KISS

Gary spent most of Thursday in a kind of mental haze. He could not concentrate on anything. His mind would not rest on anything other than that for which he was waiting - his date with Rosie that evening. He must have looked at the clock more than 50 times before it finally told him it was time to start getting ready. He never usually spent more than 4 seconds deciding what he was going to wear, but tonight was different. He opened his little wardrobe and for the first time in his life became aware of the fact that he didn't really like any of his clothes. Prior to this moment, he had been completely indifferent about it. He never bought clothes for himself. They were all given to him as presents or hand-me-downs by well-meaning relatives. Gary just accepted them and wore them, not even considering for one moment whether they were clothes that he would have chosen himself. Prior to this moment, he just thought of clothes as a means of keeping warm and covering the wobbly bits he didn't want people to see. Now Gary wished he had been a bit more proactive in his clothing acquisitions.

There was only one thing for it. Realising that doing so may well make him late for a very important date, Gary headed straight round to my flat where he knew that he would find the magnificent wardrobe of his good friend Walter. I was in the middle of juggling and handstand practice when I heard a little knock on the door. I opened it to find Gary crouching with his hands on his knees, gasping for breath.

"Gary! What are you doing here? Isn't tonight the big night? You've only got half an hour, mate. You'd best get cracking," I reminded him.

"Yeh," agreed Gary still getting back his breath. "I know. I know. But I've nothing to wear. Can I come and have a look in Walter's wardrobe. I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

"All right then, my little friend. In you come." I knew that Gary didn't have time to debate the issue.

Gary rushed through my door and headed straight for the sofa which contained Walter's apartment. A few minutes later he emerged resplendent in one of Walter's more traditional elfin outfits. Patent leather red shoes, tight green trousers with red pin stripes, a red silk shirt beneath a waist coat made of the same material of the trousers, and a magnificent green and red pointy hat. All fit Gary remarkably well considering that they were not his.

"What do you think?" Gary asked me as he emerged from the sofa. I said nothing, but gave him a smile and a Fonz-like thumbs up which made him laugh. Then Gary looked at the time. "Hell fire!" He exclaimed. "I'm going to be so late! She'll probably be gone by the time I get there."

There was no way I could let Gary miss out on the night of his life. I pointed to my rucksack. "Jump in, pal," I said. "There's no way I am going to let you miss this one."

Gary looked at me with surprise but didn't have time to argue and climbed into my rucksack. "Hold on tight," I told him as I swung it around onto my back and headed out the door. Like the wind I ran, my little friend's happiness depending on me. Like the scene from Trainspotting, I dodged in and out of more tawdry pedestrians and leaped over cars that got in my way until we eventually reached the entrance to Bolton Woods where the tree stump which housed Dave the Magic Barman's famous hostelry stood. I took off my rucksack, lay it on the floor and undid the zip. Gary climbed out wide eyed, his hat still hanging on precariously to his head.

"Here we are, little feller," I told him.

"Thanks Pete," said Gary. "I won't forget this." He straightened his hat, then off he dashed into the woods. As he approached the pub, he could hear a choir of raucous female voices. It was a little early in the evening to have reached the singing 'I Will Survive' stage, but as Gary got closer he quickly recognised the unmistakable lyrics. He opened the door and stepped inside. Around two tables which had been pushed together was a large group of she-elves who were clearly a little worse for wear. He guessed from their strange attire that it must be some kind of hen night. Sitting on a stool with her back to the rest of the room was the one who Gary assumed must be the bride to be. Polite individuals would have described her as 'a little on the large side' or 'cuddly'. The less polite would have described her as 'a great big fatty'. The ladies paid no attention to Gary's entrance but continued their very loud rendition of the classic Gloria Gaynor track.

As he made his way past the group, aiming for the bar, the cuddly she-elf suddenly stood up an threw back her arms in an exuberant gesture to go with the song. Her right hand hit Gary full in the face, knocking him out cold and he slumped to the ground behind her. The singing suddenly stopped and gasps came from the mouths of the other revelers.

When Gary came round he found himself surrounded by concerned female faces. He felt a sharp pain around his left eye and reached up to touch it gingerly.

"Are you OK? I'm ever so sorry. I never saw you coming. I was really getting into that song. So sorry. Can I get you a drink?"

"Give him some room, girls," Dave the Magic Barman came over holding a bundled up beer towel full of ice. "Here, Gary. Put this on your face and come and have a sit down." He helped Gary up and led him by the arm to a chair near to where the group of girls had been sitting. Feeling very groggy and disoriented, Gary took the ice pack from Dave and put it on his rapidly blackening eye as instructed. Dave went back to the bar and returned with a small glass of purple liquid. "Here, get this down you," he said to Gary. Gary did as instructed. The liquid had a very unusual sweet taste that he could not place, but once he had finished it, he found himself feeling immediately much more alert. The hen night elves began to adjust their seating positions so that they gradually drew Gary within their group and began showering him with drunken sympathy.

Then through the pub door came a vision of beauty that reminded Gary just what he was there for.

"Gary! I never knew you had such a way with the ladies," joked Rosie as she saw the company that he had gained. "You are a dark horse, aren't you? Have you been fighting?"

"No, it's .... well ...... you see ...... I was ......"

"Tell me all about it in a minute, Casanova. Sorry ladies, but this one's mine tonight." She took Gary by the hand, instantly causing a wave of joy to travel up his spine. With a little tug she encouraged him to stand up and then led him over to one of the more secluded tables at the other side of the pub. A few moments later, Magic Dave came over with two drinks which Gary was sure neither of them had ordered.



