46. Magnetic DNA

bokehbridge2via 46. Magnetic DNA.

Dear Mikey,
You’re never far from my thoughts. No matter where I go or who I’m with, you are there with me. I’m certain Zareen notices when you’re present.  I sort of disappear into another world, somewhere. And when I’m there, wherever or whenever it is, I have the vague sensation the joy we shared then is being swallowed by the pain I experience now.  And though, it’s difficult to describe in words precisely what happens, it’s something akin to watching a magnificent sunrise only for it to be engulfed by a thick fog seconds later. The ascending molten orb promised to be a glorious sight, but it was over all too quickly.  That happens in life, sometimes.  Expectations and reality rarely, if ever, match. Prepare yourself for similar disparities in your own life, Mikey.  Even so, this is one occasion, where waking at dawn was worth the all effort. Sure, I’d much prefer the pain was absent, but I refuse to let the fog obscure the joy. I wonder if I should invest in a fog extraction device for that very purpose?  If only such a gadget existed! What would it look like? How much would it cost? Can I order one with a raw carbon finish?


45. Putting your Father back into Christmas…

After Mikey


Dear Mikey,
I’ve felt the urge to write for some time. Usually, once the idea takes hold it’s difficult to shake off and a letter soon materialises. This letter, however, has been an entirely different beast. The gap between the initial idea and the execution has been stretched. An understatement and a half. My first attempt failed miserably. My second attempt ditto. I’m holding my breath – metaphorically rather literally speaking – that my third attempt, will be more successful. But quite frankly, words fail me. Thankfully, this time I had backup, a wing man, or wing woman in this case – Zareen – to turn to. I gave her a video call. When I saw Zareen smiling back at me and complained about the inability to find a starting point for this letter, I blurted out:

“This is will be the fifth Christmas Mikey and I have been apart.”

View original post 2,137 more words

44. Five Years Old and Counting.

After Mikey

DSC_0421 (4)Dear Mikeysaurus,
It was your birthday last week. You turned five. Five! Long gone are the days of calling you Little Bug or Baby Bug or Baby Boy or My Favourite Blue-eyed Baby Boy. You’re a big boy now and growing bigger, stronger and more mischievous with every day that passes. I cannot deny, however, that all those names and more besides – all terms of endearment, I hasten to add – spring to mind whenever I think about you.  I’m sure that will be the case irrespective of your age. After all, you are and always will be my son. And, after all, you will always have a special place in my heart. Always. Never doubt that.

I posted a card and a small gift well in advance of your birthday. Mamma has confirmed she has given you the former but will neither confirm or deny she’s given you…

View original post 2,396 more words

43. Orange Juice

After Mikey

DSC_0013 (4)Dear Mikey,
My landlord has builders fitting fire doors and smoke alarms.  To avoid the power-tool cacophony that was to come– and only for that reason – I headed to the relative peace and quiet of the pub.  There was no way of knowing, however, my route there and back again would be planted with emotional trips wires.  On the outward leg The Tall Bearded Man that busks in town played the theme tune to Thomas The Tank Engine. Sure, wearing his usual garb of leather trousers, leather platform boots and a shin-long brown Barbour-style wax coat, he looked goth-different.  But don’t hold his non-conformist fashion tastes against him.  Put a guitar or ukulele in his hands and his genius becomes apparent. He really is that good.  Normally, hearing him play puts an instant smile on my face. He’s the only busker, I’ve heard to pluck gracefully through Mozart’s requiem…

View original post 3,120 more words

42. Chain Reaction

After Mikey

DSC_0252 (3)
Dear Mikeysaurus,
Lars Boom –  national road race, time trial and cyclocross champion, winner of the Tour of Belgium and with stage wins in the Vuelta España and Le Tour de France to his credit– along with Geraint Thomas, Mark Cavendish and rest of the pro peloton is presently hurtling towards the Welsh Capital.  With 1116 kilometres of road racing over 6 days and a fast 16-kilometre Individual time trial already under their belts, the 104 riders remaining in the tour will start today’s 180-kilometre final stage from Gloucester, tired. Torrential rain, combined with fierce winds and ‘lumpy’ roads will suck the energy right of the rider’s legs. Rather them than me.  All other things being equal, Boom should hang onto a slim lead.

Just as I couldn’t escape the feeling it should have been me walking you to school, I can’t move past the idea that you should be…

View original post 3,523 more words

41. School Starts

After Mikey

DSC_0004 (9)
Dear Mikey,
Traditionally, Monday 4th of September marks the beginning of the Autumn term, which means you’ll be embarking upon your school career either today or tomorrow. School! Exciting and challenging times are ahead!  No thanks to Mamma, it’s yet another significant mile stone I’ll be missing out on. Many others have come and gone. Losing your first tooth, kicking a ball for the first time, the tricky business of getting dressed all by yourself, painting your first picture, swimming without arm bands, not to mention riding a bike without stabilizers and performing your first bunny hop. I’ve missed out on them all. Had I witnessed any of these first-time events, I can confidently say, I would have been beaming. My joy would not have been centred on your achievements, however. It never was, it never will be. Your very existence is enough to bring joy to my heart…

View original post 3,460 more words

40. Extraing Hope.

After Mikey

DSC_0068 (2)Dear Mikey,
Yesterday was unusual.  It began by being woken to the ear-piercing-cats-being-strangled sound of Zareen’s brakes at 5.10 am.  I bolted out of bed, raced downstairs onto the street, still in my pyjamas, barely awake.  Confused, I apologised for not being ready.  In the hall, I asked Zareen to put my coffee pot on the stove.

“It’s ready to go,” I said, leaving her to crack on with it.

Meanwhile, in the shower, I realised Zareen wasn’t due until 5.45.  It wasn’t me who was running late, it was Zareen who was early. A full 35 minutes early! Early! Highly unusual. Remodelling of the M6 and a 50-mph speed restriction near Sandbach means tail backs and time delays for anyone – Zareen included –   travelling south, are common. Before hitting the road – no, not literally young man – I gulped down that much-needed coffee, grabbing a couple of…

View original post 1,677 more words