Base Useless Behaviour. (Vintage Port x2)

Autobiographical, Uncategorized

At various times I have thought of setting myself targets for the day. For example, one of those, two of them and four of the other, This is to much like going to the gym and so I stopped setting targets and started going with what felt right, going with the flow and relaxing a little bit instead. As a result I no longer get myself in a flap because I had not painted x pictures or written so many words that day. So bloody what and who cares? Maybe cleaning the house and fussing the cats took precedence that day. Life is not all painting and creating and writing, some day’s we are just supposed to sit back, relax and do other stuff instead. Over this festive period I have drowned myself in two bottles of the vintage stuff, and they were both very nice in that they did the job required of them.

Sometimes I think I drink too much, then I stop reading the governmental guidelines and hear my better half clearing her throat like the old lady who used to attend Friday mass at my first school. Being raised a Roman Catholic raised many questions, if God was so good, kind, etc then why did he allow such awful stuff to happen and children to starve in Africa, Cambodia.. He works in mysterious ways and why serve up that Altar wine, then make you feel bad for enjoying it. (Actually it was awful stuff) My relationship with Dog has got worse and worse and the Catholic bit has changed to cat-o-like I have never ever once considered myself as a Roman, though I guess it may have been a possibility in a past life. I think my parents ought to have left me find my own path, it would have been far less confusing to all of us.

Childhood and the church

politics and religion, Uncategorized

The time has come for a change from speaking about mental health, anxiety and that sort of thing. I feel the time has come to write a little about the past. The past affects us in different ways but one thing is for certain, it is the reason why we are in the positions we are in now.

Or at least that is the theory and what they love to tell you at school and in other places as well.

So when I was a youngster, I was being raised as a good Catholic boy, by a good catholic mother who amongst other things had some fantasy (shall we call it?) that one day I would be a missionary somewhere in Africa.  Its another story and can wait for another day.

So my mum thought it would be a good idea to have me turned into an altar boy, that is to serve the priest at mass. Unhappily I was never the most attentive of Father’s acolytes, I fiddled with the medal I had to wear around my neck. (you were “given” it on your saint’s day) I never quite managed to ring the bell the correct number of times, twice instead of thrice, that is when I was not trying to dismantle the thing.

Where I was useless at serving God, I was good in other ways. Mum thought it a good idea that I could help Father by putting out the vestments  for the week day mass, it was quite simple nip over the road, put the glad rags out and back again. However there was the question of the altar wine, which it has to be said was pretty good stuff, it was sweet made my feet tingle and it was nice. And I could say that the Devil tempted me.