December 3 - Matt Barr

Each day in December I'll be celebrating a handsome man. You may ask why, but there's no meaningful reply I can give other than: why not? They'll be revealed over the next 31 days in strict alphabetical order, so no favouritism. And you never know, I might celebrate 31 women in January...!

MATT BARR, 31
This is an unusual one, I know, because he's not exactly famous, but I've been a fan of Matt's ever since I saw him in the fantastic, but sadly now forgotten, 2008 series Harper's Island. It was a TV series about a bunch of vaguely annoying, preening jocks and prom queens sunning themselves on a paradise island who get stalked and slashed by a mystery killer. Matt played the devil-may-care Chris Sullivan in the series and always seemed to me to possess better than average acting skills compared to some of his co-stars (such as Christopher Gorham, and the lamentable Katie Cassidy). You might also have seen Matt in One Tree Hill, Hatfields & McCoys or Sleepy Hollow. I usually find myself attracted to dark-haired guys, but blond Matt had something about him - he was sexy, as well as handsome. Not every good-looking man is sexy, and too many people confuse the two. It's possible to be one, but not the other. Matt Barr is both.

December 2 - William Baldwin

Each day in December I'll be celebrating a handsome man. You may ask why, but there's no meaningful reply I can give other than: why not? They'll be revealed over the next 31 days in strict alphabetical order, so no favouritism. And you never know, I might celebrate 31 women in January...!

WILLIAM "BILLY" BALDWIN, 52
Well, he's 52 now, but I'm more of an admirer of him when he was younger, in the 1990s. One of my favourite films is 1991's Backdraft, which also starred Kurt Russell and Robert De Niro, and I have always thought Billy was perfect in that. As a testosterone-fuelled 15-year-old, Billy pretty much summed up what I liked in men. He was just so handsome, lovely eyes, great hair. No, he isn't the world's greatest actor, but he's more than adequate in films such as Sliver, Flatliners and Fair Game. But for me, it'll always be Billy in Backdraft!

December 1 - Stephen Amell

Each day in December I'll be celebrating a handsome man. You may ask why, but there's no meaningful reply I can give other than: why not? They'll be revealed over the next 31 days in strict alphabetical order, so no favouritism. And you never know, I might celebrate 31 women in January...!

STEPHEN AMELL, 34
This is the guy who plays Arrow on TV. And it has to be said he isn't a bad actor, despite the musclebound character he plays. The TV show is quite angsty and teen soapy at times, but it's still great fun if you like the superhero genre. Stephen's got an acting cousin, Robbie, who looks remarkably like him, but he's more classically handsome (and so blander) than Stephen, who has a square-jawed, slightly intimidating allure. And any Arrow fan will agree to being impressed every time Stephen works that salmon ladder in the show!

Bringing happiness to Alzheimer's sufferers and their carers

The garden party in full swing

It's been three months since I last updated this blog, but I never truly abandoned it, I always intended to come back. Seeing Thoughts was set up during a time in my life when I needed something new and different, and simple but involving, to concentrate on. It did its job, and has evolved since, but I could never abandon it for good... it's a mouthpiece for my inner thoughts, rather than my professional scribblings.

I've been prompted to update Seeing Thoughts after being involved with something wonderful yesterday. My good friend Erika asked if I would help out at a summer garden party she was holding at her house for members of the Alzheimer's Disease support group she is involved with. Every week Erika meets up with the group and they have a good singalong and gossip, which helps both the carers to kick back a bit, and the sufferers, who often come alive or reconnect through the power of music.

Yesterday was a glorious, sun-drenched, cloudless summer's day and the setting was perfect. Erika's house lies in the shadow of a beautiful mountain, boasts a sizeable and well-tended garden, and has the space to accommodate the 60-70 people who came along. The video below shows the set-up, with the many chairs and marquees, before people arrived. Sadly, uploading videos to Blogspot means they get compressed quite severely, and the picture quality is quite poor compared to the actual crystal clear videos I took. Still, you get the idea...

I was enlisted to help with the refreshments, and spent much of my time pouring out orange and apple juice and making sure everybody had what they wanted. There were other volunteer helpers too dealing with the hot drinks and the food.

