My Thailand Oddity – Good Health-

(Part 15)

I’ve posted a fair bit about Thailand’s culture, its social peculiarities, food, and so on, but I have not mentioned much about me, probably because I am not what this series is about, at least in general terms, however… Recently, more people have asked me, “How are you?” or “How are you doing?” With that in mind, I write the following.

Firstly, for those who don’t know me so well, I am no Spring Chicken. Some may say I’m middle-aged, which would be nice, but I doubt if I shall live until I am 132.

Some years ago, I broke some bones in right my foot. They have never healed correctly and often cause me pain when walking. The doctors advised that surgery could leave me worse off and allowing things to remain as they are is best. So, I’ve let my foot mend as far as it can naturally.

When I am cold my foot often pains me. Causing me to limp. The limp changes my gate which, in turn, hurts my knees as my weight is then abnormally distributed. This affects my left hip as it takes more strain, and so to my lower back.

Another infirmity is my right shoulder. My shoulder blade is misaligned. This is due to repetitive strain through the many years I worked as a chef and restaurateur.

I have the initial aches and creaks of Rheumatoid arthritis. Some days when my wrists are extremely painful, and my fingers hurt. I find it difficult to grip, to undo a screw top jar or bottle, or simply to lift something. Even holding a paintbrush, or a vacuum cleaner hose for a few minutes can become exceedingly uncomfortable.

Before I left Britain, all these ailments were daily nagging pains. A constant in my life. I became accustomed to living with them.

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I left England, after being back ‘home’ for three months, in June 2023. The entire year up until that point had been grey, damp, and miserable. The weather forecast that morning said it was going to be overcast, with light showers and a high of 14°.

Twenty-two hours after closing the front door of my house in Yorkshire, I was baking in 34° of glorious, wall-to-wall, sky-to-sea sunshine.

Initially, I stayed at a wonderful small boutique hotel, The Nova Gold, in the Hollywood Klang area of Pattaya, which is only a short ten-minute walk to the madness of central Pattaya’s bars, shops, restaurants, and nightlife, and about fifteen minutes to Beach Road/Pattaya Beach.

Once settled into my room, which was of generous proportions, and had scouted out the swimming pool and gym, I took my first walk down to the beach, stopping for a Latte Yen (an iced Latte,) on the way.

I limped. My knees, particularly my left knee hurt. But I knew, in a day or two, those pains would start to abate, as they had on my previous visits to Thailand.

You see, the constant heat soaks into your body, not just your skin, but your muscles, tendons, and bones. It saturates into your very core. As it does, the muscular and skeletal pains fade, eventually waning away. (Then there are the benefits of the sunlight itself; It helps promote the quality of sleep, increases the production of vitamin D, and boosts Serotonin and Melatonin production. Research shows plentiful sunlight helps protect you from type 1 diabetes, multiple sclerosis, colon, breast, and prostate cancers, along with non-Hodgkin lymphoma).

This allows one to walk further and more frequently, which in turn stretches, loosens, relaxes, and strengthens the body. Soon swimming, walking along sandy beaches, and even a short stint in the gym become a pleasure, not a torturous activity.

The beautiful weather is one reason I love it here.

My body is now a comfortable place to live. I am no longer in constant pain from my injuries. Even the nagging tenderness, the form of discomfort we brush aside and conclude are simply inevitable symptoms of ageing have long gone.

I have not taken any form of painkilling medicine for several months. I have no call for them now.

But this is only one part of my well-being, there is more… read on…

Food.

I mentioned above that I was a chef.

I was a chef who advocated good, wholesome, natural food. Food made from scratch, from produce, not from products. I preach that red meat is healthy, as is real butter, along with lard, and saturated fats, and these things are not detrimental to health. (The reason is simple. Ultra-processed foodstuffs are unnatural, they are either chemicals or processed with derivatives of the Petrochemical industry. They are slowly poisoning you. Their effect is more devastating than Smoking and Alcohol abuse combined. They are insidious, stealthy, crippling, incapacitating poisons).

While some foods in Thailand are prepacked processed foods, they are the minority of the diet for Thais and most foreigners who are residents here. Food in Thailand is not controlled by major supermarkets. Most are produced and sold by local people, in markets, from small stores, and shophouses. The vast majority is made from fresh produce which is prepared from scratch and cooked to order.

