hope

Vagrant.

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I see myself in the faces of the homelessness.

I see the long stares and uncertainty in their eyes.

They are we and we are them.

Treading a fine line between have and have not.

I see the hunger, desperation, and worry.

I see the lost love, the failed support, and a state that has abandoned.

They are we and we are them.

The line so fine it hangs on a cliff edge.

I see the need for help and belonging.

I see the pathway to drowned dreams in pools of booze.

They are what we are and we are what they are.

The fine thread line dangling from a torn jacket.

I see the hope in your eyes when human kindness embraces.

I see the joy when words are heard.

You’re like me and I’m like you.

The line between have and have not closer than you know.

I hear your songs, your rants at pigeons, and your belly rumble.

I hear your tears near-silently fall to the floor.

You are me and I am you.

The damn line we crawl in life.

I feel it all.

But not as they do. Not yet.

Maybe soon.

And you’ll be like me, just like you.

And I’ll be you.

Lost in Nature

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Lost in nature, we forgot the time; Chasing mountain hares along a line; Admiring butterflies hanging on fine; This was a day where we forgot the time.

Let out until darkness, we lost our way; Plenty of words we could speak and say; Through flags full of colour we did pray; This was a day we could play our way.

Under stars that shone down on us; Hands in hands feeling the buzz; Taking the moments, each one a plus; Not one feeling deemed superfluous.

These were the places, the times, and the escapes; Swallowed within sprawled landscapes; Every connection spans and takes shapes; These moments, these memories: wonderful escapes.

Heroes.

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Liam Gallagher uttered a typed racial slur on Twitter/X. The late great wrestler Terry “Hulk Hogan” Bollea wasn’t shy of controversy. Meat Loaf was anti-vaccination. Never before has it been clearer that heroes are just like you and I: flawed.

“Yeah, and he’s not even a very good one… But he’s out there alone, and he’s probably scared” – lead character of Superman (2025) about the dog Krypto

Heroes are hard to find. That is, of course, the reality. For every Lance Armstrong cheating the system, there are an army of unsung volunteers, health professionals, RNLI boat crews and support staff, and countless other examples of putting others ahead of themselves. Those who deliver aid to Palestine, operate health clinics in Ukraine, or pluck refugees from the deadly English Channel go above and beyond their calling. And not all heroes wear capes: see also, Mam.

“Any sort of bullying is a terrible thing, but I think online bullying is so much worse because it’s psychological bullying” – Dean Cain, actor

And that leads me neatly to the recent fictional superhero, the one of my many childhood dreams, and many play sessions: Superman. The recent movie of the same name has earned plaudits and created a strange debate. Labelled as ‘woke’ by, the lycra-wearing superhero was the creation of children of immigrants that headed to U.S.A. Joe Shuster (artist) and Jerry Siegel (writer) would have been all too aware of the atrocities facing their fellow Jewish people. Their empathy shone through one of fiction’s greatest assets. The latest movie incarnation left me spellbound. I left the cinema with a smile, for the first time in many years. It was a joyous love letter of a movie, by James Gunn and his production team. Absolutely full of geeky details and hope.

“Knock the ‘t’ off the ‘can’t'” – George Reeves, actor

Being from elsewhere and existing in an unfamiliar landscape was my choice when I moved to China in 2014. Unlike many who seek better places to live and survive, I had the choice. That choice took me back to Britain, a new Britain, less Great, more lost. One that had departed the European Union and seemed to be having (and still is) more internal battles than a U.S. civil war. Religion, race, nationality, and gender fill newspaper covers daily. Social media, seemingly unchecked, spouts mistrust, counter-science, and conspiracy theory. The consequences lead to a broken Britain.

“A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles.”- Christopher Reeve, actor and activist

If being woke is to champion the smaller person, to puff your chest out at bullies, and to want a better world, then count me in on Team Superman. #SupermanIsAnImmigrant (coined in 2013 by Define America and the Harry Potter Alliance) who now deny that ideal are an example of flip-flopping u-turns that former Prime Minister Liz “Lettuce” Truss would be proud of. Much alike the latest version of Lex Luthor, excellently portrayed by Nicholas Hoult, there lies a smudge of grey amongst the confused right wing views. Those contradictions make us human. Much like the David Corenswet version of Superman. Where Christopher Reeve made generations believe a man could fly, David Corenswet has restored belief in hope once again.

“Once you choose hope, anything’s possible.” –
Christopher Reeve

Sadly, every hero stands to fall on their sword, so choose your heroes wisely. I chose my Mam as my hero for good reason (and her supply of fig biscuits).

Summer ’25: I – A Quest for Hope

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Manchester rain made a welcome return on Saturday morning. The sky cried for my departure. The greyness of overhead lines, concrete, and new high rise towers did not clash with the constant matt grey of the leaking vast sky. Blue skies and sunshine had greeted Manchester for months on end. The summer school holidays had now arrived.