What cheered me most was seeing the Alzheimer's sufferers so happy. Right there and then, that sunny August afternoon, they were smiling and happy and joyous, the live band stirring something inside them and bringing them closer to the world they have sadly become more and more disconnected from. It must be so joyful for the carers to see this happen, to see their loved ones re-emerge from the smog of confusion and upset they must go through every day. They say music, as well as pets and old photographs, serves as a trigger for many people suffering with memory problems. Music is something we all have in common - we grow up with it as a learning tool, we are immersed in the music we hear around us as we develop, and we adopt our own favourites. So to hear those old favourites, or to simply feel moved by the rhythm of a song, must enliven their spirits. Here's a snatch of them singing Steeleye Span's All Around My Hat...

It's crushingly sad to see what Alzheimer's does to people. It's the cruellest of all fates, the way your very self is eaten away until all that is left is a shell that looks like you, but the real you inside is gone. We are the sum of our memories, so to have those memories taken away from us is a living nightmare. And it's even harder to witness, to see your loved one gradually leave, but also stay behind. It's like leaving a room but forgetting to walk through the door...

And so I was humbled by the people who attended the party. I was honoured to help out, and I was privileged to have chatted to people who, to me, are among the bravest people I've ever met, having to both live with Alzheimer's, and come to the terrifying conclusion that there is no going back.

Another of my heroes is Erika herself. She puts her heart and soul into these events, and does it for the love and respect she has for them all. She asks nothing in return, just their happiness and their smiles. So well done Erika. Bringing light into the fading lives of those suffering with Alzheimer's is an honourable, admirable thing to do. You should be proud of yourself, as everybody who knows you is proud of you too.

My favourite video, of everybody singing Travellin' Light, by Cliff Richard and the Shadows...

How to get involved in Erika's High Notes group...

High Notes is a voluntary singing and support group for people with memory problems, their carers, families and friends, and others who may feel isolated, vulnerable or lonely. Established in 2006, the weekly sessions are informal and run on an entirely voluntary basis, offering music, fun, friendship and support. Participants come from all over Conwy county in North Wales, and some neighbouring counties. Sessions are held every Wednesday, 1.45pm-3.45pm, at Mochdre Village Hall, opposite the Mountain View Hotel, Old Colwyn Road, Mochdre, LL28 5HU.

High Notes is self-funding. A nominal charge of £1.50 per person per session and money from a raffle go towards refreshments, hall hire, raffle prizes, an annual garden party in August, a theatre trip or an appropriate outing where possible, and Christmas lunch. Contact Erika on 07583 089248.

Alzheimer's Society: http://www.alzheimers.org.uk/site/index.php

Looking back, moving forward

Monday, May 11th, 2015

As I rush headlong toward my XLth birthday (it looks much more acceptable in Roman numerals, apart from the fact it makes me look fat), I've been thinking quite a lot about the years behind me, compared to those ahead of me.

Let's face it, I'm probably around halfway through my life, and it's at periods like this where you start to ask yourself if you've done good, if you're pleased with what you've done so far and thinking about what you want to do with the rest of it.

I spent my teenage years in education with just one unwavering aim - to become a newspaper journalist. It's all I ever wanted to do. The one thing I had in my mind for adulthood was to write for a living. And I achieved my goal: I qualified with a degree in journalism, got a job on a regional newspaper and worked my way up the ladder until the changing face of journalism in the 21st century meant that further progress was severely inhibited.

And I will admit that, six years ago when the company I'd poured years of time, energy, love and skill into decided it wasn't enough and I was to be sidelined and overlooked, it hurt. It bloody hurt, and it affected me for years, until the time came where priorities shifted in my head and I realised a new horizon beckoned.

I left that company last year after more than 17 years of dedication to its cause, 17 years of putting my heart and soul into trying to make it as successful as possible. But enough was enough. I wasn't being treated correctly - in fact, few people were - so I decided to get out. It was a brave, some might say reckless, decision to just turn tail and split, but it was the right thing to do for both my sanity and my future. And almost six months later, I haven't once regretted that decision to leave. Life is good; in fact, life is so much better when you can see and experience it more clearly, and not through a fug of stress and anger.

And in the months since I left, my life has metamorphosed into a better, much more interesting and enjoyable existence. I still write for a living, but it's much more creative, much freer and nourishing. I write what I feel, not what I'm told to feel. I write my truth, not a twisted representation of it. I use words I never could within the constraints of news reporting. In fact, I write... as a copy editor toward the end of my time on newspapers, I never got to write anything of my own. Unless it was a theatre review... and look at me now (and here too)!