Eating this way has had an amazing effect on my ‘gut health’; an area many medical professionals claim to be the most important for overall well-being. I must agree. I have never felt better than I do now after eating this way for such an extended period.

Below are other things which have majorly impacted my well-being.

Medical care is good. Hospitals (both government-run and private enterprises) abound, as do Clinics, Optometrists, Dentists, Masseurs, and chiropractors. Health care is not free. However, the government facilities are heavily subsidised and therefore extremely affordable. Most government hospitals are simply walk-in and be-treated establishments. They are efficient and waiting times, from registration or triage to treatment can be counted in minutes rather than hours.

Socially, the Thais have a wonderful outlook on life. Family and community are major parts of every Thais life. In this village alone there seems to be an event or party, religious (Buddhist), or private (still open to the entire village), official calendar (New Year, Chinese New Year, Christmas, etc.), or celebratory festival, every week or two.

While this village has a central area, where the larger events are held, most parties… the Thais love to party, are held in the street, outside of people’s homes. Marquees are set up, and music blares out from 4 am until late, possibly 4 am the following day. People of the community gather, come and go, bring food and drink and… well… socialise. No red tape, no local authority interference, no special (and costly) licences, just genuine community doing general community things… real social community.

When not hosting an event, this area is used for activities, badminton, for teaching traditional Thai dance, aerobic exercise, young children’s five-a-side football, and many more. To one side is a street gym, like those that one may see along a beach. Meetings are held here on occasion too.

Halfway along the street in which I live is a fenced off area. This is a small, all-weather football/hockey/basketball pitch. The village teenagers use this every single day, older folk once or twice a week. It is floodlit, a necessity here as it gets dark around 19:00 hrs. all year around.

Nowhere do you find drugs paraphernalia or discarded alcohol containers. No needles, wrap packages, no cans or glass bottles. The facilities are respected by all, young, teens, and adults alike.

This sense of community has a wonderful benefit to mental wellbeing, mine included. This is just one aspect of the cultural difference I am experiencing.

I could mention several other areas which have had an impact on my health and wellbeing, both physically and mentally, but I think I have covered enough items for one post.

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Thank you for reading My Thailand Oddity – part 15

Keep Happy, Paul

My Thailand Oddity – part 13 – It’s not feeling a lot like Christmas.

Maybe this post, the thirteenth in the series, was destined to fall at this time of year. As they say, whoever they are, thirteen is ‘Lucky for some.’

Who knows?

Readers of this blog know I am presently highlighting the peculiarities that make Thailand such a distinctive country to visit, or to live in.

This post continues along the same thread, but more as a sidebar, as it focuses on the Christmas holiday period, which does not exist here, at least not in any fashion those of us in the Western world would recognise.

But I stray, jumping ahead of myself as is often do.

To put my following remarks in perspective, I disclose I have spent many a festive season away from home.

The most comparable of those regarding the climate was in Sydney, Australia. On Christmas day, I spent my time eating prawns, and drinking ‘tinnies’ of ice-cold beer, as I soaked up the sun on Bondi Beach. The evening found me at a raucous party at the Bondi Beach Surf Club… but that is another story, to be told at another time.

New York was the total opposite. Freezing cold and snowy. Central Park’s boating lake was a solid sheet of ice. The pavements in the city are just as slippery as the Rockefeller skating rink itself. I drank little beer during my time there, preferring hot coffee, or chocolate, although I may have indulged in the occasional whiskey on an evening.

However, I wander off track again. So, back to Thailand.

I knew when I arrived in the blistering heat of June I would be here for Christmas, but that seemed so far away I paid no heed. I did not consider it at all until I began to see Christmas posts appear on social media.

You see, in the cities, such as Bangkok, Pattaya, Phuket, Chaing Mai, and such, places where there are large numbers of Western tourists (Farang), it is commercially viable to join in with the hype and promotions of the season.

But I live far from a big city. I am in a village located just beyond the outskirts of a small town. It is somewhere the idea of Christmas just about touches, in a fleeting way.

