Why we must remember

I try to approach every day with an open mind. I do my best to find a lesson in every thing that comes my way, good or bad. It’s the way I was brought up. There’s always a lesson to be learned, you’ve just got to be open enough, aware enough and willing to put your stubborn pride far enough aside to find what’s worth learning.

At this moment in time, on all fronts — professionally, vocationally, socially, romantically, and athletically — I am overwhelmed with lessons.

When you boil your list of importance down to 4 or 5 things and you still don’t have as many hours in the day as you’d like to dedicate to any of them, the lessons can slip by. Some I recognize and just can’t afford to learn, some I don’t want to concede I need to learn, and some I just miss.

The latest of these lessons came today though, and I definitely didn’t miss it. It really hit me quite hard. I stood in the street stunned for about 20 seconds.

I was the kind of gobsmacked you might be if Tom just strolled up to Jerry right after the opening credits, all casual like, and wolfed him in one go. Done! Over! Finished!

I was outside Comet, walking to  my car after uni, when I saw 3 old ladies shuffling their way toward a bus in a slowmotion battle for the “priority seat” at the very front — the holy grail for elderly urban stalwarts of public transport —  with as much effort and as little progress as Emperor Penguins trying to snag that “number one” piece of ice before winter truly sets in. (As a side note, I think it was about as cold in Aberdeen today as Antartica. My days like…)

Anyway, I initially just stopped to watch the OAPS battling because it was fascinating, but then I noticed the red poppies proudly paraded on their jacket lapels, all three of them.

Last night, my mum asked me if I wanted her to get me a poppy.

When she asked, I was engrossed in Civilization 5, a strategy computer game designed around conquering the world with the empire of your choice.

I wasn’t really paying attention and just grunted something along the lines of: “No thank you dear mother, I shall not be taking you up on that offer.”

Little more thought was given and I got on with trying to conquer the world with my empire: England!!!!

I went to bed, slept, woke up today and it wasn’t until I saw the three wee emperor penguin women that this poppy thing returned to mind. Then I thought about what mum has asked, then I became Jerry and Tom — my conscience — wolfed me.

I was embarrassed. How ignorant can you be? I’d forgotten what a lost generation had done to preserve our liberty and give us the opportunities we have today. The life we all take for granted today did not just happen by accident. The education, the welfare, the democracy and the freedom we know as normalcy, the technology (the video games that allow us to replicate the true extent of sacrifice we should be aware enough to recognize, respect and remember) are all gifts that the thousands of people fought bravely and died needlessly to give us.

That is something we should never forget.

For around 20 hours, I did forget this. I did worse than forget it, I cast it off. And it makes me sick to think about. I came back down to earth outside Comet and immediately marched in to buy a poppy, but of course, sods law, they didn’t sell them.

I did get one though and I shall wear it because, as of today, I know why I HAVE to wear it!

Our generation are probably one generation too removed to know the impact that the last century of war has had on the lives of our grandparents and our parents.

After the penguins had migrated, I stood and watched people and traffic pass me by for a while. I was looking for poppies. Probably a third, maybe a half max, of people I saw were wearing poppies. At least half of these again were rather long in the tooth.

My generation  find  a lot of comfort in apathy.

It’s because of fear.

Apathy is perceived to be safe. If you don’t think, then you can’t be wrong, you can’t appear stupid and you don’t show yourself up in this ridiculous social struggle consumed by what others think of you.

However, the irony in this is that hiding behind apathy so as not to appear stupid makes idiots of us all.

BE BRAVE ENOUGH TO ENGAGE, TO THINK, TO CARE  AND TO REASON WITH THE UNKNOWN!!!

To learn we must be open, but we must be proactive. We have to have enough respect for the things that truly matter when we don’t have to. That is what makes the world go round. People reaching out to others to teach and people being open to being taught.

So, people, buy a poppy. Remember. But, don’t do it because Tom ate Jerry. Don’t do it because everyone else does. Take five minutes, talk to an emperor penguin and find out exactly what was sacrificed, if you don’t have a grandparent penguin to ask, go pick anyone in the street. Ask them why we do it at all, learn what it is that is so essential for us to remember and learn why that piece of ice worth taking the time and effort to fight for really is worth the hassle.

Remember those who died for us. Respect those who died for us. God bless those who died for us.

Onward, Christian soldiers, marching as to war, 
with the cross of Jesus going on before. 
Christ, the royal Master, leads against the foe; 
forward into battle see his banners go! 

The Drunken Ce-LIE-brity

Meet Dave.

We’ll call him Dave. He is a Monkey House regular.

He walks into the bar sporting black cowboy boots, tight leather jeans, a faded denim jacket, and a peroxide blonde mullet. He looks like Bon Jovi’s older brother, who just got stuck when midnight came around on 31 December 1989.

Dave drinks Jack Daniels & Coke or Tennents by the pint.

