And if I should become a stranger you know that it would make me more than sad.

I've never been very good at keeping in contact with people. I'm going for a drink on Friday with a mate I haven't seen for seven years! A lot has changed since I left sixth form, we might not get on any more, he might be a dick now (unlikely), he might think I'm a dick (more likely). Unless I see somebody face-to-face I find it difficult to speak with them. How does a phone conversation actually work? Once you get past, 'Alright mate, how are you?' where does it go from there? I suppose you're meant to talk about what you've been up to but as I've said before, I'm a terrible story teller. No, talking on the phone doesn't work for me.

We live in a world of technology and social networking, it's easy to send somebody a message to say 'Hi' and to basically let them know you're alive. But FB messaging isn't real conversation is it? It's not like anyone's ever told their best friends that they have MS via Facebook... Bollocks. No, text/FB/whatever new types of messaging the cool kids are using today isn't the way to keep in touch.

I often think it would be good if everyone I knew (and liked!) lived in the same area. I think Michael Owen once bought a full street in Liverpool for his friends and family. I don't know how that worked out, I imagine they were mostly Scousers so it was probably crime ridden and unpleasant. (I've only ever met about five Scousers in my life and they were all nice but let's not allow the facts to get in the way of an almost half decent joke.)

And then I remember uni when we were all living so closely together and how many dramas that created. It was like Eastenders at times, if it was to be put on TV I'd call it Bellenders and I admit occasionally I was the bellend. No, everyone living together wouldn't work.

FaceTime seems like the answer to my problems. But it's not, it's awkward. It's like speaking on the phone but you can't move around as easily, I can't lie upside down from a chair as I sometimes do on the phone. I don't fancy many of my mates (one of the exceptions is Matt obviously), why would I want to see them online? And what's the dress etiquette? I don't have a lot going for me at the moment, I do usually look presentable though. (Actually I usually look amazing.) But if I'm in the house I'm normally in shorts and a vest top, and I don't have the arms to look good in a vest top, do I have to get changed before FaceTime-ing? I'm probably overthinking things but that's just because I'm really thoughtful and that's a nice thing. No, FaceTime isn't for me either.

The best, and seemingly only, thing is to meet up. That's difficult though. The lads are living in Swindon, Cardiff, Manchester and Leeds. (I'm classing you as Manchester Tom so as not to embarrass you about living in Warrington.) Finding a weekend when we're all free is rare and the majority of us have to do a fair bit of travelling. I invite them up to Sunderland but it's not exactly a weekend in Vegas. I live at home with my parents and Sunderland is an average night out on a good day.

I'm running out of ways to speak to friends now. Writing a letter is a bit old school (and as Victoria and Jonny will attest I can't really write very well), sending an email is a bit formal (and a lot of people don't even check their inbox, junk mail has seen to that. Apparently a pretty Russian girl is interested in me but even with the penis enlargement I've been offered I fear I'd be a disappointment. Unless she just wants to spoon of course.) and even though I'm really good at telepathy nobody else I know can do it so it would be a one-way conversation.

And so I write this blog. It's not perfect, there's no theme (Is nonsense a theme?) and it's often seemingly pointless. But it does tell people that I'm okay. I know a lot of people read it, somme send me messages and some read anonymously, and that is comforting. As the title suggests, I'd hate to become a stranger to my friends. They mean an incredible amount to me and the (sometimes much too little) interaction we do have is what I live for. I love you everyone!

(A slightly emotional ending yes but whatever you do don't ring me, it's fucking awkward.)

(And the title is a lyric from The Road to Home by Amy MacDonald. It's about somewhere in Scotland I've never been but if you ignore that it's a beautiful song. Not all songs should be taken literally, I don't think Bob Marley ever actually shot the sheriff.)

The music sounds better with you.

