"Fat to Fittie"

I’d love to claim that I came up with this word, but as anyone knows, you can’t copywrite a joke, because no matter how original you think you’re smart arse idea is, guaranteed someone has already thought of and used it. This was a phrase I’d not heard for ages, that is until I went to see John Bishop in Sheffield, turns out he’s incorporated it into his latest stand up tour. For the record, I first used the term in 1982, to describe the feeling a man gets, when his football team looses, It was the reason I decided to stop going to watch Leeds United on a regular basis, I didn’t want to become one of the men who spent a whole week in an arse, just because their team drew away, Bill Shankly may not agree with me, but there’s more to life than football. (Anyone under 35, may have to google him and I mean Bill Shankly, not John Bishop).

It turned out that what Mr Bishop was talking about in his latest tour, resonated with me in many ways. He’d just been to Ireland to trace his family roots, I’m planning a similar trip with my son’s next year, camper van is booked and Ireland had better get ready. He mentioned his mum, who’d recently passed and spoke about how she’d been to watch him in panto, my mam has recently began to receive palliative care, she’s not got long. It’s a strange feeling to know someone’s going to die soon, you’re whole conversations with them take a completely different turn and you begin to make sure that no matter what they say, conflict of even the most minor type, is to be avoided. As similar that these two thing’s were to my life, it was his discussion about the manopause that became the most relevant, I found myself agreeing with much of what he said, yes there were laughs, who wants to go to a comedy show to hear about depression without taking the piss? But it was the way in which he told his story that made it one of the finest works of comedy.

Much of what he talked about, I’ve experienced in the last few months, I’m not as brave as him to mention it openly and I consider this my conversation about ” not being great”, but the fact is, everybody suffers with what I call “life”. No matter how fantastic yours feels, guaranteed it will turn to shit at some point and how we deal with it defines our future, I’d like to think I’ve done ok so far. It’s easy to make excuses and I hate that word depression, it takes me back to the muppets sulking for seven days cos they’re 3rd from bottom in Division one and likely to join the dreaded div two, at least today we have the championship, which in my opinion is far better than the premier league, with less foreigners diving like they’re auditioning for an upcoming Boris Becker biopic.

I’ve established that I’ve not been myself for a while, everyone around me is a twat and I feel different, tired, in pain, fed up and even though I’m the sort of person who always sees the glass not only half full, but ready for a top up, something’s wrong, so what am I going to do about it? Right now I’m not sure, but I’m hoping that this weekend might just be the start, to quote Winston Churchill after the Allies won in North Africa during World war II, “This isn’t the end, nor is it the beginning of the end, but it is the end of the beginning”, Come on, you have to admit that’s a brilliant response. By an absolute not prepared for fluke, I’ve found myself spending the weekend in a caravan by the sea, I’d actually bought it for my son and his family, but because he’s a useless tossbag, decided at the last minute they couldn’t come. There was no way I was going to let it go to waste, so here I am, sat on my own in a tin shed, listening to the rain, looking out to sea, but feeling strangely calm.

I’m a huge believer everything happens for a reason and fate has placed me here this weekend, the image attached, is my view from the balcony, try and forget about the two huge caravans, slightly obscuring the sea and literally see beyond and the calm tranquillity it brings. I’ve stayed in this area many times, it’s a part of the Yorkshire coast I know well and love to travel around again and again, but for some reason this time, I don’t. Maybe it’s because of the tight Yorkshireman inside me “I’ve bloody well paid for it, so I’m gonna make the most”, that ‘s keeping me in, I’d like to think it’s because for the first time in ages, I just feel relaxed, if I hadn’t forgotten the feckin bread, or needed to use the internet, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere today. I listened to John Bishop’s advice and went to see the doc, not sure what’s going to happen and I’m waiting for blood tests, but what is certain, I will get through whatever this weird phase of my life is and I highly recommend to anyone feeling a bit shit, get in the car and drive to the coast, park up near the sea and just take it in, it’s not going to give you an instant fix, but may just be the start you need.

Being here has also inspired me to go into more detail through a podcast and is something I’m currently working on, like John Bishop, it will be poignant, with hopefully a little bit of humour, obviously not as good otherwise it would have been me standing on that stage and not sitting in a caravan, talking to myself while the rain batters against the windows. Hopefully you’ll give it a listen and maybe even enjoy it, more to the point, if you’re a guy in his 50’s who’s feeling a bit strange, you might just do like I’m trying to, take the advice and pass it on.