whatleydude

I’m growing a ‘tache.
For charity.
A men’s health charity in fact.

And I would love love love it if you could sponsor me. It’s easy really, click through and hit the ‘donate’ button. £1, £10 or even £100; all are welcome.

My Mum sponsored me a tenner, and left me a comedy limerick:

A moustache is a way to donate.
But remember the food on your plate,
when eating your food,
take care now, you dude
and don’t let the crumbs be your fate.

My sister, not to be outdone, did the same (both on the tenner and poem front):

I heard you’re trying to raise a stash,
by growing a handlebar ‘tash.
But remember, when you’re through,
The Village People may kidnap you
and make you dance YMCA for cash!!

Thing is about my family, they’re a competitive bunch and, well, my Mum came back again!
Mum, over to you…

A man whose moustache looked a fright
Was OK till he went out at night
when out came the moon
The girls they did swoon
then screamed when he turned on the light

A man who liked to drink gin
Grew a ‘tash that was long & quite thin
It wasn’t a joke
when, like a sponge, it did soak
& his glass had nothing left in!

A man who ate lots of goulashes
Had a ‘tash that was made of eyelashes
It fluttered each day
in quite a good way
But the glue gave him lots of red rashes.

A man wearing jeans colour RED !
Wanted a moustache to match (he once said).
He dyed it quite bright
and thought he’d done right
but he stopped the traffic instead

A man down in Maida Vale way
Grew a moustache that helped him portray
the man that he is
all Whatley & whizz
And the rest – well I shouldn’t say!

Amazing. Lost for words really.. Grinning, but lost for words.
They’ve donated, you should too.

Thanks all.

My favourite season.

Bring it on.

This happened, but I feel it needs elaboration. Below is exactly how I remember it.
It was …an incredible dream.

In darkness, I shouted over the noise of our transport - 

“Go! Go quickly! Race to the end of that hill’s corner and then stop. Dead. Do not – I REPEAT – do NOT keep going. Stop, as soon as you get there. Trust me. Go now!”

I saw the outlines of nodding silhouettes as the sky turned a deep blue, “We don’t have much time, go NOW!” 

Racing, heart-pounding, we drove across the track. Corner one, clear. Dipping, downhill, speed increasing and then, I saw it. The first ray of sun revealing what had been there this whole time. Our planetary rings, silent in darkness, suddenly deafening by their over-whelming presence. Back up the hill. Out of the valley, into the corner and stop. Hard. 

Breaking, the dirt shifting under the tracks below. We come to a standstill. On the edge of the cliff and as one, we look up. The first sunrise in twenty-seven years and we’re here, to bathe in its infinite glory. 

The light dances and shines as it pours across the asteroid belt. The deceptively rough lines, crying out as they soak themselves in long-forgotten rays of luminescent nectar. 

We can only stare, transfixed, in awe of nature’s universal power and equally, at our constant insignificance. 

Image above taken from this amazing video – ‘What if Earth had rings like Saturn?‘

again, wind comes unrolling out of the east
like a prophet, judging with a heft of its
palm the weight of things, taking measure
with spanned fingers of the space between,
while wolf-fish graze the floor of the sea,
the teeth inside their smiles white as beacons.

plenty of time to consider the dimensions
of your loss, how it might be listed
on manifests. still, what you have left
is better than you deserve. and sufficient,
if one holds on hard enough, to keep you afloat

a narrow band of slip shows now
beneath night’s skirt on the horizon,
and widens. once again as you watch, light,
with its hunger, will have the world.

- James Sallis

It’s Saturday.

Leaves have fallen and the air is crisp; today is the first day I smelt autumn.

I love this time of year.

It’s my favourite season for so many reasons: the deep brown colours, the change of temperature and the quiet, slow excitement of what’s to come. Autumn’s arrival tells me my birthday is near.

Except, things are different this time.

I don’t know if any of you have ever had your birthday ruined before. It’s not a nice feeling. In fact, it’s pretty bloody awful. Close friends will know (as will those who have read the piece I wrote for CALM) that my birthday last year was probably the worst day of 2010.

The day before, was amazing. A great day out shopping & hanging out in town then later, my awesome birthday party. Benny came dressed as Beetlejuice, friends old and new mixed together, hell, even my family came.

Less than 24hrs later, on the evening of November 21st – my actual birthday – my then girlfriend of two years decided that it would be an ideal time to end our relationship over [what I was then told] ‘trust issues’. Wrongly accusing me of cheating, she was up and out of the flat before the week was out.

It nearly killed me. How do you prove yourself innocent when the other party has convinced themselves you’re guilty?

After months of blaming myself, I uncovered the truth: she hadn’t broken up with me over trust at all. She had, in fact, decided to leave me for one of my alleged best mates and was too cowardly to tell me. A chance meeting with the latter (after general avoidance and non-returning of calls) back in March started that avalanche of information.

The night I found out everything, the week before I headed off to Siberia, my friends were stunned. They expected me to be livid, to be more angry. But honestly? When all the pieces finally fell into place? I felt relieved.

Relieved that I wasn’t at fault, relieved that the pain and angst I’d been carrying around for months could finally lift and most of all relieved that I was out of the sick, twisted, horrid mess that I’d mistaken for two people I could love and trust.

Today is the first day of autumn for me. My birthday is just around the corner. I stepped out of the flat this afternoon, took a huge lung full of air and… I remembered.

A couple of weeks ago someone dear to me asked me what I wanted to do for my birthday. “I don’t know” I replied. Then I remembered what happened last year. The fake smiles at the party, the secret plans behind my back – I panicked.

“What will I do? What can I do? God, last year was terrible..”

But y’know what? Life is better now. So much better. Life has moved on, love has moved on and, best of all, the people around me are amazing.

When I first started writing this about an hour ago, I was full expecting it to a be low, melancholic exploration of how now the change of season has made me sad. Instead it’s a celebration of autumn, the beautiful season it is and a look up toward the amazing birthday I’ve got lined up for next month.

Bring. It. On.

[Private post - made public Dec 23rd, 2011]

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

- Dylan Thomas, 1951

RIP Trey Pennington. We miss you terribly.

Not me. A chap named Jonathan.

[that's Jonathan, over my left shoulder - don't ask about the hats]

I met Jonathan first in Russia on my first night in Moscow back in April. He was halfway through a six month trip and had big plans. We ran into each other again in Mongolia and (along with a few others in our group) we discovered we pretty much had the same schedule ahead of us for the seven days or so [taking in camping out in the desert, catching the train to China and then hanging out in Beijing].

Anyway, I got back from my trip in May, Jonathan got back yesterday.
This post, entitled ‘HOME’ (and reposted with his permission) is what he’s just published and I actually love it.

Enjoy.

“It is our failure to achieve our perceived ideal that ultimately defines us and makes us unique”
- Conan O’Brien, June 12th 20011

I’ve already shared this both on Twitter and on Facebook, but it was happening upon an old article that I’d read a while ago did I then decide to post this video up here. It’s 20mins long, but worth every second; take some time out and appreciate Conan O’Brien.

If you’re done here read these excerpts from ‘The War for Late Night‘ by Bill Carter, c/o Vanity Fair. It tells you everything about why this speech means so much.

Then, once you’ve done that, check out this ‘kinetic typography’ video (a mere 2mins 45secs) of Conan’s farewell monologue from The Tonight Show.

The man is an inspiration.