Getting to Manchester International Airport’s Terminal 2 early required a 05:25am wake up, an early bus, and the 07:18 train. Kitted with a 20kg rucksack and a lighter 8kg daysack, I ran through my head the things that I may or may have not forgotten. Despite attentive planning and packing, a snag of doubt sat firmly on my shoulder.

Juneyao Airlines, complete with cluttered and near unworkable website for check-in, would be my carrier. Other airlines are available. However, on arrival, my world fell apart. Blood emptied my face my legs became jelly, and the shock of being told my visa had expired hit me like a freight train. It was not a good day.

On the train back to Manchester, I shook in rage qnd worry. I trembled. I vomited. I went to the toilet in other ways. I was empty. Panic battled with sensibility. I struggled home in a zombie-like trance. I entered the house, dropped my rucksack and backpack, and crumpled up into a bawling sack of self-hate, anger, and shame.

On telling the family, I set about rebooting myself and explored resurrection for summer plans. I immediately logged onto Chinese Visa Application Service Centre Manchester’s website and lodged my visa application. A trip to the library was necessary to gain scanned electronic copies of every passport page. And everything seemed to upload.

Sunday:

A day in the garden digging up vineweed and Himalayan-barbed-wire-bramble, with plenty of worrying and questioning of myself. A few video calls and some Bosch Legacy on the telebox. A day of limbo sandwiched by buying some Lego Duplo at a charity shop in Failsworth and an evening of cheese, sauerkraut, and bacon Polish dumplings. That all followed noticing my visa application as not being present. However, it would not allow me to apply due to a previous application. I wondered if it would go well.

Monday:

08:00 – Visa application appear online at Manchester Chinese Visa Centre website.

10:00 –  query visa at Manchester Chinese Visa Centre. Visa application received.

11:46 – email request for further information.

12:00 – further information sent.

Pottering around town. Waiting. Limbo.

15:08 – application approved. Email to print with code and hand passport in.
I legged it from the book and coffee shop.

15:24 – printed documents at Manchester Central library.

15:27 – arrive to Manchester China Visa Centre. Attempt to hand off passport and documents. Man at desk, “I’m sorry we don’t accept applications after 15:00.”
I said, “It says 10:00 – 16:00.” He replies, “That’s wrong. We open again for application drop offs at 09:00 tomorrow.” Thanked man at desk.

I’ll be back. The quest goes on. 🐝

Wednesday:

Using the mandatory bonus free day, I headed to Warrington and met Little Big Sis’ Astrid for noodles and a movie. A good switch off from recent tension.

Tuesday:

08:35 – arrival at Chinese Visa Application Service Centre, Manchester. 5th in the queue.

09:00 – Service commences.

Thursday:

08:40 collection queue, position 2.

09:05 visa in hand, all grand.

Go to bed early (16:00/17:00), wake around 22:00/23:00.

Friday’s plan:

Depart for Manchester International Airport around midnight.

03:00 – Check in.

06:00 board flight to Brussels, Belgium. Sing a Vincent Kompany song and wobble my backside like Jeremy Doku skipping past defenders. Look out for former City player Émile Mpenza.

11:40 – board flight to China, in Brussels.

Let’s be fair, I’m not so sure U.K. leisure or family visit visas are as fast.

Light blues.

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Woke up one morning and the sun refused to shine.

Woke up, head slumped, joined another line.

Got up and went on, but the day didn’t play.

Tried to talk about it but the words I couldn’t say.

Need a little sunshine for the day.

Need a few more rays to shine my way.

Need a little lightness to say, “Hey!”

So, send some sunshine and break the grey.

The will to go on heaves less and less.

There are more problems that I must address.

My passion to battle often does regress.

Yet, all I want is your love to bless.

Need a little sunshine for the day.

Need a little lightness to say, “Hey!”

Need a few more rays to shine my way.

So, send some sunshine and break the grey.

The drum beats firmer in my ears.

The drumming brings forward all my fears.

Surrounding myself in proverbial beers.

Listening less and less for positive cheers.

Need a little lightness to say, “Hey!”

Need a little sunshine for the day.

Need a few more rays to shine my way.

So, send some sunshine and break the grey.

Send the sunshine.

Send it my way.

Send it.

Send it today.

To P. or not to P.

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You are the first person I’ve seen love my Mam. Before you, I didn’t witness it, from outside the family. Without that security for my Mam, I wouldn’t have upped and travelled or lived overseas.

During Gran’s last days, you stood firmly by Mam’s side and took care of me and the siblings. Where others would have walked away, you remained. And since then, hurdle after hurdle, you’ve stood by our tribe. That doesn’t mean you have no faults, and you know that legendary grumpiness is acceptable, even if you’ve had to tolerate me trying to get you to see and hear the music that I choose to share.

You’ve left a great impression on me. I didn’t need a father figure or a step dad. I found you to be the positivity and heart for my Mam. You’ve taken Mam overseas to countless theatre shows, pottered with pottery, tinkered with theatre, and travelled around this green isle. Fond memories stretched from caravan holidays in Anglesey to York for Yorkshire puddings stuffed with everything under the sun. You’ve opened doors to strange worlds of ice music, penguins, and crappy musical adaptations of miracles on New York streets. I wouldn’t change the world for these experiences. And, you’ve encouraged my growth for passion in hiking and wandering. Even if my body is catching up with me!

