write.as/jonbeckett

jonathan.beckett@gmail.com

Buried deep beneath the layers of fake confidence I have covered myself with over the years, I'm really still the same little boy that watched all the popular kids from a distance in the playground. The thing that continues to surprise me – as an adult – is how quickly the carefully constructed facade falls away, and the triggers that cause it to do so.

This week I reached out to somebody I hadn't seen anything from for a few days – to find out if they were ok. I heard nothing back. Any normal person would perhaps double down their efforts – and become worried that there really was something wrong – that they might help. My first instinct is often the opposite – they are avoiding me – it's something I've done – I've been ghosted – what did I do?

It's ridiculous really. We are tiny bit parts in each other's lives, and yet when something out of the ordinary happens, it's like a loose thread has been pulled – a loose thread that results in my entire suit of armor falling to the floor.

I need to stop thinking quite so much, and perhaps step forward a little more often.

While the younger children ran off across the county to take part in rugby training sessions this morning, I waited for our eldest daughter to get up, before heading into town with her for lunch, and to pick up a few things. The real reason was just to get her out of the house for a bit.

Let's gloss over the two hours I spent waiting for her to get up and get ready. I get it. I was a teenager once too. I remember getting up at lunchtime, and wondering why my parents were so mad at me all the time. I also realise I've turned into my Dad – getting up at 7am like clockwork, and complaining that the kids are wasting the day if we don't get up and out as early as possible.

We did have fun in the end – even though I spent most of the day biting my tongue. I bought her a Manga book, got my other half a Moomins notebook (she grew up obsessed by the Moomins), and picked up some old Singstar games from the second-hand game shop for the younger girls. We also picked up “Simpsons Hit and Run” – a game the kids used to be obsessed with years ago – they have all been crowded around the TV taking turns to play it all evening.

It's funny really – we had a Playstation 2 back in the day, and after selling it perhaps 10 years ago, I bought another recently – from a second hand store. It's ended up being our most used games machine – with titles such as “Ratchet and Clank”, and “Jak and Daxter” making a return to the TV in the lounge. I'll admit to buying a copy of “Vice City” today too – for less than the price of a bar of chocolate.

After attending a charity fundraiser last night and drinking more wine that I perhaps should have, I've spent most of the day either asleep, or offline. I think sometimes I need to step away from everything – it's not that everything gets on top of me – more that I begin to lose myself. It's difficult to describe.

I woke with a start at 9 this morning as my other half left to take our middle daughter to watch the England ladies rugby match at Twickenham, and then fell back asleep. I woke again an hour later with a certain fourteen year old looking down at me, asking if I could help her setup Fortnite on the PC downstairs. I slid out of bed, stumbled down to find her, and a few minutes later she was charging around the virtual world in search of treasure chests and potions.

I holed myself up in the lounge with the first of several cups of tea, and found a rather wonderful movie to watch – “The Aeronauts” – about the emergence of the science of meteorology, and the risks taken journeying into the unknown with hot air balloons in the early days. Unfortunately, as often seems to happen with movies these days, the story has been twisted spectacularly – inventing a female character where there was none. Still – the movie is interesting, and shines a light on the sceintific community of the 1860s – which was still largely fearful of challenging accepted wisdom, even if that wisdom came from a nearly two thousand year old collection of religious texts.

Anyway. I think another cup of tea might be in order, and then bed.

I'm not entirely sure how I'm still awake – or how I'm going to make it through the evening. We're taking part in a charity quiz tonight, along with a team of friends and neighbours – but I was up until 2am last night editing the most recent episode of the podcast and releasing it to the internet. We didn't start recording until 11pm, because life has a habit of unravelling on me at the moment. What an episode though.

I talked to a blogger called Jade, that I've known on Tumblr since the beginning. Before calling I will admit to being a little nervous – she was one of the inspirations behind the podcast – I knew her back-story was a little more extreme than most. I need not have worried. Before I knew it an hour had passed – we could have carried on. We talked about life, loss, hardship, drugs, alcohol, writing, photography, and everything inbetween. I don't think I've talked to anybody quite like her before, and it served as a reminder of how unexpected and wonderful the podcast has become.