For the next three hours, Gary talked to Rosie like he had never talked to anyone before in his entire life. Just like on the phone, Rosie's calm and gentle manner made Gary immediately relaxed. His nerves were gone and for the first time ever he felt like he could truly be himself. It was like the bursting of a dam. Recollections, ideas and stories came pouring out of him. They had been held inside for so long. He had always thought his male friends would think him stupid or soft if he told the things he was thinking, so he kept quiet. He had never really spoken to a woman before. Of course he had spoken to them, but not really spoken to them. Now here was Rosie, listening. She seemed genuinely interested and encouraged Gary to carry on, urging him to elaborate when she thought he was going to stop. It felt wonderful, to finally be heard. For the first time in his life, he felt worthy. He felt interesting. Rosie allowed him to feel that he could be himself with no pretences, with no fear and with no barriers. He felt like he, Gary the Sideboard Elf, was truly worthy. For the first time in his life, Gary felt like a man.

When Rosie spoke back, Gary was captivated, watching her: the way her lips moved, the way she played with her golden curls, the way her breasts gently rose and fell with her breathing, the dazzling light of life and love in her big blue eyes and the unmistakable passion in her voice. At times he was so mesmerised that he began to lose track of what she was saying and had to catch himself in case he got into trouble for it. From time to time, when their glasses were almost empty, Magic Dave strode over again with fresh drinks. Whenever Gary offered to pay him, Magic Dave waved his attempt away and returned quickly to the busy bar.

Time passed so quickly. When Magic Dave rang his bell for last orders, Gary could not believe that it was time to leave already. He did not want to leave. He wanted this to last forever. Suddenly there was a loud commotion from the hen night elves. Stood amongst them was Magic Dave's bar assistant and understudy Not Yet Magic George. On top of the bride to be's head he had placed a big Bob Marley style multi-coloured woollen hat. She was remonstrating with him with the rowdy help of her entourage.

"George, what are you doing?" Magic Dave shouted from the bar.

George walked back over to the bar and said to Dave in a low voice, "I'm just doing what you told me, boss. You said: 'Go and put it on the mental she-elf over there so that whoever left it behind will be able to see it if they happen to come back in.' "

"Mantle shelf, George, you great Sillett. Mantle shelf!" Magic Dave said shaking his head.

The pub slowly cleared until Gary and Rosie were the only customers left.

"I think you'd better walk me home, Honey," Rosie said to Gary. Hearing the word 'honey' made a wave of pleasure shoot up his spine. Gary did not want to leave. He knew that Magic Dave would let them stay as long as they wanted, but he reluctantly agreed. They both gave their thanks to Magic Dave and George and headed out into the cool night air. All the way back to Rosie's home, Walter felt like he had returned to his childhood. Everything seemed full of fun. He danced along, leaping over obstacles, balancing on fallen sticks, diving into piles of leaves and 'swimming' through, emerging on the other side beaming. Rosie's laughter encouraged and emboldened him with every antic.

Eventually he reached Rosie's home, She turned to face him, standing close, smiling and looking deep into his eyes. "Thank you Gary," she said in a voice that continued to hypnotise him. "I had a lovely time tonight. I'd really like to see you again."

Gary said nothing. Rosie's body was inches from him. As he gazed into her sparkling blue eyes, he felt a surge of raw masculinity. Feeling strong and powerful, he put one hand on the side of her waist and pulled her towards him. He felt her wonderful firm breasts pressing against him as he raised his other hand to the back of her neck and slowly brought his lips towards hers. Rosie closed her eyes and waited. A fraction of a second seemed to take a minute. Then at last their lips touched. The intimacy and connection took them both to a place of exquisite ecstasy. It was as if during that moment, they were one.

Next Story - Let Go >>

Join The Magical World of Walter and Gary Facebook Group

JUMPING FOR JOY

It was about an hour before Gary came down from Cloud 9. When he eventually did so, a sudden realisation hit him. He was going to have to actually make the phone call. On St Patrick's night he had managed to relax with Rosie. The beer, the music and Walter's antics had taken his mind off the very worrying fact that he had no idea how to interact with women. Now in the cold light of day he was going to have to pick up the phone and start a conversation. Fear cut through him like an icy cold wind, making him shake. What should he say? How should he say it? How the hell was he going to get the phone down from where it was attached to the wall way beyond his reach?

Eventually, Gary managed to stop himself from spiralling down to complete inaction and decided to pay me a visit. About an hour later, I heard a faint knock on the door of my flat. Hoping it might be a nice juicy Jehovah's Witness, I went to investigate. I opened the door to find nobody there. I was about to close it again in a grumpy manner when Gary called from below.

"Hey!" He shouted. I looked down and noticed the little feller by my feet.

"Gary! All right? You know Walter's gone off to Ireland with Seamus early this morning, right? He might not be back for some time."

"Yeh. I know. I know. Actually, I was wondering if you could do me a favour."

"Do you a favour? Of course my little friend. You are almost a member of my thumb sized family after all. What is it?"

"I need to use your phone."

"Why? What is it? Nobody been hurt I hope."

"Aaah, no. Nothing like that. I just wanted to call a girl." Gary mumbled the last sentence so quietly that he was inaudible.

"What did you say?" I questioned him.

"I said I want to call a girl," Gary repeated himself, this time a little louder.

"A girl!! Gary, you dark horse! Why didn't you say so sooner? When did this happen? Do you love her?"

"Yes, I think I ..... What? No, it's nothing like that. We only just met last night. She gave me her number and told me to call."

"Heeeeey! Nice one Gazza! What are you waiting for?" I took the phone from my desk and placed it down on the floor next to Gary and lifted the receiver off for him. "I'll go in the kitchen. Give you a bit of privacy. OK?"

