A Lad from Featherstone

  Mike top - Osho bottom. [Photo. Kate Grafton] ‘Rajneesh (born Chandra Mohan Jain, 11 December 1931 – 19 January 1990), also known as Acharya Rajneesh, Bhagwan Shri Rajneesh, and later as Osho, was an Indian godman, mystic, and founder of the Rajneesh movement. During his lifetime, he was viewed as a controversial new religious movement leader and mystic.’ [Wikipedia] The Sunday Times: '100 Makers of the Twentieth Century' said: ‘Drawn from a variety of ideologies and religious traditions, but bearing their own stamp, Osho's teachings are uncompromisingly radical, anti-rational and capricious. They invite the individual to free his or herself from all the social conditioning: the only commitment is to be open and honest, to enjoy life, love oneself.’ Last week his doppelganger Niraj came to stay. Oh dear… please be patient. I have heard many times ‘One day I will write my life story’. I can now understand why this rarely happens; it takes time, effort, discipline, structur

July 1965. My school for six, lonely, yet unbelievable, years. Normanton Grammar School. Brick built, slate roof, Dutch gables, stone mullions plus a grand entrance with bell tower. Architectural folly funded by ‘where there’s muck, there’s brass’. Teachers in gowns, Hamilton, the headmaster often appeared on stage with red bits of loo paper stuck to his chin. He hated the PE department, even though they brought his school nationwide fame.  High ceilings, parquet wood flooring, austere and scary. Yet, every wannabee anything needed to be there. If you missed Part 2 click here. I was there, one year, one term late. This brought new challenges after three day’s notice late December. No school uniform for a start. Instead of the two-minute walk to Gordon Street, my dad banged on my door at 0715, cornflakes, sugar, tea, half mile walk to Station Lane and the 0755 bus to Normanton.  I was kept down a year so although a 2nd year, I started in the 1st, I missed out on the friendship groups fo

Baclofen 60-80 mg per day. Half at 1400 and same 1700. Anxiety attacks have been a part of my life since abused by the babysitter aged nine. The one on stage, speaking to thirty bank managers in my 40’s, led me to Harley Street and Prozac for the first time. The anxiety returned in my 50’s, Prozac works but slows you down. By the end of August 2020, two months of drinking had eased the underlying, but growing, anxiety. Stopping alcohol for a planned 100 days meant there was no ‘little helper’ to ease it. I was silly at this point as Baclofen also eases anxiety but, I only took it in the late afternoon and evening. Anxiety would rage until late afternoon when it eased. Of course, I could have taken it in the morning, just for anxiety. Instead, I asked my GP for Prozac and…  I threw them in the bin last week. I felt strange, sleepy, weird dreams and something far worse! I searched side effects: Drowsiness, dizziness, anxiety, abnormal dreams, decreased sexual desire or ability, flushi

‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.’ You will recall, in part 1, daughter Emily gave me a book, 'Write your life story...' by Ann Garthorp in 2010. (click here if you missed part1). Chapter 14 covers, how a novel works. She writes about, 'SET-UP' as a way of fictionalising your life story. She provides, by way of the example above, how Jane Austin starts Pride and Prejudice to illustrate the point. It is thus an intriguing sentence, with the hint of a story line.  I came second in the end of year exams, and thus a second chance to enter the grammar school.. OK, here goes. It is a truth universally known that a single man, in possession of a second chance, must be in want of a different life.  Different from what? ‘Like many surrounding areas, Featherstone grew around coal mining. Coal had been mined at Featherstone since the 13th century and remains of bell pits can still be seen to the

Om, to my daughter Emily.  She said, 'WRITE YOUR LIFE STORY'. Life with Emily was a ball of fun, we laughed, danced, once made a dance routine to a Puff Daddy version of Roxanne with Sting. I loved watching her play rugby, all the way to England U18’s.  She confided in me, even telling me, before her mother, she was in love with a girl. We were close. As any reader of my blog will know, it has since gone wrong in such a spectacular way, I have never seen three of my five grandchildren and have no contact. However, back to the good times. Emily nagged me, for many years, to write my life story. My Xmas present in 2010 was the above book. Just by co-incidence, synchronicity, Sheila more likely, the book was lying on my office floor yesterday.  I picked it up, opened and read. Page 164 ‘…there is only one thing that makes the reader turn the page -curiosity. In other words, they want to know what happens next.’  How about this for a start: I remember running my hand over her thigh

Day 40 alcohol free.  60- 80mg Baclofen daily. You will recall in last weeks post (click here if you missed it) I started taking Baclofen seven days before stopping drinking on 31st August.  You will also have noted I stopped before opening the last bottle of San Miguel. In other words, I drank myself sober, willpower not required Alcohol has never been my morning drink, tried it once -after a night dancing on MDMA – so the idea is quite unthinkable. I can count on one hand the number of lunchtime ‘sessions’ in my life. In my 20’s and 30’s weekends only. By my 40’s, two pints on the way home made a wife and two teenagers way more tolerable. We had moved (property deal) to Pontefract, West Yorkshire and children at Ackworth Quaker school as day pupils. Monday 05:40 alarm, Radio 4; shipping forecast, sea shanties followed by Farming Today as I sped down the A1 to make the 06:30 to Doncaster station. First Class, dictating solidly, Kings X, 30, 72 or 214 bus and office, with a full day’s

Friday 2nd October 2020. Sherborne Dorset England. Day 32 alcohol free. I have a shaking throughout my body, free floating anxiety no less. Panic attacks, three this week, whole day in bed last Saturday as the depression was full on. Fluoxetine prescribed by doctor. Sunday forced myself to walk to Sheila’s headstone and ashes. We had a long chat about anxiety, life death and the universe. She told me, ‘shit happens, pull yourself together and fake it till you make it’, and she was gone. Building works started Monday, my trusty builder Brian, along with Dave, an old mate, to make tea, bacon sarnies and fill wheelbarrows. The faking is hard but someone has to put a 4x4” post in a hole (Brian on mini digger), fill with water, bag PostCrete, more water and then stand with a level, holding the post, till it sets. Then fill the hole in with shingle and then…. Repeat the process 12 times. Dave on bacon sarnies and caffeine duty. By mid-afternoon, endorphins flowing and life’s good, no faking.