Bi Polar Bear

BI Polar Bear

20 years ago I was diagnosed as Bi-polar.  During the ups and downs I formulated a series of therapies to help manage my condition and lessen its impact on those around me.  16 years ago I came off the full time meds.  Other than one major episode 4 years ago, and  series of lower level blips, I have been mostly Meds free, and stable enough to live a productive and fun life.  Let me tell you how I did it and within my story there may be methods and tips which might help you too.

The inspiration.

During my first big melt down I was watching a documentary about a guy in Russia who had a car accident and a steel bar came through his windscreen and severed half his brain.  He lost all of his mobility and most of his speech. Over the next couple of years with help, he taught the opposite side of his brain to deal with all the functions lost as a result of the accident.  I figured that if he can do that when such a large amount of brain was damaged, I can overcome the chemical imbalance in my brain which was failing to cope with my emotional extremes and teach another area of my brain to take on the strain.

My version of events.

Here is the story behind my condition an then I will describe the processes I formulated to help keep it under control.  I write it in the knowledge that everyone’s experience and prognosis is individual to them but there are certain commonalities which we can all identify with.  I just hope my story helps you, if only to make you feel less alone in your personal struggle.

Bi Polar or Manic depression is often, but not always inherited. (There are medical journals that can better describe the condition so look them up for more information.)  My Dad was definitely Bi Polar.  In his day it was referred to as having ‘bad nerves.’  He was very intuitive and after years of dealing with it he was pretty good at spotting its onset.  When he knew he was poorly he would book himself into the local psychiatric hospital and for 4-6 weeks they would dose him up and chemically squash him mentally.  He would then come home and be fine, often for a few years a time.

I was 29 (in 1997), I had what appeared to be the perfect life.  I was married with our own home.  We had 3 children and I had a regular interesting job, a good social life and was very clean living and orderly.  I was also a minister in the local church and regularly gave the sermons.

 By the time my first big manic episode had done its worst, less than 2 years later I was living in a bedsit, on the way to divorce and a regular at dance music festivals and night clubs smoking drinking and living very large.

Once I was diagnosed, I immediately accepted the treatment, mainly Lithium and Haloperidol and occasional Beta Blockers.  The medical teams were brilliant but told me that I would have to accept that, for the rest of my life, I would experience regular hospital stays, and would never be able to live without the medication.  Quite early on I began to question my psychiatric doctors and I asked for a medium to long term plan which would see me eventually not needing the medication or the hospitals. (The meds have side effects which can be very unpleasant.)  Right away they dismissed me.  They said my ‘grand’ ideas were simply a symptom of the mania and so were not valid, and as a result refused to discuss or even consider a plan other than the ones they had learned from their textbooks.  I theorised that a combination of psycho therapies and cognitive behavioural therapies could help re programme another area of my brain to take over from the bits which were malfunctioning. 

 The more I calmly reasoned my point, the more I protested, the greater the resistance to my ideas became from those treating me.  One psychiatric team wrote me off and transferred me to another department saying that they could no longer help me.  This was despite the fact that I was fully adhering to their medical schedule and following all their directions and advice.  I turned up to all my counselling and assessment sessions.  I appreciated the need and the power of the meds to at least stabilise my moods in order to buy me time to put a better plan into action.

There was one beacon of hope. One person who would at least listen to my idea.  My local GP.  I explained to him the basis of my theory and he calmly told me that there was early work going on amongst pioneering psychiatric teams which was going along a similar path.  So why not give it a go, he said, but don’t abandon your meds until you’re are absolutely sure.  He emphasised the importance of the medical treatments and support services that went along with them.

(What I found then and now is, in my case, when manic, if presenting to a medical team for the first time (rather than my GP who knows me,) I am often so clear and seemingly so very coherent that I have often been told there is nothing wrong with me in their opinion.  I then point out that I haven’t sought help in many years and seeking help is never my first option and the fact that I am sitting there looking for support should on its own, tell them there is something wrong. 

 The other reaction I get is an almost complete dismissal of everything I say as the listener / medical professional, is convinced from the outset that, as a Bi polar I am delusional or unwell and therefore cannot be trusted or believed.  When I am manic or spiralling towards a mania, I am at my most clear in terms of being able to describe my condition, my feelings and my general condition.  I think if I had gone in barefoot with a Ramones t-shirt on, a spliff between my teeth and spent the whole session stood on the table whilst insisting they call me Jesus… then they might have taken me seriously! )

A point came just prior to diagnosis, when my manic episodes were frequent and severe.  I was drinking regularly and closing myself away from my family.  I was very moody and difficult to deal with.  I was also making clear plans to end my life, making notes as to the cleanest and most efficient way of ending things.  I found a block of concrete I could just about carry.  I found some good rope and I was all set to walk out into the sea to the point of no return where I would drop the concrete and let the waves consume me (hoping I had got the tides right and I wouldn’t be left standing ankle deep in the sea with a lump of concrete tied to my waist!).  I parked the car by the beach all ready to go.  The only thing that stopped me taking the final step was my mum and my sons.  I could not muster the levels of selfishness needed to create the hurt they would carry for the rest of their lives.  I reasoned that I would rather live a whole life of internal torture than pass that pain onto them. (I am not saying all suicide is selfish. I am speaking for my own experience only.)

  When I am high (manic) it was the greatest feeling ever.  Uber confident, very charming and lots of physical and mental energy.  My libido is off the charts.  Physically and intellectually it feels like the universe cannot contain me. During the fist big meltdown, I had decided to study Quantum Mechanics and my fitness regime was based on the program used by people doing Triathlons at Olympic distance. Everything was done on an obsessional scale.  I could party, literally for days at a time without the use of recreational drugs.  I could write poetry and read complicated philosophy with an ease I had never before experienced.  I drove and lived very fast and often endangered myself by my crazy antics and risk taking.  Even though I appeared to be having the time of my life, the exercise and the complicated study subjects were only a means of satiating the pain I felt.  I felt a pain and restlessness in my body and there were huge Katherine wheels of energy spinning inside my head which physically hurt at times and the exercise and study seemed to quiet them a little.  At times, however, they also fed the mania and made it worse. 

To those not close to me I was the life and soul of the party and my energy was the envy of most.  When manic on a high cycle, you feel indestructible and able to achieve anything. The feeling is like a drug, it can be very addictive.  When you are up there, free from the usual responsibilities of how to behave and live you often don’t want to ever come back down. (This is why many with a similar condition don’t take their medication or refuse help.  It’s like being intellectually drunk on the finest drug rush you can ever imagine.)

When the subsequent swing happened and I spiralled into a low I would find myself alone inside a screaming-head and a very dark world full of paranoia, hate, mistrust and demons from past present and future that did the fire dance inside my psyche.  I really wanted to die. I wanted to get off the roundabout for a moment.  All I wanted was a little peace and quiet and death seemed the only route to finding that.  You spend a lot of time crying and feel very alone. The paranoia isolates you from most support and everything seems quite hopeless. 

When high on a mania, it would be usual for me to seek brand new relationships both sexual and social, with people outside my current circles.  I later realised that the reason I did this was probably because of my paranoia and mistrust of those around me when I was  not well. People close to me would question my behaviour, question my decisions and stand up to my wrong doing, (no one likes that at the best of times.)  I also knew that I was causing a strain on them, so by taking my self away from them, the burden, i thought,  would be lessened.  The other great advantage to this strategy was that amongst strangers I could be whoever I wanted to be and show them only the good sides of who I was, only what I wanted them to see.  They didn’t judge me and they didn’t criticise me in the same way that those close to me did.  I could then go home and and hide, venting my suffering, the negative sides of my feelings, in private.

The biggest thing the illness takes from you, other than family friends and livelihood, is your confidence. You lose basic trust in your own faculties, the fundamental ability to know what is right and what is wrong suddenly deserts you.  Most people go their whole life trusting their own brain and their own judgement, getting it wrong sometimes, making mistakes and leaning and adapting to those experiences.  When I am in the middle of a manic episode, my brain tells me all sorts of things which are not true, it deceives me, tricks me and my whole perspective, objectives and outlook are completely skewed (and I have no idea anything is wrong when in the midst of it.)  Everyone around me knows, strangers can sometimes sense there’s an issue, but in my head I am completely in control and on top.  Everyone else is wrong.

