Scream if you wanna go faster baby.

AAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH! If only it was that easy. Not the best of songs either, the Spice Girls were proof that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. I've just Google Image searched them (Leave me alone, I'm bored.) and they looked horrendous! I'm pretty sure I looked cooler than that in the late 90s. In fact I know I did because there is a photo of me in a luminous green Diadora t-shirt. Beckham definitely chose the right one mind. (Of course he did, he's perfect.)

I find myself wishing my life away. Everyone does it to an extent, living for the weekend, willing payday to come sooner, counting down the days until a holiday. It'd be nice to live in the moment but since it's rubbish at the moment I might as well think about the future.

Everything takes sooo long, I feel like I'm in a never ending queue. The British are said to be very good at queueing and it's a good job, let's just say if I was French there'd be a lot of shouting and throwing of beréts. But I'm not, I'm British, so I don't say anything to anybody who could possibly help and instead I just whinge about it in private. It's nice to be nice but unfortunately I think it's probably more productive to be a complete twat.

It's coming up to 6 months since the stem cell transplant and I barely notice any difference. I saw Babs, or Barbara to her face, last week and she said she could see improvements. One of those was in my voice but I hadn't even realised there was a problem with that in the first place. (And I still can't sing. And Siri still doesn't have a clue what I'm saying half the time. And well done you if you said, 'The problem with your voice is that it talks.' Very original.) I saw the physio as well and she's given me some exercises but it's hard to believe they'll help much with my walking. It feels about as productive as putting a plaster on an neck which has had its head chopped off. And the wait goes on for deep brain stimulation. I sound like a broken record but actually I'm much worse, I'm a broken person!

It would be good if you could fast forward, rewind, pause and play life. It took me until the end of that sentence to realise that already has a name, time travelling. Did any of you watch that documentary series Bernard's Watch? (I'm pretty sure it was a documentary. And the Queen's Nose 50p coin exists as well right?) I'd like one of those watches and I'd use it for better things than Bernard ever did, he would pause time if he forgot his homework or something. (And because I was a bit of a geek at school I never forgot my homework so wouldn't need the watch for that anyway. That's right kids, stick in at school, do your homework and maybe you too can become an unemployed 25-year-old living with your parents.)

I wouldn't abuse my new found time travelling capabilities, I'd just travel a few months into the future. It would be a bit like starting a book at chapter 2, I still want mysteries ahead but I'm not really bothered about all this scene setting before anything really gets going. (Or if you're not a reader, a bit like starting a relationship in bed. None of the flirting, texting, dating before you even get to see her boobs.)

There was a slogan on the wall at the gym I used to go to which said, 'The journey is more important than the destination.' What a load of bollocks, journeys consist of waiting around, getting tired from doing nothing and playing I spy. Whatever my destination is it had better be worth this journey. And there had better be boobs.

Does that make me crazy? Does that make me crazy? Does that make me crazy? Possibly.

I'm getting a tattoo. Nothing crazy about that. Why am I getting it? So I can't go swimming for a week. That's pretty strange.

I'm not good at resting, I'll only do it if I have no choice. I broke my foot at the beginning of 2013 because I was running too much. (Served me right, who runs 12 miles at 6am on New Year's Day? Not me, I broke the foot after about ten miles so had to hobble back home.) That was the only thing that stopped me running for a few months. (But I didn't let them put my foot in a cast, I told them I was flying to Dubai the next day (I wasn't) so they gave me a moon boot instead. With that and crutches I could still walk/swing about a few miles a day at least.) I can do less than one percent of the activity I used to but I do as much as I can every day and it exhausts me. 

I'm like a person who is £100 more in debt at the end of each month, I'm living beyond my means. I only swim (splash about trying not to drown) for about 25 minutes a day but sadly that is enough to tire me. And I insist on going on my bike about four times a day, only for 10 minutes at a time but again this is enough to tire me. I do this every day and the cumulative effect is that I'm constantly weak. Really all I want to be able to do is to walk properly again and the cycling and swimming just inhibit this. (Well, obviously I want to be able to do more than just walk properly but it'd be a good start.)

So being the logical, straightforward thinker that I am I figured if I get a tattoo then I will not be able to swim for a week and the rest will do me good. Obviously I could still swim but then the tattoo would be ruined and I care too much about my body to allow this to happen. That's not vanity, that's taking pride in my appearance. (And I'm a bit vain as well so I definitely won't go swimming.)

(I'm sure a lot of you will be thinking, 'You can't care that much about your appearance, tattoos are rubbish.' I'm not sure I actually disagree with that but as I say, a rest will do me good.)