I recently listened to an episode of The Infinite Monkey Cage which discussed music; how it started and what is its purpose. I wasn't particularly interested in the science bit, apparently birds use music as a form of communication. I assume they meant birds of the feathered variety, girls in my life tend to communicate by talking to or ignoring me. If a girl played Leave (Get Out) by JoJo (great song) then I would probably get the message that she didn't really want me there though. Anyway, it got me thinking about what music means to me.

I have remarkably little musical talent. A bloke I know likens musical ability to a muscle, it needs to be trained rather than something which is there naturally. I'm sure that is true but there needs to be some potential in the first place. And anyway, I've never been what anybody would describe as muscular, likening musical ability to speaking a lot of nonsense would be a far better analogy for me, I'm not naturally this stupid you know. If I were to get up on stage I think I'd play the tambourine, my tremors would assist with that. Or the maracas but there is a high probability that I'd get overly enthusiastic, lose my balance and fall over. A lot like when I have a beer.

Yet for somebody with such little discernible talent, music means a lot to me. My taste is absolutely incredible (of course it isn't, I'm nowhere near cool enough), I listen to it almost constantly and I find I can relate to many songs. (Only really deep and meaningful songs though, like Sam and the Womp, Bom Bom.) 

I think the reason it is so important to me though is that music has the ability to make and rekindle memories. I associate songs and artists with different times in my life and consequently with different people in my life. 

Some very random examples:

1) Mary Chapin Carpenter, Stones in the Road: My mam often played this when we were driving home from my nana and grandad's so it makes me think of them.
2) Frank Turner: Makes me think of uni and also Bestival where I left a Boys Noize set at about 2AM to go and see him on another stage. Suffice to say I was off my face.

3. Taylor Swift, 22: I listened to the radio when I ran and this song got loads of airtime for awhile. I loved running.

4. Dido: Reminds me of my best mate (Will). I'm not really sure why, she just does.

5. Iggy pop, The Passenger: I went to Dublin for St Patrick's Day a few years ago and this was played in Cathal's car.
6.Rhianna, We Found Love: Reminds me of pulling a girl I shouldn't really have been pulling. It certainly wasn't love we found but it was a decent night.

Far from the most eclectic range of music and not a great reflection on even my music tastes. None of those artists would make my Desert Island Discs (maybe MCC) but they all lead me to recall memories and people* and that is why music is so amazing.

Like most experiences in life, music is best when you share it with others. The music really does sound better with you.

* In case you're wondering how Taylor Swift, 22 reminds me of someone then: I vividly remember this song playing when I was running in Manchester in autumn 2012. It was during Fearne Cotton's show and so it reminds me of her. I hope we never meet. Why? Because I have morals and I would never want to split a family up but I am almost certain that if we were to meet, she would realise we are destined to be together. I love Fearne Cotton. (Is 25 too old to still have celebrity crushes?)

Like A Rolling Stone

This blog should really be titled The Times They Are A-Changin' but I'd rather use my favourite Bob Dylan song instead. I'm sure I'll find a tenuous link as this goes on.

Humans are very good at adapting to change. We all originated from the same place (Africa or the Garden of Eden depending on how gullible you are) and we have spread throughout the world, living in different climates and with different diets. We'll probably even find a way to occupy ourselves now that the Olympics has finished. We're not always so good at making changes by choice though. We all have our habits and our routines and sometimes it is difficult to break these. (Like a rolling stone trying to change direction. Okay, that was crap. I'll try harder.)

I have quite an addictive personality. If I do something I enjoy or I think is good for me then I feel compelled to do it as often as possible. (My addiction is to exercise by the way. I realise an addiction to heroin or sex would make for better reading for you in the case of the former and indeed considerably more pleasurable living for me in the case of the latter.) I'm not particularly good at choosing to make a change (Why should I? I'm kinda great.) but being human I can adapt to forced change. That is something I never thought I could do when I was first diagnosed. This blog would have been a much less enjoyable read if I had started it two years ago. (Or much more unenjoyable depending on your opinions of it!) 