 A way of illustrating this is a phenomenon called liquefaction.  During an earthquake the solid trusted ground beneath your feet can literally liquefy.  Roads, fields and whole villages can disappear in an instant.  The very ground you stand upon, the most trusted part of our physical environment behaves in a way which is seemingly impossible and beyond comprehension.  My brain does something similar and the resultant fall out is that you can no longer trust what you once thought was completely solid and completely reliable.  It’s terrifying when you cannot even be completely sure of your own interpretation of the world around you. 

Dear Diary – close your eyes!

In between the bi-polar swings, I would sometimes find short periods of peace, or at the least, stable thinking patterns.  During one of these times I realised that I needed to see inside the world of my manic behaviour.  I needed to create a window through which I could observe my behaviour (once I was well enough again to do so,) in order to attempt to find a way of understanding, addressing and countering it.  I knew that the observational and reporting power of those around me was flawed because there was often an emotional connection to me which could cloud their view.  My paranoia also often prevented me from trusting their accounts and whilst I was manic I could be very manipulative and crafty in hiding my behaviour, motivations and actions to those close to me.  The only true account could be my own.  This process however, depends on me being honest enough both in the recording and interpretation of whatever I found.

I soon realised I had to write a diary.  Not just any diary though.  It had to be detailed and honest to the degree where even the innermost secret motivations had to be recorded.  It also needed to be very detailed because, at this point, I had no idea where the solution or the weakness lay.  I could not set off on this journey with my eyes closed to any possible cause or solution.  The diary also proved to be a good outlet for my thoughts and emotions where few such non-judgemental alternatives existed.  So I disciplined myself that however I was feeling, high, low, or somewhere in between, I would record my day.  I noted what I ate and when. How much sleep I had and the hours of that sleep. My activities, my emotions, my feelings and my motivations including my demons, the things that no one ever wanted to admit at the very least record and make permanent on paper. e.g.  If I perhaps desired someone sexually or conversely wanted someone to die, I would record it all in detail.

By writing a diary, I could, over time analyse my behaviour both in and out of manic cycle and I hope that patterns, reasons and insights would appear.  Because of the records I was creating, it meant that during my well periods, I could look through the eyes of my manic me, and in some part experience what others around me saw and had to deal with.

Within less than 6 months, thanks to the diary, I realised that there were certain clues appearing.  Just prior to spiralling out of control each time, there were signs that my mood was changing.  Signals that something was on the way.

You see what happens is this, at least in my case, the mania increases from tiny periods of high energy or high emotion into large destructive whirlwinds.  It’s almost like a flywheel or a tornado gathering speed and gathering energy from within its environment or its power source.  At lower speeds it’s quite easy to bring it to a halt again, but once it goes past a certain point the stored energy is too great to be stopped.  It then has to burn itself out or be destroyed by other means. Those other means could be medical intervention or self-destruction.  Every case is different, but for me the build-up usually takes several weeks and sometimes many months.  In the case of my first big meltdown, I later realised that the flywheel had been gaining pace for many years.

I began to realise that if I could halt the progress of the manias before they went too far, I could bring them back down and avoid the mess they created.  Over the next year or so, by means of the diary, I would regularly analyse my behaviour prior to becoming manic, and slowly I became better at spotting its onset.

For example, if I was desperate to go clubbing, then the last thing I should do is go clubbing as the resultant stimulus would feed the mania.  I am not just talking a general desire to go clubbing, I am talking about a deep down desperation to immerse myself within that type of environment.  I also spotted that when listening to music at home, if the music made me particularly emotional either weepy or ebullient, it was an indicator that I was beginning to spiral.  In both and similar examples, the correct course of action to take is to step away from stimulus make sure I got extra sleep, take time away from work, watch shit daytime TV and keep my meds nearby in case I felt I wasn’t able to slow down the momentum without them.

Over a period of many years,, I literally read my behaviour and reactions. I found the things which would initially trigger episodes and through my early warning flags was able, bit by bit, to counter them earlier and earlier to the point that I could stop them gathering enough pace to get out of control.  It’s something I still do every day now, 20 years later, as a means of keeping myself stable.

Triggers.

I don’t want to go too deep into my personal triggers but, self-esteem issues, romantic complications, relationship problems and financial strains were more often than not, at the core of me eventually finding myself unable to cope and my mania taking hold.  Read this though within the context of the other things I am outlining in this article. It’s a combination of factors that lead to becoming unwell.  The triggers are often the straw that breaks the camel’s back in emotional terms, rather than a cause or to blame in isolation.

One of the primary triggers for me, which cannot be over emphasised, and is both a symptom and a cause, is lack of good quality sleep.  When my sleep patterns are disturbed (by a head too busy with mania to switch off,) it will make my mania worse.  Or if work and socialising means I am not getting the amount and quality of sleep I need, then it can lead to a manic episode.  Whenever I get the early warning signs that I am becoming unwell, the first thing I address is my sleeping patterns, but they are often the hardest to bring under control.  When manic, even at a low level, the last thing you want to do is sleep.  Sleep seems to be an intrusion into good party and creative time. 

Environmental factors

Alongside the diary I read other accounts and books of people with a similar condition. I read psychology books about mental illness and the myriad of factors, reasons that it comes to the fore and ways of dealing with it.

 I learned that along with the genetic predisposition, there is a massive weight of evidence that environmental factors play a big part in bringing it to the fore. By environmental factors I mean, the situation you find yourself in at that time as a collection of the many steps it took you to get there. Your history, your family and peer dynamic all play a part in your ability to cope, your ability to manage your personal stresses, and your ability to control any chemical imbalances that will ultimately make your head poorly.

 We all have differing levels of what we can deal with. We all have different brain chemistry.  Therefore what induces stress, mental illness and severe anxiety in one person, is a seeming walk in the park to another.  One type of person is no better than another in this respect. Just because you know someone who seems to be able to deal with all that life throws at them and at the same time you fail to get out of bed some days because your anxiety is overwhelming.  This does not make them better than you.  You are not weak by comparison.  You are different people with different brain chemistry and different environments.

In my personal case I found myself in a world where I no longer belonged and the pressure of conforming to that world eventually boiled over and broke me. 

I joined a church at the age of 16 seeking answers to the great questions of the universe and life.  By 20 I was married.  Throughout my twenties I was a minister and to many, my wife and I were considered to be shining examples in the congregation.  We were often cited as examples that others should follow. I was also living in quite a poor working class community in the South Wales valleys amongst wonderful family centric, community focused people.  All of this was wonderful, and a period of my life I am very glad happened.  However, by the time I was in my late twenties, the pressures to conform to the world I had placed myself within, became almost unbearable.  I was no longer that young spiritual man, happy with the simple things in life and content to ignore the wider world around me.  I realised there was a whole world of the arts, theatre, creativity and self-expression, which were not compatible with the brand of spiritual life which was now my whole world.  I was a large thinker and a creative free spirit contained within very high walls of strict conformity.
  Whilst, from within my confines,  I could see the clouds passing overhead, I knew that those clouds were travelling on without me, and it was inevitable that I would one day hop onto one and drift away to find out about the big world outside.  What I didn’t realise at the time was that, rather than a gradual drift away, the onset of my Bi-polar would have me bursting through those walls in a great cloud of mess, dust and destruction.  When it happened I ran at full speed leaving much rubble in my wake and never looking back.  By the time the Bi-polar had done its thing, I had no god, no belief and horizons seemingly without borders.

Another factor during this period of my life which applied much of the pressure that lead to my explosion, was the community in which I lived and worked.  I grew up in quite a middle class home, my Dad had been a research scientist and our whole world was one of a certain set of values and behaviours indicative of that world.  When I married and moved to the Welsh valleys to be with my new Welsh wife, I found myself within a culture I did not understand and it certainly did not understand me.  For one I was English, which was always going to be a stumbling block for the locals.  When I first moved to Wales the pits were still open and my father in Law was a Miner.   A world so different to what I knew. 

Now I am not suggesting for one second that I was better than the people I found myself among, they are good hard working people with good values and a good way of life.  The problem was, it was so different in its values and belief structures to mine, that fitting in there was really hard.  I was constantly having to change who I was, accept things that I saw as unacceptable and conform to a pattern of behaviour which was alien to me.  I was from a different world, a different culture and I was in a foreign land trying to make it work.

   A small example of this was that I wanted my sons to go to a Grammar school, or if there was a way of facilitating it, a private school.  I wanted the very best for them to give them a good start in life.  My wife and her family berated me for this notion asking me ‘why should our boys be any different to anyone else around them.’  The state schools locally had been good enough for multiple generations of their family and we should be no different.  They said I had ideas above my station and that I was an elitist. Maybe I was in this respect but I truly believed it was the best way for them (at the time).  I was overruled.

