Religious, atheist or spiritual: It makes not a jot of difference. In grief, you find yourself searching for signs. Little things that make a difference to your day, things that can lift your heart and make you think there might just be  a purpose to it after all. If you’re religious or spiritual these signs will cement your faith or beliefs; if you’re any type of  non-believer – and I fall into that category – then you at least feel a raising of your spirits.

I found solace in mixing the past with the present, in both a literal and figurative sense. On evenings I would otherwise have spent with Gail, I tried to do something constructive and transfer a number of mix tapes that I had stored in the loft onto Spotify.

Spurred on by the Celebration of Life compilation I had used at her after-funeral (Gail had insisted it be a Celebration of Life and I’ve never called it anything else), which I had compiled on Spotify and passed to many people who requested it, I decided to use the medium to update my musical catalogue. I’d never bothered about online music much before Gail’s passing but, once created on Spotify, the only way I could retain the Celebration of Life list was to subscribe monthly, and if I needed to do that then I may as well use the the fee constructively.

This meant buying – years after I got rid of them all! – a cassette deck (Look how hip I am buying a boombox in 2018!) on which I’d play the tape, note the track and add it to a similarly named library on Spotify.

Most of these tapes were given to me by Gail or, on occasion, some I had given to her (She had several moves since 1988 when I’d first given her a magical mixtape and they hadn’t all survived unlike mine). Occasionally, so overwhelming was the emotion on playing these, I’d have to add the track to a Facebook or Twitter with some comment as to what meaning it had for me or some story it invoked. This turned into an occasional series I called ‘MixTape88’ which ran online from late 2018 to the end of 2019.

The following is a MixTape’88 post I felt I wanted to post here as it demonstrates one of those coincidences that you make your own mind up about.

Well, here’s another one of ‘those’ moments where you wonder if greater forces aren’t at work.

Released in ’87, the Christians first album flew under my radar until Gail introduced me to it in Jan ’88. “Heard this?” she asked, before putting it on and – you may want to avert your gaze here – dancing to this very track in front of me. And my God, that woman could dance… *Nurse! Can we have the screens and one of Mr Blagg’s tablets please? He’s having a turn*

The album became a staple in the spring of that year and I’ve played it every year since at this time because it just reminds me of those months. I bought tickets to see them for me and her but, sadly, by the time the gig came around in May ’88, that part of our life had collapsed and she (at my insistence) went with her best friend Rose. It was a desperately sad time.

Despite a couple of other hits the Christians were really about that one album. So as I played this the other day I wondered what they were doing now. I googled and … what’s left of the band (essentially the lead singer Garry Christian) are still touring and are.. wait for it…. playing in Chelmsford on Friday night this week – just 20 miles up the A12 from where i write this.

So I have a ticket and looking forward to making up for what I missed in the spring of ’88. I desperately wish we could do this re-visitation together but I’ll be thinking about THAT dance and the lyrics to this.

Born Again – The Christians

I loved that gig. The hall itself was not much more than a social club hall – and Gary could see the humour in that and mentioned that ‘we used to fill out big venues, you know?’ (To which I thought ‘I know Gary I famously wasn’t at one of them!’) but The Christians were as wonderful as they were on that first album.

I’m not ashamed to admit – fanboy like – I hung around after the gig hoping to be able to tell Gary that, while for him it might be another night on another road, for me the evening had magical qualities that helped me a lot. Sadly, he didn’t come out as quickly as I’d hoped and, aware I probably looked like a sad old git trying to get an autograph, I left.

It was a good night though and a beautiful memory that didn’t ease the pain of not being able to go with her to that first gig but did, in some other way, mean I could take her in other circumstances. Not ‘Born Again’ perhaps. But as close as I could get to it. 

The trip to Hong Kong did me a power of good but don’t think that the answer to grief is just to get away for a week. It doesn’t work like that.

I immediately got back to post a regular track to my MixTape’88 list; sometimes commenting and posting a story to go along with it, sometimes not. They were comforting though, even though they were also sometimes painful. And then on March 5th, the pit opened up again.

