Everything Changes But You (only you do)

So, as you are aware, my life is changing significantly.

My house is up for sale.

Was.

You will possibly remember that getting the house up for sale was part of the "London By Thirty Five" scheme. Well, things accelerated. I got made redundant. Again.

And again, me being me, I got myself something sorted quickly.

In London.

It made sense - the house was up for sale; I had plans to move to London, why not get the London job and then move.

I started work for my new London business last Monday. I agreed the sale of my house yesterday and I get the keys to my new flat in Clapham early December. It's all slotting into place, albeit at a phenomenally hyperspeed pace - though not an impossible one. Just a lot quicker than I expected - that said, to fully meet the timescale of being in London by 35. I feel, had I not been pushed, it may have been early in the new year that I ended up moving. As I say, I've had to put a move on, but in an achieveably tight timescale.

And it hasn't been helped by having shoulder surgery on Friday which meant that I had to be much more organised than otherwise as I now have very limited capability with my left arm in a sling.

But anyhow, I've eulogised my own time here more than enough. Now is to discuss the changes.

I'm not going to talk about the interior of the house - that has been done. I'm talking much more generally over the nine years I've lived here.

Obviously the gardens and outside have changed. No more is there a wooden porch out the front; nor the "sunroom" on the North aspect of the house. The top patio has been replaced with a veg patch; there are a couple of new fruit trees, new fruit bushes but otherwise the back hasn't changed significantly. Around the front the old rotten cherry tree has been replaced with a couple of new ones, the border of the path lined with lavendar bushes, and new fuschias around the drainage covers. I've moved the path closer to the the hedge to remove a border and grassed the remaining patch, and generally made it nice.

I started at my place with a Vauxhall Corsa, that got broken into a written off, leading to five or six years without a car, resorting to a Honda Jazz when I started my last job. That got sold today. Where the cars park there were three really big trees, there is now only one. They replaced the street lamps and, in the last week, resurfaced the only bit of road they've ever resurfaced whilst I've lived here.

I found the little snick-through of the steps which transformed my journey to the station. Otherwise I went past the Hindu Temple. That grows annually. They knocked down the little out-house that was the caretakers house when it was a school.

Of the three pubs on that corner, two have gone. Indeed, that is a story long told - many of the pubs have gone. However, one of the wasteland/grass areas has been redeveloped into a new housing estate. The high-rise flats at Burrows Court which have had planning permission after planning permission haven't been developed. The old spaceship Co-Op that was supposed to become an Asda hasn't.

Nottingham Contempory is in existence now - that wasn't. I remember going to the opening night for that. And further down the road, they have "started" on work on the Broadmarsh centre. Well, if you can call "starting" vacating the units to leave the centre half-empty to force the council into accepting virtually any plans for development. They've started "developing" the Victoria centre too. When I say "developing", it's basically a new lick of paint, a few new light bulbs and a slight redesign of one area into a food court. Nothing anywhere as significant as the "House of Fraser" expansion of the ninties.

The train station has been given a good clean to allow for the expanded tram network - not quite as integrated as you'd like, but good enough. And it has seven platforms now not six. And the developers FINALLY built what is now known as Nottingham One - even though half the retail units are empty.

The arena isn't within the 10 year timescale - I remember going to the arena for the first time on my 21st birthday to see Steps with my mum and sister. Good times. However, the new Victoria leisure centre with pool opposite has been done within my time here. I remember first moving in and still using the old pool (actually quite nice architechturally). And whilst I think the tram arrived whilst I was up in Newcastle at university, lines two and three (involving the new bridge over the station) have only opened in the last few months.

I won't really comment on the roads because the council seems to change the road system as often as possible to confuse drivers, other than to comment that the A46 was single carriageway when I first worked out that way - it's dualled now; and ditto the A453 expansion alongside the tram - I never use that route though.

I've gone from frequenting almost exclusively gay bars to now mostly straight bars. I love the Jam Cafe - somewhere that I found around three or four years ago - and the Malt Cross, somewhere that I got taken on a date around six years ago. That shut for a refurb and re-opened a year ago. I haven't been to Cookie Club in many years, and the last time I went to NG1 was a good 18 months ago when James and I went on our last night out in Nottingham together. Obviously I've already discussed the change and decline of the gay bars - the latest is that the Lord Roberts, one of the few mainstays over the last couple of decades and certainly for my residence, has been bought out although as yet there doesn't seem a desperation from the new owners to change the clientelle.

There have been many little changes of ownerships. That shop on the corner opposite the Vic Centre was a Disney shop, was something else, is currently a Nationwide Building Society. We have a Five Guys on the market square where there was a Pizza Express. The Tesco Express and Sainsburys' Locals have expanded - one Tesco taking some of the space of the now defunct Tales of Robin Hood that I took some people to in the first year I lived in my house. My fish and chip shop has changed hands three times; the Chinese not at all. There is a new development going up opposite all the garages where the old car-wash station used to be.

Anyhow, I'm sure there are many changes I've forgotten or not noticed; and there will be many more to come in my absence. Nowhere stays still

The Two Sides of Suicide

On the 15th March 2002 I came home from my Thursday night out with Newcastle University's LGBT group. I sat on my bed in halls (even in year three we were in halls), I clicked out in excess of 100 paracetamol pills and 50 ibuprofen. I sat on my bed, I grabbed as many of the pills as I could, I drank them down with whatever I had to hand. I sicked up a lot into a glass and then I went away

After sending a text:

"Oh dear"

That was all I sent to my friend that night who ultimately picked me up out of the Freeman Hospital in Newcastle the following day.

The paramedics tried everything that they knew - they tried shaking me, forcing tubes down my throat to engage my gagging mechanism, everything that they knew of to get a body to respond.

I apologised to everyone when I returned. We didn't speak about it. We forgot it.

Didn't we?

Did we?

We didn't mention it.

On the 24th October 2015 one of my closest friends took his life.

I am still unsure of the circumstances because his family have shut everything down. What I do know is that I got called by one of the other members of my football team that night to say that AJ had taken himself to sleep. I was out with other friends when I received the call and they made sure that I got home, because - let's face it - I was in no position to do so myself.

