LIFE IS JUST A BOWL OF...

Life is a funny old thing when you think about it…

No matter what you do or what you plan for, it still ends up as a catalogue of disasters that you end up trying to salvage as best you can.
It had taken about a year out of my life to get Haddy into the country, and as for the cost ?  
Don’t even go there.
Basically, any reserve I had was now pretty much wiped out.
Physically and mentally I was completely shattered, and to make matters worse my Father’s health was beginning to deteriorate badly.
This, of course, put extra strain on my Mother who quite frankly couldn’t cope with the situation that was beginning to occur, but who struggled on regardless because the alternative was moving my Father into a home, and there was no way that was EVER going to be considered.
He had been in and out of hospital over the last couple of years, usually with the same infections that never seemed to get cleared up, but they would chuck anti-biotics at  him until they said he was fit enough to leave and then they’d release him into my Mother’s care and send him home.
Of course within a week or two or a month at most he’d collapse at home again, the paramedics would be called again, and he’d be back in hospital, in the same ward usually, with the same complaint… And this was happening on an average of once every six weeks…
The situation was not helped either by my Father losing his hearing (He was now profoundly deaf) or, belligerently refusing to have anything to do with hospitals whatsoever.
When he collapsed at home, my Mother didn’t have the strength to help so it was going to have to be hospital regardless of his objections…
I’ll tell you… Life doesn’t get easier.
I’m sixty miles away at the top of the coned off section of the M.25 and I’m the
nearest member of the family, so who you gonna call every time he collapses ?
I’ll give you a clue, it ain’t fuckin’ Ghostbusters…
To make matters worse (could it ever get better ?) the pair of them have made promises to each other that they’d never be parted from each other and they’ve been together for over sixty years…
This is the stumbling block that everybody in the family who is trying to help is finding out about when they fall over it.
Dad doesn’t want to go to hospital even though he’s obviously ill and so Mum ignores the illness and does her best to cope at home.
Dad collapses because he’s ill.
Dad gets taken to hospital.
Dad moans about being in hospital.
Mum capitulates before they find out what’s wrong with him and takes him home.
A month later the same thing occurs again…
And a month later the same thing occurs again…
And a month later the same thing…
You get the drift ?
There’s a pattern to it.
A child could see it for Christ’s sake…
So why not break the pattern ?
I sometimes wonder why I bother ?
Still, Christmas is coming and it’s supposed to be the season of goodwill and all that stuff…
Haddy and I were hopeful about going out to The Gambia for Tobaski at the end of November but that’s been put on hold because it conflicts with half-term holidays over here and so the flight fares have rocketed from about four hundred pounds each to seven hundred and ninety nine each…
Never mind… There’s always next year but first we have to get through Christmas and there’s only so much overtime I can do to pay for it.
And then it occurred…
My Father had been taken into hospital after a fall at home.
He had apparently been left for four days without anybody helping him or changing his clothing…
When my Mother rang me (In floods of tears, naturally) I hit the roof…
The whole family got told what was GOING to happen if things didn’t change.
Needless to say they all objected to it and I was immediately sidelined and forbidden to do anything about it whatsoever.
Was it wrong of me to want somebody at Epsom Hospital Trust’s head ?
I don’t think so ?
You don’t leave a ninety year old man to live in his own filth for four days just because you can’t be bothered or you’re short staffed…
But apparently THEY do.
And so I wanted somebody’s head to roll…
Not to be hushed up, not to be glossed over and swept under the carpet, but a big and loud complaint in capital fucking letters…
It was ‘Verboten’.
Never in a million years…
My Mother who wouldn’t make a complaint at the time, wouldn’t stand for it…
And so my brother was going to deal with it.
The fact that he lives in the U.S. of A. didn’t seem to have crossed anybody’s mind…
Ok…
Fuck it !
You try, because somebody HAS to do something, but if nobody is interested then let them sort it out…
My kids from my first marriage are ‘Oop North’ and in Spain respectively, and my brother is in the U.S.A…  And now he’s got to come over to sort things out.
Oh well, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Since the e-mail had been sent I was now persona non-grata anyway, so I was going to have a rest and get on with booking The Arcadeclectic Stage at Rhythms Of The World…
Thank God for a bit of sanity.

Christmas came and went with me taking one day off to visit my parents…

Thankfully my Father was back at home and not incarcerated.
I don’t think I’m ever going to actually be able to speak to him as his deafness is getting worse or his hearing aids don’t work or worse than either, every time I try and speak, my Mother decides to butt in on the conversation and answer for him…
It’s driving me fucking mental, but what can you do apart from let her get on with it ?
According to Haddy the strain is beginning to show…
I don’t know when I’m next going to spend any time with my wife as it just seems that every time I try and get something planned, the whole thing comes crashing down around me ?

The first week of January I’m doing a gig for Mark Astronaut at Club 85.