I sometimes wonder how some of you view these posts; many of you people I only ‘know’ through WestHamOnline, ‘Nightmare’ or ESPN. How would I see these posts if I saw them three years ago? Would I despair at someone laying out his life on social media? I expect so. A few years ago it was witty banter about football. Yet here I am. One of the problems of being an only child, I guess. No-one to vent to. But it was one of those days today, one of those where the pit opens and you tumble into a meaningless void of black treacle where nothing makes sense and you can’t pull yourself free. I’ve not done this much since last July but one of those where I had to buy a bottle of JD Tennessee Fire as I left ASDA. I sat in a restaurant in a hotel tonight, tears streaming down my face, wanting desperately to scream, barely comprehending what I’m doing here – and by here I could mean Folkestone or the planet. I’m not suggesting you give it as a present, but grief really is a gift that keeps on giving. It was a day where the pain of loss just tears at your soul; her laughter, voice, smell, touch, feel, intelligence, humour, beauty – all gone. And why? And where? A day where you desperately want to believe in some God or Afterlife so it all makes sense; yet you want to grab that God by the throat and ask why? Really? There was no-one more suitable to take early? Seriously God, here’s a list with a few names you may have missed….

I need to find a better outlet than this, I know. I will do it eventually. I don’t even know if I will post this. If you’re reading it you know Mr Daniels won.

That was written during a business away trip and I realised I found those most difficult to deal with. In better days, Gail would often accompany me on those trips certainly, but what I realised was I felt more in touch with things if I was at home where Gail was. Seeing parts of England I wouldn’t have otherwise seen wasn’t of any comfort and I’ve tried to curtail those now as much as possible. Ultimately though, when those days turn up – and don’t pretend just because I don’t talk about them all the time they don’t turn up a lot – there’s nothing you can do. I call them the ‘Dark Pit’ days. And when they arrive don’t hold onto the edges of the pit, because it will just wait for your grip to fail. And fail it will.

 

It’s tempting to post all the photos I took and all the comments I sent and received on social media while I was in Hong Kong. After all, I did a LOT. If there was a recommendation on a web site to go somewhere or sample something, I could be guaranteed to pretty much pitch up and try it.

I journeyed on everything, went to recommended restaurants, walked places, even found myself in a downtown bar at 2am sampling a ‘must have’ cocktail. I posted my whole journey online, getting dozens of comments back. The whole of what I’d now come to see as some sort of pilgrimage to Hong Kong had taken on a kind of quasi-religious feel…. even if it did have alcohol in it occasionally.

The fact is though, this isn’t a travel blog and tempted though I am to share the whole experience, I’m aware the grief aspect would probably only reside in my head rather than on the page.

So here’s my thoughts on what I’ve come to see as a huge step in my post-Gail life. Firstly, Some people asked “How did you feel being so far away on your own?” and I could honestly answer “I wasn’t on my own”. Through WhatsApp and Facebook, it felt as if I was taking a few dozen people with me throughout the day. I genuinely felt some sort of minor celebrity status as I knew dozens at home – many people I’d never met or, in some cases, were likely to meet – were following what I was doing. At any time I could just open my phone and chat to someone as if they were next to me. That was wonderfully reassuring.

Secondly, even though I’m not religious or even spiritual, I do believe you can gain a certain amount of succour and comfort from doing things that might – in some eyes – prove exactly the opposite to what I believe. Having Gail with me in her new form and knowing what I was doing was for her, and further knowing I wouldn’t be doing what I was doing without her having been in my life and leaving it, meant there wasn’t a moment she wasn’t in my thoughts.

I looked at things for her, saw things for her, felt, drank and ate things for her. I felt she was with me all the time (And, No, I didn’t carry her box everywhere – only on that first day). This is good as it worked in a reciprocal way. Someone with religious or spiritual beliefs could say she was with me certainly, but if someone like me – with no belief system – can say I felt her presence, then it opens up everything.

