For many couples, there can be nothing more stressful than the female of the species suffering from monthly mood swings, hot flushes, irrational behaviour and did I mention mood swings? That would be PMT (Pre-Menstrual Tension). For us males it’s a time to show patience and support and ride the storm (it won’t last for ever). However, for most couples there’s something that is even worse. And that’s the sudden absence of the above. I’m referring of course to a missed period.

More often than not it’s harmless and nothing to worry about. The contraceptive pill can play havoc with the menstruation cycle and missing a pill can totally mess the cycle up altogether. A missed period can throw up all kinds of things that you don’t give a second thought to normally. Thoughts like: “I’m not ready to be a father”, “I’m too young to be a father”, “well there goes my fantasies of sleeping with other women - I’m going to have to get married” and of course “my life is over”. There may even be some positives but I’ll dwell on the negatives for now as it aids the narrative.

The first time this happened to me (well, to my then girlfriend of course) was when I was about 19 (making my girlfriend about 17). I was absolutely terrified. It’s one of the few memories I retain from being that age and I remember thinking things like “if it’s negative I’ll never have sex again so I never have to feel this scared again”. Fortunately it was a false-call and I quickly forgot the fear and blind panic.

But this month my girlfriend missed her period. And my reaction was not what I’d come to expect. First of all, I started joking about the whole thing. I’d send her text messages saying I was off to Mothercare to look at infant clothes. I ask her if any of her relatives had any prams / cots / sterilising equipment they didn’t need any more. Of course my dry wit soon made her a bit tense so she went off and bought a home pregnancy test. While she was away getting it I thought seriously for a moment about how I’d feel if she tested positive.

And you know what? I decided that I didn’t mind either way. We’ve spoken about having kids and how we’re knocking on a bit and if we’re going to start a family we want to be doing it soon. But we’d decided that - selfish as we still are - we’re just not ready to do it. And to be honest, we didn’t know when we ever would be. But we’d still love kids.

But it became clear to me while I was waiting that we aren’t going to be just wake up one morning and decide that we were ready. It would have to be forced on us and we’d have to deal with it and make the switch to putting ourselves second in our lives after our kids. And this could be it. This could be it being forced on us. And the scary part was that I wasn’t scared at all. I thought to myself “if she’s pregnant, then I’m going to be a father”. And I felt fine about that. I really did.

And as she took the test and came up negative, I swear to you I felt a pang of disappointment.

Maybe it’s because I’m rapidly approaching 30. Maybe it’s because I’ve been spending time with my girlfriend’s family including two nephews (even the Easter weekend). Or maybe I’m coming to realise that there has to be more to life than this. Still, the test kit claims only 99% accuracy. Which means 1 in 100 results are wrong…

I don’t know about you, but I tend to wear the same shoes most of the time. I don’t have to wear a suit to work so when I get up in the morning I’ll normally reach for the same shoes day after day after day. If I go out for a drink or two, I’ll wear those same shoes. If I go to the cinema, or drive to a friend’s house to go biking, or go shopping, I’ll wear - you’ve guessed it - the same shoes. I like to call them my Default Shoes. That’s because they are my default choice for almost all occasions. Sure, when I need smart shoes I’ll wear something else, or if I go running I’ll wear running shoes, but 9 times out of 10 I’ll lace up my default shoes when I leave the house.

The problem is that no shoe lasts forever. When any pair of my default shoes start to wear out I’ll start looking for a replacement. I’ll buy the replacement and gradually wear them more and more until I just stop wearing the old ones and throw them out. Thus I have new default shoes and the circle of life continues. I have just passed through such a transition period and as a mark of respect I’d like to tell you about my old shoes.

I bought them in Las Vegas a couple of years ago. At the time my default shoes were a pair of brown Adidas Gazelles and they were past their best. I figured I’d go for a pair of black shoes next, my motivation being the shoes Richard Ashcroft wore in the video to Bittersweet Symphony (which happened to be Clarks, by the way). I had a look in a few shops until I eventually came across the Vans you see pictured above.