On another occasion a member of my wife’s family who was about 14, and beginning to go off the rails a bit, came back home with what was clearly stolen goods.  We were looking after the family home while my In-laws were away on holiday  with no way to contact them.  I took the decision to call the police as I knew this was one of a series of crimes he had committed and felt that police intervention was necessary to both hopefully, get him back into line, but also to reunite the victims with their stolen goods.  When the In-laws returned from holiday I was vilified and ostracised, the dynamic between us was never the same again.  I was told that it was ‘family business’ and should be kept within the family and that the police should never have been called under any circumstances.  It was just another nail in the coffin of my disenfranchisement with the world I was living in.

       These are just some examples of how my environment was creating issues with my mental health and were in part factors in my eventual breakdown.

Clearing out the attic.

I started a process, of what I call, clearing out the attic.  Getting rid of as many of the things inside my head which troubled or bothered me.  There were hundreds of them.  Some of these broken bits of furniture and boxes of bric-a-brac inside my head went right back to my childhood.  Somethings were impossible to address and had to be dealt with in other ways.  Here are two very differing examples:

     When I was 14, I was on a school trip to Germany and became very friendly with a girl from my school.  We snogged most of the way back to the UK and she was simply lovely to be with.  About half way home she told me that she loved me and wanted to introduce me to her family.  She wanted me to go around to their house for dinner and she wanted all her friends to meet me.  I had no idea how to deal with this level of personal affection and attention from a relative stranger. (I had come from a loving and supportive home but had never learned to deal with, or acknowledge affection outside of that circle partly due to my low self-esteem.)  My reaction as to completely close down.  I folded my arms tightly, and went completely silent, spending the rest of the journey home staring out of the window, refusing to talk as she sat beside me and cried!  At 30+ years old, I still felt terrible for doing that to her, I never forgot how much it must have hurt her, but I was helpless to put it right.  I carried it with me all those years and realised I had to deal with it.  I had no idea how to contact her and also reasoned it was probably pointless, as she would not even know what I was talking about.  In the end I stood in a field alone and had a conversation with her, out load, and apologised.  In some way I was hoping the breeze would carry it far enough for her to hear and understand.  I then opened my hand palm upwards, visualised the hurt as a big ball sat in the palm of my hand and literally blew it away.

Another and more complex example was one of past learned behaviour which was affecting my ability to deal with my world on an emotional level.

 Before I describe this one I need to add some context.  I always felt that never really fitted in anywhere.  I never understood how others around me behaved or reacted especially towards me.  I seemed unable to read their signals and clues and as a result often reacted strangely which compounded the problem.  I was also bullied alot at school from quite early on, so this also fed into my sense of isolation.  So at about the age of 11, I started reading psychology books from my Dad’s bookshelves.  One in particular was about the psychology of the behaviour between people on both a personal level and within groups.  The language and terminology in these books was very complicated for an 11 year old, but I persevered and slowly taught myself how to better read those around me.  I also read books about how the negative behaviour displayed in people was often a consequence of earlier trauma or family issues.  Using this information, over many years, I began to better understand my peers and better understand myself. Some of the things learned would take many years to make sense of.  As I grew older and experienced more of life it all became clearer.

The many years of studying pschology lead me to a new understanding.  It wasn’t until I was in my early Thirties that, after being ill, and carefully examining my emotional reactions, especially on a personal level, I realised that I was displaying classic textbook accurate behaviour of someone who had been abused at some point in their life.  I, however had never experienced any form of abuse.  I was absolutely sure of this.  I had no doubt at all.  So where did this behaviour come from.  One day it dawned on me.  You see as you get older you learn more about those around you and small pieces of a complex jigsaw start to fall into place.  I worked out that almost without exception, both within my family and amongst 80% of my peer group they had all suffered from either sexual, psychological or physical abuse from people close to them, at some point in their lives.  The list of those around me who had suffered in this way was extensive.  It was then that I realised that the very people responsible for forming the person I had become were all victims in one way or another and I had also learned to display the traits of a victim despite never having been one.  This wasn’t a conclusion I came to lightly or quickly but once I spotted and acknowledged it, I was then in a position to counter it and begin to counter its negative effects in my personal relationships.

So bit by bit, piece by piece, I began to repair myself from within.  It was a long, slow, and often frustrating process, but one I knew was vital to restoring my mental health to something more predictable. 

The recognition that there was a problem that could eventually be overcome.  The incremental increase in my knowledge of mental health issues and an increased understanding of personal and group psychology.   The diaries.  The early warning process.  The understanding of the triggers and causes of my poor mental health.  The resolving of past hurts which were eating me from the inside.  The break from a life and lifestyle which was killing me slowly from within.  Understanding the vital importance of sleep and rest as a part of the healing process.  All of these and more were steps in the process towards getting better.

I was effectively re training other areas my brain to deal with the things that made poorly.  This meant that the section neurons which miss fire in my head, under extreme emotional duress was carrying less load and therefore less likely to fail when I needed them the most.

I would not change a single thing about who I am or the cards I have been dealt.  I embrace my condition and diagnosis, in as much as knowledge is king, and anything can be overcome and sustainably managed, given enough time and support.
Being Bi-polar brings with it many problems, but it also brings many benefits which I appreciate and embrace. My experience and journey have made me stronger and given me a zest and energy for life that many get nowhere near to.  When you have peered over the edge into the abyss of nothingness, the sun shines twice as brightly once you find a place from where you can enjoy it. My creativity and my bravery, to take on the world with schemes and ideas many would shy away from, all come in great part from having this special, slightly faulty brain, upbringing, genetics and the experiences which have formed me.

I am a productive member of society with many precious friends and a good lifestyle. This has happened thanks to a long fight to get better and the unending and often underserved support and patience of those around me.  In 20 years I have had 2 majorly destructive episodes and countless smaller ones which have caused their own problems and many set-backs.

Every day for the rest of my life I will need to keep monitoring and examining my behaviour, my reactions and the counsel of those around me.  I do this in order to maintain a stability which is conducive to being part of a family and a wider society.  I can never let my guard down or take my current good health for granted.  I will never stop sharing and helping others in any way I can.  I will never stop fighting to stay alive.  I will never stop living each day with a zeal that makes the best of every moment and every situation.  I will never stop trying to improve myself and exceed my own goals.

 I am one of the lucky ones, I am still alive to tell the tale.

Dedicated to my Mum for keeping me alive thus far. x

Edinburgh Fringe report 2012

Wow! glad to be home.

After 8 months of planning I arrived in Ed keen to show off the new version of 2 Facedbook... Last year over 2500 people came to see the show live and 800 watched live online. This years version was all about audience interaction, using their mobile phone to heckle me on my Facebook wall which was projected behind me. There was also a live internet feed so that people around the world could watch and heckle.

4 Days in I could not understand why large chunks of my audience were walking out and why no-one seemed interested in interacting. I was completely on the back foot, filling for time, pulling every old story out of the back of my head just to keep the show going until people started getting involved. There was little online input and although some photos etc were hitting the wall, the sheer lack of volume meant there was very little to work with and the energy in the room was not any where near what I was used to from previous years.

I then received a very rude email from one of my returning audience members stating that not only was the show totally rubbish but also that no-one in the audience could get online and interact and thus were leaving disappointed. The internet  (the venue had provided) was not keeping up with demand and as soon as a certain level of load was put on it, it went into meltdown. It was no-ones fault, we just did not anticipate this as a potential issue.

During one of these disaster shows a reviewer came in, and not realising anything was wrong, decided that the problem was clearly me and thus wrote a tirade of personal comments the highlights of which include; lecherous hack who belongs in 1962 Butlins (BTW 1962 was the hey day of Butlins!) and that I don't deliver on any level. He then goes on to misquote a story completely leaving out the punchline, in order to support his theory that I am hack and past it. I don't mind that he didn't like the show, I don't care that he disliked me, but I hate that I was so misrepresented because of his inability to listen carefully to the whole story and then get so very personal with his vitriol as a result. He also says that I fail to establish a positive relationship with my audience... every day 30% of this years audience had seen me before and returned for more, I guess they were there simply for the chance to have a relaxing sit down in a large damp cave beneath an Edinburgh bridge and nothing to do with my ability to charm my room.

before the end of the first week, I had to pull the show as we couldn't get the technology to keep up with our demands. I guess the show was soooo cutting edge that it hadn't even been invented yet!  :) next year we will attempt time travel and have a working version of the Stargate on stage. Then all the critics can pass through and have a second chance to quote things in context instead of trying to boost their own ratings by ranting about the made up weaknesses of others (although it hasn't done Simon Cowell to badly!)