I couldn't even operate as an adult human the next day.

This was AJ. AJ was the clown. He bounced off ceilings. He had that smile that could make anyone smile. ANYONE. I'd been there for him when he had split with [boyfriend 1] and again with [boyfriend 2]. I met his twin. We all went ice skating and then for a meal. I made the very-funny-at-the-time joke about how they couldn't be twins because they didn't have the same tattoos

I was there when he buggered up his ankle and asked for his mum and then I remember asking him if he wanted his mum a few months later when he suffered a friction burn to the top of his head in the Leicester tournament. I remember him joshing me when I buggered up my ankle in similar circumstances. I remember us sharing hotel rooms, hotel beds, and just having the most brilliant times it was possible to have because we just both made each other laugh. He was the clown to my straight-man; and I was the set-up-guy to his punchline.

AJ was one of the most gorgeous people alive. He was so fun, he had so much energy.

And yet, somehow, that energy sapped him that he took his life, alone, in his flat in Manchester.

When I woke up in hospital I thought it was 7:30pm. The paramedics who had collected me from the student halls had tried to put my watch back on, but had done so upside down. When I said to the counsellors who spoke to me that "they worked late" they had no idea I didn't know it wasn't actually 2pm that afternoon.

This wasn't the first nor would it be the last that I tried to take myself.  My preference previously and, indeed, after was to tie plastic bags around my head. I got to the stage of frustration that I tied plastic bags around my head and then cable tied my hands behind my back so I couldn't rip the bags off. My strength proved too much for the cable ties I owned. I haven't tried this (or any other method) in around 5 years.

And this is what I mean by the two sides to suicide - not the "being on the live side" and the "being on the dead side". I mean on the "taking" and the ... for want of a better word ... "coping" side.

When you try to take yourself, you don't think. You're not in the right place. There is no logic. If you do think, it's always "they'll be better off without me". You think that it'll maybe take a few days and people will just go back to work doing what they do. (I'm sure at some stage I'll expand on this side of things).

But that's what you think - "it'll take a few days for them".

And that's what happens. It does just take a few days. It was the Monday. I went back to work, and I immersed myself in work.

Because I FUCKING HAD to.

And seriously, people telling you that "it'll get better" "it'll be ok" is ... I don't know, it's good, but it's not quite enough when you're in that place where really you need a little more than 140 characters of sympathy.

Because, let's face it - we've all lost someone, whether it's a grandma or uncle or a friend who got run over or AJ. And everyone goes to work the next day don't they? I have a team, they would be devastated if it was me, but they would work (after a day or two, it's not entirely a heartless business).

AJ was on my mind every minute of today. He'll be there on my mind for weeks. Yes, I go to work, but these things aren't exclusive. AJ will stay with me until I myself die.

One of the few things that has come of this: I have had so many people telling me they are there for me.

Everyone says that in the digital age, the personal touch has gone. But - perhaps - isn't it easier? I've had friends from around the country personally text me, message me, ring me to make sure I'm ok. Yes, my couple of posts have had a significant number of likes (I rarely post on Facebook) however I've had so many people phone me or directly message me or otherwise to make sure that I'm ok that it really does reaffirm that people are there for you.

I just wish that AJ knew that.

For AJ

About the House

So, the house is up for sale.

It’s all happening.

But how did we get here?

You may recall, that “doing the house up” was one of the major reasons for the slippage of “London by Thirty” to “London by Thirty Five” was because of the house. So, what did I do?

Well, I bought the house in December 2005. The first three months were intense…

There were rotten floor joists and floorboards in the lounge and hallway. These needed replacing. There was actually a significant amount of flooring taken up and then laid. In order to prevent any further rotting, I had to install a number of additional air bricks. To do this I had to deconstruct a “summer room” on the North side of the house – an asbestos, glass and wood structure constructed on a thick concrete base which covered where the air bricks were needed and breached the damp-proof course. Then the kitchen and the workroom (a little room downstairs which was to be an office) had solid floors which needed a bitumen damp-proof treatment.

In addition the actual damp-proof course needed wax treatment re-proofing. This involved removing the lower levels of plaster all around the ground floor including removing and eventually refitting the kitchen units; and then replastering with a proper damp resistive plaster. As well as having to remove the kitchen units, this also involved removing the downstairs shower room suite; leaving the house with no usable toilet, sink or shower.

Needless to say, I was still living at my parents throughout this time; however I set myself a rather arbitrary date of the Easter of 2006 to move in. I say arbitrary, obviously when you have a van to move furniture it needs to be completed as quickly as possible; and a long weekend like Easter is the best time to sort and settle.

Anyhow, to achieve this I needed floors to walk on in the lounge; a kitchen to cook in; and a bathroom in which to wash. Whilst the kitchen was reasonably decent enough to be reinstalled, the shower suite was not – and was also downstairs. I hated this. So I decided to convert the smallest of the three bedrooms into an upstairs bathroom and install the most basic of bathroom suites alongside some additional plumbing that was required to replace an ancient immersion tank. Anyway, costs and time were both so short that I moved in to a house with an ancient but useable kitchen with patches of wallpaper, plaster and exposed brick walls; a lounge which had patches with all of the previous fifteen styles of redecoration visible and a bathroom fitted against bare plaster walls without a cupboard concealing the tank. Very, very basic.

From hereon after (until things accelerate later) generally I only worked on the house in late autumn, winter and early spring. The reason for this is three-fold. Firstly, there was a very well established garden which took a considerable amount of time to maintain and change; secondly, I travel around a lot more over the summer so have less time at home for significant projects; and finally, despite the travelling around, it was useful to spend the summer saving as much money as possible for the next project.

2006-7

After the previous year, things went a little quiet this year. I saved up to buy the shower tray, cubicle and fitting for the stand-alone shower that I had planned for when arranging the rest of the bathroom; but it couldn’t be fitted until I could afford the tiles and remainder of the bathroom materials. I started in the bedroom that I wasn’t using as a bedroom, stripping the paper off. This pulled off significant amounts of perished plaster, meaning that I needed to remove all of the plaster.