We’ve been all over together. I’ve taken them half way around the world. Been drunk in them. Driven thousands of miles in them. Played football in them. Had job interviews in them. They’ve been ever-present in my life but it was time to move on. They were falling apart. I was on my third pair of laces and the soles were wearing through. So it was with a heavy heart that I started to look for a replacement. And I found them, courtesy of my brother (who’s my clothing consultant - he has more style in his small finger than I’ll have in my whole lifetime).

They’re a pair of customised Adidas running shoes and they’re pictured right. I’m not going to link to where I got them from because I don’t want everybody out there wearing them - I want them for me! Oh, all right then, you can find them here. And although they look pretty loud, I love them. I’m looking forward to a long partnership with them and if I have half as much fun wearing them as I did with my Vans I’ll be doing well. It’s the dawn of a new era.

Way back in September 2002 I wrote about the fact that my younger brother had decided to quit his job and come and stay with me while he found himself a new one in beautiful Yorkshire. What I didn’t do was tell you what happened next.

It all started off fine. I stayed next door at my girlfriend’s house and he stayed at mine. I’d come around and watch satellite TV and we seemed to be having a good time. The trouble was that this was simply the honeymoon period. Reality eventually settled in and the strain of having two grizzlie bears living inside a 6′ by 6′ cage eventually proved too much for us. I snapped and he moved out. We started the best of friends but, by the time he moved back to Scotland it had all gone horribly wrong. I’m disappointed I let that happen but it just goes to show that no matter how good a person you think you are, you can still be a complete c*nt when you want to be. Let that be a lesson to all of you out there.

Fortunately, after a short while we buried the hatchet and get on just as well as we did before (a 300 mile gap, occasional visits and frequent phone conversations seems to be about the right balance). However, he still didn’t have a job. He struggled to get the job he was after due to intense competition and most probably more bad luck (he’s been on a run of bad luck for the past 6 years without a broken mirror in sight). Eventually the unemployment benefits agency recently forced him to take a call centre job which wasn’t exactly the marketing executive role he was looking for but - as is often the case with call centre jobs - it was a stop-gap measure until something decent came along. Of course as soon as he got that job the interviews for marketing jobs started to roll in (something like waiting for a bus).

Until finally, last night, he got offered the job he deserved. It’s a role he finds exciting in an industry he find interesting in a city he loves for a decent salary. I sincerely hope his run of misfortune is over and, as I say, it’s about bloody time too! In spite of having the obvious handicap of me as a brother, it sounds like he’s going to do all right after all.

Exactly one year ago today my mother died from cancer. In many ways the year has flown by. And in many ways it’s been the longest of my life. I’ve spent months trying to write this article in my head.

I originally thought what I’d do is try to explain what the past year has been like. I’d write about how hard it is to carry on when one of the fundamental constants of your life has gone. I’d come up with some clever analogy that would go some way to give those who haven’t experienced losing a parent an idea of what it’s really like. I’d mention the things you’re never prepared for, like the vivid, recurring dreams where I can talk to my mother about losing her only to wake up and realise it was only a dream and she’s really gone. I was even going to discuss some of the triggers that would mean I’d be fine one moment and extremely down the next. I might even have delved into how it’s changed me inside and how I now view life and the future.

But I’m not going to do it that way. Instead I’ll veer off on a tangent if I may and you can read into it as you wish.

My mother always used to get me to give her foot massages. She’d use flattery, threats, logical reasoning, bribery and any means at her disposal to persuade me to do it. After a few minutes on each foot she’d beg me to give “just one more minute on each foot” with my “magic hands ” (told you she used flattery) and of course I’d relent. Anyway, one thing she would often say was that although I might think it was a chore “I’d miss doing it when she was gone”. How right she was.

