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Grand Old Castle

Brough Castle, built around 1092 on the grounds of an old Roman fort.

Once a grand old well kept castle. Once an impressive, seemingly impenetrable fortress. Attacked by an army from Scotland, destroyed and rebuilt. Rebuilt to be stronger, even more impenetrable. It was for 250 years…..

Then it met its new destroying army in the form of a Christmas Party… in a desperate attempt to cook the Brussel Sprouts properly, a fire broke out, destroying much of the castle.

OK I’m guessing on the Pesky Green Veg Villain, but something went badly wrong with that Christmas Feast in 1521.

The castle was partly rebuilt in the 17th century, but within a couple of years, fire struck again. Maybe don’t have 24 fireplaces…..The harsh northern weather has subsequently taken its toll since then.

Far too many children in the UK never get the support they need from the health and education systems. Hawklad was fortunate, it took over two years but he finally started to get some of the support he needed. Over the years that support made a real difference.

Then the day he reached 18, it was pulled. There is no equivalent adult support service. It’s only been a few months since then but I have started to see some changes, not positive ones. Hard earned progress starting to slow, halt or even reverse.

How many more are in the same position.

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Tree house

Now that’s a proper tree house…

You just never know.

There is a chap in the village. Seems a really happy chap, enjoying retired life. Always pleasant, probably smiles more than me. Easy to talk to. Seems to have plenty of friends in the village and always visiting. He walks with a stick, doesn’t walk too far but manages to spend a lot of time with his wife in their perfect, beautiful garden. They seem so relaxed.

This week I found out that he is really struggling with depression, has been for a couple of years now. He is deeply unhappy with retired life. Deteriorating Mobility issues forced him to give up his much loved job. He is unable to take part in his favourite hobbies now, golf, cycling, hillwalking, ballroom dancing, tennis. He feels like he has to spend far too much time in the garden these days. Even their holidays have changed. Once active, exploring filled adventures are now quite limited, quiet, sitting by a pool, in a cafe or on a patio holidays, plenty of time to read. The type of holiday they both always wanted to avoid.

I had no idea.

You just never know.

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Bruce

There are concerts and then there are CONCERTS….

Just a bit closer to the stage than the last time we saw BRUCE.

It’s strange how life works out sometimes. When I was much younger, I really wanted to see Bruce but the stars wouldn’t quite align. There was also quite a bit of that ‘shedloads of time in my pockets’ thing going on with me. No rush, plenty of time to sort stuff out.

But the years and decades rolled on. Bruce got older. I got older. That growing, nagging feeling, is there really plenty of time.

Then life hit the buffers. Bereavement. Single Parenting. Life felt like it had stopped. Permanently stopped. Bucket list stuff, things like seeing Bruce seemed like a million miles away and ever receding in the rear view mirror.

But slowly life started to spin again. A different life. Now a growing realisation that I won’t figure most things out in life, why things happen when they happen or don’t happen. That really clever, brilliant stuff is way beyond my pay grade. The other growing realisation, we really don’t have plenty of time in this life, but maybe, just maybe most of us will be given ENOUGH time to get enough done. Enough time to learn and grow. Enough time to experience enough in life, the good, the bad. It’s how we use that time, what guides us, our priorities, the choices we make, the doors that are opened for us, the doors that are closed to us, how we deal with the stuff of life.

No Bruce for decades and then wonderfully, unexpectedly, twice in 13 months. It’s a funny old life.

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Summer of 69

Trip to see the wonderful Bryan Adams. The last time I saw Bryan, I was still in my twenties, wow where did those years go. Looking at most of the crowd, I bet there were quite a few thinking the same.

Odd times back then. I had been with this girl for nearly three years, about that time we had started talking marriage and kids. Planning for the future. We went to see Bryan starting to plan for the long term.

Yet just a few months later, it was over. Life happened and we went our separate ways. We parted well and vowed to stay friends, maybe try again if the right moment came. But staying friends was maybe the problem. We could be friends but never really developed into best friends and soul mates. Careers took us in different geographic directions and we ended up seeing each other only once in the subsequent few years. A nice restaurant meal around the time a certain Bryan Adam’s love song was never off the radio. I remember almost asking her if she wanted to try again, but couldn’t find the words and I wasn’t completely certain. From a mutual friend, apparently she thought about asking the same thing but likewise didn’t. That was it, haven’t seen her again, decades have passed. No idea where she is now.

