National Poetry Day - "We are the Generation: X"

As it was National Poetry Day yesterday, here's a poem I started writing earlier this year. It's loosely based on a conversation I had with my schoolfriend Georgie, about the tendencies of people that align with the rough categorisation of 'Generation X'. It's been noted that people born in this cohort are statistically less likely to have children than the generations before and after them, are more likely to experience depression, are more likely to end their own lives, and so on. 

There is a working theory this is delayed trauma operating on a genetic level; a holdover from the tremendous stress of living through the Second World War, which was carried in the ova of women born immediately after the war, many of whom became the mothers of Generation X from the mid 60s onwards. I'm not sure how much I believe any of that. But it intrigues me. 

Another aspect of this is the memory of the pre-internet, Armageddon-anticipating era that I grew up in. I remember the books in the school library that went into detail about how much damage a nuclear bomb would cause, and, of course there was Where the Wind Blows by Raymond Briggs. Most science fiction was dystopic and every future in 2000AD was post-apocalyptic. We replaced Dan Dare, the hero pilot of the future, with Judge Dredd, the brutal law enforcer of Mega City One, and everyone thought that was normal. 

And, if you weren't going to die in the nuclear apocalypse, you were going to die of AIDS. The 80s were a great decade to grow up in, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. 

Anyway, it's all grist to the poetic mill. Here's the poem:

We are the Generation: X

We are the Generation: X

Stolen love and poisoned sex

We are the Generation: X

We are the Generation: X

No guiding stars or sacred texts

Dystopic dreaming solo treks  

We are the Generation: X

We are the Generation: X

Dancing to our doombeat hex

Genetic trauma atom wrecks

Reflective flexes so complex

We are the Generation: X

We are the Generation: X

Cynics as we cash our checks

Embrace the boots upon our necks

Our vicissitudes are misdirects

From the dread of what comes next

We are the Generation

X

Read more of my poems and stories on this index page

Quilt of memories

I'm married to a creative person and one thing she is very good at is creating ways to hold on to memories. We had accumulated quite a stack of t-shirts. I did whatever the opposite of outgrowing clothes is when I lost weight a few years ago and went into diabetes recovery and some of my favourite t-shirts no longer fit me. Other t-shirts got worn out, frayed and a bit tatty around the edges. I hung on to several long past their useful life for sentimental reasons.

So Cathy turned them into a quilt.

It's a patchwork of memories. Our first American road trip. Our trip through Utah. The shirt Cathy was wearing that caused a guy to holler in respect across The Strip in Las Vegas. Our pilgrimage to Canada. Presents and gifts over the years. Star Wars t-shirts that I've worn in so many photos of fun times with family. Repurposed to keep us warn at night.

It's a nice feeling sunggling up under your memories.

Lockdown freedoms ( a "Fire Break" post)

Wales is back in lockdown, although this time it's got an end date specified from the outset. The Welsh Government has branded it a "Fire Break". We are all supposed to stay indoors and not see people.

I know people who have really struggled with all the restrictions placed on us during the pandemic. I've talked to friends who were desperate to go to a pub as soon as pubs reopened, and who were equally desperate for their children to go back to school. It was hard on people to have their children at home all day, seven days a week. 

On the plus side, I've not had to deal with any of the veiled pity normally measured out on child-free people like me. But then I've not really had to deal with people generally. 

As someone with a lot more introverted characteristics than are obviously apparent, I don't mind not seeing people. In fact, the summer just gone was one of the few summers where I have felt free to sit indoors on gloriously sunny days and not feel like I was somehow wasting the good weather by not being out in it. I'm an indoor person, quite happy working in a bunker with no windows.

I've also been free of the pressure to socialise. I can be sociable. I like people and I like meeting up with them. But I find big groups harder to deal with. It takes energy. Some people get energised by walking into a room full of people and talking to everyone. I'm the reverse. That's not how I recharge after a hard week. The lockdown removed some of that pressure to be outgoing and expend energy on group situations. 