"Cheers, Pete," said Gary. I made my way into the kitchen and closed the door just enough so that Gary could feel a sense of privacy and yet I could still hear absolutely everything that he was saying. His heart was beating like a bongo and his mouth was dry. Once again he was shaking with trepidation. He crouched down and put his face in his hands. He remained like that for a couple of minutes then suddenly sprang up.

"Come on!" He said to himself. "Do NOT let this slip by you!" He pulled the paper from his shirt pocket and unfolded it then began to press the keys with his hand. After a few seconds, the sound of the ringing tone brought the fear back to him once more. "Oh my God. OH MY GOD!" He thought inside his head as it rang 5, 6, then 7 times. Gary was about to resign himself to nobody answering when the ringing stopped and he heard a sweet voice that soothed his turmoil.

"Hello?" Rosie said.

"Umm ... er ... Hey babe, how you doin'?" Gary replied, making a total hash of the line he had been planning on the way over to my flat.

"Gary!" Rosie said with obvious delight in her voice. "Why are you talking like that?"

"What? Oh, erm ..... ha ha .... don't know really. I suppose I was just trying to be like Walter. He's always been a big hit with the ladies."

"Gary!" Rosie said again, this time with a little chastisement in her tone. "If I had wanted to go out with Walter or Joey from Friends, then I would have given my number to them, wouldn't I?"

"I guess so ...." Rosie's calm and beautifully feminine voice was making Gary feel more relaxed with every syllable.

"I'm so glad you called me, Gary. Is there anything you'd like to ask me?"

"Um... how are you?"

"I think you already asked me that Joey, oops, I mean Gary. I am fine thank you for asking. I was thinking maybe you might want to ask me something else. I am really busy tomorrow, but I am free on Thursday night."

"Oh!" Gary suddenly realised where Rosie was leading him in her wonderfully gentle manner. "Err.... would you like to go out with me on Thursday night?"

"I'd love to! Where would you like to meet me?"

"Errm ... how about 8 o'clock at Magic Dave's place?" It was the only place that Gary could think of. If he was being honest, it was the only place he ever went.

"I love Magic Dave's. See you then, honey." With that, Rosie was gone.

Gary stood still and silent for a moment. He was in shock. He had thought of a thousand things that could go wrong with the phone call. Yet it had gone so right. "She called me 'Honey'," he thought to himself with a sense of wonder. I came quickly back into the room.

"Any luck?" I said, knowing very well what had happened. Gary said nothing but simply raised his hands in the air in triumph and started to jump for joy around my feet. It was infectious and I soon joined him. We jumped and danced without any music except that which was playing in our heads until eventually we collapsed on the floor, the laughter of elation pouring out of us both.



Next Story - Kiss >>

Join The Magical World of Walter and Gary Facebook Group

IGLOO

In the good old days before Global Warming, when large political parties had principles, organic was a branch of chemistry and there were far fewer types of yoghurt, it sometimes snowed a lot in England. It doesn't any more, unless you are up a mountain (or maybe I should say big hill as England is rather lacking in mountains). Sometimes it even snowed so much that school was cancelled. At the time I could not understand why a load of snow outside meant that school had to be cancelled, but I wasn't complaining as it meant an entire day of completely unexpected bonus fun.

On one such occasion, my brother John and I decided that we would make the biggest snowball in the world. Not just East Anglia or Europe and Western Asia, you understand. That would have been rubbish. The biggest in the world. Our house was about half a mile walk away from the school which we both attended. The snow was the perfect type for balling. With snowball battles raging around us, John made a suitable sized ball his hands and we began rolling it towards our house, gathering more and more snow with every roll. After only a short distance the ball had already become so large and heavy that we had to start taking it in turns to push, with the non-pusher taking a chance to rest and recover. Other kids passed us, able only to watch in admiration at our splendid endeavour and to wish that they had the imagination and determination to bring such a project to fruition.

By the time we reached the end of our street, the snowball was almost as tall as me and we were unable to push it any further, despite both of us putting our shoulders into it at the same time. The field next to our house, where we had planned to park our world-beating creation, was only a tantalising few hundred yards away and the ball was only a few yards away from a slightly downhill section of road, where pushing would be considerably easier. Yet between the two of us, we could not budge the frosty globe. So we had to start calling on the help of other kids who were making their way slowly home to streets near ours. In return for their hard labour, they would be allowed to play with the coolest kids in the village for a while. With such an incentive on offer, we quickly managed to gather a small army and once again the icy giant began to move. Before long, it was standing proud in the field next to our house. We briefly considered calling the Guinness Book of Records, but soon decided that we didn't need to bother ourselves with such technicalities. It was quite obviously the biggest snowball in the world and we didn't need a man with a tape measure and a clipboard to reassure us. We weren't in it for the fame and fortune, but for the sense of personal achievement.



Inevitably, after standing and looking at the monument to our efforts and sighing deeply with satisfaction for a while, we needed a new challenge. What should we do with this thing? We can't just let it sit there and slowly melt. The obvious thing to do was to roll a somewhat smaller giant ball and lift it on top to make the biggest snowman in the world. But this was just a bit too obvious and besides, we didn't have a crane.

Eventually a plan hatched and we began to hollow out the massive ball from the top. We got a milk crate and packed more snow into this to make a lid or hatch. Eventually, we had made ourselves a quite unconventional igloo. I was able to get into the hollowed out ball and then pull the snow-packed crate into the gap that was left in the roof, creating a completely enclosed little room. As the youngest brother, I was the only one small enough to get in and fully close the lid. Such a great privilege meant that I forgot about trivial issues such as having enough air to breath and over the next few days I spent a considerable amount of time in the chilly cocoon. We delighted in inviting less brilliant village kids round to view the now famous giant snowball and I would suddenly jump out of it as they were gazing in awe at the spectacle, adding surprise and shock to the already heady experience.