I told you and truly mean it, I want you in our family and my family. Time won’t allow much more togetherness, but have bo regrets. It is what it is. Like you said, we can’t grab false hopes and expect miracles. We can make it known about peace and love and letting your life stay with those you’ll leave. I wish I’d called by and kicked you out of a slumber, but I can’t change the last few hectic weeks. It wouldn’t have made today any less unpleasant. I just hope we can talk over these coming days.

And yes, these last few weeks have been agonising, and communication has broken down, but that doesn’t excuse being there for one another. Mam is there for you, stronger than ever before, and I’m around for natters and hopes and dreams. Nobody wants to say goodbye. It isn’t goodbye. Not yet. Only when you’re ready. I don’t want you to suffer. Nor do I want you to worry about Mam. Your sister is always welcome. We’ll all be stronger together because you need to be celebrated and championed. I hope tonight that you find calmness and a good sleep before we all visit again. There’s still time for talking.

What is strength? Is it the power not to lash out when anger fills your veins?

Is strength an illusion? A label to wrap up fear?

Is strength useful? Or a blind to allow all else to carry on?

For what good is strength when hope feels distant? Is it an alarm to carry on the conversation?

Peace and love. 🐝 🕊

This is not an obituary! This is a letter from the heart. Thank you for being present in our lives.

Katie Flynn’s A Mother’s Secret: Review

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Katie Flynn’s A Mother’s Secret is a heartwarming tale that delves deep into the themes of love, resilience, and family bonds. Set against the backdrop of World War II, the novel follows the life of a young mother struggling to protect her family and safeguard her secrets. Flynn’s evocative writing and well-drawn characters make for a compelling read that is both touching and inspiring. This book is a testament to the enduring strength of maternal love and the sacrifices made during challenging times. 

Interestingly, as I expected, the book’s author is a continuation of her work via her daughter. Katie Flynn’s enduring name lives through her daughter Holly. Holly rips into the work, delivering a glimpse of historical detail, life for the working classes, and the trials and triumphs of Wartime Britain. Katie Flynn, a pen-name of Norwich-born Judith Turner, passed away in 2019, after 82 years of life that threw a catalogue of books our way.

A Mother’s Secret draws tender attention to details, emotional struggles, and a secret with the odd unexpected twist. Love, loss, and redemption are portrayed in both a realistic and evocative way. Lessons about the strength required to confront and overcome past mistakes shine throughout the novel. The plot, however, lacks jeopardy in its delivery. That does no damage, as the focus of a mother’s love stands tall.

Test.

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It’s like there is nothing left. I’m drained.

Between the breeze and the wind, upended.

Struggling against the tide as it drifts away.

Pushing on, step by step, yet sinking and never gaining ground.

The sapped life comes and goes. A moment’s joy evaporates.

I could have been better. It could have been better.

But, it’s not. It isn’t. It could be. I know it could be.

It could also have been far worse. It Feels this way.

Nothing worth doing is easy, right? So they say.

It hurts. It really bloody hurts. Like loss. Yet there’s no loss. Just hurdles.

The sky glows under a bright moon as lanterns drift upwards.

A glimmer. Just a flicker. That hope.

That energy I see in their faces. I can do this. I must. I will.

Just as faiths test their masses, I must believe. I have too much to lose.

For this, I am lucky.

A seed of hope.

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A Muslim hand could hold a Jewish hand.

White van man, Audi driver, and all around us should be survivors.

Creation and creatives devour words and art, feeding us new days and ways.

A Palestinian should be born under safe skies.

No guns, no knives, no fear: just lives.

The Scottish, English, or Welsh must walk together.

Whatever you believe, be able to show it. Be able to grow it.

Let the music of Bob Marley show one love.

Switch of the division. Let videos and lies fly away like fireflies.

Their dreams and plagues will no longer taunt and haunt us.

Together is always better. A community of unity.

Failure to success; pain to redress; broken to fixed. Live forever.

Some day we’ll find a brighter way.

It starts now: I give you a seed of hope.

Frustration.

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Sometimes, it is easy to want to kick back. To give up. To give in. Buckle under pressure. To push it all away and walk off. Head away from everything. The problem is that it matters. And, when it matters, it really matters.

You can’t switch off from it. There is no miraculous light switch, with an option to plunge away that which matters. Nor would you want it to be that simple. Although, a spot of simplification may make a huge difference. Frustrating as it is, burying your head in the sand just wastes time and brings about a tumbling cascade of further frustration.

No plan ever survives first contact with the enemy, or a decorator, or a trip away. The only certainty in life is death. Everything else is hung on tiny, easily disturbed strings. These variables throw up challenges, barriers, and realisations. They shape expectations and twist the optimistic to the realistic. Deep down the cinders of pessimism, ebb, and flow, waiting for their time to shine. The advice is almost always: don’t let it.

