Nostalgia Triggers from 90s Choons

I usually listen to the radio when I'm doing stuff in the kitchen. With the world generally being pretty dreadful I've been avoiding news-based stations and so have retuned the radio to Absolute Radio 90s, which just plays songs from the 1990s, triggering memories from two thirds of my life ago.

Photo taken in Paris in 1993 or 1994

For example, when The Size of a Cow by The Wonderstuff comes on, then I'm transported back to sitting at the heavy lab desk at the back of Mr Dorricott's science classroom. My desk-mate, Tim, was really into The Wonderstuff and a lot of other music. He used to go on the train to Birmingham to buy "choons". He pirated me a cassette of Nevermind. I remember once at my house my tape player chewed up his tape of Achtung! Baby and when we cut and pasted the tape back together we put one bit back in the wrong way round. Unintentional remixes of our time.

(This will all mean nothing to anyone under the age of 30, probably. Tapes? What are those?)

Another song that is on heavy rotation on AR90s is Parklife by Blur. I have a very specific memory related to this. Back when that song came out I used to go to a church that met in an upper complex of rooms above a pub. During Sunday evening meetings you could hear the music playing in the pub downstairs. Sunday evening meetings were generally informal, and I remember one evening we had moved the chairs round into small circles to pray in groups. Through the floor came the thudding beats of Parklife. I wasn't the only one in the prayer circle mentally singing along.

All the people
So many people
And they all go hand in hand
Hand in hand through their
(beat)
Parklife

I know I wasn't the only one singing along because a few of us mouthed the word 'Parklife' in time with the song. We saw each other do it and grinned.

And then I left Shrewsbury to go to university, just as the Britpop bubble exploded. Anything by Oasis or Shed 7 or Elastica reminds me of university days. Basket Case makes me think of my digs in the first year when one of the first things I bought was a CD player that I cobbled into my hi-fi amp and double tapedeck. But those are later days and moving to Cardiff for Uni, to living here afterwards is more of a continuum. When I left Shrewsbury to go to university I ended up never going back there to live, not even for a summer holiday. So that is the one clear page break in my story.

It's the songs from the early 90s that are the real nostalgia triggers, but that's not to say I particularly want to wallow in that nostalgia. Looking back it's a wonder I got through those teenage years as I was barely coping with undiagnosed depression, was a fervent religious fundamentalist, and had the weight of expectations on me to go to university and achieve great things.

That last one is hard to reconcile with the great love I had (and still have) for my father, but he did tell me how he thought I could follow in his footsteps and study medicine, and one reason I went to study theology is because I knew Dad would approve of that choice when medicine was closed off to me (more on that later).

Understanding depression more as an adult, I can see how it affected me quite a bit as a teenager. I know I'm not unique in finding teenage life hard. Recently I have reconnected with a few people I knew in school and realised that I wasn't the only one who was presenting a brave face. Some of the people I most admired have told me they felt constantly on edge, or were hiding an eating disorder, or were bullied as badly as I sometimes was, if not worse.

I think it would have been good for my fragile, nervous self when I was younger, if I had known that the people who seemed to have got their stuff together were actually feeling just as desperate on the inside.

For me, my depression has left me with some regrets. I dropped friendships that I wish I hadn't. It affected my concentration and my ability to focus on schoolwork, and dampened down my love of learning. I barely read some of my textbooks at A-Level. It's stuff I sometimes wish I had actually learned. It also stopped me from learning new skills. I was very keen to learn how to play guitar, went through a depressive phase, sold the guitar to a classmate, and I still occasionally wish that I had been in a mental place where I could have actually learned to play it.

I had almost zero self-confidence, which was also linked to the depression. Here's a story that illustrates it. I was planning on studying science at A-Level, with the end aim of applying for medical school. I went on an open day to the VI Form College and went to the science labs. My school had switched that year from single subject science GCSEs to a "Double Science" course that covered all three subjects and gave you two GCSE grades at the end.

When the science teacher heard this, he was very dismissive. "Oh," he said, "you won't be able to do A-Levels unless you've done single subjects at GCSE. Most people find the step up really hard anyway, so it will be almost impossible for you!"