I set out on the podcast journey with the aim of talking to friends and acquaintances around the world – to find out their journey. I never predicted just how challenging or thought provoking those journeys might be, when heard from the horses mouth. Walking in somebody else's shoes – even for an hour – has become an education of sorts.

wp:jetpack/markdown {“source”:“This week on the podcast I talk to Jade about life, struggles, hardship, resurrection, and her blogging and modelling journey at Tumblr and Instagram.\n\nYou can find Jade at the following locations online:\n\n* Tumblr – myownjadedpieceofmind.tumblr.com\n* Instagram – instagram.com\/jaded_ink\n* Facebook – facebook.com\/jessicajune.pinup\n\nClick the link below to listen to the episode:\n\n* #9 – Jade – Jessica June\n”} This week on the podcast I talk to Jade about life, struggles, hardship, resurrection, and her blogging and modelling journey at Tumblr and Instagram.

You can find Jade at the following locations online:

It's raining again. It's been raining pretty consistently since just after lunchtime yesterday, and isn't showing much sign of stopping. Quite apart from the river flooding the entire town, MY NEW BIKE IS GETTING WET!

In other news, my new phone arrived yesterday. Instead of carrying around a hulking slab of glass and silicon for the next few months, I've gone back to a simple feature phone – an Alcatel 2038X. It makes calls, it does text messages, and it lasts about a week on a charge. If I need to do anything clever, I'll use my work phone (and yes, I know – I've therefore gone from carrying one phone around to carrying two). I guess the point is that I don't HAVE to carry the smart phone, and people can still get hold of me.

Oh yes – almost forgot – I re-arranged my online presence a little at lunchtime – moving the blog to “blog.jonbeckett.com”, and setting up a pretty minimal selection of pages at “jonbeckett.com”. Not everybody WANTS to read the personal blog when they visit my homepage – usually they are looking for how to get hold of me, not read about my latest commuting tempter tantrum, or internet rabbit hole discovery.

Anyway. I need to stop writing, finish my coffee break, and head off home soon. I need to finish early today – I replaced the tap in the back garden yesterday, and it's dripping. After a quick look online, apparently some PTFE tape is required (otherwise known as the white tape plumbers use to seal joints). I imagine the kids will love me when I turn the water off to re-attach the tap.

I made one of the ladies in the office laugh before leaving work – she asked if I was doing anything special – I replied “yes, for a treat, I'm paying for my entire family to have a meal out”.

We went to the pub just around the corner, and went a bit mad. Normally we would just order main meals, but last night we ordered starters as well. Everybody else seemed to go for halloumi skewers – I decided to be “different” and chose calamari. The kids had never seen calamari before, so guess who lost half of his starter so they could try it out?

The meal was lovely, and it made a change to not be washing up. We sat at a huge table in the centre of the restaurant area of the pub, and managed to avoid anybody complaining, or arguing about anything for the couple of hours we were there. Miraculous really. I think most of us had various types of burger – all except Miss 19, who had “Hunters Chicken”. Miss 16 had jalapenos in her burger, and looked up at one point without a flicker of a smile, and announced to anybody that might be listening “my face is on fire”.

We didn't order deserts. After walking home, Miss 16 fetched the results of a somewhat secret project from the fridge – a “Snickers Cake”. I say “somewhat secret”, because she left the ingredients, and the recipe all over the kitchen a couple of days ago. She somehow succeeded in making the richest, heaviest, sweetest cake in the history of the known universe. None of us could finish the colossal slices she cut either – I imagine the recipe could probably be used to keep stranded mountaineers alive for weeks on end. It was GOOD though.

After dinner, as is usual the children vanished to their various corners of the house. There only seems to be so much time they can survive away from YouTube. While my other half got on with a knitting challenge she's been working on, I found myself sitting in the junk room, wondering what to do with myself.

And that's how I fell down the most ridiculous rabbit hole in quite some time.

At Christmas, I installed a flight simulator game on the hulking computer I inherited that now lives under the desk in the junk room. A very, very accurate military flight simulator called “DCS”. While you can start the simulator up, jump in an already runnning jet, and throw it into a nearby virtual farm, you can also learn how the “real” aircraft work – right down to the last nut, bolt, switch, lever, and button.

After an hour, I managed to take an F-18 from sitting on the tarmac “cold and dark”, to a hulking mass of hissing, roaring, fighter-jet. An HOUR. I have a page of hand-written notes filled with mysterious instructions such as “Switch on APU, Crank left engine, wait for 20%, advance left throttle to idle”, and “Switch left DDI to FCS, then reset FSC on left panel”... I have NO IDEA what the switches, buttons and knobs do, but somehow I managed to switch on an F-18 and get it in the air. Granted, the first time I made a mistake somewhere, and alarms started beeping at me as soon as I started rolling towards the runway. The second time went better – and rather dangerously, I have no idea why.

