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Panto

Oh yes it’s a trip to the Panto…

On no it’s not…

Oh YES it is…

That might make no sense to anyone not used to Panto World. A big Christmas tradition in the UK. Outlandish costumes, songs, dances, bad jokes, family jokes, some not so family jokes, getting as many children in the audience to shout out and get involved as possible. So much more, most which are beyond rational explanation.

The Panto at the old York Theatre Royal is always brilliant entertainment. The hard work that must go into this to be this good.

One established Panto Law is that if you are a Dad, don’t sit anywhere near the stage and never ever on the front row. As you can see from the photo I was safely hidden in the roof…..

At every performance, one poor soul is going to have the longest couple of hours of his life. Picked on during the Panto to be a part of the show. A friend of mine was asked to pretend to be a Lion from his front row seat and I once was subjected to a custard pie in the face by the Panto Villain. At the show we went to last year, one Dad was picked on and at random times had to shout out ‘words of affection’ to the Panto Dame on stage. Panto Dame is probably unexplainable, just look it up….. Looking at that Dad’s increasingly red face, he was so hoping the torture would stop way before the 3 hour show’s big finale.

He got off lucky…..

This year a poor Dad from the front row was picked out. Oh boy was he picked out. Initially it started off like last year, with the Dad having to shout out a few embarrassing things from his front row seat. But then….. He was donned with a costume, brought on stage, given a sheet of written lines and tried as best as he could to act. Not exactly Oscar level acting unsurprisingly. Very funny but the other Dads in the audience also sharing in his discomfort, that could have been me….

When he returned to his seat, he clearly slumped thinking the torture was over….I was reminded of that Simpsons scene where Bart says he’s having his worst moment of his life and Homer chips in ‘SO FAR…’.

After the intermission that Dad had to endure a few more thankfully for him, briefer moments of embarrassment. Then the Big Show Finale. The Cast are leading the crowd in singing some famous songs and suddenly they announce they need to change costume for the ending, so the poor Dad was pulled on stage and left by himself to lead the audience in singing ‘I’m Gonne Be (500 miles)’. Stood all alone on stage in front of the sell out 750 audience, with the cast stood in the wings looking on. Poor poor man. I have a weaponised voice but not quite as out of tune as this Dad. He gamely tried some moves as well but you could almost see this man’s soul leaving his body as the song went on. Finally the torture was over for him, hugs from the Panto Cast and a standing ovation.

I bet he never ever sits on the front row of a Panto again. I will look out for him in the roof next year….. Where the coward Dad’s sit.

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Just before the Storm

We arrived as the clouds started to roll in. The clouds definitely looked increasingly threatening as darkness rolled in.

Storm Darragh is coming.

Part of the Christmas tradition now is to visit the December Illuminations at the Yorkshire Wildlife Park. They are definitely the largest illuminations around here, taking at least a good hour to walk round. Looking at the forecast, wind and rain due to hit Doncaster just after 5pm, this year time was short. Maybe I’m old fashioned but walking around outside illuminations works way better when you’re not dripping wet and frozen.

We made it to the last section before the heavens opened up. I really felt for the families (lots of them) arriving as we headed out to find warming hot drinks and food. There would be no cover whatsoever for them on their 2 mile trek from the now set in wind and rain. I so hope they could still enjoy the experience, we definitely did.

We were so lucky to get to see the lights as the site was closed today on weather safety grounds.

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Bonfire Night

Blue Sky Yorkshire, if only this was the norm. Bonfire Night was certainly way more cloudy, way more drizzly. A few very damp fireworks, definitely way less than previous years. The only disruptive noise coming from next door’s mad Dog barking incessantly at the local Owl. The Owl sits on a tree overlooking the garden, and turns it back to the Dog. The Dog must get really frustrated at being ignored.

Hawklad loves F1, he has a real fascination for the motorsport. At the weekend we went to a talk by a former Team Principal and real character, Austrian Guenther Steiner. Hawklad loved it, especially as we got seats that were not next to anyone else, that really helps. If he feels hemmed in then it becomes way too stressful for him. If he feels stressed then he usually has to quickly leave. He has survived a number of rock concerts largely because of the combination of the noise, the darkness and people focused on the stage. This all adds to a feeling of anonymity, that’s the key. Plus he can move around to find less busy areas. He just doesn’t want to feel like he is seen.