I remember feeling absolutely shocked by that. There was no point trying if it was going to be impossible. So I went and did three other subjects instead.

For a long time I was angry that my school had made me do double science, because that had prevented me from going on and potentially becoming a doctor like my dad. But it wasn't the school, and it wasn't even that discouraging response from the A-Level teacher who was to blame.

It was only recently I thought to myself, 'Why did I let someone I had never met before shape my choices in such a way?' Without sounding disrespectful, he was just a bog-standard teacher in a run of the mill VI Form College in a half-horse town. In what way was he an authority? He had never met me and he had no clue whether I was any good at science or not.

That encounter could have gone another way. I could have ignored him and had a go. I got Double As in my Double Science (despite mainly talking to Tim about music) so clearly I had some ability.

Besides, every A-Level teacher reckons their subject is really hard and requires a lot of work. If I turned up in that class and I was behind the curve, then a good teacher would find a way to bring me up to speed, rather than writing off my chances before I'd started the course.

But when you're depressed and you feel that everything is a struggle, you don't respond to negativity like that in a positive way. It doesn't spur you on to try hard and prove them wrong, which is how I wish I had responded.

You have to be careful with wishes like that though. If I hadn't been so discouraged by that guy, I wouldn't have ended up studying theology. Even, if I hadn't been depressed and had studied and got the A-level grades I wanted to get, I wouldn't have ended up studying theology in Cardiff. My life would have had a very different trajectory and although I was in a pretty tough place then, I'm in a good place now. Happier than a lot of people, and, I hope, doing a bit of good in the world.

It all worked out. It could have been an easier route, though.

I'm going to stick with listening to Absolute Radio 90s because in a strange way hearing those songs has helped me rearrange some mental furniture and appreciate my journey from then to now.

A personal view of the recently departed decade

I read a friend’s blog where she listed her personal decade – ‘what the noughties meant for me’, and it got me thinking. Things have been very different at different times for me in the decade that has just gone. I am definitely a very different person. So, it’s interesting to look back and see what has shaped me. Here’s a few of them.

Minimum Wage Hell (2001-2003)
Immediately after uni I set up a business with my wife Cathy, but way back in 2001 I got my first job where I worked for someone else: at UCI Cinemas. As a stopgap job it lasted longer than I expected. It was frustrating and boring, but occasionally brilliant. I learned first-hand that a far higher percentage of the general public are complete idiots than you would have thought. I made some great friends there, collected a fund of amusing stories, and did my final shift two years to the day I joined. UCI is now an Odeon, so this part of my life can never be repeated, really. (Which I’m not sad about.)

Cardiff Vineyard (2003-2006)
Although my Vineyard experience slowly morphed into more painful memories, I still remember the excitement of being in a small but vibrant ‘faith community’. Again, friends I made there have stuck with me. The generosity shown by some people still challenges me in what I do with life. And one Cardiff Vineyard phrase that has been hugely influential on my subsequent faith walk is ‘Let your heart be broken by the things that break the heart of God’. And of course, if I hadn’t been going to Vineyard I would probably never have replied for my current job…

Current Job (2003-current)
I’ve made it a policy to never mention the current place I work by name on my blog, because sometimes I talk about it in less than flattering terms. I work for a large charity and if you think that means it’s all fun and games, then just you try it!

But genuinely, there have been times here when I have felt in the right place at the right time. Doing what I do has opened up a whole ton of opportunities. I have progressed as a writer and earned recognition and payment for my x-trem skillz outside of work too. Which is useful, because working for a charity doesn’t mean I’m earning top-dollar, if you get my drift.

California (2004)
Our road trip round Southern California remains one of the highlights of mine and Cathy’s life together. The star-strewn skies of Death Valley reawakened a spirituality in me that I hadn’t even realised had atrophied. I learned so much about myself in just two days in the desert – particularly that when it comes down to it I like being hundreds of miles away from other human beings – that I would class it as one of my favourite spots on Earth.

Depression (2005)
I’ve always been of a melancholic bent, but in 2005 I got into a pretty bad spiral of negative thoughts that culminated in suicidal thoughts. It’s hard to describe depression without sounding melodramatic, but it’s a horrible cycle of thinking and you just can’t get it out of your head. Fortunately, I had a very good doctor, very good friends, supportive family. And Prozac.