That exclusive advice may seem out of reach. That’s the beauty of pain and the distorted view of solutions: we feel it. Frustration can be overcome. It may not seem that way. Finding your channel out of a stormy ocean is key. Believe. A spot of resilience goes a long way.

Dreams

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“You are never too old to set another goal or dream another dream” – C.S. Lewis

More sleep. More mentoring. More books. More sharing. More new foods. More daring. More paths, yet to be walked. More caring. More cycle rides. More riding. More hugs. More talking. More cuddles. More sliding. More cups of tea. More creating. More cosiness. More time writing. More sunsets. More bearing. More starry skies. More drawing. More laughter. More reassuring. More dog walks. More cooking. More dreams. More learning. More trips away. More cleaning. More togetherness. More feeling. More fun. More dreaming. More devotion. More gleaming. More love. More, more, more.

More than this.

Be Thankful: Merry Christmas

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Still here. Others aren’t.

Abused and unloved. Yet I’m not.

Lost souls. With someone, even if apart.

Some have no family. I’m lucky that I do.

Battling cancer and mental health. I’m supporting a few, and there in spirit.

Working and keeping services on point. A holiday from work.

Toxicity surrounding family. Tough at times, but love abounds.

Negative balances and mounting debts. With you all the way.

No hunger to celebrate. Spread love, not hate.

There is no passion for religion and belief. Take a moment to recuperate.

Lost hope, faith, and feelings. Give to others.

There’s only one way of life: Lift your spirits.

Stay positive.

Weather the storm.

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I don’t want to talk about someone in the past tense;

The here and now will do.

Hearing, lustening, feeling across the range of sense;

Being around people presently through and through.

Seeing memorials, farewells, and gatherings of goodbye;

Flowers lay, horse and cart pulling away.

Knelt down by stone, looking up at the grey sky;

Unspoken words not ever able to say.

Wretched dreams unlived and walks unwalked;

Guidance and advice, unable to be dispensed.

Nattering and talks left silent, untalked;

Unable to place arms, no hugs against.

Worry and fear of you no longer near;

Push it aside and stand tall together.

Until the time comes, we must live out every year.

Weather the storm whatever the weather.

Hear My Problems Only

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If I could stop myself feeling, would I tear it out of me?

No, but I would cut this feeling from me.

Dig deeper for focus on possible positives.

If I could remove all the reminders, and the memories to make it hurt less, should I try to silence all?

I need to feel. I need to know. I need to hang onto hope.

No matter how little remains.

If I could wake up tomorrow energised, refreshed, no longer tired and raring to go, would I sleep peacefully now?

I know I can. Yet I can’t. I should. But, I won’t.

I try to release the anger. The pain. The worry.

Should I desperately reach out for hope and determination, clutching it to my heart?

Kick back the snapping, snarling, scrappy black dogs at the feet of my bed.

Today ends soon. Tomorrow starts immediately. Onwards.

Just us.

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Just us.

No-one else.

Those who matter in the distance.

Those who care, held close.

Our thoughts in your thoughts.

Your warmth together.

Just us.

Two peas. One pod.

Wrapped up snuggly.

Joined. At the hip.

Together.

Stronger as one.

A union led by destiny.

No pressures. No worries.

Challenges to face together.

Fearless and relentless.

For us.

Hope and glory, in lands, over the seas and by green trees.

Bound at the hands.

Rings on.

A bond. Embraced.

One.

Wisdom.

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What is wisdom? Things we learn and learn from? Our abilities to produce something whilst using our prior knowhow and experience? A guided version of common sense founded on our insights to life?

Unbiased judgement may play a part in keeping us grounded. Non-attachment isn’t easy. We connect. Sometimes, we connect more with someone or less with someone else. Or, the same person. At different times, too. I was here. I’m still here. We’re still here. Not every pathway is clear or easy. Not at all. We just have to find the right way. Changing the world isn’t easy, and arguably, you can change the world. However, you can change yourself. And nappies. Or not.

Drawing from our compassion, we should treasure every moment and focus all our energy on each and every brand new, bright tomorrow. The time we have makes us question, probe, redress, and counter our passing days, amongst other things. We make mistakes. We have to learn and relearn and adapt to survive and be the best we can be. Life is short. Enjoy it. No matter the challenge.

Having the capacity to know what contributes to growth and relate our conduct to our soundness of judgment should be simple. Choices are made. The means and ends of which can be practical, controversial, right, and / or wrong. Our experiential self-knowledge leads to self-transcendence. In theory, anyway. Give or take.

Virtues such as ethics and benevolence grow from who we surround ourselves with. Immerse ourselves with good friends and great family, and hope grows. Stand alone, and fear surrounds you. The doubts of self kick dust in your face. Regrets can cuddle you closely and strangle hope from your soul. But, with love and suitable familiar faces, we can dig in deep and accept hands to lift us up.

