We All Need Mates

Earnest Capstaff died last month in Accrington, Lancashire. 

At the age of 101 Earnest had outlived all his mates and his family - except for a niece and her husband.  His funeral was set to  be a very small affair, not worthy of the send off that Earnest deserved, having survived service in the Royal Navy during WW2 fighting the Imperial Japanese Fleet.

Earnest's niece obviously felt that he should embark on his heavenly journey with a celebration of his life,as befits a much loved uncle.  Consequently she put the word out on the social media network where it was picked up by Ex Servicemen and Armed Forces Groups.  The request for attendees for his funeral went viral.

Hundreds of people, accompanied by the local British Legion and guards of honour from the Armed Forces groups turned up to see Earnest off and celebrate his life.  

These were Earnest's mates.

I am very lucky to have several good mates, and lots of acquaintances, who I hope would be able to see me off at my funeral - I have no immediate plans, but you never know, do you?

We all need mates.  People without mates have nobody to help them keep a perspective of life's ups and downs.  

During  the times when life is throwing buckets of poo over you - we've all been there folks! - a mate is someone who will roll up, having heard that you're under siege, and listen, sympathise, make the tea - or pour a large glass of something with vasodilatory properties (Booze!), and eventually tell you to get a grip because life has gone on anyway.

  

Those horrible, 3 o'clock in the morning gremlins, who torment, terrify and deny you sleep, can be easily seen off by the sage words of a chum who has been there, done that, got the tee shirt and not only survived, but thrived from what they've learned from the experience.

There is of course a huge difference between men and their mates, and women and their mates.

It's a well known fact that men do not share emotional worries and fears.  A bloke will meet his mates at the pub, the football, the gym, standing around outside the supermarket waiting for the wife etc, and talk about anything and everything except their worries.  Thus, the worry does not exist. This is known as HUB syndrome (Head Up Bum).

Women will arrange to meet their mates to share, dissect, evaluate and manage their worries.  A worry to a woman is something that needs to  be addressed and managed.  Head Up Bum syndrome only applies to odd lumps, discharges or rashes that have suddenly appeared.

We must remember of course that mates are not only there to share grief and woe.  A win on the Premium Bonds, an achievement long wished for or the all clear from the doctor needs to be celebrated. 

Luckily there are as many types of mate as there are problems and joys to share.  When you're lucky enough to have mates, you know what their reactions will be - most of the time.  

There are the  mates who will automatically buy a round; mates who will hug and kiss you; mates who will say,"I told you so", and mates who step foot back on planet Earth just to celebrate with you.

Yup!  

We definitely all need mates.

 Carry on...

Graduated Retirement

Yes folks, she's back!

I have evolved once again from a Rambling Biddy to a Retired Battleaxe.  

I decided in 2016 that the Health Service had suffered enough - and so had I - so the impulse to retire and become a lady of leisure was grasped firmly with both hands and shaken, until I emerged a happier and better person (the jury's still out but watch this space).

How do I fill my time I hear you ask? (damned voices... )
Well it was dead easy.  For one thing it gave me the time I wanted to complete a Bachelor of Arts Degree with the Open University.  I have now graduated and have the posed photo, complete with posh certificate, batman cape and mortar board to prove it.

I started the degree course in 2011 as a means of sanctuary against the anxieties and demands of everyday life.  It's mostly worked out a treat, though their have been a few tears, tantrums and downright strops along the way.

Most of the modules I've completed have been great fun.  However, the 5th module (Counselling: Exploring Grief and Sadness) was a bit of a strain as I started it a couple of weeks after my Mum died.  I am not ashamed to say I sobbed my way through this module, but in many ways it helped.  Ironically I also got the best grade for this module, which just proves you can't beat practical experience.

I came hurtling back to earth with the 6th module (Why Is Religion Controversial?)  My answer to this was that it isn't!  This could be why I suffered the ignominy of failing - for the first and only time - one of the essays.  I felt I would never hold my head up in Tesco again.  

Nil desperandum I cried (yes, I still talk to myself only now it's in the foreign!) as I launched myself into my final module (Advanced Creative Writing)  This was a hoot.  I'd thoroughly enjoyed the basic Creative Writing module and lost myself in a few bits of dodgy poetry and a story involving two elderly sisters and a parrot.  The advanced module was just as much fun, but with less dodgy poetry and a few more twiddly bits.  I learned how to write scripts for film, TV and plays, and had a lovely time writing a script for a 30 minute comedy involving the Women's' Institute taking on a mob of anarchists in Trafalgar Square - the W.I won by a knockout!

Having now completed my studies The Present Husband (he who would like to be obeyed - dream on chuckles!) was concerned that my boredom threshold - which is similar to that of a 5 year old - would once again challenge the domestic bliss (not sure where this is.. I'll look it up).  
'Fear not, delight of my life', I reassured him, 'I can take sanctuary in the online," Futurelearn", modules'.  These are terrific as they last between 3 - 6 weeks each, they are free and only require around 3 hours attention a week.  Thus there is plenty of time to go to the pictures, take theatre trips, go off on jollies hither and yon, and go and drink coffee in the supermarket car park every morning while we howl with laughter at the appalling attempts at parking.

Life at the moment is good, which is just as well as I'm approaching the ripe old age of 60 at warp factor 9.

Who knows, I may even take to writing this drivel a little more often.

You have been warned...

Tootle pip!