Long after the snows had melted, the biggest snowball in the world stood defiant. Every day we hoped for another snowfall so that we could reinforce the giant. But alas it was not to be and eventually, after what seemed like weeks, it finally passed into legend and folklore.

HATS AND HEROES

If you have ever looked at my photographs or videos on Facebook, you will note that I have quite a collection of unusual hats. You can see most of them in the video 'Funny Hats, Funny Faces'.

In case you don't know me very well, let me assure you that this fabulous collection does not stay confined to my flat. For quite some time now I have made a point of wearing a piece of marvellous head gear wherever I go. Occasionally I am in a rush and I forget, on which occasions I am able to wander the streets of Sheffield unrecognised. I am always on the lookout for new hats. Not just any old hats, mind you. There has to be something unique about them. If I come across another person with the exact same hat, I am likely to be keenly disappointed. If anyone has any tips about where I can get me another unique hat, then please let me know.

Sometimes people wonder why I do this. Perhaps you are wondering now. If so, good! Here are some of the possible reasons which friends, acquaintances, arch enemies and bus drivers have suggested in the past:-

I am a great big self-obsessed poser.
I am trying to compensate for an underlying lack of self-confidence.
I am trying to draw attention to myself when out in public.

None of these are in fact correct. What's that you say? Yes, I am quite sure. I will now explain the real reason. I wear unusual hats because they are a tangible physical reminder to me that I do not have to be 'normal'. I do not have to fit in with what everyone else considers fashionable. I do not have to give a monkey's what other people think of me. I am an individual. Let me make it clear that it is not the hats themselves that make me an individual. That I simply am, as we all are. But the hats remind me of that fact, so that I go through life making my own decisions and do not succumb to the suffocating pressure to be 'normal' and to fit in that comes at us from all angles.

That leads me on to mentioning a video I recently watched from TED. You can watch the video here.

In it, Philip Zimbardo discusses what it is that leads previously quite 'ordinary' people to commit extraordinary atrocities. I recommend that you stick with the video through to the end where he also reveals what he thinks it is that makes others become 'ordinary heroes' in the same situations.

In summary, the studies which Zimbardo has been involved in indicate that the potential for good and the potential for evil is in every one of us. Certain extreme circumstances and environments will tend to push us either one way or another. The things which make people much more likely to commit evil deeds are conformity, anonymity and lack of accountability. These are the very things that organisations such as the armed forces actively promote. Dressing everyone in uniform, teaching them to follow the orders of superior officers without question, deliberately encouraging them to think that they are not individuals and are not accountable for their actions. People are deliberately dehumanised and once this happens, it is very likely that they can easily commit acts which we would describe as 'inhuman'. On the other side of the coin, the things which make people act heroically are a strong sense of individuality and unshakable personal principles that cannot be affected by peer group or authority pressure. These people are completely personally accountable for their actions and make decisions accordingly.



It appears to me that, unfortunately, our society as a whole is geared mainly towards encouraging conformity and stamping out individuality. Schools dress children in uniform from an early age. The exam system tests their ability to repeat what someone else thinks rather than to think for themselves. In offices up and down the land employees are encouraged to stick to a dress code and follow rigid corporate rules. Politicians have to follow the party whip rather than vote freely for what they think is right. Fashion magazines encourage us to follow trends rather than to buck them. Television and the press encourage us to forget our own unique lives and our own potential and to instead live our lives through celebrities, reality TV contestants or even fictional soap characters.

Well bollocks to that! To quote a Style Council song, 'We don't have to take this crap. We don't have to sit back and relax. We can actually try changing it.'

My hats are a physical reminder to me to do that every day. I am not a follower. I am an individual. I am not a sheep. I am a wolf. I am Pete Hughes and I will decide for myself how my life unfolds. Forward I will stride, shoulder to shoulder with my friends and help create a better world. Who is with me?

GARY'S AWAKENING

As the early morning sunlight filtered through the cracks in his sideboard home, Gary woke with a sense of urgency and excitement. He was not normally a morning person, but this morning he was immediately wide awake. Then a sudden sense of fear overcame him. What if it was all a dream? Of course it was all a dream. Things like this never happened to Gary.

He turned his attention to his body beneath the patchwork blanket that was keeping out the cold. He noted that he was still fully dressed. This was not all that unusual after a night out with Walter. He was wearing a pair of trousers with the standard four pockets.

"If I don't look right away then my dream won't be shattered so quickly. I can hang onto it a bit longer," Gary thought to himself. He rolled out of bed and made his way to the door of the sideboard. Once there he eased the door carefully open and lowered a length of string down to the ground. The string was fixed to a nail just inside the door, allowing Gary to climb down to the floor and make his way to the bathroom of the house in which his sideboard abode stood. All the way there he was in turmoil. Part of his mind was screaming at him to check his pockets now. But another part expected and feared a terrible let down. For the moment, fear was winning the battle. He held his hands slightly away from his body just in case optimism was to suddenly get the better of him.

Then the words of a song began to enter Gary's mind. Loud and clear they came, but not in his voice.

Whenever you are feeling down, forlorn or a little blue,
Come see Magic Dave, he will tell you what to do.
He serves the greatest beer in town. There's darts and pool as well.
The duke box still costs 20 pence and plays Bat Out Of Hell
When it comes to closing time, Dave rings his little bell.
Everyone ignores it and Dave says 'ah, what the hell?

The speaker inside his head had a beautiful and delicate feminine voice and seemed to end with a little giggle.

"Rosie!" Gary whispered to himself. With that he quickly thrust both hands into his front trouser pockets. His heart sank a little as he felt no sign of a piece of paper. Undeterred, he then tried the back pockets, but once again his hands emerged empty. A pain shot through him like a glass shard to the heart.