Thailand is a Buddhist country. (It is officially recorded that 90% of the people here follow the Buddhist teachings.) Therefore, Christmas is not commonly celebrated here, and when it is, it bears little resemblance, in spirit at least, to that which I am familiar with from home.

Oh, there is the occasional shop, store, or mall with a display of twinkling lights, a dressed Christmas tree, and Santa, dressed in the now-common red and white outfit devised by the Coca-Cola company in 1936.

Bars in the cities may dress the girls in the same style as Santa outfits, but these rather provocative numbers created with far less material. The bars will play Christmas-themed pop music at full blast but there is nothing of substance behind any of this, at least not in the same way as in the UK, Europe, and the USA. The Christmas spirit is missing.

Do not misunderstand me. I am not saying this is wrong, far from it. It is simply how things are. It is the same reason we do not celebrate, as a nation, Buddhist festivals in the same way as the Thais.

Vive la difference

For myself, I do not feel ‘Christmassy.’ Partly this is due to no one else around thinking about it, so I have no one to share or bounce the Crimbo spirit with, but mostly it’s to do with the weather.

Recently we had a cold snap where the daytime temperature dropped to around 26 or 27 degrees. I got a little chilly. Thankfully, we are now back up the scale, with an average of 35 to 37 predicted.

While I enjoy the heat, it is in total contrast to the weather I grew up with at Christmas, which was wet, cold, icy, snowy, windy, and dark from around three o’clock in the afternoon. I think this has much to do with me not feeling like it’s Christmas. My seasonal circadian rhythm not recognising the time of year due to outside influences… maybe… or maybe I really am turning into a grumpy old git?

However…

I was pleasantly surprised on Christmas day.

No one in the family mentioned anything about the day. All of them, Kat, daughter, sisters, nice, going about their regular daily routine.

I had been engaged to help with an evening shop, nothing out of the ordinary, except we were visiting a mall rather than the more usual markets. However rare it may be, it was nothing out of the ordinary.

I wondered, at one point, why Kat was happy to sit and relax over a coffee in the mall. Normally she would grab her drink and take it to the car. I put it down to her having a busy day and being happy to chill.

I did not know that wandering around the mall, looking at one hundred and one things we would never buy, discussing colours and styles, amounts and packaging, and examining each piece of fruit and vegetable for slight blemishes, were all designed as a delaying tactic to keep me away from the house for a length of time.

My Thai language is basic, pathetic in fact. It is something I am working on to improve. As for reading… I have not even considered that seriously yet, even though I know I should.

The above means I only grasp the very basics of most conversations, should those speaking not ‘gabble’ too quickly. Once they do, the whole conversation becomes unintelligible to me.

The same is true of texts. A few, very few words I can decipher. But most remain a mysterious squiggle of ink.

This meant Kat could communicate with the family while we were ‘shopping’ without me knowing what the calls or texts were about.

Looking back, there was one more time I should have been a little suspicious. When we drove up to the house all was in darkness. This is unusual for Thailand. As a rule, the lights go on, and stay on, once it’s dark.

I took no notice of the lighting situation, marching straight into the house. As I did the door burst open and I was greeted by a chorus of “Happy Kitmass,” an explosion of party poppers, and the turning on of the lights.

Lo and behold, (see what I did there?) There was a decorated Christmas tree with gift-wrapped packages underneath, tinsel streamers, balloons, and sundry decorations.

I had been waylaid earlier so the family could give me a Christmas surprise… and a surprise it was. I had not suspected or expected a thing.

We dined on ‘Pork barbecue,’ a favourite celebration dish in Thailand, and I even drank a little beer.

The thought and effort the family put into making this a special occasion for me was well-received and much appreciated.

Christmas Day 2023 is now fixed in my memory.

The festive season is not all about Christmas. We have the New Year too.

The Thais love the new year… even ‘our’ New Year.

Thailand celebrates its own New Year. The Buddhist New Year. In 2024 it is April 13^th when the year changes from 2267 to 2568, is celebrated with the Songkran Festival.

However, the Thai people love to party and celebrate, so the international (Gregorian) New Year is a good reason for them to put their dancing shoes on.

Thais celebrate as we do with a party, drinks, great food, dancing, fireworks, and such.

