White Noise White Heat

Yes, this is an exercise post.


On the treadmill, last night, running calmly whilst everybody around me was frantically pushing themselves, it is apparent that the thrall of my exercise class no longer exists. Yes, of course, I could have been that person. It would have been quite simple last night to throttle up and smash 80%. I didn’t want to. 

Earlier in the day I’d done one minute challenges: two different exercises, five of each, and then whatever was left in a minute after they were done was mine for recovery. Last time this happened (July) the starting combo (box jumps, burpees) I’d managed two sets of before being unable to continue. Yesterday, I did ten minutes without a rest.

An awful lot has changed this year for the better.


Here we are therefore in a land where 100 press ups yesterday plus a full Blaze class isn’t making my arms hurt at all this morning. They may hurt tomorrow, of course, but for now everything is gloriously unaffected. It makes the teeth trauma so much more manageable too, lovely way to just switch off and stop obsessing about what bit hurts now. That’s better, by the way, but honestly far too slow to heal.

Then there’s an epiphany from this morning: as long as there is something to distract from an obsessive need to poke and prod myself every five minutes, of course it will get better. If I sprained an ankle I’d bear the pain and then work to recover. The same should be true of my teeth, or my written ability… or indeed anything at all.

If it matters enough, stop moaning and do the fucking work.


However, judging other people by my own standards has to stop. That might be the harder ask, long-term, only because it serves as a great way of reflecting the heat off yourself. If you can learn to stop biting your nails, to file them so that stay a decent length, so much else of the minutiae is possible. There just needs to be a place for it.

The key now, undoubtedly, is fitting everything into the spaces provided.

The Climb

This is going to be a day without painkillers. I managed seven hours yesterday, and things got considerably better as time went on. This morning it is everything but my tooth that hurts which is telling me that yes, this is improvement. Of course, there was minimal pain before we started all this last week, and that has to be the state we return to. Everything’s crossed this is not now the default state for mouth comfort.

Massaging my gum seems to help. Drinking through a rigid plastic straw is most definitely aiding cold liquid consumption. Keeping myself busy and in a decent mood is helping too. Yesterday therefore I caved and stuck a slice of cheese in my lunchtime sandwich. There’s been more bread too, but only brown. There should really have been weights yesterday but I skipped. I will push hard in PT and Blaze as a result.

I’m also not fussing too much about how clever this blog post sounds.

Last week’s plan however went largely out of the window and so there needs to be a serious push to get everything back on track. I have stamps for christmas post. All the ‘gifts’ are done and dusted for family, it’s just friends that need the work, and that will happen today and tomorrow. After that, it’s just construction and packing to do, and I hope to be ready to roll for early next week.

After that there’s a ton of writing things that need doing. We’ll get there :D


I was tired last night, so much so I was in bed at 9.15pm. 

061219A week’s worth of tooth stress and general inability to write anything other than a blog post had got to me. I have fallow periods, where brain does stop working, but normally only when new stuff has to be added to the routine… which is where I realise we are. This explains a great deal, on reflection. This is Integration on my new graphic. Physically is not where the problem lies, but mentally.

Yeah, the mouth pain doesn’t help, but it is getting better. There is clear, obvious improvement this morning, and it is not my fault that this kind of sensitivity takes a long time to repair itself. It would be so easy to play the martyr, but life is frankly too short for such shit. I have to go exercise because I didn’t yesterday. Three times a week on the bike, maybe shoving it up to four times next week if the fates allow.

Tomorrow I have a phenomenal amount of stuff that needs finishing.


The tea advent will continue, but only on Instagram. I’m going to be drinking this stuff for a couple of months too, four teabags  a day assumes you’re gonna like what’s given. To be fair, I bought a box of Christmas Tea because it’s a nice change from my normal brew, but once those bags run out I won’t switch. There needs to be a bit more thought about what is drunk in 2020. It’s added to the list.

Right now, it’s time to get ready to cycle.


I’m sorry to keep going on about this but FUCK ME MY TEETH ARE PISSING ME OFF. It isn’t the one that they filled that is the problem right now, it is everything else in my mouth that has now become hyper sensitised as a result of the nerve damage. The dentist did give me this as the worst case scenario: if it’s too painful, they either have to take the root out or remove the tooth completely and right now?

I don’t care what you do just make the pain stop.

If painkillers are taken, it does go away. The problem is, I don’t want to be mainlining paracetamol long term, and trying to live without them for extended periods of time has variable results. Right now, for the first time today, the offending tooth is what hurts. It’s a dull ache at jawbone level, which is undoubtedly less pain than existed on Tuesday. It has only been four days, after all, and I am sleeping.

Who knew time was running so slowly this soon before Christmas?

Oh fuck this, I’m taking painkillers.

Yesterday’s Men

Wednesday is normally a bit teeth-grindy. I can’t do that really right now, though this morning it must be said the pain has reduced from yesterday so maybe I should just shut the fuck up and wait to heal. The Bond 25 trailer dropped, and despite best efforts I could not escape it: it even turned up on the electronic advert screens at the Gym. Still not going to the cinema to consume, it can wait for a DVD release.