Anyway.

What can I take from my hour of idiocy? Perhaps I can be content in the knowledge that should I ever happen to be in a situation where I have to get in an F-18 that happens to be full of fuel, I could conceivably power it up, and steal it. No doubt I would be shot while hunting for some switch or other in the cockpit though.

I'm recycling an old post today. Hopefully you'll forgive me – it is one of the better posts I have lashed together in the dim and distant past, even if I do say so myself.

Without further ado...

In the early hours of tomorrow morning, 47 years ago, a little boy was born at the John Radcliffe hospital, in Oxford, England. For the first days of his life they thought he might have a serious problem with his brain – given the size of his head – until a doctor overheard his grandmother mention that they never could find hats to fit his Dad when he was a baby.

That little boy was me.

Perhaps 1973 won't go down as one of the more notable years. It doesn't have the same instant recognition as 1066, 1492, of 1984. Anybody that paid attention at school would know that those years relate to the Battle of Hastings, the discovery of the North American continent by Columbus, and the announcement of the Apple Macintosh computer. OK, perhaps the Apple Macintosh is a bit of a stretch – maybe the book by George Orwell that countless generations of school children were forced to read during the late 1980s.

Year numbers are a funny thing really – given that they start at an arbitrary point in the history of the ball of mud we all inhabit as it whistles through outer-space, around a fairly ordinary G-Type main sequence star.

There are of course many and varied accounts of the pre-history of the ball of mud. Perhaps the most entertaining is that a bearded being dressed in bed linen conjured everything in the hereabouts during a few days of manic activity about four thousand years ago, before seemingly not lifting a finger ever again. Various peoples living on the ball of mud have debated over the skin colour, name, and rules set out by this mysterious being for at least the last two millennia. Some of them get incredibly angry about it.

Another idea proposed by more recent peoples furnished with inquiring minds – we might term them trouble makers – is that the some kind of colossal 'big bang' happened at some point in the very distant past, much like a cosmological pinata being burst. This explosion furnished the nothingness with just enough building blocks to randomly evolve into what we now fail to agree on any understanding of. Following the lead of Arthur C. Clarke, we might opine that the complexity of the world around us is sufficiently difficult to understand that we might accurately describe the process by which it arrived here as 'a kind of magic'.

Anyway. Back to 1973.

In 1973 the United Kingdom, Republic of Ireland, and Denmark became members of the Economic community. At the time of writing just over half of those that can ever be bothered to vote for anything in the UK decided that on reflection this perhaps wasn't such a good idea, and are busily destroying the economy and the future of their children to somehow prove that the world would have been a much better place if only people hadn't wanted to talk to, or help one another in the first place.

Some very important things happened in 1973 too. An American rock band called 'Aerosmith', fronted by a man with an impossibly large mouth, released their debut album. For anybody reading this born at any point after 1983, albums were plastic discs scratched with wiggly lines, which when combined with the beak of a bird, would emit music (or perhaps that was the Flintstones? my memory isn't what it once was).

Elvis Presley broadcast the first world-wide telecast by an entertainer, where he tried to beat the world record for eating the most hamburgers in one sitting. Or was it that he sang some songs about loving people tenderly, and trying to make a jail-house tip over? He did have a go at the hamburger challenge a few years later though, and died on the toilet mid-way through.

The Miami Dolphins completed the first (and only) perfect season in American Football League history, after defeating the Washington Redskins 14-7 in the Superbowl at the Los Angeles Coliseum. The rest of the world didn't notice, because they all play Rugby as it was originally intended – without crash helmets, body armour, and with far fewer teeth.

George Foreman hit Joe Frasier into next week to win the World Heavyweight Boxing Championship. He went on to a successful career selling cookers before completing a similar act on Michael Moorer 30 years later.

The World Trade Center opened in New York, instantly becoming the tallest building in the world (although beaten a month later by the Sears Tower). Nearly thirty years later it would almost ruin my wedding after a flying club in America didn't think it strange that some of their students weren't interested in learning about landing. It's worth noting that the World Trade Center was modeled after a part of Skull Island, which lead to the 1970s iteration of King Kong climbing it's heady heights while clasping a half-dressed Jessica Lange before ultimately being shot to pieces by the few helicopters that thought it wise to perhaps stay out of grabbing range.