But her spirit lives on because I have inherited her love of foot massages and I’ve found myself saying exactly the same things my mother used to say to me when I try to persuade my girlfriend to do my feet. Like mother like son. The circle of life continues…

One of the facets of my character that drives my girlfriend mad is how I deal with something normal people (like her) would get excited about. Let’s take an example. A couple of years ago my brother, my good lady and I decided to go on holiday to Las Vegas. My girlfriend works for a travel company and so managed to get us a deal so cheap that it felt as though they were paying us to go. Anyway, rather than talk to me about the holiday in the weeks prior to our flights, she rang my brother and enthused with him. No, it’s not because she was having an affair with him behind my back, it’s because he gets excited about things and so does she. But I don’t.

I didn’t really notice this habit until it was pointed out to me but it seems perfectly rational to me (as most character flaws are to the people who harbour them). Put simply, I never try to tempt fate. To avoid feeling let down when plans fall apart, I work on the assumption that something won’t happen, until it actually does. So if I’ve got a kick-ass holiday coming up I work on the assumption that it’ll happen, but prepare myself for the eventuality that it won’t. I feel that if I start to look forward to it then the evil fate monster will decide to snatch it away from me just to piss me off. I guess you could call me a pessimist - but I’m not. I just don’t like surprises.

When I was preparing to buy my fancy BMW (which I’ve already managed to put a dent in by opening another car door onto my own - there’s karma for you) I would run through in my mind everything that could go wrong so it wouldn’t take me by surprise when anything went wrong. The finance deal could fall through, I could crash my previous car therefore losing it’s trade-in value, I could be made redundant and not be able to afford it any more, and so on. I like to call it “scenario visualisation” and I’m told it’s a predominantly male characteristic.

I suppose I must have learned this defence mechanism at some point in my past and it’s no doubt as a result of some bitter experience I’ve had and felt let down by. Perhaps I was so gutted that I’ve blocked it out of my memory (which is why I can’t pinpoint it just now). Or perhaps it’s the result of many incidents that have snowballed over the years. Whatever the cause, I’m making a concerted effort to stop thinking in this negative, defensive way, because it sucks all the fun out of everything, and it drives the people around me crazy.

But it does explain one other part of my personality. My impulsiveness. I can walk into a bike shop with the intention of buying a pair of gloves and come out with a new bike. One of my tenets is that if I have a “do I or don’t I?” question in my mind, I always do it (in the long term it always works out to be the right choice). I like to live in the moment rather than waiting for things to happen. I’m a control freak. Simple as that. Anyway, you must excuse me, I’m off to think up the worst-case scenario for my drive home from work.

This has been a sad weekend. Humbug (pictured right) was one of my neighbour’s cats. I’ve mentioned him before. He was no ordinary cat. Originally destined to be a show cat (if you know the breed then please let me know), he was born with a slight defect that meant one of his eyes wept from time to time. His modelling career was over before it began. So one of my neighbours got him as a kitten and he became a member of the community from then on.

When his owner went away on holiday another neighbour looked after him. But when he returned, Humbug decided he was happy where he was and opted to stay put. He’d chosen new owners, but that wasn’t a problem. Humbug was an opportunist and would go from house to house accepting food from whoever would give him any. With no fear of going into other people’s homes, this was where I got to know him.

Day or night, if I went into my house and Humbug spotted me he’d sprint at me and follow me inside. He’d then proceed to roll around on my floor (pictured right). He’d stroll around my house as if it were his own, maybe fall asleep in a corner for a while and then move on when he was finished with me. He did this with most of the people around me and he was one of those friendly cats that you could just pick up, throw over your shoulder, and he be as happy as Larry. Everybody loved Humbug. Even my girlfriend, who claims she doesn’t like cats.

