funny at all.

I climbed the Empire State Building – not like King Kong, I have to say; I used a very fast lift.

I spent Independence Day at a party in New Jersey and was followed around for the entire event by a guy with a camcorder who “loved my accent”.

I loved America and it took a while for the desire I had to uproot and move there to dissipate. By now, that little seed of desire to travel had now germinated into a full infatuation – something that still exists today.

And thankfully, at that time, my career drifted into an area that enabled me to travel abroad as part of my job. And I still do that today.

I may moan about my job on this blog but the one thing that I love about it is the opportunities it has given me over the years to visit some of the wonderful countries out there in the world.

And each time I set foot on a plane to jet to pastures new, I still get that amazing buzz that appeared in 1989 when I went to America for the first time.

Don’t you just love travelling?