I have enjoyed having more free time with less guilt that I'm not out doing stuff. My lockdown project - to blog about 394 baseball cards featuring Tony Gwynn - has exceeded expectations. I met my target after 152 daily blog posts, and am continuing both to blog and to accumulate more cards. I have also heavily modified a Lego set (actually combining two Lego sets) to build a big station building for my Lego train. 

I haven't written a draft of a novel or a screenplay, or anything, but my creative output has been higher than for a good number of years. I've felt like I've had permission to stay inside and do things I enjoy.

However, there has been a trade off. I wrote back in May about the fractional losses from the pandemic. We have experienced a few more of those recently. 

Some friends had twins a couple of weeks ago and we have admired their cute little faces through a window. We have no timeline in place for actually holding them. One of our best friends is turning 40 during the fire break and we are not allowed to party with her. Similarly, our godson is hitting double digits and Cathy's Grampy is having a birthday too. The football season has kicked off but the teams I support are playing behind closed doors. My work colleagues had some fabulous success in some industry awards last week, and we all had to watch in our own living rooms instead of clinking beers together at a fancy soiree.

Overall, I would trade the small freedoms I've found in lockdown for being free of the threat of Coronavirus. While I have enjoyed having time to myself, I would like that to be something I choose rather than imposed by a viral threat. I really hope this fire break works.

Visiting the Grangetown Zoo

This was a fun little community thing that happened right at the end of May. A community project called the Grangetown Art Trail began posting pictures of people preparing their windows for the Grangetown Zoo for people to visit over the weekend. This is a bit like the rainbows project that I've blogged about previously.

We decided to join in. I say "we", but Cathy is the creative one. She made these wonderful bears to sit in our window. Everyone, meet Arthur and Ursula.

Cathy also made them a little, Welsh-speaking, friend.

We went out for a couple of walks over the weekend and found some more "exhibits". Sorry for the quality of the photography, but you know how it is trying to photograph animals...

We saw lemurs in Earl Street (behind a very clean, very reflective window!)

They were all named after Harry Potter characters.

We saw tigers in Holmesdale Street

And nearby there was a flamingo

There was a very tall giraffe in an upstairs window in Paget Street

And a monkey who had fallen out of a tree. We helped him back into a hedge.

There was a variety of fauna on display in Virgil Street

The parrot was bright and colourful, with beady eyes

They had a majestic, yet approachable looking lion as well

And then in Warwick Street we found the aquatic exhibit

The main resident of which was this handsome knitted octopus

It was a really lovely art project; a celebration of creativity. It was great fun wandering the streets looking for the different creatures as people shared their locations on Twitter. I would really like this to become a thing that happens annually with more people joining in and not be 'one of those things we did during the crazy lockdown'.

Chastened ranter

My friend Martyn gave me a bit of perspective on my spleen-venting rant about traffic-wardens...

"They are human just like you and me. They just love doing their job and have great job staisfaction. Your hate for them is greatly appreciated by them as this only serves to further improve their job satisfaction rating.

And it isn't really their fault is it? If you hadn't parked where you shouldn't have, then the pleasure they experienced by writing out a ticket wouldn't have been possible and the hatred you now feel would not have materialsied and they would be miserable and not you.

But take it as your good deed for the day and I'm sure you will begin to feel a little better yourself. Who knows it may even help you to overcome your hatred. Next time it happens say thank you with a smile on your face, tell them you forgive them and think they do a wonderfull job for society and your satisfaction will be greater than theirs

Giving is far better than receiving (even if it is a parking ticket).

Perhaps you have a ministry in improving the lives of Traffic Wardens.

Furthermore, why not broaden your mission field and try speeding as well."

Okay then, consider me rebuked. Mutter, mutter, mutter, they're still gits, mutter...

But snapping back to reality for a second, my £20 parking fine pales into insignificance compared to the news I heard yesterday that my boss - a man who lives and breathes the ethos and values of the outfit we work for - has had his job engineered out of existence during a restructure.

And to compound the disaster for my team we're getting sucked into a vortex known as "Internal Services" where we'll be at the beck and call of people who won't know a good piece of writing or design if it bit them on the arse. Yet again the creatives are shoved into a box and told to keep quiet.