"F**********ck!!" Gary shouted in his mind. But outwardly he was silent. He fell to his knees and began to berate himself inside his head. What was he thinking. As if it could have been anything other than a dream. As if things like that happened to someone like him. For a long time he knelt there, his face in his hands. When he eventually looked up, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the bottom of the metallic shower unit. There it was staring him right in the face. How had he not noticed until now? From the pocket of the red shirt that he had slept in protruded the corner of a piece of folded paper. Gary felt his heart race suddenly. He could almost hear it beating directly behind the piece of paper that was the cause of the sudden rush.

"Please, please, please. Oh, please!!" Gary said to he knew not whom. Slowly, slowly he raised his hand and reached for the piece of paper. As he pulled it out and unfolded it, he closed his eyes. When the paper was fully opened in front of him, he gradually opened one eye. The text was just a blur at first. Eyelashes and lack of focus making it impossible to make out the words.

Then it seemed like a trumpet fanfare of celebration played in Gary's head. There is was in black and white: 'CALL ME'. Gary closed his eye again and opened the other. Then he opened both. Still the words were there. It was real!

Gary leaped from his crouching position high into the air with one smooth movement, punching his fist up above his head in triumph. Waves of pure joy swept down his spine again and again. He landed back on the ball of his right foot and then began spinning gracefully round the room like a seasoned veteran of the Royal Ballet. He was dancing in silence but the most exalting music continued to play in his head, lifting his spirits higher with every leap. With every twist he looked again at the paper he held in his hand. This dream wasn't going away.

This was exquisitely real and he felt like it could be the first day of the rest of his life.

Next Story - Jumping For Joy >>

Join The Magical World of Walter and Gary Facebook Group

I'm evaluating a multi-media course on blogging from the folks at Simpleology. For a while, they're letting you snag it for free if you post about it on your blog.

It covers:

• The best blogging techniques.
• How to get traffic to your blog.
• How to turn your blog into money.

I'll let you know what I think once I've had a chance to check it out. Meanwhile, go grab yours while it's still free.

FAT MIKES

Many moons ago I worked as a fitness trainer in a health club which was attached to a hotel. It was a fairly small place, with about 350 members at most. I ran it together with my fine colleague Neil. At certain times of the day, particularly about 2 o'clock in the afternoon, the gym usually got very quiet and we often found ourselves thinking up imaginative ways to amuse ourselves.

As the club had so few members, we got to know them all quite well and Neil and I had nicknames for many of the most regular attendees. Among them were Little Eric, The Dullards, Well Hard Lee and Fat Mike. One day we were discussing the fatness of fat Mike when we realised that we both knew a remarkable amount of Mikes, all of whom were rather portly. Not only that, but a number of celebrities prominent at the time also sprang to mind: Mike Gatting, Mike McShane, Mike Reid and Mike Harding to name but a few. It seemed to us that an unusual proportion of people called Mike were fat.



So, as we had nothing better to do, we decided to do a little research amongst the other club members to find out whether our hypothesis was correct. It turned out that an astonishing 80% of the members of the club who were called Mike were fat, compared with around about 30% for all other names. When we threw in all the Mikes we knew in our personal lives outside work, the figures remained the same.

Now, I am aware that a sample of about 400 is not likely to be accepted as conclusive proof that calling your child Michael will dramatically increase his chances of attaining porkiness. So I would like to extend the survey by inviting readers to do their own little bit of research into the Mikes that they know. All you have to do is write down all the Mikes you can think of in your life and then recall whether they are of generous proportions or not. Then add up all the jumbo Mikes and work out the percentage of the total who could do with losing a few pounds.

You can let us know your results in comments below.

ERIN AND LOTTIE

As many of you may already be aware, this year I went through just over three months of difficult struggle when my daughters and I were being denied the right to see each other by their mother. It was not the first time this has happened. It is a pattern that has repeated a number of times since I split up from their mother. I disagree with her about something. She says something along the lines of 'do what I say or you can't see your children', at which point I have no choice but to walk away from the situation until she withdraws that threat. That may seem like a harsh decision and it is indeed a very hard one, but I strongly believe it is the right thing to do. I cannot allow my daughters to be used in that manner and to do so would be a betrayal. Also, if I gave even an inch in concession, it would just happen more in the future. So I have to walk away and then stand firm. You cannot negotiate with terrorists.

My girls' mother usually fabricates one or more reasons to justify to herself why she is withdrawing access. These don't usually emerge until some time after her original decision. This time was no different. Almost three weeks after I had last seen my daughters, I received a letter stating the reasons why I was being denied access. I immediately replied to the letter, but my reply was ignored for a further 10 weeks.

You can see a copy of it here.

There was no reply to this letter. I wrote a simple letter every week and an e-mail every few days for the whole of the period requesting that my daughters' mother suggest new contact arrangements if she was not happy with the previous ones. She ignored every one of these communications. Eventually, having exhausted all attempts at reasonable communication, I was preparing to go to court when their mother had a remarkable turn-around.

During the three months, my main fear was that my daughters would be thinking that I did not want to see them. I had no doubt that their mother would be telling them this. There was no other way that she could justify to them what she was doing. I sent them cards and letters every week, but did not know whether they were being given to them. I even tried sending them to their school, who I subsequently discovered also refused to give them to my girls. Some of my good friends also sent cards to Erin and Lottie, as we thought that they might have more chance of being allowed to open something that was not in my handwriting. I will never forget their kind efforts.