Sadly, he was run over a couple of streets away on Thursday morning. He’d disappeared and nobody had seen him. His owners are away on holiday and another neighbour was looking after him, so she was distraught at his disappearance. When she found out what had happened she went door-to-door to pass on the news. It goes without saying that he’ll be greatly missed. It’s amazing how animals like cats manage to worm their way into your heart and how they get you into their routine. His unique personality and behaviour is gone forever. It’s a shame and it further reminds me (as if I need reminding) of how shit life is. There’s no rewind button, what’s done is done and there’s no going back.

What’s even more sad is that I was the last person to see him alive. Late on Wednesday night I came back from my girlfriend’s house and Humbug was sitting on her doorstep. I went over to my house, he followed me and I stroked him and went inside. I didn’t let him in as he’d been in earlier and I knew I didn’t have any food for him, plus I was going to bed. It’s a shame, I would have liked him rolling about on my floor just one last time. But like I said, there’s no rewind button. I’ve printed out my favourite picture of Humbug (left) and framed it for his owners for when they return. It’ll be scant consolation for them but the whole neighbourhood is in mourning. You may be surprised by the impact Humbug made on our lives, but if you’d met him you’d understand.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since my mother passed away in June. I’ve come to realise that losing her is something I’m never going to come to terms with. I’ve had so many times where I’ve thought to myself “oh, I’ll have to tell my mother about that” or “my mother would like one of those”. My brain is having a hard time realising that I’ll never see her again. When I go back to Scotland to visit my father everything seems normal, except that she’s not there any more. It’s like a black hole, a missing piece of the jigsaw. It’s emptiness.

Memories are a good and a bad thing. They remind me of all the good times we had and make me smile. But they remind me that those days are in the past and I can never share a joke with her again. She had a characteristic booming laugh and whenever we’d have people over to the house I could always hear her laughter whatever room I was in. I miss hearing it. And there’s no consolation. But the point of this piece is not a negative one. I don’t need to bear my soul and I’m big enough and ugly enough to take care of myself.

My mother had a really good sense of humour and she’d appreciate some of the strange things that have happened recently. The first was on the morning of her funeral. To recap, I was setting up the sound system in the church to play - at her request - “All along the watchtower” by Jimi Hendrix. As I was speaking to one of her friends (who was arranging the flowers) I had this strange urge to switch the radio on. As soon as I did the line “cheer up sleepy Jean, oh what can it mean, to be a daydream believer…”, which is by the Monkeys. My mother’s name was Jean and I was surprised to say the least. If it was a coincidence that that song (which I’d not heard in years and haven’t heard since) should happen to play at the exact moment I seemingly randomly switched the radio on, then the odds would have to be astronomical. But that’s not the only such instance of strangeness.

My mother’s best friend and my father were having a cup of coffee in a local coffee shop. They were talking and she was telling my father how she really missed having my mother to talk to and that she was having a hard time. No sooner had she uttered the words “now that Jean’s gone I don’t have anyone to talk to” than the radio that was on in the background suddenly played “All along the watchtower” by Jimi Hendrix. Another coincidence?

Next it was my brother’s turn. And he swears this is true. He was lying in bed one night thinking about life after death. He, like me, is not religious at all so he, like me, worries that after life there is nothing. He was just going over in his head all the possibilities and trying to be positive, hoping that he might see my mother again some day. He said over and over in his head “give me a sign”, looking for hope when suddenly the idea popped into his head to turn the radio on. When he did the song that was playing was “Unchained Melody” by The Righteous Brothers. In case you’re one of the handful of people who’s not seen the film “Ghost”, that’s the song that’s played when the hero (Patrick Swayze) goes into the afterlife at the end of the film. A very emotional film it is too.

These thing could be considered to be coincidences. I walk into Morrisons supermarket and hear songs that my mother used to love all the time. But the significance of events like those I’ve described are more profound. I don’t believe in the idea of heaven and hell. I believe that when your body dies your memories and personality go with it (although not necessarily your soul). And I don’t believe in God. However I do believe that there’s more to life than this. There has to be. And the only thing I know more certainly than that is that I’ll never know what it is while I’m here. That’s as it should be. And that gives me hope. Some people get hope from religious faith, and I can understand that.