It meant I didn’t have to get involved in things that I often asked myself. ‘Could she see me?’ ‘Did she know how I felt’. After all, I talked to her all the time anyway; sometimes in my head, often out loud. What would be the point of doing this if I didn’t see some possible end to it? In Hong Kong I kind of got an answer to that. It doesn’t matter if there is a God or not sometimes. You can find a Superior Being inside you anyway.

You see, going to Hong Kong was one of the best things I’ve ever done and one of the most rewarding. But within that is a dichotomy. Because I really wish I’d never had to go – at least, on my own – really wish I’d never had that experience because that would mean that Gail was still here and I’d rather have spent a wet February just siting in my lounge with her instead of a really wonderful holiday in Hong Kong without her. And that’s Life. Or Death. Or something.

One last thing – and it’s a funny one.

Having discovered the wonder and simplicity of the HK subway system (cheap and with light up tube maps showing next station and interchange directions – get on it LUT!), I decided to go to Sha Tin; part of the New Territories and Gail’s birthplace according to her (incorrect) passport. Her birth certificate has the full address of her parents home there, but a Google search confirmed that, unsurprisingly, the whole town has since been pulled down and rebuilt as it’s essentially a social housing area.

Sha Tin looks like Milton Keynes with sunshine. It could be any city suburb in the world except the high rise buildings here dwarf anything, anywhere else. Significantly, there’s a racecourse here – Gail is supposed to have got her love of racing from her Dad – and, of course, there are malls. Otherwise this is like every city in the world, all the shops are the same; this could be Bluewater or Westfield. But there was one, HomeSquare store, that had a lot of local things in and I thought I might be able to find something suitable to take home.

I walked into the door and was faced with rows of black / blue bottles so I picked one up – literally the first thing I touched – and it was this. I laughed and 100 HK $ later and we’re on our way back downtown. I think this is Gail telling me our work here is done.

Home today; her ashes can RIP in her spot and I’ll place this next to them and spray her occasionally.

As for Hong Kong, it’s been great and hugely rewarding.

“Don’t need no Valentines, don’t need no roses, now you’re not here any more”

Gail’s father was in the Army and stationed in Hong Kong when she was born. She had no memory of the place at all and never got to go there, but her passport stated clearly that her place of birth was Shatin, Hong Kong. She took great delight in telling people where she was born – particularly when some commented that she ‘looked Chinese’ – and we’d spoken several times about going but, when we probably could have managed it, other things seemed to take precedence and, later, when we had more time and money, Gail’s health precluded a 14 hour flight.

Grief does strange things to the mind though and in December of 2018, I suddenly became obsessed with taking Gail to Hong Kong and visiting her birth city of Shatin. With a lot of financial constraints lifted – it’s surprising how much cheaper everything is when you’re travelling alone – I just sat down one morning and booked a flight and hotel.

We got married on Friday 13th February – always ones to fly in the face of convention – and, facing that hurdle, Valentines Day on the 14th and my birthday on the 16th, and a week in which Gail and I would always have gone somewhere, it just seemed sensible to span that whole week with the trip to Hong Kong.

I couldn’t bring myself to go without Gail though; the thought of her ashes sitting in the bedroom while I was nearly 6,000 miles away in the place where she where she had spent the first year or two of her life, was something I just couldn’t cope with so, as I had the paperwork for her ashes, I determined to take her with me. Back in the box her ashes arrived in, I wasn’t bothered particularly with taking her out of the country as the assumption would probably be made that I was going to scatter her ashes in her birthplace. What might prove troublesome though was the fact that I fully intended to return with her! There’s probably few people take their dead wife on holiday!