Although the singing of Auld Lang Syne poses problems in both annunciation and interpretation, I am still attempting to instruct the family.

Lyrics

So far, I have only achieved success with the toast, Sláinte Mhath, which we now tend to use in place of the more common San Gell.

As for Auld Lang Syne, let’s wait and see. Just do not get me started on Robbie Burns’s ode ‘To a Mouse.’

Well, that’s it; a short post for number thirteen in the My Thailand Oddity series, but one I hope you enjoyed reading.

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Keep Happy, Paul

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Where? I’ve never heard of it.

The title of this post is the response I usually get when I say I went to Kinloch Hourn.

Where..?

Exactly.

To be honest, I would like it to stay that way, along with a few other places which we, (my wife and I) have adopted as ‘ours’.

You see, too many tourists visiting these ‘special’ places spoil them; even the very best, most conscientious, environmentally aware, and careful of us.

It is one of the cruel ironies of life.

So, I hear you ask again, where is Kinloch Hourn?

According to Wikipedia…

Kinloch Hourn is a small settlement at the end of Loch Hourn, in the West Highlands of Scotland. The name comes from the Gaelic, Ceann Loch Shubhairne, for “the head of Loch Hourn”.

While this may be factually correct, it is a cold and bland description which does nothing to attract the traveller and does not reveal its location.

Undiscovered Scotland phrases it a little better. I quote…

In his wonderful book ‘A Dance Called America’, James Hunter says: “There are few more scenically spectacular journeys to be made in Britain than the one that takes you from the Great Glen through Glen Garry to the edge of the Atlantic.

In this, as in much else, he is right.

Yet it is a journey made in its entirety by very few people: for nowadays it is a journey through a largely uninhabited landscape to an even more deserted destination visited only for the joy of being there.’

It is to share that, ‘Joy of being there’, why I write this post.

First, let me tell you about the route you must take. I say ‘must’ because there is just the one road, a single-track route which runs for 22 miles by mountains with such enchanting names as Leac nan Gaidhseich, Sròn Lice na Fearna, Sgurr a Chlaidheimh and Buidhe Bheinn.

I started this trip at Invergarry, a small town with a namesake castle on the banks of Loch Oich, from where we took the A87 westwards as if we were starting out for the Kyle of Lochalsh and the Isle of Skye.

However, as the A87 climbs north away from Loch Garry, there is a small road sign at a junction which points to Tomdoun. This is the start of 22 miles of spectacular single-track road heading more or less westward, following the north shore of Loch Garry before passing the tiny hamlet of Tomdoun, complete with its Sporting Lodge and the beautiful little Tomdoun Church.

As with many places in Scotland, I found this road has several ‘sculptures’ along the roadside. I must say, I have taken to these oddities and now keep a keen eye out for them photographing them whenever possible.

This is one of a salmon.

We were not far past this village, heading to Coille Mhorgil, when we encountered some deer wandering from the gates of one of the few houses along the route.

The deer were in no hurry at all. Our presence did not unduly disturb their meandering across a small meadow and into the cover of the trees. At first, I was a little reluctant to get out of the car, but as I wanted to try and capture a photograph I slowly opened the door, walked to the edge of the road and started to snap away. Besides a casual glance towards me, the deer carried on as if I was not there.

copyright images

copyright images

copyright images

copyright images

Then this small unnamed road climbs to the imposing Glen Quoich dam. It is a large structure, 1050ft long and 105ft high. The dam was built in 1957, as part of a series of major hydro-electric schemes in the Highlands. The waters of Loch Quoich were raised by some 100 feet or so, increasing the floodplain of the Loch from three to seven square miles.

The raised waters submerged the grand house, Glenquoich Lodge, where the likes of Edwin Landseer and King Edward VII stayed when on stalking trips. This is why, once passed the dam, the road winds onwards weaving its way through a mass of naturalised rhododendron plants on the north shore. These plants once formed part of the gardens of the house and led to the excellent stalkers’ paths that climb the mountains of Gleouraich and Spidean Mialach to the north. 

Glenquoich Lodge

floor plan

All you can see of the lodge today

How Glenquoich Lodge looked

Once passed the rhododendrons and over the bridge, the journey becomes a little more adventurous. The road here displays its lack of use by the strip of moss that runs along its centre. There are extreme gradients, sharp bends and intrusive stone walls and rocks. It is an interesting ride well worth the reward of many amazing scenic vistas.