This is a poem I wrote in the first few months following my diagnosis. (It didn't take me months, I just can't put a date on it. It's pretty brilliant but not quite three month's work.)

I knew him once, a short time ago,
We drifted quickly, now time goes slow.

He was young, full of dreams,
I feel old, empty it seems.

I see him now on the other side,
I'm stood here held by the tide.
We'll meet again when I am free,
Once I was he now he is me.

Cheery eh? At that point I was in a much better physical condition than I am now but I was much less happy, much more scared. As far as I was concerned my life was over.

And now? I've adapted. I will never accept having MS in its current form but in the interim before I improve I can survive with it. I considered writing another verse to reflect my feelings now but I am more of a limerick man these days.

Then I could run and use a knife and fork,
I'm less able now but can joke and talk.

I hope to overcome this hex,

Be able to jump and have sex.

The best of both worlds, I will laugh and walk.

I'm still scared but I have hope which I did not have before. I can get back those things I miss doing so much but perhaps the person I was would never have developed into the person I am.

If we cannot choose to change then sometimes it is best if change is forced upon us. Maybe. If I get better! Times change, we must change with them.

'Like a Rolling Stone'? Right, Mick Jagger is a founding member of The Rolling Stones. Over the decades the lineup of the band has changed numerous times and often for the better. So it (Whatever 'it' is, bear with me I'm nearly finished.) is just like a Rolling Stone, Mick Jagger to be precise. Things change and you just have to ride with it. (His partner has changed numerous times and I imagine he has ridden all of them too.)

I promised you the link would be tenuous and you should know by now that it would also be nonsense.

Karma police

I often think about karma, whether I believe in it and whether I think it is fair. I had a seemingly pretty karma filled weekend so I thought I'd write my opinions on it. They're not the musings of a celebrated philosopher mind so I wouldn't read too much into them.

I certainly don't believe in reincarnation as a form of karma. I am me and can only be justifiably punished or rewarded for my actions in this life. And some people are the embodiment of evil, they do not deserve to live again no matter what the circumstances. (I'm talking about for example well educated terrorists, those who do the radicalising of disenfranchised young people rather than selfie stick users and the like.)

When I'm feeling sorry for myself (Monday-Friday, 9-5. Who says I don't have a full time job?) I sometimes think of any immoral actions I have done in my life and whether they justify my current condition. In short, no they do not! When I was a student I often put broccoli through as carrots on the self service checkout because it was slightly cheaper. (I know, what sort of student eats broccoli?!) That's not exactly crime of the century, I knew a girl at uni who put an electric toothbrush through as some apples. I'm sure I've done some more morally questionably actions over the years (I know I have!) which I'll not mention but they don't justify me getting MS either.

I asked a friend on Saturday if she believes in karma and she said she does. (Siri originally put 'she cooks' there. Anyone who knows anything about Kirsty knows that to be incorrect.) I said I struggled with the idea because I don't understand why I have MS. She offered another way of looking at it, rather than thinking of the bad I have done to cause MS, instead consider the good that has come from it. She said I have numerous qualities now that I did not have beforehand. I think what she meant is that I could be a bit of a miserable twat beforehand whereas now I'm just a bit of a twat. (Only in the best and most endearing ways of course, like sarcasm and wit.) Charming she is not but I like that approach to karma all the same. (And I acknowledge my drunk chat really needs improving.)

Some good has come from me getting MS. I have grown as a person. (I've put on about 10kgs but I do occasionally look past appearance and consider personal qualities too.) I'm much more comfortable with who I am and resultingly much more self confident. (Some might argue too self confident but they're just jealous because I'm better looking than they are.) I've also transformed from an introvert to an extrovert. I feel very self-conscious about my condition in public and to mask this I joke about it and try to act relatively care free. And I have come to learn that speaking to people and being perfectly content with the person you are (I'm Patrick and I'm class by the way.) actually makes you happy. I will be happier still once my condition improves but I will never lose these character traits.