But with the sort of signs that I’ve described cropping up from time to time I feel like maybe I’m not alone. And I get hope. And life with hope is a mile better than life without.

Well, I’ve put it off for long enough. But by popular request I’ve decided it’s time to put it down in writing. Anybody that I’ve told this story to has always said it’s really romantic and, to be honest, it’s the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve been a bit unsure about writing about it as it’s a lot more slushy than the usual material I post and it’s very personal. But hey, names have been changed to protect the innocent and it makes a really nice story. I’m not sure I can do it justice but I’ll try. So here we go: the story of how my long-suffering girlfriend and I met.

I’ve mentioned many times before that I moved down to Yorkshire from Scotland in 1999. I didn’t know anybody in the area so I was really stepping into the unknown. To me it was an adventure and I was about ready for an adventure. So a few weeks before I started my new job my father, brother and I drove down to the area to see if we could find me a place to live. We checked a few places out and eventually found a really kick-ass mews house that was only a few years old. The problem was that I’d have to wait a further month before I could move in. It was, and is, a great house so I waited and lived in a hotel for my first month (kindly paid for by my new employer).

So after 4 weeks I finally got to move in. I literally had a bag of clothes with me so I picked up the keys, went to the house to drop my stuff off with a plan to then drive up to Scotland, pick up my brother and he could help me move all my belongings down and we could go and buy some furniture. But on that Friday evening after work I went into my house and as I came out I bumped into my next door neighbour. She introduced herself and told me her name (which I immediately forgot) and we chatted for a few minutes. I though “she’s a bit of all right”, bade her farewell and drove off to Scotland.

I didn’t see her for a few weeks but then we started talking. I had no idea if she was single or not and I assumed not as I would often see guys dropping in and cars staying overnight. So I didn’t get my hopes up. She seemed like a really nice girl so I thought that if I could just be friends with her then that’d be cool - I’d know somebody in the area. The first thing that I really liked about her was that she was very independent. She wasn’t like the girls I’d gone out with before; the needy, high-maintenance types that you can’t leave alone in a room of full people and always have to act up for. No, she lived on her own and did her own thing because she chose to. She was a woman.

So we started by talking, telling each other about ourselves and getting to know each other over the coming months. We went to the cinema a few times (she said that it was great to have someone to go to the cinema with) and we’d often talk until the small hours in the morning. Sometimes she’d drop around for a chat and other times I’d dream up an original excuse to drop around and chat to her. She was quite often out at nights as she had a busy social calendar (she was into amateur dramatics and such like) so I would only see her a couple of nights a week and chat to her over the fence at weekends, if I wasn’t away mountain biking. We were getting on really well and I realised that I didn’t want to push it any further if she didn’t as I wouldn’t want to lose a really nice friend like that.

Then one night she did something that is number one on my top-ten memories list. Being a Yorkshire lass she’s a hell of a cook and suggested she cook us a Chinese meal one night. This she did, only she put a hell of a lot of effort into it. Little bowls of delicious Chinese cuisine (not the stuff you get out of a packet), chopsticks, candles, the works. She rolled out a rug and we sat down on the floor to eat what was a fantastic meal, drinking fine wine too. It was wonderful and we were never stuck for conversation. But I was no closer to finding out if she wanted to take it any further. She’s a damn good looking woman and I’m no oil painting so I understood that I could be at the back of a long list.

Well, after a good six months of getting to know each other, things went further (I won’t go into detail, it’s not that sort of site). I took her along to my work Christmas do (she referred to herself as rent-a-neighbour) and then she went away on holiday skiing in the Alps. When she came back we were an item. And here we are nearly three years later, still going strong.