I've always said that if I were to ever get a tattoo it would have to mean something to me. Assuming I don't get a tattoo of Bamboleo plastered across my forehead (And you can assume that!) one of my options is a lyric I like. Coldplay are my favourite band but most of their songs are about falling in, being in or falling out of love. None of those apply to me so I'm not getting a lyric about a fantasy girl put on me. (And it's a bit gay even if the girl existed.) (Even more gay than getting a lyric tattooed on me in the first place that is.)

So  I've decided to go for:

Hold it in now let's go dancing
I do you believe we're only passing through.

It's a lyric from Time is Dancing by Ben Howard, I think I've used it as a previous blog title. The mantra I take from the lyric means a lot to me and helped me come to terms with my diagnosis.

Next to the quote I am getting a picture of a pebble. (I know, this is sounding more and more rubbish.) The pebble is from the beach in Sunderland, I took it to London with me and held it as I had the stem cell transplant. It comforted me then and reminds me of what I once had and of what I am striving to have again.

This might be an early midlife crisis, I'm not sure. It might look crap. I might regret it. A lot (most?) of you will be thinking, 'That sounds shit.' (Danny I know you definitely will!)

I'm not really bothered. The inside of my forearm has never been my best feature anyway. (There's nothing wrong with it but it doesn't compare to my amazing face.) Really the only potential problem is that I need to figure out how the fuck to dance.

And if it's that bad then I will just get it removed at some point and that would mean another rest. I'm a genius sometimes.

Let's Push Things Forward

A track by The Streets from Original Pirate Material. That's one of the best albums since the turn of the century so I wanted to use a lyric from that as a blog title but most of the tracks are about getting drunk, taking drugs and shagging birds [sic] and I don't think that is an entirely accurate reflection of my current activities. I was going to use the lyric, 'I excel in both content and deliverance so let's put on our classics and we'll have a little dance, shall we?', from the same track but that goes beyond sarcasm and into falsehood. (Only because I'm not much of a dancer, obviously everything I say is amazing.)

I'm bored! Not in a nothing to do right now kind of way but in a nothing to do ever kind of way. I do stuff to pass the time but I'm not going anywhere. I live in a bubble and it's not a glamorous champagne bubble, it's more akin to a dying bubble in a flat bottle of Lambrini. Tasty. (That's no reflection on the friends and family I do see by the way, I enjoy their company muchly!) I need to start pushing things forward in life.

What I really want is a job. Working is much like growing up with a sibling. They are a total nuisance at times but really you know you wouldn't choose to be without them. And in fact it's better, in most jobs you work within a team so you get a bit of chat, which is more than my sister ever gave me! It's the social interaction of working that I crave so much.

Why don't I get a job? Tremors. It's difficult to explain how debilitating they are. Sat still I don't shake but as soon as I come to do something my arms and hands are uncontrollable. Imagine you're stood naked at the South Pole. My tremors are comparable to the amount you'd be shivering. To liven up this scene you can imagine that you're speaking to a penguin, after all I have Bamboleo. But no spooning with a friendly polar bear for warmth, that's cheating.

Before anyone will pay me to work I need to lose the tremors. I'm still on the waiting list for deep brain stimulation. (That 'non-invasive' brain surgery that takes six hours and involves drilling through my skull and putting wires in me.) The doctors are hoping to do that early next year, I don't know why it takes so long, it's only brain surgery, not exactly rocket science is it? (https://youtu.be/THNPmhBl-8I) There's no guarantee that will help the tremors either, it's used mainly for Parkinson's disease. I'll just have to go into it with an open mind (literally) and hope for the best.

Today I have sorted some voluntary work though and I'm delighted! It's with Sunderland Mind. Mind is a national charity which aims to help people with, and remove the stigmas attached to, mental health problems. It'll only be for a few hours a week initially, I'm starting with the writing group and the men's group. I could pick up some tips myself at the writing group and I'll be able to find out what men talk about at the other. Maybe I'll be able to grow a beard then? (I would then immediately shave it off coz I don't like beards but it would be nice to be able to have one.)

I'm also seeing a neurological physiotherapist next week. I'm pretty sure that I have a greater range of movement in my right knee but it feels very unnatural so when I walk I tend to swing my leg rather than lift it from the knee. (Much like a pirate with a wooden leg. Except I don't have a parrot.). I need to relearn how to walk properly as I have become accustomed to a lot of bad habits with my walking over the last 18 months so this will probably be quite difficult. Apparently you should set yourself (achievable) targets. My aim is to walk a mile comfortably and continuously. You have to walk a mile in somebody else's shoes to know how they feel and I might try and steal a pair of Natalie Portman's shoes, I bet she feels really nice.

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.