Eventually, you will arrive at a small farmhouse and car park. This is Lochhournhead tea rooms and B&B, run by Harriet & John Gordon. 

However, this does not have to be the end of your journey.

The attraction of Kinloch Hourn is not only its spectacular beauty, but it also lies in the

The footpath from Kinloch Hourn

old footpath which runs along the southern shores after the road stops. This track can only be negotiated on foot and runs for a further seven miles to the beautiful Barrisdale Bay. 

This has long been seen as one of the two main gateways to Scotland’s most remote and challenging mainland region, Knoydart. For those who venture this far, Kinloch Hourn is often not the end of the journey, it is simply the beginning of the next. 

For ourselves, we saw more deer, particularly a young wild stag, who we helped to scrump a few apples he could not reach alone from the farm’s orchard. I suspect this deer has learnt of the generosity of visitors to Loch Hourn and plays the tourist for some extra food and who can blame him? This is still a wild deer; they can be a bit unpredictable, so should you have the fortune to encounter one, even this one, be cautious.

However, on this occasion my wife and I had another destination we needed to reach by evening, so we re-run the 22 miles back to Invergarry… and beyond but that’s to be told in another story.

At some time, I would like to return and make the 7-mile Lochside walk from Kinloch Hourn to Barrisdale Bay.

One of the many wonderful views on the way to Kinloch Hourn

To finish this post; If you like to drive slowly, stop frequently take photographs, brew up a pot of tea at the roadside, love the Scottish landscape and wildlife, then this is a most worthwhile adventure and one I highly recommend.

Even more highly recommended than that.

Keep Happy, Paul.

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Please take some time to browse my website.

I am an author, so you may find the book you ‘really’ need to take on your next trip. At least I hope you do.

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Have you forgotten something?

 

Michelangelo

There are few of us who have not ventured out of our home forgetting something we intended to take with us and, probably, on more than one occasion.

Often, it is simple to return and collect the item, the one we conveniently left in full sight on the kitchen table, or hallway stand so we would not forget them.

Sometimes the inconvenience occurs when we are well into our journey, yet because of the importance of the article we ‘left-behind’, we must make a swift about turn to collect it.

I recall a wedding some years ago when the groom’s parents arrived in Yorkshire from Newcastle, only to find the grooms mother left her wedding outfit hanging on their bedroom door some 150 miles away. The groom’s father drove the round trip overnight. Bothersome, stressful and aggravating, but not an insurmountable problem.

However, there are certain items which can cause major issues for holidaymakers, particularly when travelling to far off destinations; like the forgotten passports or sundry travel documents. Exasperating enough when you are the culprit, but absolutely frustrating and maddening beyond comprehension when it is another member of your party.

The knock-on effect is often a delayed start to the holiday, the one which was to be a happy, relaxing, stress-free time. Then there are those missed flights or missed ships. Often half the party end up travelling ahead, the remainder trying to negotiate a later flight or transportation to the next port of call.

But what about forgetting someone who should have been travelling with you?

Never you say… oh, yes.

It is known for people to be left behind during the melee of departure. Sometimes, possibly because of overindulgence of alcohol, a medical condition or accident, but sometimes it is simply absentmindedness.

The situation is often worse should the person left behind be elderly, a child or even an infant. Nothing it seems, is beyond possible, even for the most experienced, proficient and practised of independent travellers… like me.

Without further ado, I shall own up to ‘forgetting’ a travelling companion, not once, but on several occasions.

The chap in question is Michelangelo.

Those who follow Wild Geese may recall a post from October the 1^st, way back in 2017, called ‘Meeting Michelangelo‘, which is about, funnily enough, meeting Michelangelo. It is where I suggested you would see Michelangelo appearing in many of the photos posted on Wild Geese.

While he has appeared in the occasional ‘cameo’ and I have photos to be included in future posts, there are far fewer than I intended. This is a situation I shall be rectifying shortly, starting on my next journey to Scotland, when we are visiting the furthest East and West mainland points, via the original geographical centre of Scotland, a town called Newtonmore.