2007-8

The windows throughout the house were all double glazed with the exception of the kitchen which had four windows. My brother was having work done on his house which necessitated the replacement of three of his windows, which pretty much perfectly replaced three of them in my kitchen – one of the existing windows disappeared behind a worktop which was always entertaining when a can of tomatoes rolled down the back; the replacement required the wall building up nicely to the same level as the worktop. My parents bought me the fourth window as a joint birthday and Christmas present. So this season was spent replacing those windows; as well as finishing off the “free” work in the spare bedroom (i.e. the work that didn’t cost any money).

2008-9

This year the porch rotted through and the door fell off onto me (I might’ve had a drink). This meant that the front door needed replacing – and I might as well do the back door at the same time. I had come into some money this year as I had had my face smashed in whilst walking home by some people that didn’t like the look of me. I used this money to replace both doors as well as the huge patio door and window combination that had previously access the “sun room”.

2009-10

This year I could actually afford to buy the tiles for the bathroom. So, this involved the construction of the immersion tank / airing cupboard; installation of the stand-alone shower (bought back in 2006-7, remember that?), doing the lighting, painting and ... eventually ... tiling of the bathroom (including the construction of a rather nifty hinged panel to the bath to allow storage underneath). This meant (just 4 and a half years after buying the house) THAT THE FIRST ROOM WAS DONE.

 

2010-11

Having chipped all of the plaster off and done all the 'free' work in the spare bedroom, and only having to buy tiles, paint and a few bits of electrics the previous year, this year I could sort the spare bedroom out. Doesn't sound much does it - after all, the plaster was already chipped off? As with me, nothing is ever simple. Take the lighting. After the bathroom used GU10 LED spots, I decided I might as well use the same throughout the house, for a number of reasons. Firstly, they last a LONG time. Secondly, they are VERY energy efficient. But thirdly, and perhaps critically, I recall my parents above-the-toilet cupboards. They contained the electric meter, old rechargeable batteries, a supply of candles (though this was the most difficult cupboard to negotiate in the event of a power cut) and every type of bulb you could imagine. Most of the rooms took a standard bayonette fit; although the sitting room and one of the bedroom took the larger of the Edison screw fittings. The kitchen bulbs were totally different. And then, amongst the bayonette bulbs, some rooms had 40W, some 60 and some 100Watts (ask your parents). At any one time in the cupboard there could be well in excess of two dozen bulbs. Not me.

But, the spot-type nature of the bulbs meant there needed to be a dozen fittings (there would have been only ten had the joists been better spaced). But, as I was doing this I might as well make it my own. So the two spots above the head-end of where the bed would go became reading lights, each controllable from their own side of the bed, but also from the door (to save me having to walk over to the bed if I had left them on). So, we had twelve lamps on three circuits, each circuit having two switches (the main lights were also controllable from one side of the bed). 

Then there are the electrics. The room previously only had one double socket - clearly inadequate in this day and age. And so now it has five doubles, all ideally located, all requiring either wiring running down from the loft, or under the floorboards. Oh, and chipping into the brickwork. Which, if you've ever had to do this by hand, you will realise how physically and time demanding this is.

And then you have to re-lay the flooring. And get a plasterer in. I was tempted to turn my hand to plastering, but EVERYONE that I spoke to said if there is one thing I need to get a professional in for it is the plastering (note how they didn't comment when I was doing the electrics myself).

And then paint. With this being my to-be-bedroom (at least for the time being) I wanted it really nice. Nice was white ceilings, a creamy beige ("Cappucino") on the walls, and then a feature wall with the basic cappucino background but then a lot of red and brown stripes. It looks good, believe me. 

But it takes a lot of time. The ceiling needed three coats of paint. At one a night, that's a week. Ditto the walls. Ditto the stripes. And then there's touching up, finishing touches - skirting, architrave, varnishing them and the doors, getting the carpet fitted and - finally - moving my bed in and buying new furniture. Ignoring the cost of the new furniture, what was expected to be a 'cheap' room (in that it didn't need utilities, appliances, tiling, a suite or anything much other than the basics of electrics, lighting, plaster, paint, carpet and ancilliary woodworking) ended up costing well in excess of £2000 - albeit £1000 of that was on plastering and £600 on carpet.

2011-12

Well, I now had a nice bathroom and - MOST IMPORTANTLY - a refuge. The 'spare' bedroom was now my bedroom proper. It was clean, it was decorated, it was where I could LIVE. Next room to do was the big lounge. I say 'big lounge' as though I have so many lounges I have to differentiate. But what I cannot emphasis enough is how big it is - a full front-to-back lounge. Yes, if you've got a long gallery like Hardwick Hall it's perhaps a little different, but for me this was a big lounge.

I still remember back to the hell of being a kid with my parents and how long it took them to do the lounge up. I don't mean hell of being with my parents - anyone who knows me will tell you how much I love them and respect them; but the lounge at their house was a very,very major room; it was a throughfare as well, and it took them around three years to make it habitable.

But, as I'd now managed to move out of the 'big' master bedroom, I could now turn that into a lounge - albeit a temporary one. The sofas went upstairs as did the big tv. And, in fact, all spare furniture. It was a busy room. That, alongside my busy winter, probably explains why I spent little time in there.

My lounge was big; but a lot of the work had been done back in those initial three months - remember the chipping off of the lower levels of plaster to do the damp-proofing? The replacement of a significant amount of floorboards? The replacement of the patio doors? Well, all that his room required was the chipping off of all of the rest of the plaster, tidying up of a significant amount of the flooring that hadn't been replaced, all of the electrics (fortunately with most of this I had been sensible and planned it whilst the floorboards were up and laid the wiring) and chipping in the electric boxes (hadn't been quite so sensible and most of these had been free-hanging from he wall). Then there was the lighting. This would have been SIGNIFICANTLY easier if I had done it before finishing the flooring in the bedroom - again, I was using GU10 downlighters, but again - this being me - there wasn't just a main light, but two, and also four spots around the side to provide a less bright, more sedate environment (for Friday nights just watching movies when you want to concentrate on the movie) and two double switches - one as you entered the room, and another conveniently placed next to the edge of the sofa. These spots caused the problem. With one in each corner, there was no way I could avoid having to drill through some joists; almost all of which were either under the already-tiled bathroom floor, or the already-carpetted bedroom floor. So a lot of the ceiling had to come off.  

