Sunday, 4 September 2016


This week I’ve blogged about discipline and anger and comfort zones and the need to feel loved.

As this maelstrom of human experience washes over me I can find, after just over 3 weeks back in Crete with my father, that each day I become a little more acclimated to changes and being able to adapt. 

The stuff is minor and subtle so far but the first time I went jogging just over a week ago I collapsed on the bed in a sweaty heap and lay gasping for breath with the air con blasting out. It was the equivalent of Ripley crawling back into the cosy metallic warmth of the Sulaco after blasting the queen alien out the airlock…but with a 10 minute run at a gentle pace, as opposed to a fight to the death with a xenomorph.

My fishing was piss poor to say the least, mainly as I hadn’t checked what I was doing and traipsed down to the dock with my rod and line naively believing that one lesson with a mate would suffice. I think the fish don’t bite because of my use of foul language as opposed to any dislike of the bait I’m choosing.

Today I again caught fuck all when I went out, but I cast without fouling the line, didn’t swear more than a couple of times and was able to pack up my stuff without embedding one of the hooks in my thumb.

My evening run was, for the first time, a lot of fun where I crested the rise of the rugged road leading up past Aviantis apartments without feeling like I was having an asthma attack. I got back to find my Dad had woken from his siesta and I was able to hold a cogent conversation without wheezing like a busted harpsichord. I.e my breathing and heart rate were normal for the exercise I’d undertaken. 

Last night I went to Joe’s Bar and sparked up a conversation with a German couple sat at the next table. Turned out they were called Jan and Alexandra and we had a good chat for around an hour, with Alexandra saying she loved Game of Thrones and superhero movies (like me) while Jan is more into his football (soccer for Boston Tea Party types). This in itself isn’t even remotely interesting but it was the first time in a LONG time that I’ve felt self confident enough to talk to people I don’t know about anything other than the weather or to ask for directions, without a shit load of beer inside me. I then met my friend Alison who was on hols with her mother Eve and we had a pleasant night out, even taking in a new bar that had always been there but I had never really noticed. 

When I was fishing today I kept casting and the waves kept moving my lovingly prepared line, hooks, bait and sinker back towards me. The waves came in and moved and changed the positioning I’d set up. But this wasn’t something I had a paddy about. I just adapted towards it, initially casting like Fatima Whitbread at the 1984 Olympic javelin finals. Then sideways to the current. 

The waves that have been affecting me for the last three weeks were similar. I could have looked at my sweating, sodden collapse after my first run as a sign that I was too out of shape to ever get in shape. I could have taken the paranoia that rides in tandem with my hangovers and regarded it as an honest portrayal of my ability to interact with people I don’t know. And I could have thought fishing was a load of shit and busted the rod in a temper. 

Adapting to situations takes time and patience. 3 weeks in and not much has been altered but I can feel the roots of something branching out from the embittered, permanently pissed off guy that I’ve been ever since I left university back in 1993.

I haven’t taken the road to enlightenment and I don’t think that this is some spiritual road to Damascus type shit. I do however think that I’m learning to adapt to what’s going on. Being in England in a very beautiful yet bland Safe Zone didn’t give me this.

This is definitely fun.

Oh, and today someone called me a “psychotronic love commando”. I would have said “thank you” but I was too busy laughing. 

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