Speyside railway, board at Newtonmore Station

Meanwhile, I have news about Michelangelo.

His hip repair seems to have been successful, although it has left a large visible scar. I think he has now recovered from the operation and is in good spirits.

 

Sadly, little can be done with the missing parts of his right arm… (unless you know better?) He does not let this disability hold him back and is looking forward to our next adventure.

The good news is, he no longer lives alone. Even when we left him behind he was in good company. Here he is surrounded by his friends. (Michelangelo is second from the right.)

I shall post photos of Michelangelo from the various locations we visit on our forthcoming trip.

If you have any ‘friends’ who enjoy travelling with you, send us your photos at Wildgeesetravel@mail.com it will be nice to see our companions.

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A funny thing happened on the way to Dubai…

Recently I read a post, or at least part of a post, regarding the Fitbit watch or bracelet, or whatever kind of device they are. Clearly, an object I know very little about.

Not that this post has anything to do with these Fitbit thingamajigs, excepting for the fact the post brought to mind a small incident which occurred when my wife and I landed at Al Maktoum International Airport.

Now, to rewind a little so I can set the scene…

My wife and I are lovers of the great outdoors, we enjoy taking country strolls and even take on some rather more demanding ‘rambles’, especially when we visit Scotland. Now, neither of us could be called a spring chicken, so we are not to be classed as expert ramblers or practised hikers, just as a ‘Darby & Joan’ couple enjoying some fresh air.

That said, we do often go ‘off-grid’ as we enjoy treading the less walked pathways and spotting wildlife in the remoter locations, or at least as remote as we can manage, weather providing.

Older than many we may be, but we are not Luddites and are not adverse to technology. So, when my wife suggested it may be nice to ‘map’ some of our walks and “see how far we actually go”, I agreed.

Later that day my wife download the ‘Map my Walk’ app to her phone. We first tested this app during one of our regular walks near our home.

However, this is not a review, so I shall not delve into this app’s ins & outs. But let it suffice to say we have used it many times since.

Back to the start of this story and our arrival in Dubai…

The Emirates airline flight, the landing, baggage reclaim, passport control and customs all went as smoothly as they should and soon, we were sat comfortably drinking frothy lattes before going to collect our car for the drive to Hatta.

This is when my wife turned her phone back on to retrieve any messages and to call home to let my son know we had arrived safely and on time.

Of course, there were many messages; the expected ones, missed calls, the annoying ones, the welcome to… use our network… type of spam. All the usual stuff one expects nowadays.

However, there was one message we found particularly amusing. A message from the aforementioned ‘Map my Walk’ app people, MapMyFitness, Inc.

They wondered how someone could travel approximately 5500 km, about 3418 miles in a single session. (That’s around 10,419,975 steps for you Fitbit owners.)

To be fair, they did say there may be a slight malfunction of their app, suggesting turning the app on and off again to see if it cleared the ‘glitch”. Failing that, a ‘re-install might work’ they said, trying to be as helpful as they may.

It came to pass, my wife inadvertently left her phone ‘on’ on the plane and Map my Walk, therefore, assumed we were on one of our little rambles… one which took us from Manchester airport in England to Al Maktoum International Airport, Dubai in a little under seven hours.

Now, I know we are fairly fit for a couple of our age, but honestly, I think walking that journey is just a bit outside of our capabilities… at least in within the time given.

Happy Travels, Paul

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Mortality asseverated, (or a personal reflection of the festive season)

This may seem a strange title to use on a blog dedicated to the independent traveller and maybe it is.

Possibly, because this post is not directly focused on travel, oh, it does end up that way, but there is much more to say first.

Please read to the end.

Here is wishing you a most wonderful Christmas time.

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One must be of cold heart not to be emotionally affected in any way during the festive season. You may be one who considers God as large a myth as Father Christmas, or flying reindeer?

Bah Humbug.

So be it, I say. Each to their own beliefs, opinions, and philosophies.

Yet you cannot help to notice family, friends, acquaintances, even complete strangers offer up a warming smile, or an acknowledging nod of the head at this time of year, if at no other.

Making people happy, by giving gifts, or simply sharing food and laughter seems more honest and sincere. It feels truer, and closer to oneself than at any other time.