Perhaps karma does exist but not always in the ways we expect or would like.

As for my karma-ful weekend? I was originally intending to go to Cardiff with the lads but it has been apparent for a while now that I'm not really strong enough. I was pretty gutted to miss it because we don't see enough of each other. But it did mean I was in Sunderland and could go to the live music night at Fausto on Friday which was excellent as always.

And Kirsty said she could come up on the Saturday. That meant curry and lots of drinking so all was fair. Come Sunday Kirsty was massively hungover, I felt okay and that was fair as well because she laughed at me when I fell over at about two in the morning outside of a bar which was definitely caused by MS and not because I was at all drunk. 

I spent most of the day laughing at/annoying her (I thought everybody liked Brush Your Teeth by Lady Leisha.) and karma has once again proved itself as I feel terrible today (Monday). Unlike Kirsty yesterday though I have at least been able to get out of bed before half five in the evening and been slightly productive which again is only fair because I'm a better person than she is.

Some people are just nice.

I'd like to propose to you an investment opportunity, or to phrase it differently an opportunity to change your lives for the better.

I have been diagnosed with MS and resultingly unemployed for over two years now. Throughout I have thought that I need to use my abundant amount of free time productively. And now I have done that, and what a product. Let me introduce to you the Selfie Prick.

The idea for this invention came when my sister received in the post a selfie stick which she is using on holiday in America with her boyfriend. I fulfilled what I believe to be my moral obligation and called them a pair of wankers. But I didn't feel this was justice enough, it's not as though the only punishment for murder (another immoral act) is to be called a rude word. And so I invented the Selfie Prick.

I'm sure it has become apparent by now that I do not approve of selfie sticks. Should you insist on taking a selfie then we, the human race, have been blessed with arms. Simply extend your arm and take the photo yourself. And in most situations you could always ask somebody to take a photo for you. Conversation is a dying art, not all strangers are thieves, muggers or worse. (Nor indeed are all strangers as bonkers as I am.) Some people are just nice. (A quote from Thou Shalt Always Kill by Dan Le Sac vs Scroobius Pip which gives some excellent life advice, apart from the killing bit at the end.)

The Selfie Prick is much like a selfie stick in that it has an extendable arm and collapses into a pocket sized, lightweight device when not in use. Now for the good bit, rather than a phone holder at the end of the arm there is a sharp needle. The idea being that when you see somebody using a selfie stick you immediately extend your Selfie Prick and jab them with it. I know, genius isn't it?

I proposed this idea to a friend (Katy) and she immediately shot it down, claiming it would classed as ABH (actual bodily harm) if you were to poke a stranger with a needle. I disagree, but should anyone be arrested for this I would use some of the investment to pay for their bail. Criminal acts are superfluous when committed as an act of moral duty.

Once the Selfie Prick has established itself in the market I already have numerous ideas of complimentary products. For example, a scoring card, 10 points for a jab in the arm, 20 for in the tummy and 50 if you make them cry, that sort of thing.

I have no doubt this product will sell extremely well and hopefully it will improve society. Instead of running the risk of being jabbed by a needle, simply ask someone to take a photo of you. Remember, some people are just nice. (And if they are a thieving toerag and try to run off with your camera, extend the arm on the Selfie Prick and stab it in their heads. Dual purpose!)

All investments welcome, together we can make the world a better place.

PS: If you own a selfie stick and are a little confused then I am morally obliged to tell you that you are in fact a wanker.

PPS: I could really do with the money. This week I treated myself to a magnifying glass. A posh, electronic magnifying glass machine thing. It cost £1995. What does it do? Allows me to read. That money was intended to take me around South East Asia for three months and then on to Australia. Until now I have not touched the money I had saved to go travelling, I was going to buy lottery tickets with it but my mam said I wasn't allowed and given I live at home pretty much rent free and she doesn't set many rules I resisted. I've managed to go without redoing anything other than my iPad for about two years now and whilst this device will come in useful I've only decided to buy it so I can read a book about poker I've bought. Basically my career as a poker player hasn't even started and I'm two grand down.