Once that was done, obviously everything else was easy - all I had to do was get the plastering done, sand down the massive expanse of floorboards that there was, vacuum, wash and clean it all down, spend a good week staining a LOT of wood, spend even more than a week varnishing the floor, painting the room, painting and, eventually, buying that sofa that finished the room. Oh, and then the finishing bits - curtains and stuff. It's a room.

2012-13

Well, having finished the loung the previous year, there wasn't much to do unless I wanted to start on the kitchen - realistically that was the next room to do - it was a biggy, and therefore needed all of my saving. But, whilst I had been able to move into the lounge there was still a niggle - the alcove. My piano occupied one; the other was vacant. I wanted shelves in there. They would look nice, classy, and they would provide me with much needed storage for my books. So - albeit minor - that was this year's job whilst I saved as much money as I could. But I did it, I bought the wood, I stained it, I fitted it, I filled it. And it looks lovely.

2013-14

This was another year where I took a bit of a back-step. Having completed the lounge and moved in down there, I just needed a year off. And, again, when you look how much these things cost, I probably spent over £100 in sanding belts on the lounge floor alone, then there was the stain, the varnish, the plaster, the paint. Whilst the lighting was not expensive individually, accumulatively it cost ver £100. And that's before you consider how much a reel of cabling costs. That's not cheap. I know the paint is cheap, bright white - it's £20 a tub. But that's four tubs worth. The shelves cost in excess of £100 in pure wood and fittings (there's actually a lot of battening). And then there's a £600 sofa. And do you know how much curtains are? Over a hunderd quid when you look at the length you need for that room. And the poles. There's a lot goes on, so a bit of a fallow year was needed. That said, it wasn't entirely fallow. I started chipping off the plaster in the big bedroom - by now, any furniture that needed returning to the lounge was back down there, anything that wasn't wanted had gone to a homeless charity.

2014-15

GO GO GO! at this point I had my new job. This meant new money. New, significant money. Which meant that I could get that most major, most expensive of jobs done - the kitchen. I had saved heartily (helped by the previous 'cheap' year) and over the summer got quotes such that at the end of September they started fitting. In order to keep costs to a minimum, I did a significant amount of preparation and finishing work myself. So, whilst the kitchen was on order the old one got stripped out. I then set to removing all of the old plaster ahead of the plasterers coming in. The plasterers plastered, the fitters fitted. Whilst they were doing this, I worked up in the big bedroom on the lighting and electrics (having by now finished stripping off the plaster). I then painted, tiled, grouted, sealed and laid the kitchen floor, as well as doing the skirting, architrave and general woodworkery. Whilst I worked downstairs, the plasterer plastered the big bedroom. 

And so, immediately that I finished the kitchen, I was straight on to the big bedroom, doing the painting, woodwork and getting the carpet fitted. Again, I painted more than I needed to - the stripes returned.

And then the last room to do was the hall and landing. This was the worst room. You can't avoid the dust and the much and the filth. Much though you try not to tread it into the refuge that is your bedroom, it gets there. And, worse still, if you are keeping floorboards (indeed, naked but stained stairs) then the whole idea of staining and varnishing them - when you are supposed to leave it two hours before walking on it, but need to walk on it to get upstairs - is impossible for someone who only gets home at 7pm. But I worked hard on this room - I had to. I knew that sanding the floorboards and stairs irritated my neighbour, so I had to crack on with that and get it over with as quickly as possible, but with the number of stairs, and bits (banister, ballustraids, treads, backboards, sides and the actually floorboards at the bottom) this still took a good few weeks. Electrics and lighting were all sorted (well, aside from simply swapping light fittings over - I say simply, it still took a full evening to do both), so it was technically just staining and varnishing the floors, getting the plasterer in then painting the walls and those few finishing touches.

And as a final point to the whole thing - finishing touches take evenings. It can be tiny bits of filler, little bits of stain you had missed, painting where the masking tape pulled off the paint - it all takes time. Evenings here, there - when you have just three or four a week, and only a couple of weekends a month at home, that's why things take so long.

As well as the cost.

But it's done - moving on.

When is a House not a Home?

When it’s a chain around your neck.

Well, or when it’s a maisonette flat; and that’s what I have to keep reminding myself. Because that was the other option.

You see, I’m just putting the finishing touches to my house. Well, the touches that will finish it ‘for me’. There will be one, minor (almost insignificant) room not done. It will be a shame not to get around to that last room (this is the guy who ploughed on with Moby Dick for six years because he couldn’t leave a book unfinished) but London’s calling.

And not a moment too soon. In fact, almost too late.

I had a plan to move to London by the time I was thirty. Now the plan is to be there by the time I’m thirty five – the end of this year. Unfortunately London By Thirty was plotted after I bought the house and probably wasn’t very realistic – a hope rather than a plan. The house has been the show-stopper, the ball-and-chain around my neck.

Now, there are a set of circumstances that ended up with me getting the house; particularly money and timing.

I was on a limited budget. The vast majority of the places that I could buy at the time I was looking were maisonette flats on a particular estate. This property came up and on the first day it was on the market there were a dozen of us looking at it. That’s what the market was like at the time.

Now, the house itself has been a good investment – certainly better than any of the maisonettes would have been. The house has increased in value, whilst the maisonettes haven’t at all. There are too many of the maisonettes – around 70 of them on that particular estate – and they are starter homes. Therefore, as people only tend to stay for a couple of years then move on or marry, there are always half a dozen or so on the market; supply far exceeding demand.

And the house itself has been better than one of the maisonettes ever could – it was so much closer to town, it had a garden, has a lot more space.

But…

It had a LOT of work that needed to be done to it. Perhaps more than I expected. Certainly what was more than expected was the length of time certain jobs take. For example, it has taken me two weeks to paint the hall and landing. Now, a lot of the time issues are around my lifestyle – the reason it has taken two weeks is because I only get to work on it of an evening, Monday to Thursday. I’m often busy over weekends.

