S'not cool!

Incessant sniffing.  On the train.  I think it's up there with pretty much everybody's pet peeves.  I mean, come on... invest 35p in a pack of tissues, for goodness sake!  And although it's gross, if you have to, buy a hanky.  Whatever you choose to wipe your nose on, I don't really care, as long as it's not me and as long as the drip is not left dangling, waiting for a violent sniff to pull it back up to where it came from.  Over and over and over again. 

It drives me insane.  Winter is obviously the worst for snot-filled sniffers, especially when you're on a packed train every day.  I have been known to offer a tissue to a snotty stranger - isn't it better to offer someone a tissue than have to sit for an hour, listening to the content of somebody's left lung forcefully ebbing and flowing?  Gross.

I recently didn't quite name, but definitely shamed this guy on my Facebook page.  I watched as he dug for diamonds - and by that, I mean a full on, index finger right up in there, dig around - inspected the offensive gem and then proceeded to wipe it on the pole.  Yes.  That's right.  Who does that?!  I was so grossed out that after swallowing down the gag reflex, I retrieved a tissue from my bag and leaned over the aisle to give it to him.  He looked at me strangely and I was then forced to say 'Wipe what you just did off the pole, that's disgusting!'.  He feigned ignorance for a split second, then used the tissue to wipe the offending article off the pole where someone else's hand would imminently be placed.

So if you see this guy on the tube at any point, make sure you have your sterilising gel with you.  Mr Tie Man... you suck!  You're gross and I hope you fall face first into a cow pat sometime soon.

Reflections.... troubled souls and lost connections

I haven't been on here for ages.  I said a little while ago that I had writer's block and to a certain extent, I still do, but a few things have happened this week, which have given me cause to pause and reflect, which I don't often do.  I'm not a very introspective person and although, in the past, I have been guilty of over-analysing, I've done relatively little of that since I met Dave.  Contentment has meant that my mind doesn't need to go there very often. 

The past couple of weeks have been hard ones for a few people in my life.  A very special friend lost her beloved dad last week.  I don't think I've ever known anyone to be closer to their dad and I can only imagine how this has affected and is continuing to affect her.  All I can do is be there for her, on the other end of the keypad, offering her my support and love across the miles.  Then, on Wednesday, I received news that an old friend had passed away.  He was my very first 'real' boyfriend and became a very troubled soul, so I didn't have much contact with him in recent years, but it's still sad to hear that someone you grew up with and were once so close to has passed away, especially since he was still so young.  Facebook is an amazing phenomenon for bringing people together in times like this.  This person moved overseas quite some time ago, but as far as I know, was already going through a rough time when he arrived.  He certainly was the last time I saw him back in 2002, so apart from his family, everybody else who knew him here in England, only knew him as the person he became.  Or rather, probably more accurately, never knew the person he was.  Seeing the tributes, messages, outpourings of affection and shock from all of the friends back home is really humbling and I honestly hope that it provides some comfort to his family that so many people have such fond memories of him.  Kurt, you were absolutely a force to be reckoned with when you were younger and I was never going to succeed in taming you, but I will, of course, always remember you. 

I heard this on a podcast last night and it really resonated.  It is a quote by Henry van Dyke and goes like this...

I am standing upon the seashore.  A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean.  She is an object of beauty and strength.  I stand and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.  Then someone at my side says, "There, she is gone!"  Gone where?  Gone from my sight.  That is all.  She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and she is just as able to bear the load of living freight to her destined port.  Her diminished size is in me, not in her.  And just at the moment when someone at my side says, "There, she is gone!", there are other eyes watching her coming and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, "Here she comes!".  And that is dying.
 
Kurt's death brought another very old friend back into my life (thank you again, Facebook) and I have had such fun reminiscing about the old days with him.  Dave doesn't often understand it when I explain how, where we grew up, everybody knew everybody else and they certainly knew everybody else's business!  I'm not sure I'd want it that way now as an adult, but back then, it wasn't an issue - although that may be because I was fairly inconspicuous in the grand scheme of things and never really did anything 'news-worthy'.  There was no need for phones, just a strong pair of legs and a good pair of flip flops to get you where you wanted to go.  You inherently knew that once you got to where you were going, all the familiar friendly faces would be there waiting for you to join the party - whether that was a real party or an afternoon swim at the local pool.  At the time, we all seemed so vastly separated by the schools we went to, cliques we hung out in, clothes we wore or who we were dating.  But now, 16 years later, the picture I get in my mind when I think of those days is one of a tiny, really close-knit community - almost as if we were being looked at by a kid with a magnifying glass.  We were the ants.  All of our stories, all of our relationships, all of our social events (Raywood and New Forest discos, anyone?) were connected.  I was thinking about the impact that some of these people had on my life back then and they had absolutely no idea.  Isn't it a fantastic thing to be able to tell somebody that, at one point, you couldn't imagine a week going by without seeing them or laughing with them or even just speaking to them?  Because that's what it comes down to... memories are sacred, nobody can take them away from you.  So my advice to you is that while you still can, make a go at rekindling those connections that make the good memories stand out more than any bad ones you're carrying around.

This week, more than ever, I'm absolutely grateful for all the great ones I have.