This was all brought into stark focus after the talk had finished. Hawklad put his head down, hoody over his head. Out of the Arena, through the streets for 40 minutes, he never looked up once. Only when he got back into the safety of the car, did he raise his eyes and relax. The social side to life is so difficult for him.

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Huts

Tropical Scarborough on a blisteringly hot Autumn Day.

Forget the ice cream, hot soup was the order of the day.

Not sure if it was just the weather but when I offered to buy one of the brightly coloured beach hutches, Hawklad firmly declined…. The huts cost between about £70,000 to £160,000. You can rent them as well, Peak times set you back something like £300 for a week. For that you get a few kitchen items, a sink, deckchairs, use of the shared public toilets and free pet seagulls.

Peak includes Christmas, Wow that would be a brave call. Not sure the paper party hats would stay on too long with the inevitable Winter North Sea skin shredding sand blasting wind and icy horizontal rain.

Walking along the beach we passed a few groups of teenagers clearly starting the Half Term Break with some beach fun. I couldn’t help think about how Hawklad might view these scenes. It’s a part of teenage life that has so far eluded him, spending far too much time with his ancient relic of a Dad. Not sure those teenagers would spend too much time discussing beach huts…..

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Space

For a relatively small land, Switzerland often feels like it has so much space.

Sometimes we can have too much space….

When Hawklad was at Nursery and First School he had plenty of friends but things change.

Aspergers, going from a Tiny School to a huge Main School, Covid Insolation, Home Schooling, Rural Life, LIFE.

Currently Hawklad now finds himself self with only one Friend he has contact with, and that is only sporadically. Been like that for over 4 years now. No sign that position will change imminently.

Too much space.

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Dad

An evening Yorkshire Forest walk.

A thought struck me as we ambled towards the light. I would have loved to have done something like this with my Dad. Don’t get me wrong, we occasionally had trips out, but they were pretty rare. Looking back to my childhood I can still count the trips. I remember Dad taking me to see the 125 High Speed Locomotive, back then it looked like a Space Age Rocket rather than a Passenger Train as it passed through Darlington Station. I remember a trip to a Train Museum where I found an old ticket machine that dished out things that looked like raffle tickets. As we walked around the museum he eagerly checked out each steam train while I trailed a few paces behind. There was another trip to see a charity cricket match featuring the sporting legend Fred Truman. That was the trip Dad sent me into the players showers to get Fred’s autograph…. Not sure that’s happening these days…. A few trips to the coast to see a storm, sat in Dad’s banged out car, I’m eating chips while Dad is silently smoking.

The whole family would have an annual trip to Scarborough. Dad would frequently disappear for most of the days to do his thing. I can remember seeing him sat on a bench some distance away from the rest of the family as they tried to stop me from falling off the Donkey Rides on the beach.

That’s it, I can’t remember any other trips with Dad. Definitely no walks through a Forest….

To be completely fair, back then in our northern working class town travel was way less accessible. Few cars, even rarer aircraft tickets…

At home there was similarly limited Dad time. Dad might be briefly pulled away from reading the newspaper to talk, I might get a few words before he buried his head back into the racing and obituary pages. As Dad listened to his radio on an evening I would clearly annoy him with interruptions, you just know when someone wants you to shut up. Volunteering to take him a cup of tea to him while he sat in his Greenhouse might yield me a few minutes being told all about how to grow tomatoes or raspberries. Even when I was sent on a Sunday to the local Pub to tell Dad that his meal was getting cold, I would be lucky to get a brief nod before I was pointed in the direction of the door. On the way home again I trailed a few paces behind while. We just didn’t talk that much. So few chats with Dad.

Those times were so frustrating to me. I would have loved ME TIME with DAD, yet in reality MY DAD TIME felt very distanced. I’m sure it wasn’t the case but it just felt like I was often a nuisance, a bit in the way, an interruption to Dad’s routines.

The end result was I always felt distant from him. He didn’t understand me and I didn’t really know him. I knew he liked trains, liked cricket, he liked fishing, he liked gardening, he liked beer, he smoked, he was in the army. Looking back, I now realise that he wasn’t happy, probably chronically depressed and I still don’t know him. I will never know him.

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Donuts

Another late evening trip out for Hawklad, this time a couple of hours drive to the beautiful Peak District. It might well have been quicker but I managed to get lost in the dreaded Yorkshire Twilight Zone, otherwise known as the city Sheffield’s road network.