But the house has progressed at a pace which has been commensurate with my budget. Even if I could have done it quicker, I couldn’t have afforded to do so. Well, not without taking out significant loans (or going down to London significantly less).

I suppose there was always the option of not buying. I could have stayed living with my parents (I would probably have ended up in London within days rather than years!) or I could have rented. But my family aren’t renters – it was instilled in us from a very early age that you don’t rent. It’s dead money. You get on the property ladder as quickly as possible and start paying into your equity. And, to be fair, I wouldn’t have paid out any more in legal fees to buy and sell a maisonette as I’d have paid out in rent; it just might’ve taken longer to sell.

Now, add in the economic crisis. I was made redundant six months in. I managed to get myself another job, but it was supposed to be temporary. It was temporary for a full four and a half years. Jobs just dried up, so there was no chance of a move, even if the house had been ready.

So this perfect storm of circumstances has meant that London By Thirty just wasn’t a reasonable target, much to my frustration. But now the worlds are aligning (well, aside from the London housing market) to pull me down to London as quickly as possible – I’ve been in my better job which pays me considerably more long enough to replace my kitchen and finish off four of the remaining five rooms; and long enough that it looks good on my c.v. to be wanting to move on.

And, it’s only a few months until I’m thirty five.

A Lotto Changes

Have you been to the National Lottery website recently? Remember – the one which went all plain and blockyand ‘responsive’? Then you’ll have seen the new logos for the brand and the games. Keeping the crossed fingers but ‘friendlying’ them up a little with more distinct eye-dots; balls and stars and colours depending on the game. It’s nice, good and fresh.

I like it. But…

I don’t understand the way it has been done. Why they didn’t hold off with the replacement of the website until the branding was finalised and undertake both projects together is beyond me. And the Lotto game is changing (again) in a couple of months – why not do a ‘big bang’ of branding: launch the new game, new site, new brand all at the same time. It would massively raise awareness of the most significant change – the change to the game.

Now, I understand there are three main strategies around ‘collective changes’ like this – nudge (or staged), big-push (or all-at-once), and incoherent. Maybe it was an active decision to do it nudge – it does work in some circumstances, to retain identity, avoid confusion. It might have been resources – they only had one team so had to handle each project separately, one at a time. It may simply not have been considered. It may have been purely preference – after all, the big bang approach is my preference. But if you are making such a significant change to the game, it just seems to make sense to draw attention to that change with a new logo.

Which brings me to the change itself. Obviously we await to see whether it has the effect of driving sales, which is what the refresh is about.

But with this change and the last ‘refresh’ just a couple of years ago (that’s two major changes to the game in 20 years, both in the last 2 years) I can’t help but feel that they don’t really know who their competition is.

Since they established, there have been a couple of other lotteries set up – probably most significantly the Health Lottery. But these aren’t Lotto’s competition. Or weren’t, at least.

Lotto sells between 18 and 30million tickets per ‘normal’ game (non-rollovers, non-specials). The Health Lottery doesn’t have to report ticket sales because it is established under different control and a different regulatory scheme; however on the basis that the top prize of £100,000 for the £1 game is 10% of ticket sales (and there are repeated warnings that if ticket sales are lower, theprize will be lower) we can assume that they sell around a million tickets.

No, the competition comes from the Euromillions draw – still significantly lower, at around 7-8 million tickets per draw, but more than any other lottery game.

So, you’d think that Lotto, when looking to ‘refresh’ the games would focus on the competition, on distinguishing itself from the competition.

But instead it is emulating it.

Previously, you had a choice – Lotto, with a £1 stake got you a 1 in 14million chance of winning; and a 1 in 54 chance of winning a tenner. Euromillions, with a £2 stake got you a 1 in 144 million chance of winning, but a 1 in 23 chance of a couple of quid. You had a clear choice – Lotto for a lower stake but greater chance of winning the jackpot; Euromillions for a bigger jackpot, but a greater chance of winning something.

So, what changes has Lotto introduced?

Well, a couple of years ago, it doubled the stake. There is now no cost difference between Lotto and Euromillions.

Now they are lowering the chance of winning the jackpot by increasing the number of balls in play – idea being more rollovers, bigger jackpots.

And, they are introducing a lower prize tier, therefore increasing your overall chance of winning a couple of quid.

It is now almost undiscernible from Euromillions.

    

Stock photos

We all have them, don’t we – the friends who always pull the same face. You know the types – I’ve got many of them in my feeds.

There’s the chap who always pulls the wonky, slightly quizzical look that scrunches the nose up on one side as if he’s asking “do you know what I mean?”

There’s the one whose eyebrows are raised with eyes almost popping out, mouth open in a slightly-astonished smile, as though someone’s just stuck their finger up his bum for the first time but he’s actually quite enjoying it.

There’s the one who’s always got a slight scowl on his face and you can tell he’s going to be one of those pissy little queens who is always complaining about everything but particularly his lot in life and how it’s so unfair and why do bad things always happen to him (he’ll be one of those vigilantes who is outraged at everything).

Obviously there is the one who always pouts, the other who is so desperately quirky they always stick their tongue out of the corner of their mouth.

And then there’s the one who is very pretty and has a lovely but very plain and very repetitive smile – one that makes him seem dead behind the eyes. Always the same, head ever-so-slightly cocked to one side.

And that is part of the problem – I become immune. Because the expression is always the same it comes across as staged, painted. I wonder if they walk round like that all the time just in case they happen to be in the background of a photo.

Now, let me accept first that I’m no oil painting. I struggle with photos because I don’t like my face. My teeth are horrible for a start. I was born with too small a mouth (no jokes please) and they are all a bit squashed in, so I don’t like opening my mouth to smile in photos. This automatically makes my smile less genuine, and it’s difficult to imbue “smile” in the eyes without opening the mouth. Then there is my receding hairline and that my ears disappear, the fact that my beard/stubble is never at an optimum length and I can never get clothes to fit me because of my ridiculous proportions.

I’m very self-deprecating. Other people like the way I look; and yes I hear those saying those in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. But I’m not throwing stones at the way they look, I’m throwing it at the pose.