So last week when Bryan played that love song, it took me briefly back, I had completely forgotten about that time in my life. To a relationship that came close but never quite worked out for both of us. No regrets, just hope she did find the one, someone who could be her best friend and soul mate. Someone I was never really going to be.

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 38 Comments

Dog walkers

Couple of hours to ponder life as Hawklad takes an exam at a local college. Passed quite a few dog walkers along these tree lined avenues. A couple of thoughts struck me….

Many of the dog walkers looked so stressed out. Polite but no many smiles. Some talking on phones, some head down looking like they had the weight of the world upon them, some purposely keeping their distance.

Yet every single dog looked happy. Tails wagging, some carrying sticks, some chasing balls., some diving in and out of the undergrowth. All keen for attention and a stroke as they passed by.

Something might be going on here….

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Storm Farage

A peaceful walk in a Forest. But it’s not always this peaceful. It took the Forest Rangers quite a while to deal with the aftermath of the last storm which hit the area a few months back. Lots of tree damage still evident.

In the UK there is a new word hitting the dictionaries. One which has several meanings. The word is FARAGE. Often found in the phrase ‘Nigel FARAGE is a …..’

FARAGE can mean to some – a wise and gifted political orator who is a man of the people.

But FARAGE can also mean ….

a Charlatan…

a Dangerous Opportunist…

someone who feathers his own best…

someone who tells others it’s wrong to be a part of Europe, has denied the right of his countryfolk to have free access to Europe yet keeps his own European Passport, enjoys unlimited access to Europe for himself .

someone who screams immigration is bad/foreigners are taking all our jobs, filling our schools and hospitals, YET is married to a French Woman

someone who bemoans Europe for how it’s wastes taxpayers money yet then keeps his lucrative European provided pension for life…

someone who is a fascist…

someone who is a racist…

someone who is a right f#@### w#@@#£#

The word FARAGE can also been a family commitment. Hawklad is one of those souls who struggles to find fault in others. Yet with Nigel FARAGE he gets very frustrated, very angry. ‘How can people vote for him, how can they not see through him…’

Once the idea of FARAGE being our Prime Minister seemed like a joke, but then we did get Johnson and Truss. Sadly now his party are increasingly winning local election seats. Unbelievably it could just happen. He could be in charge in a few years time.

That thought horrifies Hawklad. My thoughts are unprintable… Hawklad has made me agree (I didn’t take much convincing) that if that disaster ever happens, then WE will seek to leave the UK. See if we can move to say Ireland or France or Germany or Switzerland or Canada or somewhere that will have us.

All because of a nasty storm called FARAGE.

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Small city

Some readers of the New York Times will appreciate the geography lesson that went along with a recent entertainment review. A review of the Gary Oldman play I mentioned in the last post. Helping its readers they described York as a ‘small city 210 miles north of London…’. Maybe they could have added ‘strangely that the USA’s largest city by population was in fact named after a Duke of this small English city and a small English city which was founded over 500 years prior to that former small New Amsterdam east coast of America trading post was ever dreamt of’. Or maybe they could have further added that it was ‘a small European city which was once the political centre of the Roman Empire’. Although at least one Glossy Las Vegas Hotel probably claims that distinction now as well’.

There might be some form on those type of heritage claims… Trump’s Special Envoy has recently compared the historic and stunningly beautiful Elysee Palace to Trumps Mar-a-Lago Florida Clubhouse.

There are no words 😂😂😂😂😂

But there is a real point here. Quite a few of us often assume that our little part of this beautiful planet is ‘the centre of the known universe’, and everyone will have heard of it. It doesn’t work like that. Life doesn’t work like that. Billions will have absolutely no idea about a provincial small city on an unremarkable island off the west coast of Europe.

Today I was driving towards that small provincial northern city while listening to a radio news item on GRIEF. One recently widowed woman talked about the struggles she was having with banks and large companies, how it was a nightmare to try to change things like joint accounts and pensions. I can so relate to that, even after nearly 9 years and countless communications, still we are receiving letters addressed to Hawklad’s Mum. The Widow added that she often felt like she was going crazy. Her world had crashed to a halt yet when she spoke to people at the banks and companies, it felt like it was business as usual for them. The world was still turning and she had been left behind.