On the bright side, while lost we discovered a Dunkin Donuts store. One of those occasions where I happily ignore any gluten issues I may have for the GREATER GOOD….

The downside of evening trips is that you can far too quickly start to run out of light, BUT for those couple of hours, having somewhere as amazing as this place basically to ourselves, absolutely wonderful for Hawklad.

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6.30PM

Summer poses its own set of challenges. This season’s weather hasn’t been great with few warm weather days. Yes there has been sun but it’s often felt more like late October than high Summer. But the weather hasn’t deterred the crowds. Try to go anywhere around midday and the car parks are mobbed. Hawklad doesn’t do mobbed car parks….

But leave it until the evening and suddenly the car parks are empty. Ok that usually means the venue is shut but not everywhere. Just like Dalby Forest. A few hours earlier this walk would have been rammed with hikers, dog walkers and mountain bikers but now at 6-30pm it’s all change. It’s quiet, we are the only car in the car park. A 2 hour walk and we didn’t see another soul.

Or just like 6-30pm on the North East Coast. A couple of intrepid surfers enjoying warming drinks on the beach. A couple of ball chasing dogs with well wrapped up owners. That’s it. Solitude.

Yes 6-30PM cuts down the places open but it opens up so much space and peace. It works for us. Just don’t forget the Woolly Hats, it is Summer here.

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What did it cost them

I ended up with way too many missing pieces from the jigsaw which painted the life of my parents before they had our family, before me. I never took the time to ask for those missing pieces when I had the chance…..DEEP SIGH.

But I can sketch some details with the pieces I do have.

Dad loved playing cricket, loved to go and see Yorkshire play. He would go for long bike rides, go fishing, loved to ride on steam trains. He was also a bit of a party animal, putting on his suit and heading to the dance halls. He liked to look after himself, liked to be fit. Apparently he was also a bit of a comedian, very gregarious.

Mum loved to dress up and go dancing with her friends. Way too much dancing for her parents liking. She loved music, especially the likes of Crosby, Martin and her always favourite Sinatra. She also loved the cinema but only to see musicals or romance. She also really wanted to travel, wanted to see Paris and New York. In a word, apparently she was FUN.

Then they had three daughters and two sons.

Dad never talked about it, but looking back I’m convinced he fought depression for years. Boughts of heavy smoking and drinking. Hours sat in his chair, pretending to read the same newspaper page yet eyes fixed on a blank wall. Volcanic eruptions of anger, followed by days of silence. Those eyes, eyes filled with suppressed tears, frustration and anguish, was that why he frequently avoided eye contact. Some days he seemed unable to function, rooted to his bed, did sleep bring some temporary relief. Maybe he opened up at Work or at the Pub, not to his family. At home, one word summed the mood, UNAPPROACHABLE. Maybe DISTANCED is better. One word definitely didn’t fit Dad, HAPPY. I can’t remember him smiling or laughing. He worked, he gardened, he went to the pub.

Mum was more open. She said she struggled. She would apologise sometimes simply saying something like she wasn’t feeling like herself. Yes I can remember Mum laughing and smiling, but I can also remember way too many tears. She often seemed so sad. I remember a doctor visit, mum rooted to a sofa, talk of a nervous breakdown. She soldiered on. She had never touched alcohol but started to drink some sherry to calm her stomach. She went shopping, went to see her parents, went to her part time job, went to school evenings when school needed to see a parent, she looked after the house and US. She never went out socially, never met friends, never seemed to listen to music. She never put on a dress, she never made it to Paris or New York.

What did life, marriage and parenting COST THEM….

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Moors

Summer on the North Yorkshire Moors.

Just a few clouds make such a huge difference to the mood here.

Did I ever really grieve, TWICE

Back in 2016, almost to the day. I was sorting out mum’s funeral, broken yet my mind was on my seriously ill partner. It felt like grief had been put on hold. Then a few weeks later I’m sorting out my partners funeral and again …..

Was I really grieving, how much was I allowing myself to grieve.

My focus was on our son, trying to keep my head above the single parenting waves. Looking back I was living through Hawklad. If he was happy, I was happy. If he struggled, I struggled. Did I ever really think and meditate about what grief and death truly meant, how it was changing me.

Probably NOT.

Probably figured out way more about me as a PARENT.

Maybe the Mood will change one day and I can start to seek a little more clarity on grief and how it’s changed me, still changing me.