Matt Price (my friend and my hero) stepped in and suggested I put on a 3 header comedy stand-up show in place of 2FB3. Matt became my anchor man and became completely invaluable and a real source of strength at a time when I was ready to pack up and go home. No matter how tough the audience, and some days were really bad, Matt always managed to turn them around and read their mood perfectly, delivering his outstanding set in a completely different way every day according to how he read the room. It was a real pleasure watching such a pro at work.

2 weeks in and the going was tough but the morale boost came in a very special way. Whilst waiting for my show to start, a coach pulled up outside the venue and a chap jumped off, explained that a whole bunch of them had seen my show the previous year and they had brought their friends and come back for more. I explained that 2FB3 had been cancelled and in its place we were doing straight stand-up... they said they still wanted to see me, whatever the show, and they then filed into, and filled my venue. I felt honored and humbled by the experience but at the same time my Cahonies definitely grew and I was strutting like a prize peacock by the end of the evening.

On my other show We Love Comedy which was a showcase show for other comics to promote their slots elsewhere or for new comics to learn their trade. I made sure that up to 3 of the 5 comics everyday were newer and less experienced acts and gave them an opportunity to play a big stage in an environment that allowed them the room to be not quite as good as some of the bigger names that I booked. It was great fun seeing some of these people growing as comedians over the course of the month and thus leaving Ed far better than when they arrived.

The nightlife, the parties and the Loft Bar is as much a reason to go to the Ed Fest for a month as the performing and networking. It was often chilling out with my friends and talking absolute bollocks until the sun came up which kept me sane... although my measure of sanity cannot be relied upon in the real world. :) My good friend Rory (who worked for me on my shows) however could always be relied upon just to be himself and that was often funnier than the guys we saw on stage, but for all the wrong reasons.

After 85 performances; I had some great gigs and I had some awful ones. I met some great people and consistently ate over priced and poor quality food. However, the one treasure I will take with me from this years Fringe is the knowledge that I have some wonderful friends who can be totally relied upon when you need them and I consider it a privilege to be counted among such talented and loyal individuals. There were times that i was so fed up I wanted to cry, but they always lifted me up and urged me onward.

 If comedy never brings me fame or fortune it will always be the thing that gives me something money can't buy; the company of some really great people who seem to like my company too. What more could I ever ask for? I am indeed infamous and fortunate!

A tribute to the Brave

Grab life today, embrace it, shake and force it to do things your way! In the process never forget to show a little love to those around you, especially those with mental illness.

This year two of my friends have lost the fight with depression. When you hear such sad news as the loss of a loved one, if the loss is due to old age, or accident, whilst still tough, it has a reason, there is a hook to hang your emotion onto. However when you hear that your friend took their own life the situation for those left behind is far different.

Anger, resentment, tears, frustration, sadness and regret all intertwine into a big noisy mess inside your head.

'maybe I should have called him' 'why wasn't i there for him' 'if only I hadn't dismissed his troubles as melodrama or attention seeking' 'I should have noticed he was that bad, I should have known, I was his friend!'

These thoughts and a million others race through your head as you try and resolve the hurt that is biting at your heart.

Here's the thing though, there is no way of bringing back a loved one once gone, there is no cure. There is however a vaccine that might help those suffering from the same disease hold back its symptoms.

If you have a friend or a colleague who is suffering from depression or manic depression or any one of the many terrible mind maladies which display similar warnings, then there is one thing you can do for them right now and its really quite simple.

Just show them some love. Don't judge them. Don't scorn them or hate their moments of melodramatic self indulgence. Don't try and assign reasons for their behaviour using your best judgement from your sound mind that has no idea of the complexities and complications, the demons and the torture some have to deal with. Do not pretend you understand their pain if you yourself have never known such pain. Do not figuratively patronise or pat their head in wayward lip service. Just give them a little more love.

Many people with the many forms of depression are often the most creative and colourful members of our world. They are impetuous and bouncy one day and morose and negative the next. They build great walls of personality and bravado and lull the world into thinking that they are ok, they love the fight. They make it seem as if the fight is a tough one but one which is exhilarating in its pursuit. We often see those who suffer as somehow the strogest amongst us and thus the least likely to fall. This is a fragile illusion and the many dear friends I have said goodbye to are sad proof of that.

You may not be able to save a friend, you may not be able to extend their life one day beyond the day they decide their time has come, but you can wave them off with a heart that is clear in the knowledge that you did everything you could. You spent that extra moment to share a smile, you hesitated before judging them and you never forgot to tell them that you valued them and loved them.

Good bye my dear friends. Sleep well and peacefully.
x

poetry & cheerful reasons

Its national Poetry Day so I thought I would share a couple of recently scribbled musings and then I came up up with a list for a magazine article recently 'Reasons to be cheerful' and thought maybe you would like to read it too :)

Written a couple of weeks ago whilst gazing accross Morecambe Bay very early one morning.

Morecambe bay journey

Whilst cockle pickers flick salty molluscs from watery cracks & distant mountains cast lonely authority over this ancient muddy wasteland.
Behind me sits the chaos of a world in brick built regularity, in front of me the wilderness in random, ordered singularity.
Behind me the past, in front of me the future, should I advance or retreat, conquer or be conquered, make a stand or take my seat?
The decision is simple, the route unknown, but my strength is certain because my destination is home!

Woman

Like rose petals fallen pon a glassy pond,
Your sweet eyes soften and sweeten my world.
Like sunlight falling into icy depths,
Your smile is the moonlight melting my night.
Like jewelled armour your your strength is your tribute.
Your beauty is your spirit, your laugh and your kiss.


..............................................

Reasons to be cheerful

It was 1979 when Ian Dury penned the famous ‘Reasons to be Cheerful….’ This was the last hit he had with his group the Blockheads. His lyrics were born out of frustration and written in a time of national unrest and turmoil…. This all sounds very familiar eh?

So here are my reasons to be cheerful… make up your own tune!

‘Reasons to be cheerful.’
by Jools Constant; ‘the only comic in the village!’

* The new leader of the free world has great Abs.

Can we get buffer than Barrak Obama during international ‘Let’s Get Buff Week?’ Yes we can!

Barrak is set to be Torso of the Decade. With his handsome grin, buff body and position of extreme power, he will have a queue of Monica Lewinski’s begging him to pay for their dry cleaning.

* You’re now unemployed, but just think of all the extra time you have with your Xbox.

Thanks to rising unemployment, sales of video games are on the up. Another bonus is that MFi has closed…. So with all your new free time, you couldn’t fit that new kitchen, even if you wanted too.

* Sarah Palin is still alive so we still have someone to laugh at now that Bush is probably dead.

The Moose hunting Moose is the main reason her team lost the election. Ms Palin is so stupid, she makes George Bush look like Steven Hawking without the wheelchair! Her knowledge of world geography is based purely on Disney films. If she had ever been elected President she promised her first act would be to hand out free lipstick for all Pit Bulls!

Yet despite all this the right wing extremists think she's the best.... the very same people also have lots of guns and a very limited IQ, lets hope their trigger finger gets twitchy when MRS P is passing by!

* No-one has any idea who is running the Country now, so we don’t know who to blame or moan about anymore.

I’m not even sure which Man is really in charge and I am not remotely interested in new coalition politics. I do know that now the benefits are being slashed, rich people are uncharacteristically grumbling! I don’t really care as long as they keep recycling our rubbish, it has been revealed that cheeky councils all over the country are throwing our tins it into landfill! Throwing away our rubbish – it’s a scandal! I will write a strongly worded letter on recycled paper, and very soon that too will be recycled and my prickly anger may be mopping the bottom of the very ploiticians I disdain!

* Only 123 shopping days until Christmas

Take advantage of the Poundland Sale now! They are still selling the remnants of the Woolworths stock. They have 300 Mona Lisa Jigsaws left. The pick-a-mix stand is completely empty except for the coffee creams and even the ‘Barbara Streisand sings Black Sabbath’ CD box set is still available if you hurry.

Christmas is almost here, it's the best ever reason to pig out on chocolate without the ‘Obese Police’ wagging their chubby little truncheons at us.
Every day we are being told off for eating the wrong things; burgers, chips, pizza, carpet! With Christmas on the way we can fill the trolley full of chocolate without the Check Out Operator hitting the alarm button and having our kids taken away by social services.