In May, Skylab – a space station made out of leftover moon rocket parts – blasted off. A month later an emergency mission would be launched to repair it. When asked who broke it, the astronauts immediately pointed at each other. It turns out the repair was a bit of a waste of time anyway, because the entire enterprise ended up splashed across a huge swathe of Australia a few years later, narrowly missing built-up areas (of course in Australia, a built up area is often two houses, three hundred miles down the road from each other, but still)

In September, Jim Croce continued the long standing tradition of singer songwriters in America of getting on board planes that wouldn't reach their destination.

In November, after a summer of being accused of all sorts of sculduggery, US President Richard Nixon told anybody that would listen that he was 'Not a Crook'. Nobody believed him in the slightest, and a few months later his presidency was consigned to history (and a number of highly entertaining films starring Robert Redford, Dustin Hoffman, and Michael Sheen).

Finally, in December, the movie 'The Sting' hit cinemas, causing the biggest spike in traffic violations ever seen in San Francisco in the weeks that followed – as twenty-something movie-goers attempted to re-enact scenes from the movie. San Francisco went on to become the cinema-car-chase-capital-of-the-world for decades afterwards.

It's Sunday. I was supposed to be in London today with Miss 19. I got up at 7am, had a shower, brushed my teeth, got dressed, and cleared the kitchen while waiting for her to get up. I tipped my head into her room several times, telling her how many minutes until we would need to catch the train. She didn't get up.

It's now lunchtime, and she has still not appeared.

I think sometimes the world just gets a bit too big for her, and the best course of action is to let her process it in her own way – in her own time. I could have got annoyed this morning – I was looking forward to walking through Hyde Park in the morning sunshine with her – but I chose not to. I went grocery shopping, and bought dinner for everybody instead – the rest of the family will arrive home this evening.

The washing machine is rumbling away in the background, and Spotify is playing a random classical music playlist. Most of the house is surprisingly tidy – it's funny how that happens when I'm home alone. I'm sitting in the junk room, typing this into the desktop PC.

Lunch will be a bagel filled with ham and coleslaw. We are out of coffee – I may wander over to the corner shop later and buy a jar. I drink too much coffee anyway – perhaps red-bush tea would do me some good for a while.

It's odd – having nowhere to go, and nothing in particular to do. That wasn't the story on Friday – one of our cats brought fleas back into the house last week. I ordered all manner of insecticide and treated every room while everybody was out on Friday (I worked from home). I also bought tablets for the cats, and sneaked them into their food – they thought all their christmases had come at one when I opened a tin of tuna. Little did they know the tuna was drugged. We have seen no fleas since.

A few minutes ago I looked out at the back garden, and saw Kaspar – our little black rescue cat – laying in the grass, enjoying the sunshine. It feels like it hasn't been sunny for months. His head keeps bobbing up to lick a paw and then he rubs his face.

Perhaps it's time to go make that bagel.

There comes a point in the life of most bicycles when the cost of repairing, or servicing them starts to approach the cost of replacing them entirely. I bit the bullet this morning, and wandered into our local bike shop.

Actually – I write “wandered” – it was more of a stagger, hood down, with frozen fingers gripping the edge of my hood. Somehow the weather decided to turn while we walked along the street towards the shop (my other half was with me) – turning from bright sunshine to gale force winds, hail, and sudden freezing temperatures.

We tumbled into the shop entrance – a mess of waterproofs, broken umbrellas, and wide eyes. The shop staff stopped what they were doing and looked up and down, smiling;

“Was there something we can help you with, or are you just hiding from the wonderful weather?”

After laughing, straightening ourselves out, and getting our breath back, I told the story of my bike and explained what I might be looking for. Moments later I found myself sitting astride a rather marvelous blue bicycle from last year's range, sitting in the middle of the showroom “on offer”. It's funny how coincidence works – that we happened to wander in on the same morning that exactly the right size framed bike of exactly the right type was sitting in the show-room among the various other bikes being cleared from stock.

Ten minutes later – after going through the various bits and pieces of paperwork, and picking up some lights for my other half's bike, we left – pushing a shiny new bicycle.

It's currently sitting in the shed in the back garden. I very much doubt it will see the light of day until Monday morning, and I'm not quite sure what I will do – my bike helmet and coat are at the office. I'm sure I'll figure something out.

Anyway. There you have it. New bike. I rarely buy anything for myself. My other half said I didn't stop smiling all the way home.