Doing what we do is important. Doing what we enjoy is us. There’s only one way of life, and that’s your own. We can also live that mantra, sang by The Levellers, by bringing in the ways of others. For every listener of The Hu, there’s a pebble painting pretty-eyed girl. It takes all sorts. For every dog called Panda, we need a dog called Sasha. Each unique character shaping our world and impacting us in their own little ways.

As for the future. Life goes on. We adapt. We face challenges. We survive. We try to fix our past. We grow new trees. A society grows stronger, in which an elderly gentleman plants trees knowing the shade of the trees will never be enjoyed by himself. We could look at clouds as something that blots away the sun or a canvas to be shaped and painted. Artists need treasuring.

So, is wisdom the right use of knowledge to tackle challenges and present a simpler setting. Our psychological construct allows us to foresee consequences. Be strong. Be pleasant to your friends. Apologise. Be honest or as close to it as possible. Never try to hurt anyone. Push away those who lessen your world. Keep good company. Build a strong foundation. Hug more.

First Sight.

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Eyes so precious and swirling with colours deep as an ocean and broad as a mountain. A smile that radiates heavenly light. That smile I’ve seen before in your ancestors. A touch of grandparents, from my line. Great grandparents, too.

Wavy dark locks of hair, and a head shaped to think, fight, and strive for brighter days. Hands to grip the day and right a rocking ship. Such light skin, yet shades of Mother and Father, should ward off any ray of danger. Yet, the curse of the mosquito feeding ground is within you.

Satisfying stretches as you reach to the sky. Your arms will know no limit. Each kick could be a practice for bike rides, games of sport, or swimming trips imagined. Or, to show your sounds of giggles and pleasure are practice for leisure.

I’m sorry for my mistakes and past, and all the moments of doubt. I give you the future, no matter its struggles and worries. Let your resting head lay on my shoulder and allow me to be the protector. We can tackle every worry and solve problems. I vow to cleanse my soul and body, to live better to give you the brightest possible start. To you and your gorgeous, strong-willed mother.

There shall be tears, torments, and tremors on our path, but I shall stand by you both until breath no longer enters and exits my vessel. For you, you both, you are each and everything I longed for, and the watermelon seeds we wished for are within you. Growing a fruit with limitless flavours. This is a day I could never imagine. Thank you to you. You are a miracle.

The future is now, and you are the future.

Nothing to Everything.

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It took everything from my system. All energy is sapped. It hit me like a tonne of bricks. A freight train to the soul.

I lost comfort.

Hope vanished.

Life’s path took a dark spiralling turn south.

Goals and ambition kicked into the gutter.

Shattered connections.

Unhelpful, unhealthy solitude.

All I could see was emptiness and fear.

A vacuum of a chasm.

Empty demands and is spoken of in snide words.

Lost belief in myself.

Hurt. Gutted. Irrelevant.
Life being a cunt. Tortured. Shamed.

You gave me everything, every smile and every belief. You fueled me. You lit the lighthouse once again. A defibrillator to hope.

You gave comfort.

Life took a huge mountainous climb towards the sun.

The constant goal and need embedded.

You asked for nothing and embraced my confusion.

Impressive reality and challenges ahead.

It’s a wonderful miracle.

Without judgement, without demands.

Gained a soul this last year.

Excited. Overwhelmed. Relevant.
Life is a joy. Pleasured. Pride..

Ts & Cs

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How do! 你好!

Life has so many pieces of small print, tucked under the seams, crammed into the crevices, and dropped into long forgotten pockets. They can be found as hints, messages and moments in our history. Some are beautiful, dutiful or testing. Most can be learned from, such is the way of life. The small print keeps coming though.

Rainham Steel and their hot flanged joists or cold circle angles being advertised at British football grounds has never ever made sense to me. Yet their imagery on football photography for years on end has stood out and crept into my psychology. The sign doesn’t have a phone number or website. Nothing. It stands out. No terms and conditions. Just a bizarre advert targeting football fans (in attendance or otherwise watching via television) who needs industrial standard steel. Rainham Steel have no clear purpose other than to be present through tradition and maintain their historical connections to the beautiful game. Now, where do I place my girders?

2021 started with optimism, way up in Yubeng village. Through a mixture of local hospitality, Oliver, Piotr and I finished a few days wander with a countdown below snow-capped mountains. It really recharged my mental batteries. Again in summer my passage followed the flow of Yunnan, as if swept a long by a calm river. That’s where I grabbed my first and only tattoo on date. No contract was mentioned. It was surprisingly easy to scar myself for exchange of cash.

A few days after leaving Yunnan for New Year and life’s finality was highlighted as City legend Colin Bell passed away. I never saw him play football. I lived off his video footage and stories from friends and family. I filled my heart with his warmth from a very reluctant biography. Somewhere at the back of my mind the joys of trekking clashed with the feeling of the passing of time. This is life. A condition of living is death.

Three cycle crashes in a year and one trip to hospital as a result of the latter crash brought me down to Earth. My first outpatient visit to an emergency room to patch up cuts and check some impact marks to bones happened. My first inpatient visit and night stays at hospital later in the year terrified me but left me thinking I need to improve my fitness and recover stronger than ever. Even if age is a small print, this challenge shouldn’t get the better of me. I’ll kick a ball again and find mountains to trek in 2022.