And it's not just writing that has changed for me. My approach to life has changed. I have more time to give now, whether it be to family and friends, charitable organisations such as Parkinson's UK or the RSPCA, or just the new dog we got a couple of months ago. We couldn't have had a dog before as both Gareth and I were in full-time employment and it wouldn't have been fair. But now I've fulfilled a lifelong (and I really mean lifelong) ambition to have my own dog. And it feels good to be able to do that, to tick one off the Bucket List.

I don't have an actual Bucket List - maybe I should - but as the big XL approaches and I look back on what's gone, I can be happy that I achieved my first big goal pretty quickly, and damn well... but now life is in a new phase, and I can't wait to see what it brings. And you know what they say... don't look back, you're not going that way.

In memory of my godfather

Tuesday, March 31st, 2015

My uncle Gordon pictured at my mum and dad's
wedding in 1972.

I've reached the age of 38 without having any major bereavements to deal with, thankfully. They have happened - people have died! - but nobody close to me while I've been of an age to really feel its full force.

My paternal grandfather died five years before I was born, and my paternal grandmother died three years before. I've always found it sad that they never got to meet me. My mother's father I did get to meet, and do have memories of, but again he died when I was only five and so I was far too young to comprehend the truth of the loss. My mother's mother is still going strong at the grand old age of 93, but the inevitability of old age brings with it the shadow of destiny.

Earlier this month my godfather/ uncle died of lung cancer (and perhaps asbestosis). He had been frail and thin for some time and was in the process of getting help from social services to get domestic assistance, but one morning my dad found him collapsed in his bathroom with what was subsequently labelled a suspected heart attack. This was perhaps brought on by the news the day before that he had stage two lung cancer. Wheels were set in motion to give my godfather as much help as he needed, but sadly within days he had succumbed, and he passed away peacefully in hospital on Tuesday, March 24th.

Among his final words were: "Every time I close my eyes, all I can see are green fields." This is a heartbreaking yet oddly comforting epitaph from a man who was, all his life, a fiercely independent bachelor. He was his own man and did his own thing, and was always a loyal godfather to me, even when I saw him far less often in latter years.

He was mad about Egypt and all things Egyptian, ever since he carried out his National Service in Suez in the early 1950s. He never returned to Egypt after leaving the forces, and with that terrible thing called hindsight, maybe we should have arranged for him to do so, because while he spent his final years in England, I think he left a part of him in the Middle East.

Now that he's gone, my focus has been on supporting my dad, his brother. My dad has been tasked with sorting everything out that needs sorting in the wake of the death of a loved one - power of attorney, execution of the will, informing the authorities, liaising with the coroner and funeral director, speaking to bereavement counsellors, and most upsettingly of all, going through my godfather's personal belongings and papers.

It makes me realise just what a mess we leave behind when we go, especially when we go unexpectedly. My godfather did have a will and all his important papers were gathered together in one or two places, but it is the personal stuff which affects those left behind so much. The things that make a name on a death certificate a real human being, the things they loved and saved and cherished.

Among the bills, pension forms, statements and letters was a cutting from the Derby Express of a story I wrote while there on work placement back in the mid-1990s. I don't remember writing that particular story, but I suspect it was either my first, or among my first, bylines as a reporter. My godfather had carefully cut it out and kept it aside. He also had a collection of photographs he'd taken in Suez, and of his family when he was growing up in the 1930s and 40s. It was odd to see my godfather as a young man, on holiday with sunglasses on and a beer, posing with a sombrero and doing all the normal things people do - but in beautiful, otherworldly black and white.

There were also his medals, his conscription papers and the exact address of the camp where he served in Egypt. I went onto the Suez Veterans' Association's website and saw acres of reminiscences from old soldiers, loads of photos and an entire network set up to help people like my godfather reconnect across the decades. But I fear my godfather had no idea about it. He was 83, he didn't need the bother of the internet. He didn't even have a microwave! And I found that sad too. Using that blessed hindsight, I could have let my godfather see all those old pictures and messages from possible colleagues by getting him online somehow. Now that's not possible.