Glenwood (2006-current)
My downswing into depression coincided with problems in Cardiff Vineyard that eventually led to the church ceasing to exist in 2006. At about the same time Brian McLaren did a day conference at Glenwood Church so I went along to hear him speak. He was awesome, and I encouraged Cathy and friends Ian and Viv to come along and hear him at the Sunday service.

They did and we all liked the service, so we decided to try a ‘normal Sunday’ and went the next week. However, the next week was the end of ’Holiday Club’ and was themed on an ‘Oscars night’. We enjoyed the service though and decided to come back and try a ‘normal Sunday’. But the next Sunday was something else again, so we decided to come back and try a… well you get the idea.

Eventually we realised (after about six Sundays) that ‘normal’ isn’t something that Glenwood does very often. But by then we’d been recruited by a friend to a new ‘life group’ and we were getting settled in. So we stayed. In Autumn 2007 I started helping out with the youth (who I now refer to as ‘my’ youth).

Significant Loss (2002, 2006, 2009)
We have faced some significant bereavements in the noughties. Back in 2002 Cathy’s Dad died as a result of an infection he picked up in Torbay Hospital. The subsequent inquest, as hospital staff covered their backs and tried to shirk responsibility, was extremely upsetting. I wouldn’t wish having to attend an inquest on anyone.

In 2006, Cathy’s Granny P (her mum’s mum) died. This time it was less of a shock but still very hard. I’d always had a good relationship with her and still miss her. Then last year my Granddad died after being incapacitated by a stroke for the best part of a year. I still can’t adequately explain how much that loss has affected me, because I simply don’t know. Occasionally I am ambushed by a memory or an overheard conversation and I’m reminded of him and I feel a weight on my heart.

Utah (2008)
My final staging point for the decade is in the summer of 2008, although, of course, plenty of things happened after it. But Utah marks a significant point for me because a) it was another amazing road trip, and b) I came off Prozac. I have been drug-free now for a year and a half, and despite last year’s bereavement, and some incredible stress at work and two winters, I have not gone mad or returned to the suicide-contemplating depressed state.

I think it was in Moab, driving next to the Green River down the Potash Road to look at ancient rock carvings that I suddenly realised I could see sunlight properly and joyfully for the first time in years. The serotonin-inhibiting drugs were washing out of my system, and the world was alive in colour and light. That memory is one of several from that trip that are etched on my brain. Utah has become my happy place because it’s there that I was able to experience happiness again unaided.

So that’s it for the noughties. Roll on 2020.

The downswing

I've been off anti-depressants for over six months now, and generally am doing okay. But what I have to watch out for are the downswings in mood.

For me, the drugs established a basement level beyond which I couldn't spike down, so now I'm not on them, I'm having to learn how to handle the downswings. That means recognising when I'm stressed and doing something about it, and also seeking out the things which help me not feel so down. Guitar Hero, when I can master the damn song, is one way.

And Spring is coming up. I'm not sure why, but I always find Spring a tough time. I usually feel like ditching my job, and running off around the world. I often think it's my genetic wanderlust coming out. After all Spring was 'raiding season' for my Viking forbears. I'm not making that up - my Viking Omma (Grandma) has a family tree which stretches through the Sagas to the 6th Century and includes several 'sailor adventurers' - a euphemism for pirate and sea-raider.

Ah Spring! The pillaging season.

Insider's guide to depression

If you're interested in knowing what it feels like to be depressed, then you can read my story on the new Looking at Life site.

Also - check this out: peurile, but funny!

Long day in Belfast

Yesterday I had a 21-hour day that started with me having to get up in time for a 5.15am pick up from my house. A trip to Bristol airport and my first ever easyJet flight later and I was in Northern Ireland for the very first time.

The organisation I work for was running an event at the very swish Waterfront Hall in Belfast, but first we had a visit to our regional office in Lisburn. I've met the NI contingent a few times and they had NEVER told me that they had a coffee shop on the ground floor of their building. Good thing I work hundreds of miles away from those delicious tray bakes otherwise I'd be several stones tubbier!