However, it looks like an improvement on Spectre.


I’ve not really hit my writing targets this week, mostly because of pain, if truth be told. However, there’s been some major exercise developments, which included me being able to get on a bike yesterday afternoon, do approximately thirty minutes and feel as if it worked for me. It also sets a notional benchmark for the rest of the month. Same course, same time, and if I feel like doing more, I can.


There’s also been a bit more of a focus on stretching, plus trying to ensure thirty press-ups a day are done regardless of whether I’m resting or not. Stamina doesn’t just come from longer workouts and harder training, it has consistency at its core, and this is a part of the equation I have failed at quite a bit across the years. Things feel like they are coming together too, this is the new status quo.


English Tea

Four days into the TEA ADVENT, and now I realise there’s just not enough enthusiasm in me to be an influencer…

Sure, I can do the pictures and make things look cool and interesting but honestly, I’m never going to like ROSE TEA. It brings back disturbing childhood memories of Turkish Delight and my Great Grandma, who I think died when she was having a leg amputated… or something, it’s all a bit hazy. Needless to say, this is not the stuff of lovely Instagram layouts. I’m too honest to be an Influencer. I’m not lying for cash, sorry.

This form of bloggin also brings into sharp relief what exactly people will believe and/or swallow in the name of ‘paid promotion’. It is, in essence, the same as the Avon lady who’d come round our house once a week when I was a kid wearing all the products my mum would then purchase, which I’d have a slight interest in. It’s only pyramid selling in a different guise, and that seems to be back.

In the end, however, I am a creature of habit. Give me tea I genuinely like (Earl Grey above) and the World is a better place and there’s no need for dishonesty. The bigger issue, ultimately, is that consumerism will destroy us all unless it is seriously curtailed in the next forty years and all some people seem to be interested in is buying useless crap they don’t need. Tea is a staple for me, I don’t need 30000000 flavours. Just tea works.

The problem then arises that the World isn’t like me, again. They do want Rose Tea and little strings to hang their Air Pods on so they don’t get lost and all the Funko Pops in the world… no, this is not the future. I’ll keep posting the tea reviews, but it’s time to drop the hashtags and the @ to the company who make this stuff. Sorry people, there’s better people to throw money at.

I’ll be over here, just drinking.

Just Like Christmas

The sun is coming up and I’m in the kitchen, making my first cuppa of the day. On the radio Low’s ‘Just Like Christmas’ begins to play. There’s a moment of irrefutable resignation: this song has altered in resonance from the last time it was heard. It will now be forever associated with someone who, this year, was sued over something that was said on the Internet.

Let me tell you the story.


I’m not even sure where we first met: was it Usenet? Possibly, it could also have been LiveJournal, but that would have been during its very early days. At that point he was living in the South West; we regularly emailed each other. They were funny, interesting and enjoyable communications, yet the truth was very apparent. His interest was, it transpired, only relevant until I was married. Then, silence.

In the midst of what I thought was a friendship, he sent me a Christmas CD. It was, it must be said, a work of utter genius: songs I’d never heard before, impressive pieces including Low’s song, which immediately became synonymous with him. It was only years afterwards that the truth became apparent: it was not a hand-picked, curated selection. He’d copied it from someone else. Melody Maker.


When his name turned up in my Twitter feed this year I won’t lie, it was a surprise. Looking to see what had caused this, then it wasn’t. He was always unspoken, edgy, set in his ways, even back then. We were friends because he let me, I realise now. If there were any genuine care and sentiment that existed, I’m not sure I’d be able to judge it as such. Suddenly, knowing this past made an immediate connection with the moment.

What this makes me grasp is that having fulfilling friendships with anyone online is dependant on two way honesty. If you’re not regularly communicating with someone, like every day, yes you can be friends, but… it only works if you’re giving as much as the other person. If all that happens is taking, if that relationship is largely passive? No, they don’t care about you unless you see them do it.


Sure, you can meet IRL once a year and it will be as if nothing changed, but to do this there is a fundamental part of yourself which needs to be given away, willingly. You can’t do it in letters, or emails, or blog posts. It doesn’t happen on Facebook or in Tweets. I’d need Skype and just you, tea and cake, actual physical interaction to move friendship past words on a screen.

I never met him IRL, and know why. If it had mattered, we would have kept in touch, and if that had happened there’s a better than average change I’d have distanced myself from him a while ago. In the end, his intractability was attractive as a discussion point but impractical as a basis for friendship. I’ve met people across all sexes who are like this. Sometimes, like it or not, you have to yield, or nothing is possible.


I hope, by writing this down, Low’s song will stop giving me a burst of melancholy every time it’s heard from now on… but maybe that’s a good thing. It can be the warning that occasionally, stuff just isn’t meant to happen, however much you’d like that not to be the case. You won’t be friends with everyone, and it’s a waste of effort to try.

You accept the loss, and move on.