That’s so true, I so understand that. I can remember trying to sort things out with banks, I felt like a wreck, time had stopped, yet I could see and hear the world continuing as normal all around me. People paying in money, sorting out loans for new cars, new houses. Staff talking about holidays, television and nights out. Couldn’t they see me, but why should they. The vast proportion of those I could see and hear had no idea who I was, no idea what I was going through.

Only now can I truly see this.

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Oscar Winner

Not often do we get the chance to see a Best Actor Oscar Winner ply his trade in a theatre. Add to that, to get to see him act locally in a beautiful small theatre which dates back over 250 years. On Tuesday evening we got to see Gary Oldman perform his one man production of the Samuel Becket play, Krapp’s Last Tape.

A wonderful experience and Gary Oldman is staggeringly good. He chose our local Theatre to return to the stage for the first time in 30 years because in 1979 this was where he started his acting career.

It was a play and a haunting performance that made me think about life, some poor choices, missed opportunities and the realisation that time is a finite resource. At some stage I won’t be able to say anymore ‘I will get it right next time’.

Strange I don’t get these deep metaphysical thoughts when we see the Christmas Panto here.

It behind you…

No it’s not…

(If you haven’t seen Panto then that won’t make any sense….).

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Calm needed

A shed load of calming thoughts needed, a few minutes thinking Switzerland.

The latest madness to add to the ever expanding simmering pot of mayhem comes from the US Health Secretary, Robert F Kennedy. I can think of a few F words that would fit perfectly there. In his words ‘Autism destroys families’.

Absolutely staggering. ‘Destroys’ implies burden, something intrinsically bad which needs isolating and eliminating. Implies the desire to remove from day to day life. This kind of language lays the seeds for Fascism.

I’m sorry Mr F….. Kennedy, what actually destroys families is the lack of meaningful support, it’s the constant fighting the system, it’s the ill informed, hurtful and dangerous comments made by deluded self absorbed politicians. Sadly Mr F…. isn’t on his own in the political world in thinking this way, we have them here in the UK.

Mr F…. Kennedy you are so WRONG. It has been and continues to be the best ever privilege to be a part of a happy, loving Autism Family. Every day I learn so much, see so much beauty, experience so much wonder, togetherness and LOVE.

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 35 Comments

Old music

I was in one of those vacant mind states as I ploughed through the daily house chores. The domestic zombie was just drifting through the preprogrammed cleaning, tidying and washing routines.

Glancing out of the window I caught sight of a couple of pigeons flying around the trees and suddenly I was roused out of my zombified state.

It’s funny how a sensation, a sight, a smell, a sound can suddenly bring back a flood of long forgotten memories. Those pigeons in flight had in that moment taken me back to the late eighties. Sat in my parents garden, listening to my Sony Walkman, watching scores of pigeons fly around the trees. Mr Cook, the next door neighbour, raced pigeons. At the bottom of his garden was a Tim Burton like strange, three sided, lob sided gothic style pigeon mansion. Get too close and you can almost taste those pungent cigarettes that Mr Cook was always smoking while he talked to his prized birds. The Walkman was new, well it was to me, it was a hand me down from my older brother. Sat in my parents garden I only had two cds back then. One was Whitesnake, the other was one of those random NOW this is supposed to be MUSIC compilations, a friend donated it to me as it was ‘crap’. It only had one listenable song, a belter from The Bangles, I kept playing that one song on repeat, watching the pigeon show.

Looking back to that former version of me, The Bangles music has aged way better than I have. The other thing is that my younger self was a tad mixed up. I had got use to wearing so many emotional masks to so many different people, I wasn’t sure who I was anymore. And WOW was I making some really bad life calls and yes making some really questionable fashion choices. Life was complicated, unfathomable, yet it seemed so simple to those pigeons.

Flying pigeons still seem to have such an uncomplicated life.

Today, in 2025 those pigeons had sent me to my record collection to find my Bangles album, to find that song. I’m still making life mistakes, still making questionable fashion choices daily. And now, I’m still playing that song on repeat again. Does life make any more sense now, not really but I’m kinda used to that now. If I still can’t figure out the washing machine cycles, what chance have I got figuring out life. Just got to keep my eyes open to helpful, guiding signposts. Maybe just like those pigeons today.

Do you know just how hard it is to photograph pigeons in flight with an iPhone. Gave up and cheated, much easier photographing them when they are feeding…..