Apart from compering at ‘Rhythms’ it’ll be my first gig since the previous February and I’m out of practice.
I can ‘fake’ it, but that’s not my style so I need a re-think.
Right…
The first live outing of ‘Ebou’s Song’, with Haddy on the Wollof bits.
She’s scared witless, but addressing audiences is the same as addressing political rallies and meetings, so what’s the problem ?
The rest I’ll fit around it, and leave out most of the ‘greatest hits’ stuff.
I’m on third with a duo from Primal Device first, Smige (pronounced Smidge) second, and Silent Smiles, a young rock band from Harpenden way, topping the bill…
What’s more I’ve managed to persuade Mark to give me a thirty minute set.
Now the thing is, I’ve booked Silent Smiles and Smige for ‘Rhythm’s already, but they’re sworn to secrecy because the bill isn’t yet finalised, so I know what I’m on with…
They, on the other hand, haven’t got a clue about me.
Joe from the Device duo has seen me before, but he’s the only one.
Right… Let battle commence…

Pheeeew !
That was a scorcher…
According to Silent Smiles’ parents, who drove all their gear there, and Smige’s girlie posse, and Bob who runs the place, I was either, ‘the best thing on the bill’, or ‘the best I’ve ever seen you…’
So that’s alright then…
Cheers Mark, for sticking me on… And thank you so much to my darling wife for making the difference and conquering her fear.
Jonny T and Jo from Lika Sharps who were both in the audience concurred with the above, as did Jon Falconer, another local poet who we’d worked with last year at Twist of Fete.

Sometimes the Gods smile…

The following week we’re back to normal with another collapse from my Father…
I really don’t think I can survive much more of this ?
Still, I’m halfway through booking Rhythms of the World but it’s beginning to get difficult to get artists with the right outlook.
I can get artists…
We’re over subscribed in artists and bands, but Jesus…
Some of them seem to think that it’s just a question of them asking to be on and they’ll be put on.
Try again, people…
Try somebody else because you haven’t a prayer of getting on the Arcadeclectic Stage unless you’ve got the right attitude.
It’s difficult to put into words but I want artists who are happy in their skin.
I don’t care how many fans they have, don’t care what style of music they play, and I certainly don’t care if they are commercial or not…
I want artists who are prepared to stand out from the norm by dint of what they do on that stage…
And that’s difficult because they are becoming harder to find.
Every time I find one, they tend to get nicked the following year for one of the bigger stages anyway, so I seem to be consistently hunting for new blood.
This year I’ve got the biggest of all the local bands ever to reform, and when it hits the grapevine and the publicity machine I know I’m going to get some feedback on that, but again, we’re currently keeping it under wraps and only Steve, the Performance Director, and Bob, know for now.
I’d like to get some Gambian musicians but we can’t get them from The Gambia because of the government bond we have to put up of £5000 per musician if they don’t have a British or European agent, and very few have.
The problem we have with the Gambian musicians that are already here is also one of attitude…
They seem to have imported an attitude that I’ll refer to as ‘Let’s screw the toubab…’ wherein the only thing they are interested in whatsoever is money, and as much of it as is humanly possible, heading their way.
It’s not a game I play when I’m in The Gambia where anybody even attempting to try it on with me will be told to fuck off in no uncertain terms, but those who have moved here have brought it with them and it’s a constant in any dealings with Gambian ex-pats.
I don’t mind paying for a quality outfit, but trying to tell me that a bloke from Manchester, another from Bristol and a couple from London ‘could’ constitute a band to play the festival when they’ve never even met before, is an insult to every musician playing it.
Oh well… It’ll change one day when they actually take a little pride in their culture and traditions rather than trying to flog off a third rate imitation for money.
So for the third year running I won’t be booking any, and for exactly the same reasons each time.
The fact that a couple of them might get together to play a naming ceremony does not, in my book, constitute a band that can entertain a crowd at a festival, and besides, I don’t like being told that it’s going to cost me another eighty quid to get one bloke down from Manchester.
I know the price of fuel has gone up, but the price of taking the piss has definitely gone up with it…
Enough !
Sod it !   We’re going to The Gambia whether we can afford it or not, and my mobile is going to be turned off for the duration…
I know it sounds harsh, but I need a rest and if it’s impossible to get one here, then I’ll take one somewhere else.
Besides, it’ll be nice to see the kids again, and see how they are coping without their Mum, and so we booked the flight for the first week of March and left everything and everybody else to it…
Sanity was beckoning…
Which just goes to show how little I knew.
Of course back in the real world, my Mother is now having second thoughts about having my Dad at home because she is just about at the end of her tether and beginning to get just a teensy-weensy little bit hysterical over having to cope with him on a daily basis…
(For teensy-weensy read ‘a hell of a lot…’ I’m being sarcastic)
And my ‘For Christ’s sake get him in a home and we might not lose you, too…’ is being echoed by my brother.
So…
Care homes are now being looked at, and Brother Pat is coming back over here in March…
Personally I don’t give a damn when he comes over… I’m past caring.
Besides… We’ve booked, and there’s no way we’re changing, cancelling or deviating from OUR script.
I’ve had to put my whole life on hold for over a year and I’m not prepared to do that anymore, but until Pat got involved, nothing I’ve ever said has been taken seriously, but now he’s saying the same things, people are listening…
And you wonder why I feel as I do ?
He’s coming in March but we’ll be back for a couple of days before he flies in…
All we have to do is find room in our twenty kilogram each allowance for all the stuff that we’re supposed to take out there, which is certainly easier said than done.
We’re being sent stuff on a daily basis from Fatou, and so in the end Haddy has to tell her ‘NO MORE !’
We’re about twelve kilos overweight, so we’re definitely going to need a re-think and a re-pack.
But finally, only five kilo’s over by the bathroom scales, which is going to cost me fifty quid if I can’t sweet-talk somebody at the check-in desk, we are ready to go…