Nevertheless, on February 11th I left for Hong Kong. For anyone worried about taking their loved ones ashes out of the country all I can say is, don’t be concerned. Make sure they are in your hand luggage, you have the paperwork (this should be given to you as a matter of course by the Funeral Director when you collect the ashes) and, not unreasonably, expect to have your case diverted for a hand search. As soon as I mentioned they were Gail’s ashes though, the security team couldn’t have been kinder. They even refused to touch the box, simply testing for drugs by brushing over it. I was on my way… but nothing could prepare me for what I was to discover the next day!

Well, that was a day I wasn’t expecting!

On Gail’s passport it has her place of birth down as Shatin and that’s what she’s always – not unreasonably – told everybody. While looking for her daughter birth certificate the other week, I came across Gail’s and decided to bring it with me.

I arrived in Hong Kong at 6am local time but just after midnight UK time. I found my way to the hotel and, unsure if I should go straight out or grab a few hours sleep, I sat down and decided to plan out my week. I got out Gail’s birth certificate and, although I must have seen it dozens of times before, made a note of Gail’s actual birth place; the Royal Military Hospital, Bowen Road.

When I typed in Bowen Road, Hong Kong though, I got a huge shock. Google Maps revealed it was about 15 minutes from the hotel I’d randomly selected and nowhere near Shatin at all! We knew Shatin was her Father and Mothers home address as that was also on the birth certificate. What we didn’t consider was that the Military Hospital itself wasn’t in Shatin. In fact, it wasn’t, and Gail was actually born on Hong Kong Island.

All thoughts of rest or sleep went out of my head and actually didn’t return until 11pm that night. I was on a mission and I left the hotel just an hour after arriving, intent on finding Gail’s birthplace. Bowen Road; Those two words. As the day unwound before me I think they became the sub-title for the whole Hong Kong trip and, ultimately, the entirety of 2019.

So there’s some fascinating reading on the former BMH Bowen Road  but what I quickly discovered is Bowen Road is little more than a track and runs around the back of what is now the Hong Kong Park. Part of the hospital grounds now form part of this park. This is a beautiful area of fountains and lakes, adorned with flowers and sparkly dragons. It’s absolutely gorgeous and Gail would have loved it. I just adored the fact that the actual spot of Gail’s birth was so beautiful. By the time I’d investigated the area, it was midday. I should have been tired but I felt as if I was floating. At one stage I just sat and sobbed, I was so sad she couldn’t see how beautiful it was, but so happy I could see it for her.

Bowen Road is also very hilly and, I discovered as I started a steep walk up, is now designated as a 3km fitness trail So, on a very warm day, accompanied by joggers wearing singlets and shorts, I trekked the whole thing with a rucksack containing Gail’s ashes on my back – the old heart was certainly getting a work out in more ways than one – and found, along the path, there’s a place called the Lover’s Stone Garden. My heart just soared when I found this place, it was as if the whole thing was just opening up for me. I discovered the Lover’s Garden is used locally for fertility issues – I’ve long been snipped so good luck with that! – but I was able to climb to the top of the garden, the whole area smelling beautifully of flowers and incense, before buying flowers and lighting some candles for Gail.

There’s a photo of me holding Gail at the top of Lovers Rock on the Bowen Road but it’s too personal for me to post here. Suffice to say the fact that the flowers they were selling were Lilly’s; one of Gail’s favourites and a flower she rarely had at home as they made me sneeze and that pretty much put the top hat on a day that just seemed magical from the moment I set foot in Hong Kong.

Some people may find the fact I’ve dragged my dead wife’s ashes halfway across the world and brought them back to where that life started as distasteful and even odd. But I’m so glad I did it. The whole thing was just moving and very beautiful and the fact is was all so surprising just added to it.

I think today was the first day since last July I actually felt there was a point to life.

As a huge traditionalist nothing comes down before today. Plenty of time to think of the last five weeks as I climb back up the loft though. I’ve had well-meaning friends and colleagues telling me I’ve ‘done well to get through it’ but to be honest that seems like a facile claim. Really all it means is that I’ve not joined Gail in the Great Beyond either through fate or because I’m not suicidal (or more likely a coward!).