Luckily, I had prepared for this. I knew that something like this might happen and so every time I had seen my daughters before this time I had made a point of letting them know that I would always want to see them whenever possible and would never deliberately not see them. In one beautiful five minutes, my fears were allayed. I decided to just turn up at their house one Saturday morning having written a letter a few days earlier saying I would be doing so. The letter stated that if I received no reply then I would assume it was OK. When I arrived, my children's mother was just taking them out. I managed to get a few minutes with them. In those few minutes I knew for certain that they knew exactly what was going on and did not doubt me at all. Their bravery and strength brings tears to my eyes now as I write. It was just what I needed to give me the resolve to carry on doing what was right.

This was a very difficult time for me and I want to take this opportunity to thank all my friends who showed me support during this time. Every one of you made a difference. You helped me always remember who I am: a good father and a good man. I never doubted for one moment that what I was doing was right and your support helped me keep that vital strength. At times of doubt, I kept one thought in mind: "I am love and I cannot be defeated. However long it takes."

If you are on the list below, it is because I deeply appreciate the time you took to support me during this struggle. My apologies if this comes rather late. I have only just reached a point where I feel able to write about this.

Leigh Fiorentino, Hannah and Ruby Jenkyns, Kelly Jayne, Bec Rhodes, Susanne McCabe, Sherri Leger, Lisa King, Beverly Oakland, Kerry Parkin, Sara Horvath, Lee Turner, Steve Moseley, Mike Robinson, Suzy Gould, Therese Mary Savage, Caroline Foy, Mark Bagnall, Tomasz Ondrusz, Marie Piekarski, Jill Hennig, Kate Hughes, Megan Bennet, Matthew Campbell, Michelle Cooney and last but certainly not least my own parents, grandmother, brothers and sister.

It was during this time that I came across Steve Moseley's video on YouTube and decided to help him. Every day my situation brought up a strong need to fight in me. I just needed to do something, anything. But some days, many days in fact, there was nothing I could do. So I had all this fight inside me and nowhere to channel it. I am pleased to say that I found my positive channel by helping Steve spread his video. Steve remains a great inspiration to many many fathers out there.

They say when you help dig someone out of their troubles, you make a hole to bury your own. How very true. 

The video below was recorded the day I got my daughters back after more than three months:-

DO UNTO OTHERS

The Golden Rule or the Ethic of Reciprocity is a moral standard that pervades human societies the world over. It is reported by the Gospel writers to have been taught by Jesus.

Matthew 7:12
"So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets."

The moral standard can also be found in most other religions as well as the writings of secular philosophers. There are many examples here.

However, I think this moral standard is fundamentally flawed, or at least incomplete. It assumes that 'others' want the same things as you do. What if they don't?



I will give an example to illustrate this. When I am upset about something, I generally want to be left alone. I do not want to talk to anyone about it. I just want to seek the strength that is inside me and deal with whatever problem is upsetting me myself. After a short while left alone, I will generally emerge no longer upset. Many are the times I have made the mistake of assuming that this is what other people want too. I really should know better by now, but I still make this school-boy error. Imagine that my lover is upset or in a bad mood and begins to express that to me. Here's what I would want them to do if I were in their position. I would want them to go out and leave me alone for a while. So here is what happens:-

Lover of Pete: I am really upset today about this really upsetting thing.

Pete: OK, I'm off to the gym. See ya.

Lover of Pete: Bastard!

So, to my mind, the Golden Rule just doesn't work properly. Indeed, it actually often directly leads to 'others' getting heartily pissed off at you. I wonder if we can improve on this? 

How about: 

"Do unto others as you imagine they want you to do unto them, bearing in mind they may not want the same things as you at all, in fact it is pretty much guess work, but give it your best shot anyway, you'll find out soon enough if you got it wrong as you will very likely find yourself invited on a trip to guilt. If so, next time try something different. Either that, or just ask them what they want and do that. In fact, that last one is probably where you should start now I've had a think about it."

Pretty catchy, hey?

Feel free to give me any other suggestions you may have.

CONKERS

It is about this time of year when the seeds of the horse chestnut tree are ripening and starting to fall. Children all over the country will be gathering them so that they can engage in the wonderful sport of conkers. Those of you who live in other countries may not be familiar with this game. Basically, the 'conker' (horse chestnut) is skewered or drilled through the middle so that it can be attached to a string. The two players then take it in turns to hit their opponent's conker with their own, trying to break it so it falls off the string. The player with an intact conker remaining at the end is the winner. If a conker manages to make it through several matches, it starts to take on legendary status and is named after the number of matches it has won. 'This one's a sixer' or 'I've got a twelver at home but I've retired it and put it on a shelf in my room.'

With that in mind, children try to find and collect the best horse chestnuts. Hardness and size are two prized attributes. One so that your conker will not break and the other so that your conker's weight will impact with greater force on the opponent's. Some have also been known to engage in underhand tactics such as baking or soaking in vineger to make their conkers tougher. This is called cheating.



All that leads me onto the thing that I was originally going to write about, which was a day in my childhood which was and still remains one of the greatest days of my life. In the village in which I grew up, there were a limited number of horse chestnut trees and therefore the competition was fierce to get the best conkers which fell from these. Chilren were also known to throw sticks at, shake or climb the trees in order to encourage down the conkers which were still hanging from the branches. It wasn't unheard of for a fight to break out when a particularly fine-looking specimen fell to the ground half way between two eager lads.

One day a legend was born. There was tell of a roadside copse in a nearby hamlet in which could be found so many conkers that one would have enough to extend the season well into the next year. The rumour spread around our school like the tale of El Dorado, but few believed it. We had heard such tales before, only to be cruelly disappointed. But one fine weekend, my brother John and I decided to find out for ourselves and we set off on our bikes on what at the time seemed like an epic journey (although the hamlet of Westwick was actually only two miles away!) When we got there it was like a conker Alladin's cave. The floor of the copse was almost carpeted with conkers. There were conkers the size of which we had never even imagined.

