Paul Jr.

2025: just a reflection

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A bumper year of ups and downs. More downs than I can ever recall. A tough year. A painful one. Loss and confusion has reigned throughout. Yet as we approach the dawn of 2026, there is reason to be optimistic. Right? If 2025 knocked the wind out of you, or it made you feel heavy, or plans had to change, then at least we achieved getting through this year. Survival was our summit. Now let’s climb 2026.

Been worried about my Mam for some time now. Wish she’d quit smoking and things would improve for her. Said farewell to Paul Hux, Mam’s partner and love, which hurt far too much. The end was painful in so many ways and reminded us all of how little time we have. We have yet to scatter his ashes. We will. As per Paul’s wishes. Ideally in better mountain climbing weather and with a degree of fitness to do so. And without rush.

Our kid, Paul Jr., has been near-enough unemployed all year and I’m far from convinced he’s trying hard to find work. Not that I don’t blame him, his confidence must be blown to shit after being treated like a disposable whore in the world of retail. If he had empathy and emotions he’d easily find a more social job. I really wish Mam and Paul Jr. a better year in 2026

Soon after my Mam’s ex, and my brother’s father, also called Paul, exited life. His near-adopted daughter, Astrid (my little big sister), was devastated and in hospital for considerable time. She’s better now and living near-independently. I never got on much with Paul but I did call him and kind of apologise for my behaviour as a teenager and he laughed it off. It was weird. I also helped him get some cash and a few bits to his hostel but a week after he’d left life. Astrid needs some closure and a place say her farewell. A tree-planting idea has been mentioned.

Then Mam and Paul Hux’s bearded dragon passed away too. As did my younger brother and sister’s mam Bernie. And new and old friends at football. It really has been an odd year. Work has been tough. Bugs caught me and life seemed to grind to a halt. Limbo was broken by news of the visa in December. Good mates have been around for me, even when I push them away, or hide away from conversation or life. I am thankful for Dan, my footy friends Haguey, Alison and Chris, Brahma, Daz, and others.

Panda GunDOGan has been spoilt by my Dad and nagged to death by his kangaroo-bollocked sized buddy Blue. Panda’s twin from another mother, Sky, the cat has really got used to her black and white oversized twin. It is great to see. Especially in winter when they’re cuddled up together. Heartwarming scenes!

Family life has been divided by geography but the green-lit visa has arrived. An early Christmas present. One I needed. I have been close to giving up and legging it back to China. Optimism has returned. 2026 is make or break. 2025’s highlights involved summer in Guangxi, Chengdu, Dali, Shangrila, and Guangdong. Some miles laid down and memories boxed away.

Escape has been difficult but through a quadruple helping of Doves music gigs, the sensational Divine Comedy, the magnificent John Grant (with the incredible Lynks), and an out of this world Jeff Wayne’s War of the Worlds at the Coop Live! Music has been an amazing escape. Like many walks with Panda. Hull Pot and Hunt Pot by Pen y Ghent have left memorable impressions from nature. I will return! At football we all lost Shez and others. Saying goodbye is not easy. I send my love to the families and friends. City, Manchester City, carried on forever more. Not a bad year after a transitional season that saw us finish runners-up in the FA Cup and 3rd in the Premier League. We’ve ended 2025 second to a powerful Arsenal and still fighting for 3 cups. Never say never.

On reflection, 2025 has made me thankful for many things: safe food standards; NHS healthcare that is accessible and paid through National Insurance; fairness and rights that are enforced and ones we can challenge via appeal (even if the archaic processes are slow); gun control; vaccines and their effectiveness; Bee Network and soon to be nationalised railways as part of readily available public transport; and family and friends for being there.

Sending love to those who’ve been there (wherever there is), family, friends, those who feel lonely during holidays, those who struggle to afford to celebrate holiday times, those who grieve a loss, anyone spending time with someone who isn’t supportive, the caregivers, nurses, doctors, charity workers, good samaritans, those battling mental illness and depression, and you for reading. Peace and love.

Christmas ’23

oyster28catcher (JRA)Leave a comment

Eight miles there. Eight back. Clayton Vale, Ashton-under-Lyne canal, the old filled in Stockport canal, and the Fallowfield Loopline cycle path paved the way from home to home. A few roads, with the odd crossing, make for a largely traffic-free route. Perfect for the Panda dog walking tight to your legs, and more importantly, good for chasing a kicked or thrown ball. A good wander.

The battle against the big C rages on. Cancer is a horrid thing. It ruins families and strikes at the centre of health, in a way crippling and doesn’t let go. As one beats it, another battles. It claims life whilst brave faces tussle and show determination to win and live go fight another day. Keep battling. You can do it.

A platter of yummy foods, traditional at Christmas, was devoured between five mouths (Panda included). Paul and Mam always know their food. The former more than the latter. Mam did her best to keep us in baked beans and curries as kids. In fact, I’d go as far as saying as Mam has always been a culinary explorer. Mam tried her best and still does to introduce me, Paul Jr. and Astrid to new forms of scran. Corn, however, is still a big no. Paul, being a former chef, knows his onions, shallots, and all the other Allium members. I feel blessed to eat well. Astrid, predisposed, wasn’t around, but hopefully, we can catch up later this week and have some competitive eating.

Christmas 2012 was the last time I ate Christmas Dinner at Mam’s before last year (2022). Those intervening years in China have dampened my mood for Christmas. With new life and youth present, it has reminded me that this special time of year is perfect for celebrating together. 2024 will be much better. I feel it. I hope for it. Christmas Dinner in 2023 consisted of a platter of potatoes, Mediterranean-style vegetables, salmon, sprouts, carrots, chicken, and gravy. It wasn’t the traditional Christmas Dinner. But, sat with Dad nattering and an episode of Last of The Summer Wine, it was pleasant enough. Merry Christmas and a happy new year.

Christmas Day involved copious amounts of dog walking, reading, and generally communicating via the mobile phone to the point of near blindness. Boxing Day would lead to more walking. 16 miles in the legs deserved a drink. The last Christmas gift opened. Belgian beer, Bernardus Abt 12, at 10% volume, sank well. Cheers, Doddsy, for the plonk. The dark quadruple was rich in flavour and suitable for watching Hunter Killer, a disappointing middle-of-the-road Russian-American conflict movie. As paint by number action movies go, it did enough to get my nose back into Flann O’Brien’s The Poor Mouth. Translated text can sometimes be difficult, but the wit and heart of the stories shine through.