* Big brother is over forever! Yes!

Who would have guessed that by shovelling 10 nuerotic oversexed village idiots into one hole the result would be benign dribbling dross of the highest order. The series ran 9 seasons too long me thinks!

* I know times are tough, but you wouldn’t sell you Ferrari and replace it with a wheelbarrow, would you?

Why is Rooney riding a bike when he has enough money for a taxi? Lets take heart, even with all his money, advisors and resource, he can still cock things up just as spectacularly as us mortals

* Michael Douglas isnt too well.

KZJ may soon be single again. Dancing shoes at the ready lads.

* Angelina & Brad haven’t bought any babies this year which means they are becoming more affordable for the rest of us.

Now that they have their Quality Street tin filled with a United Nations calendar of adopted kids, they are turning their attention to old people and the disabled. Apparently they have put in an offer for Cliff Richard and the whole of the England Rugby team.

* Greggs has not gone bankrupt.

You used to be able to guarantee that if a Banker invites you out to eat, it would be an expensive steak washed down with a very exclusive Red. However in these tough financial times he's thinking; ‘Greggs,’ washed down with a bottle of Dandylion & Burdock! However cold the weather, however little money is left in your pocket, a steak pasty & a Chocolate Flake Fancy will always wash away the boyfriend blues. Bankers are quickly tightening their belts as its going to be at least another twelve months before they get anymore multi million pound bonus's from us taxpayers

* The French are still in France.

Bon Bon. When the French Market visited Newport recently they had no-where to park their vans because the Welsh Sheep Farmers blockaded the car park. We had vans stacked up all the way back to Bon Marche.
Some people dislike the French so much they have suggested that we force them as a nation to adopt Russell Brand and Ricky Gervaise.

* I haven’t heard mention of the Ryder Cup for a full three days!

We are considering re-naming Newport; Celtic Manor City, electing Terry Matthews as President and turning the Castle roundabout into a putting green. The river is to be a new Water Hazard and there will be a windmill built at the end of the footbridge for those who fancy a bit of Crazy Golf.

* Cheese and onion crisps.

If there is a God in Heaven, you can guarantee he will have a secret stash of Cheese and Onion under his bed – which makes sense I guess as he probably invented them first. The last supper would not have been the same without a crispy cheese starter.

* Finally, here is the most astonishing news I have ever heard – after last years’ unveiling of Amy Winehouse at Madame Tussauds, they decided to do some tests and they found there were actually less artificial substances in the wax model , than in Amy herself. Shocking but true!

Always remember; Smile, and the world smiles with you. Frown, and the world will think you are constipated!

Pursue your dream!

Less than3 years ago I was just a builder, and a pretty good builder at that, (that’s just an estimate of course!) Here I am now, a professional comedian stalking the motorways of Britain, slithering down the slip roads into comedy venues countrywide and actually getting paid proper money for parking my jokes inside people’s heads in an attempt to make them laugh.

Less than three and a half years ago I did my first ever gig – my material was delivered straight from the open pages of The Big Compendium of Jokes, which was an unwelcome gift the previous Christmas along with a bag of Satsuma’s and a multi tool spanner thing, (the only tool I would ever need again, the instruction booklet promised I could now throw away all other tools!)

Then a friend pointed out a comedy competition, run by the BBC which was looking for new comedy talent living in Wales. Foolishly I filled the form and clicked ‘send!’ The night before my big televised debut, I reluctantly read the ‘terms and conditions’ (men don’t generally really do instructions!) To my horror it said that all jokes must be your own and original. One or the other would have been fine, but both….!

I turned up in front of an expectant viewing public with a complete gaggle of comedic musings. The judges though, rated me, but their advice, (like the drink I downed before going on stage) was short and clear. They said that I was a ‘born performer’ I had ‘great stage presence’ and had a bright future in the comedy business. However…. now here’s the crunch! I quote ‘Your material is Shit!’
Their advice was direct and useful. ‘Get out there, do your time on stage, work hard, develop your material, work even harder, and learn your craft and then, if you are very lucky, you might make a living in this business!’

Well I guess I have been lucky if you consider that now I am performing in some of the biggest clubs in the UK and earning a living doing what I love the best. However, that ‘luck’ has cost me quite a high price. I am driven by a passion to make my voice heard above the hum and noise of mediocrity, but my passion has come at a cost.

After working up to 10 hours a day as a builder I would climb in my car and drive hundreds of miles to perform gigs in a wide selection of pubs and clubs as I developed my skills. In less than 3 years I did over 600 gigs. The routine, the lifestyle and the passion which drives me has cost me my marriage, my beautiful home and the security which I had spent many years, until that point, meticulously building around me.

My life has completely changed now, I’m living almost full time in London and my week is centred on my performances and the constant need to improve, develop and progress. I have paid a high price for my passion, my hobby. Now as I begin 2010 and look forward to the year ahead I have to ask if the price I paid was worth it. Well if I concentrate on NOW and appreciate that I am living a life that many people could only dream of and that if my career keeps going in the same trajectory, I have a pretty sound future ahead of me, then I’m ok. I have at last found a world in which I fit and belong. If I looked backwards and count the real cost of the journey, perhaps my conclusions would be a little different.

Comedy is the most difficult and demanding thing I have ever done. I leave some gigs and it feels like my whole world has fallen apart and others like I’m Bruce Lee, Clint Eastwood and George Clooney all rolled into one…… invincible and untouchable!

The thing is, when you climb on that stage and feel the buzz of the audience in front of you, when you feed off the collective energy and lift the mood of that big room full of people, there isn’t a greater feeling in the entire world. When you step back down again and you know that you have left them happier, entertained and satisfied, just like you’ve just delivered a mass inoculation against the woes of the world outside, then all the pain, all the mindless motorway monotony and all the personal disruption, suddenly disappears. I’m no saint, I do this for me, not for them. I need this and am driven by a deep rooted hunger to succeed, to prove that I can tame the toughest of all adversaries, not the unending expectations of the restless crowd, but my own lack of completeness.

May people say they respect comedians, they hold them in the highest esteem, and yet they show this respect by laughing at their woes, giggling at their misfortune and roaring at their messed up lives.

Yet every night we get back on stage in full knowledge that whilst the audience is laughing, they don’t have the slightest idea of the time, effort, rejection and personal mishap which goes in to creating every single minute of our performance.
So I ask myself, after the year I have had, would I do it all again to get to where I am now… I guess the answer is a resounding YES. I would have preferred to have not had the stress, the pain and the major disruption to me and especially those around me, however, regrets are only useful to songwriters and melancholic murderers. I prefer to learn from my mishaps, build on my mistakes and press forward in an even greater determination to accomplish what I set out to do.

That multi tool spanner now lies useless at the bottom of a box, the Satsuma’s have gone mouldy and the joke book stabilises a wonky drinks cabinet, but that Christmas was the last one I will ever spend unhappy.

My advice is; Pay the price, follow your dream, wholeheartedly believe in where you are going and who you are. This is the only way you may ever succeed, you may not die wealthy or famous, but I absolutely guarantee you will die happy and a little more complete.

Where have all the Policemen gone?

We have hundreds of traffic laws but no policemen to enforce them. Newports’ traffic police are too busy polishing their patrol cars ready for the 2010 Ryder cup, to do their proper job.

Every day I travel through the centre of Newport, usually by car or push bike & I am getting increasingly angry about the bus lanes being flooded with arrogant oafs who will continue to ignore the law. Whilst I sit there in my car, during peak times, obediently obeying the law and queuing up alongside a bus lane, many, many cars use the bus lane and regardless of the rest of us playing by the rules.

The general speed of cars has increased also. Many a Chav can raz his Corsa as fast as his fake Nike trainers can press the pedal, with no real worry that anyone is going to stop him. Around town where there are so many children and old people, speed limits should be 20mph everywhere. At the moment the actual average speed feels more like 45mph.

In London, the bus lanes have cameras and fines as an incentive not to ignore them. In Newport, the only restricting factor is your own bravery. Will you be brave enough to face the anger of your fellow motorists as you nip up the inside and save yourself 10 minutes?

When was the last time you saw a police car stopping a criminal motorist in Newport? When was the last time you actually saw a proper traffic car.

Here is my solution; either, get rid of all the bus lanes and speed limits and in true Darwinian style, it will become survival of the fittest. Or properly enforce the laws that you, the authorities, established in the first place.