I now approach 8 years of life in China and Dongguan. That’s a hefty chunk of my thirties. It’s almost a quarter of my life. I’ve spent two Chinese New Year holidays in Dongguan and it looks like 2022 will be the same. This whole COVID-19 thing just drags on and on. Even my third jab (the booster) has left me lagging behind. I’m on analogue when all around me is on digital. Creased by politics, changing attitudes and a global pandemic of fear, working and living in China is increasingly less attractive. A new two year contract hasn’t been signed yet. I love the job but I must think deeply. There are many implications of signing.

The year 2021 has been quite mentally testing. Unable to travel to the U.K. to see family and friends, blighted by world news of fear, panic and that bloody virus, I’ve sought solace in gardening my balcony and giving a new home to Panda the Border Collie. The little fur ball of joy joins me on the sands of Huizhou to welcome 2022 in. Alongside his doggy girlfriend Sasha and her human slaves Miss Keisel and husband Charif (with student Amir and his sister Emma). Talking with them I feel that homesickness is strangling talent. If we want to leave China to visit family and friends, it seems to be mostly a one way ticket. So few who have left have returned and 2021 had more than its fair share of leaving events.

1. Huizhou sunset on 2021. 2. Panda on the beach. 3. Javier, John, Jaime and Jamie may up a J Pop band.

On the subject of leaving, Sergio Aguero, scorer of that 93:20 goal, amongst his many records and City’s all-time greatest scorer, announced he would leave City. Then he left. He was warmly welcomed at new club Barcelona but the optimism evaporated as he was soon forced to hang his boots up due to a health problem. 2021 wasn’t a great year for Sergio but he did bow out with 2020/21’s Premier League title and a Champions League runners up medal. The perfect ending doesn’t always happen. That’s for fairytales.

Great writers like Jim Steinman and Eric Carle passed away, having influenced countless souls on their life journeys. Their words accompanied me at Scholastic’s Guided Reading conference, throughout three I.B. training periods and some Jolly Phonics. At the end of the day, reading has got me to where I am in Tungwah Wenzel International School (T.W.I.S.) and I intend to do my best with the knowledge I want to share. Perhaps, guidance is my destiny. Only 2022 can tell.

Summer witnessed the departure of many international colleagues to pastures new. Not before Mr Oliver and I trekked around Shanxi, Shaanxi, Ningxia and Gansu together. Not a bad way to say, “Bon voyage!” And then Autumn flew by. The October holiday gave me chance for hiking and wandering but nothing amazing happened. 2022 could be that year. If only the bloody virus would fizzle out. The movies Outbreak and Contagion each hand happy endings. Rene Russo and Kate Winslet didn’t do bad. 2021, however, is the poorer cousin of 2020.

Discrimination and prejudice have risen; borders have increased with social segregation and some countries closing to others; lifestyle changes such as Zoom and a plethora of online teaching, working and scamming; and misinformation became the norm. Afghanistan went backwards as if to illustrate a world trend of fans being hit by turds. Glasgow held COP26 and the world climate crisis was averted. I think. It’s been a funny old year. The most important thing though, is to forget the traditional ways and go for something sustainable and new. The old ways led us here. Let’s go new for 2022.

Happy new year and all the best!

May 2002 deliver hope and dreams.

Ta’ra! 再见!

Borderline.

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How do! Nihao!

The stare goes through me. I’m being herded. I must counter this. I’m the alpha here. I’m the leader. We’re engaged in a battle that involves chewsticks, training and discipline. Panda the border collie can stare all he wants now, but this high energy ball of fur won’t be allowed the upper hand. And, to make my point clear, I have dropped him at the vets. He’s going to be neutered. No baby Pandas. No mini-stares. As an unwanted pet, rehomed after a month or so in a cage, his journey from a litter of puppied in Germany to Dongguan ends genetically wherever I choose to take him in our family journey. Stares or no stares.

The last week of school was interrupted twice by the standard COVID-19 polymerase chain reaction (PCR). I had it last Tuesday and Friday at school, as well as Saturday in my apartment garden complex. It is what it is. One case a week last Tuesday in neighbouring Dàlǎng (大朗) town has risen to 25 today. As my school is in Sōngshānhú technological area and my house is in Dàlǐngshān town, we all fall under the 6 towns of Sōngshānhú district: Liáobù, Shípái, Cháshān and Shílóng.

Throughout the last few days, I’ve wandered into Dalingshan town because Songshan Lake and every surrounding park is closed. I was told (by government notice) that Dalingshan library was closed yet I sat there today reading in their branch of Pacific Coffee. I don’t usually favour chains but they have a strict no smoking policy. I read some more Jack Reacher short stories, watched Dave German’s Genius show on YouTube and did a little school preparation. On the way back, I passed an open mall area. Parks are closed. Indoor gathering spaces are closing. I shouldn’t complain. I never really did lockdown.