I also have to realise that – just as with myself – a LOT of people do not have body/image confidence. They don’t like having their photo taken at all, so I suppose I should at least give credit that they have at least managed to find their ‘photo face’ that they are happy. However this paragraph doesn’t really apply to the people I’m talking about with the pose. After all, the reason that I have noticed this as a problem is due to the propensity of photos – usually selfies – that they have posted.

I just want a bit of variety. I think what I really want is them to post fewer posed photos and more spontaneous ones – more of them actually enjoying what they are doing rather than stopping to post of photo of them only appearing to enjoy what they are doing.

But then this is coming from the man with a picture camera – always the taker, never the subject.

What about Windows

So, everybody’s excited for Windows 10. And with good reason; after all – this is the Windows that’s supposed to get it right, isn’t it?

What do I mean by that?

Well, Windows flip-flops between good and bad (at least, with the non-server, non-NT versions).

Windows 98 – good.

Windows ME – bad.

Windows XP – good.

Windows Vista – bad.

Windows 7 – good.

Windows 8 – bad.

(We have to remember that Windows 8.1 is essentially just a service pack update and not a full version.)

Now, why is this? Some would say it’s because they are trying to be too radical for their customers – that customers don’t really like change – they accept change when they can’t see it happening or if they feel it a choice they are making, but they don’t otherwise like losing what is familiar. That Windows changes are “not glacial” enough I don’t think works. This is technology and people still get excited by what is new; even when it is technology for the masses. It’s why most of us upgrade our phones every two years.

The reason seems to be more simple – they forget what Windows is about. They lose track and then they get reminded and go back to what they do best.

I’m going to ignore Windows ME here firstly because I didn’t use it (hardly anyone did) so have little understanding of the problems.

So we’ll kick off with Vista. How did Microsoft get it so wrong? Well, what they did was they looked at the competitors. You know how I love a good analogy? Well, let’s go running. When you’re running, when you’re at the front, you don’t look back. Sure, you need to be aware of where your competitors are, what they are doing, but you don’t do so by looking back. Otherwise you trip up.

And Microsoft was looking back at Apple.

When it launched Vista, everything was about the look, the design. Windows were animated – they popped, swished, wooshed, pinged – and they were translucent. Gone were the simple stylings of previous, everything was 3D rendered. It was a bit of a backlash over the Apple = cool, PC = boring adverts that had been around. But in doing so they forgot a couple of key things.

The vast majority of PCs were (indeed, still are) used for business purposes. This meant two things – they needed security and they needed performance. People didn’t really care how they were styled, so long as they did what you needed them to do. People didn’t care if the window wooshed out of the bottom left corner, so long as it didn’t crash the PC. People didn’t care if it popped as it dissolved into the bottom right corner (they actually didn’t want it to, it’s actually quite irritating in an open-plan office if everyone’s computer keeps popping) so long as the system didn’t get attacked by trojans. And that was the problem – they had concentrated so much on the styling they had forgotten about security and performance.

So, they went back to the drawing board, and created XP – styled very similarly to 98 actually.

Once bitten twice shy?

No. Because the markets were watching, chattering. Investors needed innovation; dynamism. Actually they didn’t – what investors wanted was for Microsoft to be more Apple. Apple was raking it in (it still is), Apple was the darling, Apple was mobile whilst Windows wasn’t. But as well as Apple, there was another runner – Google. Whilst Apple was popular hardware, Android is a far more popular OS. So, Microsoft looked over its should at what Android was doing – how it was doing touchscreen. Because tablets were going to be the next big thing – tablets were going to rule all, weren’t they?

I remember a lot of people getting very excited about iPads, although the few people that I know that still use them, either do so because either they feel a duty to get some use out of these very expensive little trays, or simple because the size makes them a little more portable. Anyhow, I think I’ve had a rant on tablets before.

Now, touchscreen works very well for certain things, but not for others – typing for example. I believe that with enough refinement, touchscreen could replace the mouse as an input device. However, unless there is a stratospheric improvement in handwriting recognition technology, it won’t replace a keyboard (even with handwriting recognition, there are many circumstances where a keyboard is quicker, or reduces the use of the screen ‘estate’).

And so it was that Microsoft got distracted by Google. Or Android, more particularly. And just as Android had apps, so Microsoft suddenly had apps. And widgets (cf. “Windows Live Tiles”) which were apps that told you a little bit of info (or maybe even allowed you to control basic functions). Android had a regulated grid layout, with apps or widgets allowed to occupy any combination so long as it was rectangular – Windows is ever-so-slightly more prescriptive of its Tiles and Live Tiles, but the logic is identical.

So, mobiles and tablets are challengers when you don’t need to write an essay – when all you need text-input for is to type a URL or enter a search term in Spotify. For anything more significant than that you need text input for a number of reasons: tactile feedback; how much of the screen estate keyboards take up; comfort of screen/keyboard separate manoeuvrability and visibility; and screen-smear being just a few.

Only, Microsoft forgot: most of its users are business users, people still feverently gripping their mouses – the people who made Blackberry big because it had a hardware keyboard. People who only tap the tile to open Word and Outlook and Internet Explorer. And they couldn’t find where they were. It was too flash, too radical, too Android for people. Fine – change our icons into Tiles, just remember that a lot of people still use the Start button to find things, just remember that on a laptop or a desktop, the screen is often further out of reach that the keyboard.

But just as the markets were chattering, so the critics were desperate to report the death of Microsoft. They missed out on predicting the death of Myspace, so were eager to have their c.v. emblazoned with the words “First analyst to predict the collapse of …”. Microsoft was – if you look at certain figures – losing market share. It still held the desktop and business OS crowns as well as for email clients (note, clients not services) and Office-type applications; but if you took Internet Explorer, Media Player, and its late entry into mobile, it was not the dominant force that the analysts were used to. And Microsoft had to respond to that – it had to follow.

And this is the thing – Microsoft is neither a follower nor a disrupter. It’s lovely, it sits quietly in the corner telling you that you want a ham sandwich and then offering you a ham sandwich. And this isn’t an organically-reared prosciutto with Andalusian gerkin and carefully-caressed jalapeno pepper piccalilli on seventeen-grain-yet-gluten-free-bloomer sanwich. It’s a ham sandwich – it does what it needs to very well whether it’s sat in your lounge or on your business buffet.