To summarise, she was the girl next door. I was the boy next door. And we spent six months courting and getting to know each other before anything happened. The fact that we’re still together after so long is testament to the fact that we got to know each other first. I’m at the stage where I couldn’t imagine life without her and no matter how far in the future I picture, she’s always there. My heart misses a beat every time I see her and when she’s not around a part of me is missing too. That’s as slushy as I’m going to get.

I later discovered her side of the story. When she first met me she was a bit disappointed as I was pretty young. She normally went out with older guys. So I had failed at the first hurdle. She was actually seeing a guy when we met but they broke up as the relationship had run its course. She genuinely did think it was a good idea to have someone to go to the cinema with - so she wasn’t trying to make moves on me. And right until she went on holiday at Christmas time she wasn’t sure if she actually wanted to go out with me or not! She was as unsure as I was and wasn’t following any kind of plan. The things you learn with hindsight.

However, the story I always like to tell of how we met is that she was doing some gardening and as I looked out my window all I could see was her bent over, facing away, pulling weeds. I was hooked! Of course, that story isn’t true. Unfortunately. And I haven’t yet decided which version makes my memoirs…

I’ve been spending the weekend up in Scotland. It’s the first time I’ve been up since my mother’s funeral and I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Driving up on the motorway on Friday night was odd and I had time to think. I’d gotten so used to having the cloud of cancer hanging overhead - it stays with you all the time, always in your thoughts and always at the back of your mind. I’d spent so many months worrying about my mother, coming up each time and seeing how she’d deteriorated, even though I’d already been told by my brother what to expect. Nothing prepares you for seeing someone you love being ravaged by cancer. Nothing.

But this drive up north was different. I didn’t have the gnawing pain in my stomach that I’d grown used to. The cloud of cancer had gone, someone I loved was no longer in pain. But I wasn’t going to see her this time, and I’d normally be looking forward to spending some time with her - cancer or not, she was my mother and I loved spending time with her. Instead I had (and have) an empty feeling. I was coming home, but it wasn’t going to be quite right, and the numbers were going to be wrong. Getting stuck in a couple of traffic jams gave me even more time to think than usual, so I managed to switch my brain off by singing along to The Smiths before I got too melancholy (probably the wrong choice of CD).

But I’ve had a really nice time. It’s funny coming back to the place where you’ve grown up and looking at it from an outsider’s point of view. I can well understand why my parents settled here, it’s a very nice part of the world (being a Scotsman I have to say that about all of Scotland, but in this case I really do mean it). The sun has been shining so we had a barbeque on Saturday (which is quite a rarity in Scotland these days) and that was great.

I’ve taken a rare day off on Monday so I can just relax and do nothing in particular. Maybe I could pretend I’m a student again and get up at midday and just mooch around all day. More likely is that I’ll start with a nice run around Tentsmuir Forest and just take it from there.

I’ve titled this entry “Staying Out Of The Rain Clouds” and, in case you’re wondering why, it’s to do with the fact that I’ve occasionally found myself getting really down since losing my mother - not a feeling I’m used to. In that state I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff and could easily step off and let those feelings consume me. But I’m not that kinda guy. I was made from the “never-gives-up” mould, so if I start feeling rain clouds building overhead, I walk towards the sunshine. Simple but effective. And it’s working so far.

Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

(Author unknown).

My father read this poem at my mother’s funeral and it makes sense to me. Not much else does at this point. Although I’ll mention one thing that made me smile…

My mother wanted “All along the watchtower” by Jimi Hendrix played as her coffin was carried out of the church (her sense of humour was better than mine). I went along to the church on the morning of the funeral to set up the sound system and checked the volume was all right (it was). One of my mother’s friends was there arranging the flowers and I was chatting to her. After a few minutes I decided, for no apparent reason, to see what was on the radio. As I flicked the button, the following line from the Monkeys song “Homecoming Queen” rang out - “Cheer up sleepy Jean, oh what can it mean. To be a daydream believer…”. My mother Jean would have laughed at that one.

Thanks for all the kinds words of support I’ve received. It’s much appreciated. I’ll reply to you all in time.