The event itself was very good. Jeff and Kay Lucas were the speakers and they're both excellent communicators. Having been depressed myself, I particularly valued Jeff's honesty about how annoying Christians can be when you admit to being depressed:

"It seems you aren't living the victory!" "WELL, OBVIOUSLY NOT!" "What can we do to help you, brother?" "HOW ABOUT DISAPPEARING FOR EVER?"

I think I was luckier than most - I had sensible friends who knew that sometimes people get depressed and it is a real illness in the brain that needs to be treated properly. But I know where Jeff was coming from. It is hard to talk to otherworldly religious people about being slightly squiff in the head. And as a respected leader/speaker he might have felt that a lot more than a low-profile bodlike me.

After the evening came to an end we drove to the only Indian restaurant in the city that had agreed to stay open late. When we got there we discovered that someone who will remain nameless (not me!) had agreed to meet the Lucases at the front door of the Waterfront and forgotten them.

Eventually everyone got to the restaurant, and once we'd eaten we had the "short" trip to the Holiday Inn. I was quickly learning that when someone in Belfast tells you it's a 'short' trip that means 'the other side of the city, stopping at every traffic light on the way'. But we got there and, 21 hours after I got up, I gratefully collapsed into bed.

Therapeutic Philately

It’s kind of an open secret that back towards the end of last year I wasn’t feeling too good. I took six weeks off work and started on some medication. Which meant that earlier this year I celebrated my 30th birthday feeling like a bit of a cliché: a writer on Prozac. How original.

One of the things that helped me get my head straight was rediscovering philately – stamp collecting to those who have an aversion to fancy words. I’ll bet you didn’t know that the most reproduced image ever in history is the portrait of the Queen by Arnold Machin that appears on UK definitive stamps. People often call them ‘Queen’s head’ stamps, but their technical term is Machin definitives. I spent a number of hours sorting through boxes and bags of stamps and compiled all my Queen’s head stamps into the right order in a large album – making sure my Machins matched.

Cheap therapy
The thing about stamp collecting is that it requires a lot of concentration, but isn’t actually very important in the long run. It’s time-consuming, but if you make a mistake, it’s not the end of the world. And therein lay the secret of why it was so good for me – at a time when my head was running with itself in terms of crazy thoughts, something so mundane could keep me enthralled and prevent me from stressing out.

I’ve kind of kept up with it this past year. Recently through a couple of chance finds I’ve become quite interested in stamps from the South African colonies before the Unification of South Africa in 1910. Considering these small bits of paper are up to and over 100 years old, they’re quite easy to find and, best of all, cheap. The other day I noticed the following stamp for sale on eBay, hard-to-find and consequently not cheap.



Head’s up
I just love this stamp. I didn’t bother bidding for it because it was pricey. But it makes me laugh, because it goes to show that we are all human. 

I don’t know if anyone showed King Edward VII, who was a keen philatelist and took a personal interest in designing the Royal Mail’s stamps, but if they did, I wonder what he thought of it?

Errors are big business in stamp-collecting. Mainly this is because they’re rare. When an error is discovered, the remaining stock is usually destroyed. They don’t tend to happen so much nowadays, anyway, because of the computerised printers that are used (although some Machins got printed a couple, of years ago without £ signs on). This kind of error is possible because the plates were assembled by hand, and each section of the stamp was printed seperately.

My point – and I do have one
It would be interesting to know what happened to the hapless printer (let’s call him Bob) who loaded the central image the wrong way up on this stamp. I can imagine Bob came in for some flak – maybe he was ‘investigated’ by his managers. You can bet Bob’s mates would have ribbed him mercilessly: "Hey Bob, you on the printer today? Don’t forget to put the King’s head in the right way up! Har har har!"

But the irony is that Bob’s cock up is now worth quite a bit, whereas all the printers who paid attention and never screwed up produced stamps that are worth only pennies now.

I don’t want to spoil this story by drawing a lesson from it, but it’s worth adding that I sent out a press release yesterday about an event that’s coming up. It was a beautiful press release – the headline was great, the quotes were great, it ran together nicely, it was concise and to the point.

The only thing I forgot to tell people about was the date.