My (Non) War Time Coat

It’s on mornings like this, in the English mid-winter, when the temperature is sub-zero and the toilet seat’s covered in frost, that I'm thankful to be an ageing mod who never quite grew up, and, like any old mod who is proud of his heritage have – somewhere in the subterranean byways of my wardrobe – a second world war fishtail parka.

Actually, the parka that’s currently hanging in the cupboard isn’t an original American-issue fishtail parka at all: it’s a copy of the one on the Quadrophenia album cover, made by that largely awful and totally un-mod clothing manufacturer “Lambretta”. I bought it from this horrible boutique in the centre of town called Ashes, which is full of gay shirts and limp wristed trousers. How I found myself in this shop I don’t know. How the Lambretta parka found its way in there is even more of a mystery. But it was just so iconic that I had to have it.

I didn’t really think I’d ever wear it, to be honest. I mean, I’m nearly forty. I’m a bit old to be tearing round Boscombe in a parka. When I was a teenager at the Isle-of-Wight rally I expected the oldsters to have grown out of those sorts of shenanigans and set an example by wearing camel-hair overcoats, having plenty of cash, and slightly less off-key haircuts. None of them did, of course. They just got more outlandish. Now that I’m that age myself I kind of understand why. Forty is the new twelve.

Last night though, the temperature had fallen to minus five and my woollen bridge coat just wasn’t cutting it, and as any forty year old who is proud of his heritage will tell you, these days it’s all about warmth and comfort.

And I’ve got to say, my Lambretta non-American non-second world-war non-army issue parka is probably the warmest and most comfortable coat outside of the Arctic Circle. In fact it’s not so much a coat as a tent. And not just any old tent, either. A kind of Bedouin tent of the desert; the kind that’s big enough for your whole harem.

You could sleep in this coat anywhere, and be completely indoors. You could set up home in this coat. It’s faster and more spacious than a VW camper, that’s for sure. You could probably declare it a principality.

So, as you can see, I am pleased with my coat. Now that I have a suitable outer garment I can take up space travelling again. If you don’t see me, that’ll be why.

Excuse Me While I Polish My Rocket

Whenever the clocks go backwards or forwards or whatever it is that they do at this time of year, I find myself rampantly discombobulating. It might be because I don’t want to miss anything, and sleep with one eye open; it may be because it’s too much like being drunk or in blackout, and I think I’ve already missed something.

Whatever: I’m still up at stupid o’ clock wondering what the hell to do with myself. So I start writing nonsense. It’s all there is to do in these quiet white hours when the morning’s like a misty wraith. And I get to thinking: perhaps I’ll polish my rocket.

It’s a decent bit of kit, this rocket. I picked it up at a government auction when no-one was looking. It’s got a big red star on the side, which I like. I’m a bit of a communist, you see. I’m fond of the berets.

It lies in the shed out the back, wrapped in oily rags, awaiting its day of glory. Quietly it lies, patiently, needing no maintenance. You can learn a lot from a rocket.

I don’t often think about my rocket, but knowing I’ve got one back home in the shed puts a spring in my step, I admit. It gives me a sense of enormous well-being. I don’t get so affected by people as would someone who might not have a rocket, because as soon as a person offends, I can say to myself: “Does this situation call for the use of a rocket?” Usually it doesn’t, and if it doesn’t, I may as well forget about it.

Oh, the fantastic scenarios in which I imagine waving my rocket about freely!

Being the proud owner of a rocket has made me much more aware of things. I know what’s happening around me, because I’m always looking, you see. I’m always looking to use it. If a situation arises which calls for the legitimate use of my rocket, by God! I’m not going to miss it.

I can put up with a lot, knowing I’ve got my rocket. The bloke down the hallway who beats up his missus in the middle of the night, for instance. The crack dealers who suck their teeth. The twat on the bus playing pop music on his mobile phone. The dim and the thuggish. Fat women in leggings. Racists. Fascists. Scumbags.

All these, and many more, are ignorant of the fact that I am a man with a rocket.

Lucky for them that I’m an easy going kind of a chap, and not prone to fits of madness.

The rocket is safe with me.

The Peace of God, Which Passes All Understanding

Thank God I’ve been freed from crippling identification with my mind. Life seems a bit more open, these days. I was just browsing Facebook when I saw Johnny Bovril’s latest status update. It said: “Johnny Bovril is finding it difficult to fight reality.”

Of course, my first thought was: Well then, stop fighting it, mate. Because of course it’s difficult to fight reality. In fact, it’s impossible. Reality always wins.

All my problems in life stemmed from the fact that I was in resistance to what is. I could not accept things as they are. I always felt things would or could or should be different. It wasn’t my thinking that was all messed up: it was the universe.

No wonder I was drunk and angry.

In order to get sober I had to let go of my old ideas. I had to come to realise that my thinking was wrong. My thinking is still wrong actually, in the sense that it doesn’t tell me the truth, and is very often disconnected from any sense of reality whatsoever. That’s why I pay less and less attention to it. It’s like a loveable but vaguely retarded cousin jumping up and down in the corner trying to get your attention.

I also had to cultivate acceptance. Like cultivating any kind of a habit, this took practice. I had to drop the delusion that I was in control of life; the delusion that I’d ever been in control of life.

To abandon myself is an on-going process.

When I truly relinquish any idea of control, life becomes quite remarkable. Because I have no idea what’s going to happen from one moment to another, it's infinitely surprising. I begin to be filled with curiosity about just what’s going to happen next. And because I know that everything is as it is - and therefore as it should be - and that every experience I have is the experience I am meant to have in this moment, however the situation looks to me, I am no longer in resistance to it. Consequently I can accept it and experience it fully.

Fear begins to drop away. I become less tense and constricted. I don’t struggle. I relax and take it easy.

Life rolls out towards me like it always has: of its own accord. I sit in the middle of it, in wonder, in the Peace of God, which passes all understanding.

With Your Ups and Downs and Swings and Roundabouts

I noticed today that somewhere down the line I fell in love with life. It was a sudden realisation. I probably hadn’t noticed it before because of the ups and downs; the swings and roundabouts. But this morning was calm, silent and still, and I realised: oh yes, I really do love you. With your ups and downs and swings and roundabouts.

I noticed as I was rolling a cigarette that I was rolling a cigarette.  I remembered a morning with no cigarettes, with unsteady hands, with a future all morbid and bleak. I used to think that life had gone terribly wrong somewhere; that this was not how things were meant to be.

We go through what we have to go through.

We go through what we have to go through to get to where we are, which is exactly where we’re meant to be.

Yes?

Not only that, but we couldn’t have done anything different because we did what we did, which brought us to here, which is exactly where we are.

Perfect.

Just a Moment

There are people, and there are moments of clarity.

Moments of wisdom and moments of foolishness.

No individual has a monopoly on these things.

These things show up in all of us, all of the time.

If you’re looking to any one person to show you what you’re looking for, you’re going to be disappointed.

In fact, if you’re looking for any sort of an answer to anything, you’re going to be disappointed.

There is no answer; there is no question. It’s all in the mind.

Stop looking.