15 years
One Sunday in Bologna, Italy where I used to live, I didn't go out for the usual early-evening aperitivo. There was a bumper car bonanza of thoughts that were pushing their way out of the caverns of my mind in to the light. Feelings and emotions, people and places, smells and sounds and things.
And I wanted to write. I have always wanted to write. When I was in school, I thought I wanted to be a Journalist, I went on and did a diploma in Journalism, only to realise that writing for newspaper media made me bork. That is not the kind of writing I can hack, so I never went in to that kind of profession. Even at university as a mature student I struggled to toe the line and stick to the subject matter without enhancing anything outside the sphere of academia. You see, I write because I read - and my imagination runs a riot of words and forms its own cocktail mixology of sentences. I have a book in me maybe, a manuscript that sits in some drawer, though I'm not sure which one it is in.
And then I ended up here, one Sunday, in Bologna, Italy, where I used to live, when I didn't go out for the usual early-evening aperitivo.
Instead I started down this road, this motorway, connecting with and building others deep in my mind, transforming handwritten scribbles from my notebook in to this digital space because I felt I had something to say, or better, something to write. That was in September, in the year 2008. Fifteen years ago.
And maybe it's not just the rounded timescale; 5, then 10, then 15 years, but maybe my obession with my number; the number 15.
When I was a teenager and I scored more than one goal in a competitive hockey match for the first time at my first club, that is to say when I scored a brace - two goals - I just so happened to wear the number 15. It has been my 'lucky' number and preferred squad number ever since. It was a sign, it made things happen. I was born on the 15th February, it had to be.
Somehow I am still playing hockey when most of my peers have retired playing competitively, and somehow I am still here writing this blog when there have been times when I thought I had no more to say. But when you have a passion, you find a way. Hockey and writing. Now the number 15 is significant to both for me. I don't always play well and I often don't write as much as I did. And I know that eventually my fingers will outlast my legs in this marathon.
And, and, and more ands. My name is Andrew. And I love words and writing. I started out with a post a week, my writing day being fondly on a Sunday (evening), a day when I can resume my week and blitz my ingredients my mind blender, to pour out on to my sharing platter of a page for you all. Now it is much less frequent, The initial pressure cooker now just simmers. Besides, I don't want to force out a shit for you all to frown at.
In the last few years I have realised I have faced a mountain of shit. Yes, I kinda like the 'bad' words too. Sometimes you cannot subsitute them. Shit is shit, it's different to poo. I realise my mood is somewhat shitty today...But I am not apologising - this is my space, my page. Send me an emoji 💩
And now I'm waffling, I do that sometimes here, my feet know how to shuffle, but my fingers know how to waffle. I still like to show up here. I like to keep on keeping on. Writing has not been easy, inspiration has been hard to come by. Yet if I can make it to the keyboard and open a blank page, I have been able to take my medicine and knock out some words. It has helped me enormously get through a lot of shit.
Over these fifteen years I look back at the kind of things I have written. I never really set out with more than idea of putting down ideas on paper. My mind motors throughout its network, it churns through the gears and navigates down country lanes of grey matter, and then it can cruise down motorways. Sometimes I drive in to cul-de-sacs and I have to park for a short while. There have been thoughts, inspirations, musings and even the odd rant which I like to stay away from, but hey, I'm human. Then there have been pieces of fiction, which is where my mind starts motoring, it races in the fast lane and can pull over and cruise in the inner lanes. I have really had fun with those.
I have never gone back and changed anything, despite the temptation to do so - I want to be true to myself and have that spark of writing recorded in that moment. What I was feeling at the time, what I was thinking. I want to see how my writing has evolved. If anyone ever leaves a comment you will see that I say: "If I am honest, one of the reasons I write is to provoke a reaction to what I've put down on paper. People make this world - like they do so many of my posts, and people see things in different ways, so your comments on the context are welcome." And then who doesn't like a story? Storytelling will never go out of fashion, it is here to stay. These are all my stories.
Thank you once again for reading this far, thank you to the people who have been reading my shit for the last fifteen years, some of them who actually ask why I haven't written for a while and spur me on to keep churning on and out. I thank all the writers who I have read, who have inpsired me. I thank languages I speak and those luscious lovers of words who caress and passionately intepret them and stoke my fire. Namaste, I bow to you. Sometimes I have had others guest write, people who can tap in to this journey. You are always welcome to contribute if it fits.
Today is Sunday, this morning I pulled on my number 15 shirt once again and played the first league match of the new season. It is evening and I am sat with a beer, writing here once again, after 15 years. I am aiming for 15 more. In both cases, I keep on keeping on.
Read more stuff like this here:
Motorways of my mind - my very first blog post!
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