People have always needed Windows to be everything; but now they (and particularly the analysts and investors) need Windows 10 to be even more of everything. It needs to be 5 inches as much as 55 inches. It needs to be touch and type. Most of all, it needs to be a brand – a unique identity.

From what I’ve seen, the see-saw has correctly rocked back to a “good” product.

Ten years on

So, something struck me. Purely by chance I happened to look back.

I say purely by chance, it wasn't. I noticed that I'd hit 9000 page views. A lovely round number. So, I thought I'd see where that reckoned me over my 245 posts.

And so it came up - my first post was 11 July 2005; meaning the blog is today TEN YEARS OLD.

Now, I have to say that we have to ignore the fact that I posted a mere 19 posts before shutting off again for almost a full six years.

But anyway. From the first few days of the blog I saw a few startling things.

Firstly, was my almost glancing reference to the events of 7 July 2005. I don't mention the reason, just the date. If you need to know about the bombings on London public transport that killed 52 people within hours of the announcement that London would hold the 2012 Olympic Games, have a read on Wikipedia.

What I also manage to belittle is how close I was to being involved in the events of "seven/seven". Seventh July was a Thursday (I seem to erroneously refer to it being a Friday in my original post). I was involved in a court case in Leeds which was expected to last Monday to Wednesday, so I had booked Thursday and Friday as holiday - I needed to book Friday holiday to go to London, it just made sense to be out of the office all week and busy myself in London, living as I was then with my parents.

So I'd booked a train to arrive into London Kings Cross at 8:38 am. This would have meant me getting a tube probably ever so slightly before 8:50am.

The trial overran. I didn't travel on the Thursday - instead whilst I was having the 'unexpected' second lunch with Susie we were watching the events happen. I did go on the Friday though and was on the first train back into Kings Cross. My blitheness at reporting this I think comes from my want to minimise my claim to the day because so many other people have so much closer or more legitimate a claim to reference or ownership over that day.

Anyhow, you'll notice I was distracted by First Date. Well, First Date is now dead. One of the things I've noticed from my early blogs is how incoherent, distracted and basically assumed the reader had so much more knowledge than an ordinary chap may have. I obviously didn't read my previous post before writing the new one (though the same could be said of today).


First Date was a lovely, gorgeous chap called Steven Johnson. He was the first chap I met after splitting up with my ex and was exactly what I needed - pretty, funny and with no expectations. We tried to arrange another date before my Seychelles trip for my brother's wedding but couldn't; so when I got back I messaged him. It never quite happened. Then I saw him out on what was his 26th birthday. He was so beautiful. He bounced over to me, kissed me on the lips and told me it was his birthday. I kissed him back and wished him happy birthday. He said I should go back with him and I said if I and he were both still out at the end of the night then definitely. I bought him a drink then we each rejoined our friendship groups; still coyly glancing at each other. Then we each left the bar - him to go home with his housemate, me to carry on clubbing with my friends.

He didn't wake up the next morning.

He stopped breathing in his sleep.

This actually continues to devastate me perhaps an awful lot more than I let on. I know it's ten years ago, we weren't that close - some could say that because we never actually got to first date I am a one-nighter. But we weren't, we were friends. And he was always so happy to see me. It's also a very stark reminder of my own mortality. I know people die, my grandparents have all died; my parents regale me each week of a list of people in their village or that they worked with who have gone. But old people die - not 26 year-olds that you go clubbing with, get off with, wake up in bed with. If only I'd been in bed with him that night - like he wanted.

But what of the Ex? You may remember (and if not I'll helpfully post the link so you can read) that I was struggling with my Ex?

I don't think I ever explained. The Ex and I had dated for around 9 months (technically 2 stints of 4 months with one off in the middle). I met my Ex in August 2004, we dated, we went to Boston (the American one) and he spent the whole time there in a foul mood basically on the basis that it wasn't New York (he chose Boston over New York on the basis he'd been to New York already, he wanted to try Boston and my views didn't matter because I'd never been to America at all). We split up on return from Boston, but then - him getting needy before Christmas, me not having a strong enough will-power to resist - we got back together a few weeks before Christmas. 

Then, on Christmas day, my dad decided that we had to make the decision who was going to the Seychelles for my brother's wedding. Well, my Ex decided he was going and so that was that - his ticket was bought.

Within weeks the issues were there - his niggling, his aggravation, my general annoyance. Let's remember, though, that this is February - the coldest, darkest time of the year. I get bad in February, I know that.

But it didn't resolve itself; and by May he was annoying me more than ever. I was looking for a way out; but if I broke it off, morally I would be responsible for the cost of his ticket to the Seychelles. I was a trainee solicitor. So often I convinced myself that all I had to do was get through the holiday with him - enjoy it even - and then make a decision.

Anyhow, things came to a head on Friday 13th May 2005. That would make sense, wouldn't it? On the Saturday we had to go to his friend's wedding; but on the Friday I was on a course in Birmingham. He regularly moaned about having to have a weekend away every month - normally somewhere expensive (that's where Boston came in) but I tried to tie him down with cheaper, local alternatives. So on the basis I was in Birmingham on a Friday, it was somewhere different, we decided to get a hotel for the night.

Then happened what I will forever call the "catching the Ex giving someone else a blow job in a nightclub toilet in Birmingham" incident. It kind of speaks for itself.

The Ex was travelling to Birmingham but couldn't find the hotel. He kept repeatedly driving around the ringroad, unable to find the hotel. He kept repeatedly ringing me telling me how he was unable to find the hotel. I was no help as I didn't know Birmingham and I certainly didn't know where he was. Anyhow, he found the hotel and was alarmingly - disarmingly - calm about things. The Ex was never calm about things like these. But that day, he was.

Anyhow, we booked in to one of the eeriest converted lunatic asylums you've ever stayed in. The weekend was certainly going well. But, the hotel was easy walking distance of the gay scene, so we walked into the gay scene and had - until the Catching The Ex Giving Someone Else A Blow Job In A Nightclub Toilet In Birmingham incident - actually quite a nice night.