Time is contagious and everybody's getting old.

(The title is a lyric from Coconut Skins by Damien Rice. I first started listening to him in my first year at university when a girl I was quite close to played it. Nothing much happened with us, she had a boyfriend (story of my life) and liked getting high considerably more than I did. I was sick on her bed once, we slept in my room that night instead. A lot has changed since then but I am still the perfect gentleman and I am still a pathetic drinker. I’ve no idea what she's up to now, probably still speaking Russian and wearing skirts.)

I've never been bothered about getting older. 16 was cool because I could then play the lottery and buy cigarettes. (Still waiting on the jackpot and I've never bought nor indeed smoked a cigarette in my life like). 18 was essential because I'm an August birthday and looked about 12 until I was 20 so could never go out drinking with mates until I had ID. (Having a baby in August by the way is a bit mean. It's in the middle of the six weeks holidays so when you're like six you can't have your friends round for a birthday party because you don't have their phone numbers and then when you're 17 you watch on with jealousy as all your mates start to turn 18 and can go out properly. Luckily for her my mam is class so I have forgiven her.) I didn't care about turning 20, as The Courteeners say, 'You're not 19 forever' and I barely acknowledged turning 21, I went for a run, went for a walk and received a camera to take with me when I was travelling. (Meant to be travelling.)

But I turn 25 next week and I'm dreading it. I don't like the number (the maths geek/OCD weirdo in me doesn't really like multiples of 5) and it feels like a milestone age. The sort of age when you assess where you are in life. And I'm nowhere. The sort of age when you become one of those people you once mocked and make a five year plan. Most 25-year-olds would include things like getting on the property ladder, marrying, kids, that sort of thing. What would mine be? Be able to use cutlery again? Be able to walk properly? Be able to control my bladder properly? That's a five year plan for a baby. (At least I've got talking nailed down, although my sister would probably say at times it would be better if I hadn't. But who cares what she thinks?)

If you're only as old as you feel I haven't a clue what age I am. Physically I feel like an 80-year-old. (I'd like to think I look a lot better than that mind.) In terms of independence I feel like a lazy 15-year-old with a fake ID. I can go out and about okay but I can't cook for myself, can't take my own dog for a proper walk and can't help much around the house. (My jobs are to load and empty the dishwasher, many a plate/bowl/cup/glass has been smashed, and to empty the bins on bin day.) This may sound like a good arrangement but I love cooking, I love walking and I am a bit of a clean freak. (OCD again.) And mentally I transcend the age groups. I'm quite philosophical and often a very deep thinker, however my thoughts closer to the surface are usually total nonsense. (Would you rather be Mr Bump or Mr Tickle? Tough one. If Mr Tickle can choose when and who he tickles then him. If he can't there is a lot of potential to end up on the sex offenders' register. Perhaps such a register does not exist in the land of the Mr Men and Little Miss but that doesn't change the fact that it would be immoral to go around touching up strangers. And if morals didn't exist in this land I'm not sure I'd want to be a Mr Man at all. Anyway, I have very long arms which shake around of their own accord so I would be very good as Mr Tickle but equally I fall over a lot so I'd be an excellent Mr Bump.)

Most of my mates have turned 25 (many are much older, shout out to Mr Moore) and they all seem pretty content with life. I remember speaking to a woman I quite fancied on holiday last year who assured me your 30s are pretty good as well. (She also said her 40s had been good so far, in my defence she still had a cracking figure and looked pretty good for 40 something. And anyway, I was on holiday with my mam, it was hardly a lads holiday on the pull. And she had a husband, see what I mean about having a thing for taken women?) So, what's to look forward to in the coming years?