This pandemic has spread fast and gets me muttering, “Bloody virus” quite often. Yet, since 14 days of quarantine in April 2020, I’ve personally experienced no lockdown. I’ve been very blooming lucky. Of course, the inconvenience of being unable to travel to my hometown in Blighty does more than counterbalance that fact. Now lockdown sits in the town next door – and threatens life in my Blighty. Britain is blighted by this bloody modern plague. COVID-19 released its Christmas hit as Omicron. 2020 definitely helped my knowledge of the Greek alphabet even if the variants list is a cast of horrors.

Twas the nightmare before Christmas and all around the house, excitement sank away. After watching the climax (or anticlimax) of La casa de papel or Money Heist, I found myself feeling like I did at the end of 007’s latest (but not last) outing, No Time To Die. So, what now? It’s almost like 2021 is a loose bundle of scripts with no apparent direction, as if all order had become tangled in the mop head of Boris Johnson.

Walking around, as a solo foreigner, in a town located in South China is easy. It’s safe. Millions of people in a huge catchment area and just a few dozen virus cases. Low violent crime. Scams, for sure. Air pollution, but improved conditions. Man Utd fans, but they’re everywhere. Poor Ole. The one thing that’s got me muttering words like a 1990’s Essex gangster is simply hurtful: people who dart out of my way, or pull their masks up suddenly or cup their hands over their mouth or say in Chinese that I may have the virus. 2020 and 2021 has seen too many divisions. I remain in China as a token of hope. I believe things shall be better. They may need to break more before they get better. It is what it is. Whilst I breathe, I’ll remain positive. Even when I’m negative. Still, it’s hard to be totally positive when Panda is staring at me. Dogs!

Xiexie ni he zai jian! Thank you kindly and goodbye!

Life.

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Life is for living; it’s for seeing; it’s for feeling; it’s for playing;

it’s for kicking a football in a field; it’s for stumbling on stones and slipping and breaking some bones;

it’s for smiling; it’s for crying; it’s for…

…missing home; it’s for feeling that tear. That tear building in your eye; and that moment you look at something so stunning, you’re overwhelmed with feelings.

You try to find the words, but the words aren’t there. They’re out there. They’re in here. In your head. But. You just can’t pick them up and place them in the right position.

Life. Life is beautiful. It’s pretty, it’s witty, it’s exciting, it’s frightening…

It’s staring into the abyss and not knowing where you’re going.

When you want to go somewhere, you go somewhere. Having a plan is all fair enough. Having no plan: just as good.

Just live the way you want to live.

There’s only one way of life.

And that’s your own.

Poem and tattoo inspired and influenced by The Levellers and their song One Way
The original recording made at Abuji Cuo in Yunnan (29/7/2021)
Details of Abuji Cuo (29/7/2021)

Happy Pokey Holes

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你好～ S’mae! Hello! How Do!

Sunday, 7th November 2021

Here we go again. Another evening in a hospital bed. The sixth such sleepover. Unlike the former I’m unattached to monitoring equipment. Just a feed of oxygen. That should make sleeping easier providing the girls don’t accompany me again. Those sucking evil females visited me at night. I struggled to get to sleep. I awoke with itchy ankles, a track mark line worthy if Trainspotting and sores on my knuckles. The only plus was City beat U****d at Old Trafford in the previous evening. Watching that in a hospital bed wasn’t all bad. Bloody mosquitoes.

This evening I became a golf course. The 18th needle went in and out almost as fast as the grade 5 student making a video. Kim (Baozi) snuck in fresh from having her fractured and dislocated hand injuries operated on. At first she spoke with my nurse about this injection and then craftily video recorded the jab. She sent the video to her phone. That’ll teach me for leaving my phone unlocked. To be honest, it was funny and she’s in good spirits following her surgery, and I’m sure her mother will be pleased and proud of her resilience. The nurse performing my injection certainly enjoyed the chit chat of Kim. It’s good to see professionals beam with radiant smiles. That way I don’t have to worry about the needle.

Today has been filled with Guilt. A BBC production filmed around Edinburgh. The short four episode series whizzing by in atmospheric slowness between my 3200 steps to recovery. The short corridor walks and nattering with visitors really lifted my spirits. That and savouring City’s emphatic win at The Theatre of Dreams™ yesterday. John Stones had five times winner of the Ballon d’Or Cristiano Ronaldo dos Santos Avery in his back pocket.

Miss Spring delivered hearty hope – filled pumpkin soup. Mr D brought his wit with him, gifting a milk tea ice cream and some balloons. I did consider the implicit of the inflation of such things on a cardiovascular ward. Probably not a good idea. Dr Xie and Dr Like will not be happy. Nor the great nursing team. Miss Laura tried to deliver corn. That was rejected and now our friendship faces a review. Mr Jason helped me get mosquito spray. Sunday was 30°C and with the windows open the bloodsuckers found me.