Luckily, our faith had encouraged us to bring some carrier bags with us. We each filled two of these, with the biggest and the best and with some regret that we were still leaving many behind, we set off back to our home village, the weight of the bags making us wobble on our bikes as we held them on either end of our handle bars.

I will never forget the feeling I had that day. It was one of wonder and elation. I guess that must be how people feel when they win the Lottery. It also reminds me of the beautiful innocence, adventure and simplicity of childhood.

BROWN

I have sometimes been known to contemplate growing old. I would have said old and grey, but as my hair has been (at least partly) grey since I was 13, that doesn't make sense in my case.

It appears to me that when one gets past a certain age, one is taken over by an overwhelming urge to wear brown all the time. As I write this, at the age of 37, I have not yet felt even the slightest tug in that direction. I do not own any brown items of clothing, except perhaps a pair of shoes. But there is no escaping the inevitable. At some point in the future I will be donning a full length brown outfit (including hat) along with the best of them.



I wonder if this will arrive suddenly or gradually. Will I wake up one morning and just be totally disgusted with the colourful array of items in my wardrobe, or will there be a gradual slide towards drabness which happens so gradually as to be unnoticeable.

I recently read a little tale called Frog Soup. It went something like this. If you try putting a frog into very hot water to make frog soup, the frog will be shocked by the sudden change in temperature and will immediately jump out before it gets boiled. If, on the other hand, you put a frog into warm water and then gradually turn up the heat bit by bit, the frog will not notice until it is too late and will swim around blissfully unaware of its impending doom.

I think that is probably what happens with brown. If someone brought a whole wardrobe full of brown clothing round to my house right now, even if they were giving it all away for free, there's no way that I would accept it. However, a brown gift here and the odd item which you are not quite sure whether it is brown or a brownish shade of green and before you know what's happening, you open your wardrobe to discover that over 50% of the things in it are brown.

Be warned. That is all I am saying.

ALWAYS RIGHT

As an individual with strongly held opinions, I occasionally find myself faced with the accusation: 'You think you are always right.'

If that was stated in a slightly different way, then I would wholeheartedly agree. Change the words round a little and you get: 'You always think you are right.'

There is a subtle difference. Yes, I do always think I am right. Doesn't everyone? If not, then why the hell are they saying what they are saying and not saying something else which they do think is right? Maybe I am wrong right now. But I think I am right. I find it hard to believe that there are a whole load of people who go around thinking that what they are about to say is wrong, but then they go ahead and say it anyway.

But saying that "I always think I am right' is not the same as saying 'I think I am always right'. I do not. A brief glance into the past tells me that there have been a number of times when I was not right. So if one assumes that trend is likely to continue, I will continue to be not right some of the time. I therefore do not think I am always right. If I did, I would take up gambling with great gusto.

ABSOLUTELY

If, like me, you sometimes find yourself engaged in a conversation with someone and your mind is elsewhere for one reason or another, one word is remarkably useful for preventing yourself from being a accused of the heinous crime of 'not listening'. The magic word is 'absolutely'. You can say 'absolutely' in response to pretty much anything that the other party is saying, and it will still make sense in the conversation. Give it a try next time you are in a really dull meeting with a work colleague, listening to one of your friends whine on about how their girlfriend just doesn't understand them, or have become a Member of Parliament and are trying to look like you care when being visited by members of the public at your constituency office. It pays to put somewhat different tone and emphasis on your 'absolutely' from time to time, but once you've cracked that, you should be good to go.

Grumpy Geoff: I'm just not happy. Something isn't right. She just doesn't understand me. You know?

Pete: Absolutely.

Grumpy Geoff: I mean, how hard can it be just to understand simple sentences? It's not like I'm hiding anything.

Pete: Absolutely

Grumpy Geoff: God knows I try, but some days it feels like I'm banging my head against a brick wall.

Pete: Absolutely

Grumpy Geoff: Want another pint?

Pete: Absolutely!!

ZOOM

For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Walter felt truly present in the moment. The different instruments of the band competed for his attention. He listened first to the fiddle, then the flute, then the bhodran. Never before had he listened so intently. Though he had no musical training, Walter felt at that moment that he somehow understood on a deep level what it was that was making the music sound so beautiful. He could feel in his soul how the harmony and rhythm were so right, so perfect. The light in Saoirse's eyes shone bright as she looked deeply into Walter's. She moved with a wonderful freedom that her Irish name did not do justice. Extraordinary and unique, her dancing seemed to be telling a passionate story without words. Until now Walter had been unable to look at another beautiful woman without immediately being reminded of Tallina and feeling an instant stabbing pain in the pit of his stomach. As the band came to the end of the song, Saoirse gripped Walter's hand and pulled him towards the exit.

"Where are we going?" asked Walter.

"You'll see," answered Saoirse with playful excitement in her voice.

They left the pub and were back in the vast cavern. As she led Walter around the cavern wall, Walter's attention turned to the soft and delicate warmth of Saoirse's hand against his. Then he noticed the cavern lights reflecting off her beautiful long dark hair and how it bounced and swayed in time with her flowing dress as she walked. Walter felt an exhilarating sense of freedom For the first time in months, his mind was not constantly bombarding him with thoughts of true love lost. Only yesterday Walter had been unable to conceive of being happy again without Tallina. Yet here he was and nothing seemed wrong. Finally he had escaped the past and was back in the present. He felt a massive sense of relief and peace.