Alternatively you could allow citizen power to sort the problem and I will mount a machine gun on the roof of my pick-up truck and open fire on the next ignorant arse who ignores the law and thinks that bus lanes are shortcuts and speed limits are quaint traditions which should be treated with absolute contempt.

Edinburgh Fringe Pt1 - flying lessons

Edinburgh Fringe 08 was such babble of high res stimulus.. that had I been attached to one of Bransons balloons, he would have managed to circle the globe 3 times before being forced to land just to empty the chemical toilet!

Over 25 days I did around 70 performances, 46 pints of Guinness, 14 pints of Heineken, 8 cuban cigars, 20 single malt whiskies (just one lump of ice in each,) 20 litres of coke (coca-cola not coca-caine!) & 1 glass of orange juice (but only because I thought it had Gin in it!)

Each day started around 2 pm when I would leave my campervan and a walk half mile of countryside and then fly 20 mins on the top deck front seat of the Midlothian Omnibus. The first show of the day, a panel show, was at 4 pm preceded by an hour of giving-out flyers and taking-in copious amounts of coffee and crepes. After show 1, then off to several other venues around the city to perform guests spots on other peoples shows. After a hearty meal of haggis I would then casually saunter down to the White Horse by 8-30 for more flyers and streetwise banter. At 9-30 the lights warmed the cheeks of a verbally semi naked double act between David Mulholland & I. Quick dash to another guest spot, then roll into the Library Bar around 1am.

The Library Bar was the place to book if you are in any way involved in the Fringe. It was fun and full of Luvvies dancing Jazz hands through the cold air of their insincerity. Once tired of air kissing drama students, I would head up stairs to the very much more exclusive (don't you know!) Loft Bar. Now, the Loft Bar was mainly access by special pass only.... after a deft 10 minutes of charming a hot authoritative lady, my cooling words landed said special pass and heavens doors were opened to me. The rest of the story is just verbal mud wrestling in seas of Pimms bubbles with the rich and famous. By 5am my hobnobbing climaxed and networking would be satiated by the haunting call for last orders. The night bus, (back seat bottom deck,) would then deliver me safely back to the womb of my little bungalow on wheels.

This is one days routine... I did this pretty consistently over 25 days, with a few parties and an occasional afternoon in the M&S food hall just to break the monotony a little. After such a gruelling and relentless routine, I was glad to come home just to give my liver time to forgive me and my head time to repent. Arriving back in Newport felt like peace had been declared. The cacophony of Edinburgh made Newport seem like a sleepy village, Newport outdoor market became a village fete and a Newport saturday night seemed like a loud whisper in a reading room.

The adjustment has been genuinely difficult, but Im glad to be back.... making plans now for next year - my first solo show 'Come Fly with Me.' ?

Why the long silence?

This year has been really tough. The silence in my blogs is a reflection of the silence in my head!

After the heady success of last year and my swift progress in the funny world, this year landed with the lifeless thud of an autumn apple.

I spent so much time and money pursuing gigs last year (sometimes up to 5 a week at opposite ends of the country) that after Christmas I had to get back into the real world and work hard at my day job to pay the bills.

Between January and August this year I have only done around 40 gigs. By comparison, at this Edinburgh fringe during August, I did around 70 performances in 25 days. At least the shows I am now getting are paid gigs and thus the rewards are beginning to match the effort.

Not being constantly in the limelight and needing to work hard doing a very physical job, left me feeling flat and without enough energy. Not even enough to come into this blog confessional booth and ask for absolution.

Another issue which has stifled my cerebral cosmic juices is my constant fight against Manic Depression. This year has been tough because for the first time ever I have had a long period of very flat, almost apathetic moods. I have never had a moment in my life when I have not been passionate about something, raving and behaving in reaction to whichever wind blows my way. So to feel nothing and be neither up of down is a very strange place indeed.

12 years ago the doctors told me I was bi-polar and I would need to be on drugs to stabilise my mood, probably for the rest of my life. During the 3 years of taking the medication I formulated a series of Cognitive Behavioural Therapies in order to manage my condition myself. I have self managed (without medication) for 9 years and have battled (successfully) to remain stable. I have worked hard in all areas of my life and have continued healthily, financially & socially quite successfully.
However, as with every battle, there is one draw back. You see, I have to be on my guard and constantly, I need to carefully monitor my behaviour and motivations in order to counter the mood swings before they happen.
The draw back is ,that it can be quite mentally tiring, it can drain you of at least half of your energy, whilst earning a living and caring for the family, takes up the rest. I have always been determined to keep working and have never ever claimed benefits of any kind. Whilst this sounds a little noble, its actually an important part of the solution. Having focus in life and routine is one of the many weapons used in controlling the beast.

During the last 5 years I have helped mentor several other people with the same condition. Helping them understand that there is a future for them, a future where self respect, control and stability are actually possible. Through using the techniques which worked for me, and tailoring them to the needs and circumstances of each individual there is always a vast improvement.

This years Edinburgh fringe was a great boost for me. I am now an better comic than I have ever been and I have even more determination to make it a full time career. With the renewed energy, confidence and enthusiasm, I am ready to start causing trouble again.

I have set myself new goals for the year ahead before the next Edinburgh Fringe. The Edinburgh Fringe has become my Christmas and New Year all rolled into one. I have so much fun up there and gain so much, in so many ways that it is now my official year end and thus September is now my January and here are my new years resolutions.

1. Complete the records of my Cognitive Behavioural Therapy methods which help to combat Bi-Polar disorders and make them available to others.

& Be an even better Comic and write a one-man show for next years Edinburgh

5& Be a better person than I was last year.

I guess that will do for now.... tune in this time next year and if I am not dribbling in the corner of a psychiatric ward somewhere, I may be a little more content than I am now with a few more goals achieved.

What are you going to do? C'mon speak up!

When beautiful meets stupid they move to Bournemouth!

There's an ancient Chinese saying; Wise man say - There is only one thing prettier than a Bournemouth Girl - and that's a Bournemouth Boy!

I spent this weekend in Bournemouth. I had a gig on Saturday night in a club by the pier. It wasn't my best gig, and wasn't even fun. Before the gig, as always, I spent some time watching the crowd (in a non creepy sort of way.) They were a lively energetic bunch, many Hen Nights and Stag Parties and blokes who had spent the day cooling hot heads with icy beer.

When I think that I have the measure of the crowd, I delve into my notebook and select a selection of gags and stories I think will suit the audience. The mistake I made on Saturday night was assuming that a lively crowd was a clever crowd.... oh how far from true that was. Great one-liners that have never ever failed me, suddenly died horrible deaths. Stories which have been honed and perfected, smothered blank faces like damp pastry on cold rhubarb.

I came off stage feeling completely gutted, never in over 130 gigs had I ever had such a bad response.

The headline act for the night did very simple, rude and basic gags (for basic read 'groin and toilet.) His 16 years experience really showed and he worked the audience like a true pro and made the rest of us look like complete beginners. He had clearly met this species before.

The whole experience seemed very indicative of the general difficulties that I have communicating with anyone in Bournemouth. The twilight pavements are pebble-dashed with young and beautiful people, manicured and quaffed with just one thing in mind; Themselves! They have just one goal in life; Money!

Within the first sentence of any conversation, you must mention that your Daddy has a big boat, or that your Maserati cant be with you as its in being gold plated by celebrity artists. If you fail to make it over this hurdle, their eyes will glaze over and they will wander off, mid word, seeking more glamorous prey to bank.

I travel the country from coast to coast conveying mirth and devilment to all types of people from all over the world. I love chatting to new people and have a diverse group of friends. Never in my experience have I met such a collection of two dimensional, empty headed orange tanned ballerinas.

The failure to amuse the audience was completely mine. The failure to to develop into well rounded and interesting individuals is completely theirs!

Before I go on stage in Bournemouth again, I will clear my mind of all intelligent thought and refuse to use any words of more than two syllables... perhaps then, the poor bejewelled invertebrates will laugh their little hollow souls all the way back up their superficial bottoms.

Vote for your pocket

Yet again the Bank of England has stepped in to save financial institutions who have overstretched themselves and now cant pay their bills. Wondering how to vote on May the first??? I have a the answer, a sure method of picking the right candidate..... read on.

For around 8 years now banks have been shoving credit down our throats like an insecure grandmother stuffing her very chubby grandchild with ever more chocolate pudding. With mortgages up to 5 times earnings and credit cards scattered like confetti at the feet of people with neither the income nor the intellect to manage them, its hardly surprising that the financiers are now struggling to pay their bills. They are conveniently blaming the American financial crash on our current situation. It is obvious to anyone with even a profiterole for a brain, that the banks have been playing a dangerous game for too long and their downfall is by their own hand.