Also Benny from grade 7 delivered fruit and kind support. As did Kim from grade 5, but she’s resident to the hospital whilst undergoing a hand operation. Although after the operation she was typically bubbly and positive. She certainly made Nurse Xiao Yue smile and laugh. Kim wasn’t the best visitor to have as your stomach gets jabbed. I tried to shoo her away but it wasn’t successful. I was an immobile Patch Adams providing entertainment, I guess. A bit like Man Utd’s midfield on Saturday.

Monday, 8th November 2021

What a difference a day makes. There’s a song there. Today it is just 16°C. It feels fresh and crisp. I like it. This morning my blood was removed by arterial stick from my left wrist (radial/ulnar region). It was swift and left an incredibly uncomfortable ache afterwards for ten minutes. Not the best 6am wake up call. After breakfast my pin cushion experience carried on with Nurse Xiao Yue kindly injecting anticoagulant into my tummy. I won’t complain. Kindness by cruelty. No pain, no gain. Dr Xie had visited prior and said Thursday is the target for my release. She told me to go and walk, including some stairs. My oxygen levels are fast approaching pre-condition fitness. The harder we fall, the more cliches we use, and then climb again.

After a night if unsettled dreams, anxiety and discomfort, today’s news has been most welcomed. You can’t keep a Mancunian down.

Hope Street.

再见～ Hwyl Fawr! Goodbye! Ta’ra!

Live, breathe, hope (Draft #1)

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Muck in your eyes, surging cries, looking at then falling skies.

Pain straining your train of thought, hate free world sought, avoiding a day of distraught.

Stress says take a rest, your chest days you’re not your best, can’t even get dressed.

Stumbled upstairs, fairs not so fair for your cares, time to go get some stares.

Off we went, full consent, not worried about the rent, feeling less than elegant.

While I live, I breathe, I hope. Those hospital superheroes got me off a bad slope. Those hospital heroes helped me cope. While I live, I breathe, I hope. Up once again looking down life’s telescope. While I live, I breathe, I hope. Those hospital heroes helped me cope.

Knees a quivering, head all shivering, doctors and nurses delivering.

The news was confusing, my listening cruising and choosing, what it’s using, musing and infusing.

Shook by the broken heart, given a start, by way of observation chart.

Rating the flurry of worry, compared to a filling of slurry, bitter taste exiting in no hurry.

Human resources steadying, off for further readying, yet in a place unsteadying.

While I live, I breathe, I hope. No need to duck, dive and mope. While I live, I breathe, I hope. I cling on to the shipping towrope. While I live, I breathe, I hope. Walking together on every tightrope.

After the manic half hours, the room drained of flowers, friends turned away after hours.

Left with my thoughts, my personal dreadnoughts, gunshots casting lots and lots.

The demon at the foot of the bed, fear felt instead, I could have been brown bread.

Jabbed and prodded until sleep, a peak that weeped in heaped seep, knee-deep in thoughts that go deep.

Slipped in and out of shut eye, thoughts indivisible by, unable to oversimplify.

While I live, I breathe, I hope. Reach out for the good bathroom soap. While I live, I breathe, I hope. Thankful for the stethoscope. While I live, I breathe, I hope. Knowing today is just a kaleidoscope.

Grasping doubt.

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Maybe I should, maybe I shouldn’t.

I wish I could but I feel I couldn’t.

I look deeply into my dreams.

They all don’t seem what they seems.

Parts of the perfection have no direction.

Each and every ambition is littered with defection.

So, I sit back, relax and just float along.

Knowing the words and tunes but making not one song.

My actions, my words don’t let me show it.

There’s music in my soul I know it.

Doubt bites at me, it knifed into my soul.

Black dog edging, tearing away at my lifelong goal.

So, what’s stopping has stopped the beginning.

My head is no longer a fit place for winning.

Stop.

Carry on?

Checking out. Sean Lock R.I.P.

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Memories of you.

Remember this too.

Farewell and adieu.

It may be time to go.

How will the remember you?

This only they can know.

So, for me and for thee.

Thy words and actions be.

What you want them to see.

Live as you are free.

Without fear be the true me.

It’s your life to cast wide.

The sands of time’s tide.

Enjoy the rhythm, enjoy the ride.

Live it up and full of pride.

There’s only way to buzz your own buzz.

There’s only way of life (and that’s your own).

You need to be true to yourself.

Live hard, live well and in good health.

Buzz loud like a bee.

Today will be yesterday tomorrow.

Leave behind not one sorrow.

Regret nothing and win love.

The game of life is as a dove.

A symbol of peace flying on high.

When I go, do not cry.

For I have lived, and given it all.

To this day and every call.

Though you passed on and gone.

I spotted you as you shone.

You danced, sang and gave clout to your shout.

Your light never goes out.

Condolences to the family and friends of Sean Lock, British comedian, writer and TV star. Ever since seeing 15 Storeys High starring writer Sean Lock with actor Benedict Wong, I’ve been hooked on this charming word-loving comic genius. His panel show appearances, stand-up comedy and writing for other top-notch acts will be missed.

Sean Lock (22nd April 1963 – 16th August 2021)