Saoirse opened a door in the cavern wall and led Walter through. Beyond the door was a stone spiral staircase hewn out of solid rock. She began climbing at a brisk pace, urging Walter to follow with the subtlest movement of her eyes. Up and up they climbed. It seemed effortless to Saoirse, but after several turns of the spiral, Walter began to gasp for breath. Finally they reached the top where Saoirse opened another door and daylight suddenly came shining through. Walter shielded his eyes which had become accustomed to the dim cavern lights. Saoirse led him out onto a wide rocky ledge where Walter fell to the ground and lay on his back gasping for breath. Saoirse giggled at his lack of stamina and then lay down beside him, her hand clasping his as Walter's heavy breathing gradually subsided. They felt the warm sunshine on their faces and lay soaking it up without speaking. Now and again Saoirse grasped Walter's hand a little tighter to remind him that she was holding it. Walter needed no reminding. To him it felt like a powerful electrical charge was flowing from Saoirse's hand into his.

After several minutes' silence, Saoirse finally spoke.

"What was she loike?" she asked.

"What?" asked Walter, surprised by the sudden end to the silence.

"Your lady. What was she loike?"

Walter hesitated for a moment. He had finally found some relief from his pain and did not want it to return. But as he thought about Tallina, he was surprised to find that the pain was not there.

"She was wonderful. Truly wonderful. I felt pure effortless joy simply being in her presence. She didn't have to do anything. She just had to be there. Her presence cast a spell on me, the greatest of spells, dissolving all worry and hurt. Her voice was like the sweetest music and her wonderful feminine beauty made me shake my head in disbelief. She is wonderful."

"How d' ye feel now, Walter?"

Walter stopped for a moment, trying to make sense of how he was feeling. There was no hurt any more. No pain. There was an overwhelming sense of freedom, peace and love. Now he understood what Dara had been saying.

"I love her," said Walter. As he thought of Tallina he felt pure love coarsing through him. Yet he knew then that he no longer needed her. The love that he felt for her was with him now, whether she was by his side or not. It was intense and powerful and no-one could take it away. Walter felt as though he had somehow grown several inches taller.

"Oi can see that, Walt," said Saoirse. She leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek. Walter felt sleep overcoming him as he relaxed like he had not relaxed for far too long. Slowly he drifted off and Saoirse felt his grip on her hand relax.

Some time later, Walter awoke with a vivid dream fresh in his mind. He opened his eyes to find Saoirse sitting cross-legged in front of him, as if she had been patiently waiting for him to awake. She raised her eyebrows inquisitively and smiled warmly at him, causing him to let out an altogether unplanned giggle.

"Tell me yer dream, Walt," said Saoirse.

"Hey? How do you know I had a dream?" Walter asked with surprise.

"Aaah, dat would be telling!" said Saoirse mysteriously.

"All right then," said Walter after pretending to give her a scolding look. "I was watching a lottery or bingo machine. The kind with the air blowing ping pong type balls around so that they fly about randomly, sometimes banging into one another. There two sets of 26 balls. Some pink and some blue. Each had one of the letters of the alphabet on it. A-Z pink and A-Z blue.



"When balls with letters that were quite close to each other in the alphabet came together, there seemed to be a kind of magnetic attraction, they stayed together for a while and flew around the air chamber together, moving near the top of the chamber as they seemed to gain extra energy as a pair. But they eventually lost that energy and sank back down to the bottom of the chamber where they moved around listlessly for a while before breaking apart. It seemed that the closer the letters were to each other in the alphabet, the longer they were likely to stay together.

"Then occasionally the exact same two letters came together, they stuck together strongly and ZOOM! They flew off out of the tube at the top, never to return to the air chamber."

Saoirse smiled a big smile as Walter finished his story.

"Oi think Oi'm going to enjoy you," she said. "Got to go now Walter. See ya soon." With that Saoirse rose quickly to her feet and went back through the door to the staircase. Before Walter had time to protest, she was gone.

Next Story - Gary's Awakening >>

Join The Magical World of Walter and Gary Facebook Group

YOGHURT

The other day I was performing another magnificent stroll through my local supermarket and found myself down the aisle which had a bank of refrigerated displays on either side. One side was completely stocked with various different types of yoghurt or similar deserts. The other side was completely stocked with various different types of butter or margarine. In that moment I was transported back to a much simpler time when I used to go shopping with my mother as a young lad every Friday evening. I was one of four children and we all really enjoyed our food, so this expedition was always greatly anticipated, as we had usually eaten the cupboards and fridge almost bare by about Tuesday.

I am pretty sure that in those simpler times, you could only get one kind of youghurt. It was called yoghurt. There were three flavours available: strawberry, peach melba and black cherry. There were two brands available: Ski or Prize. Ski was the best. Then there was the supermarket's own brand (which was just like Ski, only really horrible). On the other side of the aisle there was a much smaller choice too. There was butter or there was margarine.



This memory raises a few questions in my mind. 

First of all, in the time when there were so fewer choices, how did they fill the shop? I am pretty sure the Sainsbury's supermarket where I lived near Cambridge was the same size then as it is now. And it isn't just yoghurt and margarine either. Bread, shampoo, pasta, snacks, biscuits. In fact, this trend has taken place on pretty much every aisle. So just what was the supermarket filled with in those halcyon days? 

Secondly, is all the extra choice actually beneficial to us? The many and various new yoghurts and spreads are often sold to us with the promise that they will bring health benefits. Low fat, low in saturates, low in calories, probiotic, cholesterol lowering, organic etc etc. Yet a quick glance at the national health statistics reveals that back in the good old 1970s we were facing far fewer health problems as a nation as we do now.

Could it be that it is just an ever increasing spiral of brand hypnotism, presenting us with so much colour and choice that we lose the power of rational discernment? Could it be that most of the claims made by these brands are in actual fact a load of old bollocks?