I am angry that the banks and other financial institutions have had the free reign to force feed the nation on unsustainable credit. They have done this using clever marketing which focused us all on the ever upward spiral of our house values and a Utopian view that the economy was never going to be anything other than glorious. They have encouraged bad risk in order to increase profit ts and penalised those who pay their bills on time.

I have an Aunt that several years ago inherited some money, around forty thousand pounds. To her and her family, who had always struggled financially, this was a massive amount of money, an amount beyond their wildest dreams. Here was a chance to purchase their council house, pay off some debts and put themselves on a proper stable footing for the future. Instead, they booked extravagant holidays and filled the house with the best Twinkly Tat that QVC could offer. In no time at all the money was spent, the debts were piling up and they were on the beg for family money to bail them out. It was entirely their choice to spend their fortune in the way they did, however, now that they cannot pay their bills they should not be assisted by those who have been careful.

This should be true for the banks also. They ave partied hard and gorged themselves paiying no attention whatsoever to their future financial needs. Like an alcoholic fire eater they have been mixing business with pleasure and swallowing too much of their own nonsense which really isn't fair and should be stopped.

Here's my way of making this whole thing equal again. Find a bill that has been nagging at you for a while, maybe a gas bill, council tax or that overdraft you just cant seem to pay off. Photocopy the bill and pop it in an envelope along with a polite letter and post it to all the major political parties. Whichever one of them pays your bill first, that's the one to vote for. After all, what is a few hundred quid to them to buy your loyalty, when they have promised billions to irresponsible bankers who have given no assurance of future support and no promise of good behaviour.

Smokers are saving the world.

Smoking can actually improve your health, whilst benefitting all around you.

Being forced to smoke outside is also such an unexpected bonus for socialising and networking.

I am a cigar smoker. Holidays and Birthdays its big old Cubans... the rest of the time its little slim Cafe Cremes'.
I have tried to give up several times. If we were still allowed to smoke indoors then I would probably be smoke free by now because the social issues and peer pressure would have extinguished the habit long ago.

The fact that we have been banished like lepers is soooo cool.
Here's why;

1. I have a short attention span and I fidget. Having a regular excuse to walk out on a conversation helps in so many ways.
If the conversation is slow (read boring) it gives you time to re-group your thoughts and start afresh on a new tack.
I also get some exercise and fresh air hence calming my restless limbs.

2. I like meeting new people but I am very shy!
When with the rest of the outcasts, you meet people and have conversations that never otherwise have happened. I have made several new and very cool friends as a result.

3. Economic Benefits;
Old people find it the hardest to give up smoking.
Forcing them out into the cold, with an already weakened immune system and dodgy lungs, hastens their demise and thus reduces the strain on the health service and releases inheritances, houses, and jobs at B&Q onto the next grateful generation.

4. It will catch on;
Once everyone realises the fun us smokers are now having outside, (the flirting, the banter, the camaraderie and the release from meandering emptiness of a conversation cul-de-sac) then everyone will join in and start smoking outside. When this happens the Breweries will move the bar into the street to be closer to the customer. Then every night will be like a great big street party, the whole world will become friends and stress will be a thing of the past.

........and we all live happily ever after....
oh except that global warming thing... I have a solution to that, but it will keep for another day

Is Global Warming the new religion?

Religion is the opium of the people, so penned some notable nobleman. Religion is dying and its influence receding. Has global warming become the new means by which our great leaders keep us drugged and pre-occupied?

For century’s vicars, priests and other religious leaders have dished out the doctrine and made sure congregations have always been kept under control by a rule structure that’s not quite attainable and punishments for failure, which leave you cold!

Seemingly in our brave new world of atheism and materialism, the ability of religion to subdue the masses is dwindling fast. The only time most of us set foot inside a place of worship is for weddings and funerals.

The rulers of this wonderful planet realised some time ago their ability to control us by means of our own feelings of inadequacy at failing to tread the path of righteousness, have long gone.

Whether Global Warming is real or not is quite irrelevant in this context. It has become a central issue around which the vast majority of the people throughout the world can be brought together in a singular cause. Whatever the language, whatever the religion or social background, this is marketed as a universal issue which affects all.

Just like religious doctrine, the whole issue of Global Warming is based on half-truths and heavenly mysteries. There is much scientific fact used to support it, but there is equally as much speculation and conjecture to fill in the missing pieces. It has been cleverly constructed to play on the issues most tender to us – the future of the world our children will inherit. In a strategy that a 12th century Pope would be proud of, the ruling parties have told us that we are all individually to blame for the predicament the world is in. Once we have been made to feel guilty enough for our actions, the collection plate is handed around and taxes are disproportionately increased in order to offset our guilt.

Governments not only benefit due to increased taxation. Whilst we are pre-occupied in atoning for our sins and pointing the finger at our neighbours 4 x 4, we are failing to notice the fact that big business and oil rich nations are seeing great increases in profits and yet make only a token effort to solve the problem. Like a magicians trick, we are watching the one hand whilst the other gets away with the deception.

We as individual citizens are being ‘told off’ every single day. We feel guilty every time we throw a glass bottle in a general rubbish bin, or take an unnecessary trip in our car. We are racked with guilt when we return from holiday to find the TV has been on Stand-By for a week. Our homes are becoming dull and lifeless due to those awful insipid energy saving light bulbs and buying a tomato, out of season is tantamount to treason due to the air miles it may collect.

I agree wholeheartedly that we should all reduce our consumption. I also agree that we should re-cycle and be more aware of the footprint we leave behind. I hate seeing anything go to waste and support every effort to make the air we breathe a little cleaner. What I am waving an angry fist at is the way we have been hoodwinked into believing every other issue is secondary and the only way to solve it is by taxation.

I drive a 4x4 as a working commercial vehicle and the next time I go to confession its going to cost me very heavily in increased road tax and if I want to take into central London, I would probably have to sell my house first. I would happily make all the sacrifices and pay all this extra penance, if I could just see the money being spent on sound alternatives and not simply bolstering poor economic management by those that Lord it over us.

And here endeth the end of the lesson. Amen and praise be to the recyclers and all those righteous ones in tiny wind powered cars, because they will inherit….. very little! The taxman and the Wealthy will get it all!

Personalised number plates! Harmless fun, or a wicked abuse?

We all want to be a little different; we all want to stand out. I don’t care what people spend their money on. I don’t care how tackily flash, or how aggressively expensive your style is, you are entitled to wave it around any way you like.
This feather ruffling behaviour is especially true when it comes to our cars. Many of us choose to express ourselves by means of the vehicle we drive. I myself drive a big black pick-up truck with lights on the roof and a number plate that sort of spells HORNY!! I also must admit that there is something quite impressive when a big slinky car rolls past and the plate is only a couple of characters long, like JC 1,.... you nust know that he has as much in the bank as he does in his trousers.

What I do care about are those people who mess around with the font and style of the lettering on their number plates.
Some people do it to emphasise a particular spelling or initial set. There’s someone in Newport with a Mercedes 4x4 and they have faded out the numbers on the plate and emphasized the letters so that at first glance all you see is M ERC.

Some people simply add a coloured screw cap to turn 8’s into Zeros and R’s into P’s.

There are those other people who have italicised letters or graphics hidden in the font, which makes them impossible to read by speed cameras and number plate recognition devices.

This phenomenon seems to cover all areas of the UK and across every social type. This isn’t just a dig at Chavs. In fact, it’s more of a problem with the Bovis Homed, People Carrier clad, restless and pretentious middle classes, than it is with the neon lit Council Estate Buzz Boxes.

Whatever the reason, however innocent the motivation, the outcome and the consequences are exactly the same. People who mess with their number plates should be treated with great suspicion and fined very heavily. In London, those who tamper with number plates are treated harshly. In a Capitol constantly on alert for terrorists and serious criminals, a number plate, which cannot automatically be checked can cause a real headache and literally put lives at risk.

The final group of drivers who really get my goat are the Johnny Foreigners who come over here in their foreign registered cars and flout British traffic laws. This is because it’s a well known fact that penalties and infringements incurred will not be perused due to the excessive costs of tracing cross border number plate ownership. The law stated that you are allowed to drive for a maximum of about 6 months (I guess) on foreign plates. But if they are not recorded and not perused, how do we know that they are complying with the requirements. There may be some people who have been driving round the UK, free of charge for years and we wouldn’t know a thing about it.