Towards the end of the night we were thinking of leaving. The Ex needed the toilet before we went so I was left holding the drinks. But then I started getting needy. Really needy. So I abandonned the drinks and went to the toilets too.

There was no-one at the urinals and only one of the cubicles was locked. This had to be the Ex - I'd seen him go to the toilets, I hadn't seen him come out. So I had my wee and then I thought I'd pop my head over the partition, see if he was ok.

He was more than ok.

So I left the club and went back to the hotel.

He started messaging me - asking me where I was. I didn't reply. Instead I contacted the night porter and informed him that my companion would not be staying the night but would be collecting his bags from reception which were outside the room. The night porter responded with "as if I don't have enough to do". I'm not sure how busy the life of a night porter is.

Next thing I know the Ex is pounding on the door, asking me to let him in. My response of "I saw you sucking that other guy's cock" was met with a few moments of silence, before the night porter emitted "come on mate, don't think you're staying in there tonight."

I turned off my mobile, I unplugged the hotel phone when he started ringing that. The next morning I texted him when I was safely on my train - told him to go to the wedding, just without me.

That night was weird. I was disappointed, and yet relieved. This got me out of the whole thing, scot free  (and holiday-refund free) - and yet he still had the bloody gall to cheat on me.

Anyhow, after splitting, he - and, to be fair, I - wanted to stay friends. I'm not a fan of having life-long enemies. However, he made it difficult. I used to pop in on my way home from work; but he always wanted sex. I exasperated this on Day Two. I think at that point, I had managed to put my foot down - refusing to see the Ex again because he only ever wanted sex.

And I've never seen him since.

We're friends on Facebook in the same way as I am friends with 400 or so people that I used to know. He's been in a long-term relationship with someone older than him for a good 9 years or so - so almost as soon as he split up with me. But the seem happy, so that's good.

(Just by way of information, he did give me a Pulitzer-Prize winning reasoning behind it - apparently the chap really fancied ME; wanted to get with me. My Ex informed him the only way this would happen was by way of threesome. Chap seemed happy with that plan, so my ex then had to determine that he was clean before even propositioning it to me. The only way to check the cleanliness was - obviously - an oral inspection). 

I've moved jobs three times and moved out of my parents' since then. I've been in my house 9 years now, albeit I am finally putting some finishing touches to the last room before I hopefully sell it and move to London - a long overdue move (more on this later).

I have college written down as a thing to update on, but it is kind of a given. I kept going to college, I got my AS in Psychology (B) but then they transferred the course to another campus so couldn't carry on.

The word terranomically still hasn't taken off, though to be fair I haven't really used it myself. Think astronomically, only not quite so melodramatic - only earth-shattering.

Otherwise (and I'm not doing a full retrospective here) you'll notice the blog is less personal. I think one of the reasons I struggled past post 19 was that it was there is only so much that you can say when you day involves the same, isolated car commute to work, the same (or, if different, so inherently microcosmically so that no-one would understand the difference without getting very quickly bored) day at work, the same trip home, and the same evening at home as every single other night (weekends excepted). My rants off on sexuality, technology, even branding and advertising, allow me to say something when otherwise I would perhaps have nothing else to say.

Obviously there are still the same old spelling, grammatical and syntax errors - there always will be. I'm either writing it on the move or when I've had a drink (or both); I can't be bothered to proof-read my own copy (and psychology says if you do, you will read what you think you wrote anyway). I do, however, think the posts are somewhat more coherent.

So, that's an update on the first few days from ten years ago...

Blog on!

Me and My Anxiety

So, yesterday I went swimming for the first time in two years.

And it was an early morning swim - as soon as the pool opened


Should be lovely, shouldn’t it? After all, I can swim. I used to do it regularly.


Only I got worked up.

I got worked up for a number of reasons – what if I missed my alarm? What if it was too busy? What if I mis-calculated the time I had to get out and had to rush for or miss my train? What about the actual swimming – what if I was too slow, or had forgotten how to do it? What if I had an incident and nearly drowned? What if I took my clothes off and was ugly?


Of course, none of this came to pass. I got up on time, was well organised, arrived at the pool 5 minutes before it opened, changed efficiently, picked the correct lane, swam appropriately fast, did my 100 lengths well in time without even a cough or splutter, got out and made it to the train well in time. And yet I’m intending on doing the same tomorrow and already I’m anxious.


You will recall that I used to lunchrun? My million metre target. Almost every day for 20 months I did this, almost every day for 20 months I got anxious at around 12:50. Similar anxiety – that I would take too long getting changed, not give myself enough time to run, that I’d look silly. I mean, for goodness sake – I ran on my own around reasonably secluded lakes, if I suffered any anxiety it should have been that I’d do myself a mischief and not be found for three days.


This morning I received a phone call from a withheld number. I was tempted to just let it go to answerphone; but that’s how it wins, how it gets worse. So – nervously – I answered. It was only my doctor giving me the phone number of the hospital for me to make an appointment. That will be a phone call which will give me anxiety when I have to make it – I’ve already put it off for 2 hours. What will I say? What if it’s not the correct department? What if I have to leave an answermachine message (I am notoriously bad at these because I panic, stutter, stumble and forget).


It seems to be getting worse, which worries me. I barely answer the phone at work unless I know the number. Even last night I got myself all anxious about doing DIY – I’m stripping the stairs of paint. I’ve been doing it for a few weeks now – a couple of hours a night, a couple of nights a week. But still I get anxious thinking about starting: getting changed, actually cracking on with the work.


Now, I realise fully that my suffering is nothing compared with some other people. Some people suffer panic attacks that see them hospitalised or passing out. Some people find their anxiety so debilitating that they cannot leave the house. Currently I’m able to grow a pair of balls and just knuckle down and get it done – there are people that can’t do that, or at least not unmedicated.


The problem is if it gets worse. As I say, I avoid answering the phone at work. Unfortunately in my workplace conference calls spread worse than the most contagious rash. I’ve tried explaining that I prefer doing things over email – giving me the time to consider the implications of the changes being made – but they insist upon conference calls to get the matter sorted quickly. Fortunately I can usually sit back and let someone else take the lead, but sometime it is something I have to do and it makes me stressed.


Anyhow, I have to go and make that call…