Of course I like to believe that when you're gone, you kind of get to know and see anything you want. Enlightenment, if you like. And that my godfather is somewhere with his old mates reminiscing about old times, probably in a bar in Egypt somewhere, wearing a fez and smoking a big, fat cigar.

A date is yet to be set for my godfather's funeral, but it will be a sad day indeed, both because it brings to an end the life of a very funny, loyal man, and also reminds us all how precious life is, and how we must live each day as fully as we can.

In memory of Gordon Alan Stratford, 1931-2015

وداع

It's fun to stay at the RSPCA

Monday, March 9th, 2015

Meet Bobby, thought to be a collie/ spaniel cross

One of the many things I wanted to do when I decided to quit my job late last year was volunteering. I didn't really mind who or what for, I just knew I wanted to feel like I was doing something positive and valued and valuable. Giving something back.

So over the last week or so I've been getting involved in my local RSPCA rescue centre at Bryn y Maen, up in the hills above Colwyn Bay. It's the only RSPCA rescue centre covering North Wales (the next closest is Shrewsbury), which, when you think about it, is a hell of an area to cover taking into account the fact North Wales is a very rural and animal-orientated part of the country.

I had my general volunteer's induction on March 1st, and then my kennel induction yesterday. The people up there are fantastic, they are so warm and friendly and welcoming, and most of all, so loving towards their animals. They have dogs and cats of course, but also small animals such as guinea pigs, gerbils, ferrets and rabbits, as well as cockatiels and then the less domesticated type such as geese, cockerels and goats (they have one sweet little goat called Pete!).

It's heartbreaking but also very rewarding working in the kennels. I'm very much a dog person, never been particularly interested in cats (or they me) so it's a real privilege getting to work with them at Bryn y Maen. I can't pretend it's all glamorous. There's the less salubrious side of animal care, such as cleaning out the kennels and washing away dog poo, but that's a very important part of the animal's welfare, making sure it lives in a clean and safe environment, so you have to take the rough with the smooth.

But then there's the other side, where you get to spend time with the dogs. They have so many dogs up there desperately in need of a good home, who spend all their time in these kennels or out and about being walked by staff and volunteers within the grounds. But being in a kennel is a pretty stressful experience for a dog, they're not meant to be cooped up in such relatively restricted environments, and so it's so rewarding to be able to take them out on their leads and let them have a run and a play and a sniff and just be as a dog should be - happy, content and loyal.

The one side effect of volunteering at an animal centre is that you begin to fall in love with some of the "in-mates", and I did just that last weekend when I met a dog called Robert (Bobby to his friends). He is the friendliest, gentlest, most placid dog you could wish for, although as with so many rescue dogs, he has been affected by his past. He used to be bullied by another dog so that he couldn't get the food he was being given, and he was taken into the RSPCA as skin and bone, and now he is very wary of other dogs. Basically, afraid of them, which obviously makes his kenneled environment very stressful for him. Bobby never barks, he takes food from your hand with the greatest of care, he loves nothing more than being stroked, and he sits and heels when called. He is six years old but all he wants is a calm, loving, safe environment. And I thought Gareth and I could give him that.

So for the first time in my life I'm going to become a dog owner. I've always wanted a dog but never thought it was fair leaving a dog on its own all day every day while we were at work, but now my circumstances have changed, it is possible for us to do. Ever since I was a young lad and I used to help look after my uncle's Old English Sheepdog - who, to this day, I still think about and love to bits, God rest his soul - I've wanted a dog. So adopting Bobby is a real dream come true.

I put a deposit down on him yesterday and we've spent plenty of time with him over the last week, getting to know him and bonding with him. I'm just waiting for a call to arrange a home visit and then we could well have him within two weeks.

Bobby has his issues - his fear of other dogs and innate pessimism about new things - but these can be ironed out with good training and the excellent advice of animal behaviourist John up at Bryn y Maen. These wonderful people don't just give you a dog and wave goodbye - there's so much care and personalised attention goes into adopting a dog to make sure, above all else, that the dog is happy as well as the potential new owners.

All I want is for Bobby to be in his new home with us, but it takes a little time, and so it should. Having a dog is a life-changing decision. But it's a change we're more than happy with and one I've been preparing for for 25 years!

Feeling snoozy...

My favourite photo of Bobby, summing up his loving nature.
Look at those eyes!