To those people whose motivation is to avoid speed cameras… don’t speed! If you do, then take the consequences.

To those Cheap Skates who add dots and screw-caps to make your plate something it is not! Get a job, save up and get a proper private number-plate.

To those people who don’t pay their insurance or tax; get off the road and stop putting my premiums up.

To those people who re just paranoid that Big Brother is watching you a little too much!, Stop pretending your away on business when you are 2 miles up the road in a cheap hotel with a cheap squeeze!

To those people who need to prove they are a little better rest of us by crassly spelling their name onto their number-plate; wake up, you look like a Div!

To those from foreign climes ignoring the law of the land; go home or get into line in the post office and pay your way just like the rest of us civilised types have to do!

To those people heading into central London with a bomb on board, if you want the world to too see your point of view, persuade them, talk to them, run for Office! Blowing them up sort of eradicates your key audience!

My number-plate sort of says HORNY, purely by accident, if you squint. I bought the truck with it on and it amuses me very much.
I don’t care that there are cameras recording every step of my life. I am a law-abiding citizen and on the rare occasion I get caught not ‘law-abiding,’ I get a bit angry and then pay the fine. That’s how the system works. Why should you be different?

The End of the beginning

I went to a party last night, the same eclectic house party I go to every year. I retreated to the garden with my celebratory cigar. As its Smokey entrails kippered my faculties, moments of lucidity between the hazy clouds helped me reflect on the past years journey. This time last year I was forlornly pondering my future whilst licking the weeping wounds of my business, which had collapsed during that previous year. I had no idea where I was heading and lacked any real energy to even debate it.

During March a friend told me about a BBC competition looking for new comedic talent from within Wales. I applied at the very last minute and had no confidence that I stood any chance of even getting through the door.

I sat down the night before the competition and read the rules (it’s a bloke thing, we don’t do instructions!) To my horror it said that the jokes had to be my own and original! One or the other would have been ok! The big pink ‘1000 Jokes for every occasion’ was hurled at a passing nun and I set about trying to create something funny at 12 hours notice.

Needless to say, I didn’t write a masterpiece of comedic verbal revelry on that sleepless night. Welsh chuckle bones were safe from sprain or fracture for the time being.

The day of the competition arrived, blinded by my own ego and deafened by internal self-delusion – I missed the fact that the audience weren’t laughing too much. I did make the Semi finals though, which gave my great momentum to carry on and try and make something with this tiny glimmer of talent, which someone there believed existed.

I drove forward on this new quest with enough energy and a passion to ensure I succeeded. I listened to the mountains of advice, which tumbled my way as I quickly climbed up the comedy rock face. I have been prepared to write, re-write and sacrifice loads of material in order to create a Set, which works, as it should. Whilst it was my ego, which drove me onto the stage, I had to stifle it many times in order to progress and guarantee my position could be sustained.

In just one year I have done over 80 gigs and performed at my first Edinburgh Festival. I have also set up Newport’s first regular fringe comedy night. Just before Christmas a big Comedy promoter agreed to start supplying me with a regular flow of ‘paid’ gigs. This is quite an unusual step as most comics have to do at least two years slog before paid gigs start to arrive.

I have worked my socks off and spent much money this year gaining the experience and stage time to put me in just this very position.
However – now looking forward to the year ahead, I am quite scared. I am scared I will fail. I am scared that now I am actually being paid to be funny, audiences will stop laughing! I am scared that all the hard work was for nothing as the next time I step on stage I will be found out as a fraud…. and not even a tragic hero dying in battle, just a plain old unfunny flop!

What does the next year hold for me? What does it hold for you? Is this the End?

Eat and drink and be merry for tomorrow…

The Christmas Gremlin has already wiped its feet on the way out and left our homes looking like a tinsel and wrapping paper tsunami has destroyed all in its path.

The biggest issues left behind by the yuletide wave is not the irritating pile of useless cheap gifts from a perfumed auntie whose name escapes you. Its not the worry that your arse will be twice as big tomorrow as it was yesterday, and it wont be the fear that your boss will remember you goosing him at the Christmas party.

No, by far the biggest and most worrying leftover from the chocolate and pine needle orgy is the kitchen full of food you cannot possibly eat. Two days ago you invaded Tossco’s panicked by the knowledge that it would be closed for a unbearable 48hrs (how could they desert us at such a time of need!?) Multiple shopping trolleys were filled to gut straining levels with foods of a type and quantity that were obviously beyond the ability of our already over-stretched appetites to deal with.

Now fridges and cupboards, coffee tables and bedsides are stacked with a half opened, once nibbled, piles of seasonal indulgencies, which form a series of shrines and monuments to our vanity and greed. We may as well light candles and say a little prayer as yet another round of bread and wine are forced between our greasy, egocentric, retail fattened lips.

Ok, my rant is a tad excessive! Not as excessive though, as the grocery bill and the compound injustice of seeing the mountain of food, which will hit the wheelie bins as we tumble toward our New-Year box of Resolve.

Each year the excess creates guilt. New Years Resolutions and the deep down satisfaction that ‘I’m worth it’ then gently pacify the guilt!

Here’s a suggestion; for the first year ever, why not replace the guilt and the need to compensate for your misjudgement and turn it into something positive. Take that feeling of regret and shame and use it as motivation to redress the crime by actually doing something for others over the coming year.

Whether it is setting up a DD for a needy cause, or sweeping up at your church hall. Whether it is remembering to call on elderly neighbours or simply being less aggressive and self-serving whilst shoving your way along life’s’ commute. Find a way to say sorry for being such a greedy indulgent egotist.
This year give something back, and in the process you will gain much more than you will ever fit in a dozen Tesco’s trolleys.


Here endeth the lesson.
Jools Chapter 25 vs 12

Give the troops more drugs and less bullets

Today’s’ news-mongers are grabbing desperately onto the reports, which state that there are nearly a thousand soldiers sent home each year for Drugs related offences.

Can you imagine how tough it is for some of our boys and girls who are fighting on our behalf in the most frightening and dangerous places on earth? Some of these people are literally boys & girls, barely out of school and touting guns, which they are then required to shoot and kill other human beings with.

They have to follow orders to drop bombs, which they know have a fair chance of killing as many civilians as enemy soldiers. They are surviving in the harshest climactic conditions often for very long periods without rest. They go through all of this knowing their family are a million miles away fretting whether the next roadside bomb has their loved ones name on it!

I’m a grown man, with much life experience and my fair share of bad times. I am worldly wise and generally pretty tough. I would readily hit the hard stuff if I were put in their position. If I were stuck in such an inhospitable hellhole with bullets ricocheting off my tobacco tin, I would find the nearest dealer and beg him to line me up a moment of bliss.

Or… Why not drop several tons of Weed on either side of the enemy divides. A massive party breaks out and everyone gets stoned. Anyone who has ever smoked a joint will know that shooting someone is the last thing on your mind; your first priority would be getting to the biscuit jar.

On top of all this there is a special team of volunteer set up to diffuse all the Christmas Crackers, which are being sent from families to troops. I am not kidding now; Christmas Crackers are listed as explosives and have to be diffused before entering Iraq! Sat around their sand strewn and lonely Christmas dinner tables, each time a cracker is pulled they are greeted by a silence created by the stupidity of the bureaucrats who sent them there.

I have a solution. If our brave troops have to shout ‘Bang!’ When their Christmas Crackers are pulled. Then why not also diffuse all the bullets and bombs that enter Iraq. (I’m no expert, but I think they are also classed as explosives.)

Then, just like when we were boys, if you point your gun at someone and shout ‘Bang,’ the enemy have to lay down dead and they are out of the game. If they refuse to acknowledge that they have been shot, then your biggest soldier and their biggest soldier have a proper scrap and decide things that way. Slowly but surely the mess in Iraq and the other world war zones, would be settled without bloodshed. Less shooting and less bloodshed means less stress, less stress means less drugs.

I really don’t mean sound like I am belittling the work being done by men far, far braver and manlier than I will ever be even if I live to be 350 years old. I am just trying to grab your attention in order to highlight a situation, which shouldn’t be allowed to continue. I just get annoyed when brave selfless men and women on the front line are expected to be ‘Superhumans.’ On top of that, when they are caught with drugs, they are shipped off home in disgrace!

Lets sort this out. Support our bravest of countrymen and women with proper balanced understanding and tolerance, considering the enormity of the job we are asking them to do.

Then if the families want to send them a Christmas parcel, don’t forget to include the Rizzlers!