I guess I actually have much more to look forward to than most 25 year olds. The first such thing is to see an improvement in my physical condition after the bone marrow transplant. Sadly that will take some time and is far from a guarantee so the next year and a half will probably be mostly filled with anxiousness and frustration. But hopefully I will get better and I can look forward to the things I miss so much. Going for a walk is the thing I miss most. 

"Above all do not lose your desire to walk. Everyday I walk myself into a state of well being and walk away from every illness. I have walked myself into my best thoughts and I know of no thought so burdensome that one cannot walk away from it. Thus if one keeps on walking everything will be all right."

Soren Kierkegaard 

This quote meant a lot to me in the years preceding my diagnosis and still does. MS is not an illness I can simply walk away but if I could walk properly I'd give it a hell of a good go. The fact I cannot go for a walk upsets me every day and I cannot imagine anything that will give me greater pleasure in the coming years than walking uninhibited. (Walking is not a sport though. I love the Olympics but the 20KM walk, really? The 'athletes' look like a duck on ecstasy waddling about in fast forward.)

And then once I am stronger I still have all the things normal people have to look forward to. Moving out of my parent's house, returning to employment, being able to socialise more easily and less self-consciously, meeting 'the one', having children, enjoying life once again. (And hopefully more short term, as I said, I'm still waiting on that jackpot win.)

I suppose turning 25 isn't that bad after all. It's just another day and every day gone is a day closer to me realising these prospects.

Okay, only because you're all asking. My birthday is Tuesday 23rd August. I like Desperados or Corona and my favourite chocolate is 100% dark. (Admittedly I prefer drinking green tea and eating veg but that's not exactly celebratory. I think I only prefer those lagers because I can stick a bit of lime in the bottleneck.)

I don't know.

Have you ever seen The Talented Mr Ripley? Well I haven't, but I did see a very short clip of it the other day and a character said, 'Everybody has one talent, what's yours?' I'm fairly certain the film is fictional but I think that line rings true in real life as well. (You can have more than one talent mind. Look at Kanye West, he's talented with music, fashion, being future president, everything.) So what's my talent? I'm incredibly good looking, extremely intelligent and absolutely hilarious but I don't think they're talents as such.(Oh, and of course I'm unimaginably sarcastic but that's definitely not a talent, if anything it just makes me a bit of an arrogant idiot, see previous sentence.)

I have a lot of good personal qualities and there are things I'm decent at doing but nothing which I'd say I am talented at. I used to be the self titled Risotto King but given I haven't used a kitchen knife for over a year now and if I tried to stir anything in a pan it'd only ended up on the floor (Tremors!) I don't think this is my talent right now. (I hope not anyway!) So assuming this fictional film isn't lying to me I have an undiscovered talent! That's very daunting in some respects, I'm getting old, when will I find said talent? (Should I apply for Britain's Got Talent now and hope I've found it by the time the audition comes around or wait until my talent has revealed itself?) On the other hand, it's very reassuring. I haven't made my millions yet, I haven't even got a job!

There is a lot of uncertainty. Do I have to find my talent or will it reveal itself? Do we go Dutch and meet in the middle? I'm visually impaired , what if my talent has revealed itself and I didn't see it? What if I can't find it? What if the film is lying?

I suppose the only thing I can do is try new things, see what I'm good at. My first such attempt will be trying my hand at poker. (Pun very much intended.) It's a game centred around maths, probability and statistics which is something I used to be good at so we'll see how I fair.

Let me be the first to acknowledge this blog has been absolute nonsense for the most part. I'm sorry if you've wasted your time in reading it but in my defence I'm really bored! Maybe writing utter bollocks is my talent? Maybe I should become a journalist for The Sun?

The title of this blog by the way is a song by Lisa Hannigan. It's beautiful, check it out and then this hasn't been a total waste of time for you.