For the 30 seconds between him ordering, me dropping change into his hand and me sliding a full glass across the bar to him, I’m his best friend in the world.

Dave tells me a lot of things every time he’s in. He tells me he is 51. He’s a singer. He’s just finished recording his new album. He says he is divorced. He has 2 kids he doesn’t get to see. He’s the most famous man in Aberdeen. He’s always just finished recording. But he’s never sang a song.

He tells me about the bird he took home last night. The one that has been texting him all day and is dying to meet him again tonight. She is 26, blonde, with big beautiful eyes and Dave thinks she’s cracking. She told him she’d have to wait until she got drunk before deciding what to do, but she got drunk and ditched him. I don’t think he ever did get a text. I don’t even know if she exists. He swears by the Rockstar lifestyle. If you don’t pay attention you might just be conned into thinking he’s the life and soul of all the parties. You might mistake him for being happy. The Bachelor. The single man. Living life to the fullest. But, it’s all a lie. You can see the hollow emptiness in his distant, vacant eyes.

His tales are all taller than a Swede in Hong Kong, but I let him tell me all of them, not just because it’s my job and I find people fascinating but because he needs to tell me his stories to survive another day. He is just desperate for someone to talk to. His loneliness is devastating. It must be a hell of a life that has forced this guy to build such a fantastical alternative. It makes me shudder to think what experiences have caused him to run so far from reality.

That being said, while he might only live a celebrity life in his mind, what a mind he lives in. What an imagination he has!!! The things he comes up with are fiction gold. He’s a world famous rockstar, fighting off fans, who bounces around the bar, desperately trying to get someone to give him the time of day, screaming out to share a drink and a few words with anybody at all.

Dave has searched for an alternative existence in the bottom of a glass for so long that he was blackout when his glass-bottomed world shattered and he never sobered up long enough to see it had happened at all. He doesn’t stand a chance of returning from his make-believe abyss because he doesn’t realize it’s make-believe.

If you’re constantly stumbling and swaying in sync with a round-about-world, it’s easy to think you’re standing perfectly still.

Dave is lost in the real world. When people failed him, drink always came through. When the world tripped him, whiskey broke his fall. He drank his feelings dry long ago and who needs truth when you can lie in bed with booze and have the night of your life every night.

Dave divorced life and started a lustful relationship with boozy illusion long ago and now he’s trapped.

Life means drink, but drink means he’ll never be able to really live again at all.

This sad downward spiral keeps pubs all across the world open. Lost souls trapped in the pub because life beyond the bar stool has kicked them into the gutter one too many times.

It’s people like Dave that make the world so interesting. Without the deluded Daves of this world, it would be terribly boring.

I like Dave. I can’t wait to hear about his latest single on Friday night. Maybe I’ll download it on itunes!!!!

Don’t Waste Words

Words are amazing things. Little syllabic beauties we all used to mindlessly scribble and trace in the early days of primary school — those same seemingly pointless drill exercises that were about as appetizing as Quorn meat — can now dance together and seem like the memoirs of divine inspiration. At times it’s almost like God himself is asking you for a loan of your pen to scribe your soul’s thoughts when you use them to let your heart speak.

You can’t write bad work if you write from the heart. You can’t criticize it either. Nobody has the right to say someone else’s heart is right or wrong. A heart is never right or wrong , it is just truth if we open it up and let it tell it’s story.

I am learning more in this transitional period of life than I have ever before I think. One of the biggest things this journalism masters has taught me so far, besides how expensive parking in a city is and how valuable hot coffee is in October in Scotland, is how to serve other people with words, not just indulging my own ego with superficial excellence.

Selfless journalism will make you a great journalist. Not reporting on Dave Smith to make people say: “Oh, see that John Robertson, what a great writer”, but reporting to make people say: “Wow, see that Dave Smith, what an incredible story.” That is greatness without having to try and show people how great you are.

This goes beyond just journalism to life in general. Don’t tell people how great you are, just be you and if that’s greatness people will see it.

I spent 4 years trying to find ways to say a 4 word sentence in 28 words. Now, I’m unlearning that. My new purpose is saying a 4 word sentence is 3 and a half words. Adjectives are the Devil. Waffle is the cardinal sin.

My goal: tell someone a story that’s worth them taking the time to hear in less time than it takes for them to get distracted or bored. The essence of news is people. People make the world go round. People do things. People like to know about the things other people are doing because you might just be doing something more exciting than me and hearing about it makes my grey day a little more colourful.

As a journalist, this responsibility to select the stories of interesting people and tell them to less interesting people as simply as possible is a fantastic challenge. People will always exist, so journalists will always serve a purpose.

I know I’m a journalist because people fascinate me and I just love trying to figure out their stories to play on the whole spectrum of emotions of other people.

My latest project: The Monkey House Diaries is about to take off. You meet some unbelievable characters in the bar trade. I shall try to capture a few of them so watch this space.