There are some interesting life things thrown up though. I’ve had experiences like staying at the Chesterfield, good friends insisting I join them on Boxing Day; playing ‘Cards Against Humanity’ with their kids (!) or trying to outsmart a bunch of Uni students on NYE; things that I will remember until I shuffle off. Yet, I can’t recall at all what Gail and I did last Boxing Day in what you’d suppose were happier times. Wandering the West End on foot for hours, without having to worry about parking and if Gail was going to get tired, seemed almost obscene somehow and decent NYE’s – a day I loath – I can count on the fingers of one mutilated hand.

What’s even stranger is I’d give them all up in a flash to go back to how things were. I’d welcome a dull Boxing Day I can’t recall, having a row on NYE (Christmas Eve’s were always magical for us though) or realising we can’t do that particular journey because Gail needed to lie down. I guess this shows ultimately it’s not what you do, it’s who you do it with.

So last night, I dreamt that I was on a month long trip round the country training. Without knowing what about, I knew implicitly that Gail and I had argued and she wasn’t speaking to me (Us? Go a month without talking? We barely went an hour LOL ). I was coming home and I knew we should have at least rung each other and I feared she might not be there when I got in. In this dream though, I realised that I WAS dreaming and if I got in that door I’d see Gail for the first time since July (Fuck me, I’m crying writing this. Who knew?). I so wanted to open that fucking door and see her and have her say “Oh so you’re home again, yer bastard are you?” or something. But I couldn’t / didn’t, instead I immediately woke as I put the key in the door – it felt as if I’d forced myself to wake up – and all I saw was Gus the Cat peering at me. I don’t know if I cried out in my sleep; I might have done, he looked concerned.

So anyway Shakespeare, write a play about THAT, why dont’cha? Nothing really learned, nothing gained but – as everyone keeps telling me – I got through it. So here’s a nice photo of Gail in a dress I bought her that’s now on eBay and we plod onward into 2019. She looks lovely but I can also tell she was in pain. I say I’m in pain but I’m not. Like that anyway. It’s been an emotional Christmas.

Thanks for listening.

Friends of my son had very kindly invited me down to Southampton to their house. Being with a bunch of young people playing games and seeing in the New Year seemed ideal. New Years Eve was always tough. Gail and I had spent the previous one in Mimosa – scene of her Celebration of Life eight months later – and witnessed a top class brawl but enjoyed little else. I could count the number of decent NYE’s on the fingers of one hand.

So with pressure mounting, a trip to Southampton would seem a sensible thing to do. Friends had invited me to their house on Boxing Day – Gail and I never went out over Christmas proper so it was something of a huge change – and I’d ended up playing games with their grown-up children and I’d really enjoyed it. Time to mix it up.

What hadn’t hit me until ten minutes to midnight was that something was about to occur. I could no longer say I’d lost Gail this year; rather in a short while, it would be I lost her LAST year. Who the fuck had done that to me? After all, I hadn’t created this. I’d stood still, the days had gone past. Someone had even said to me the day before “Well, you got through Christmas” as if i’d negotiated some difficult strategic political game.

I was grief stricken. I wasn’t suicidal. “You know how I got through Christmas?” I said (perhaps a bit more harshly than I’d intended) “I just woke up and it wasn’t fucking dead”. And that was how I felt.

Suddenly on New Years Eve 2018 I was panic-stricken. I had to stop whatever was happening but, of course, I couldn’t; I was powerless. I made my excuses to my son, daughter-in-law and his friends and left the house where I sat in the car and bawled my heart out.

At midnight, it happened. I’d lost Gail last year, not this year. I can’t tell you how awful that felt. The passage of time was taking her away from me even more than that bloody liver disease had.

I stayed the night as I had to having had a drink but I probably should have left. I was stone-cold sober by then and I was faced with a miserable drive back to London on New Years Day. I can not only remember that drive and journey – I can feel it! It’s like iced water in my veins. I felt awful for my Son and his friends whose kindness couldn’t be faulted, but I had completely misjudged the situation.