Our children and grandchildren giggle and scream in delight because Santa has brought gifts in brightly coloured wrappings, adorned with glitter and bows. They love watching the tree twinkle with frosting and lights, the sight of pastries, chocolate, boiled candy sweets, nuts and fruits in bowls and jars, hanging from its branches delight.

Sitting quietly, or standing in the background, we look on.

We watch; our own quiet smiles of contentment and understanding lighting our faces as we see our children, the parents, give one another ‘that look’, the glance of acknowledgement, and satisfaction of a job well done.

We, ourselves have done all this, time and again. We have now passed the secrets, tricks, and teasers down to another generation. The role we play this year is a welcome change, an accepted alteration of how things are.

How they shall be in forthcoming years.

We reflect on Christmases past.

The familiar sounds from the radio; tunes which accompanied so many of these bygone holidays, now form part of the great soundtrack of our lives. Yet they play once again, seemingly ageless, unlike ourselves.

Many, far too many, of those voices we hear singing out with such clarity are now gone. We are simply listening to echoes of history, of dead people as they slowly fade from collective memory.

When we grew, through childhood to our teenage years and beyond, each voice, and each name was as familiar as any household item. Posters on our bedroom walls, faces emblazoned on tee-shirts, jackets, and bags, scribbled onto the covers of school exercise books, and pencil cases.

We sang the words and hummed the tunes on the school bus, in the parks, on the swings and roundabouts, later we swayed and ‘bopped’ to scratchy 45’s in social clubs, coffee bars, and community centres… and onwards to nightclubs, discos, and raves.

These musicians, singers, bands, and groups played the accompaniment to our first loves, our initial sexual fumbles, the fights, the heartbreaks, and family feuds. They played on, track after track, each one seemingly written, and sang for us, personally ‘our tune’, connecting with us as we travelled to the next stage of our lives.

Until now.

Now they are leaving.

One by one everyone, and everything familiar, is going away.

Each day another voice disappears, their last track laid down long ago. The master copy lays gathering dust in some archive, awaiting posthumous release, a final goodbye from beyond the grave to those few loyal fans who have not yet succumbed to times cruel fate.

For us, this is a strange, but awakening time of year. A dawning of acceptance of mortality. The realisation the baton must be handed on, passed down to the younger generations.

It is a time to genuinely forgive.

Yet, it is also a time to stand tall, even if you can only achieve to do so hypothetically and not physically. Because this is also a time to become somewhat selfish.

We must face it.

Time is counting down. Our own name is forever moving closer to the top of the grim reapers list.

So, now is the time to go, to visit all the sights you have wanted but have made excuses not too.

Visit the countries you dreamt of visiting as a child, those far-away places of wonderment you saw on a map of the world.

Keep the promises you made yourself all those years ago.

Look about you; the happy faces, the giggling grandchildren, even some great-grandchildren… you have done your bit, you have committed for so long, and given so much, you can allow yourself a smug smile of satisfaction for a job well done.

But the world is changing far too rapidly.

Soon, it will be a place you do not recognise. Unfamiliar. It will be a place where you are lost, a place you are no longer needed, or even required.

Take this last opportunity to see as much of this world as you can, as you wish.

Do all the things you have dismissed. You do not have to go bungee jumping in New Zealand, or skydiving in the Andes, unless that is your want.

Fulfil your simplest dreams and wishes; dine in the expensive restaurant, at least once. Swim with turtle, dolphin, or pigs, buy that dress, those shoes, run barefoot through a meadow, dance naked in the rain… whatever it may be.

You now deserve to realise the hopes and dreams you sacrificed for all the laughing, smiling faces you now see before you.

Go.

Do it now, before they play your song on Posthumous radio FM.

Since I wrote this post, in December 2018, it has become far more pertinent on a personal level.

I became a widow during Easter weekend 2021 and am taking my own advice, traveling to the places my wife and I planned to visit, but sadly never made before her passing. I know, if I do not do this now, I never shall.

In the meantime, you may like to grab a book to read during your next journey or give someone a great read as a Christmas gift. Whichever it is, The Booklovers Catalogue is the place to find it, https://issuu.com/electricpress/docs/eecatalogue_comp