1066 All Stars

#depression is wrong. I can do whatever I set my mind to. Belief comes from within. I choose to believe. He will not beat me

Looking backwards or forwards can sometimes be pleasant,

But straddling the past and future means you piss on the present.

Just think; wherever you are in the world and whatever you do, chances are that someone you know is affected by #mentalillness #1in4

You are not weak. You are not flawed. You are not broken.

And you are not alone.

I have suffered from #mentalillness. I can choose to let this fact define me. Or, I can choose to let it inspire me.

Depression & anxiety stole my confidence, self worth, energy, enthusiasm & compassion.

Well I'm taking them back. I'm taking them all back.

#depression is...being in a room full of people, yet feeling utterly alone #mentalillness

Anxiety is...double and triple checking for any mistakes, then obsessing over the ones you didn't find.

#depression is...seeing only grey in a world full of colour.

Anxiety is...an elastic band at full stretch that cannot relax and so will inevitably break.

You may never be 'cured' of #depression. But with patience, understanding and kindness to yourself you can get better and stay better.

You must become the change you want to see.

Just think, all those times I said 'it's driving me mental' were actually true #depression

#depression causes me to make poor choices. #anxiety ensures that I endlessly regret them #mentalillness

#mindfulness is...knowing that the most important thing I can give my children is also the simplest and costs nothing - time.

#Anxiety is...the cycle of doubt and regret even when the decision made was correct.

#Anxiety is...that voice that says I must relax, I must relax, I must relax...

It is easy to underestimate the power of words, until we hear the right ones.

Someone you know may be struggling with #mentalillness right now. You don't have to fix. You don't even have to understand. Just listen.

#depression is not about feeling sad. At its worst, it is about feeling nothing at all #mentalillness #stopstigma

'What's he got to be diabetic about?' Doesn't make any sense does it. #Depression isn't a mood or state of mind. It's an illness #stopstigma

#Anxiety is not feeling a bit stressed or 'needing to chill out'.

#Anxiety is a perpetual state of heightened awareness. Like a kettle constantly at boiling point with no off switch.

But #anxiety can be overcome by changing our behaviours and breaking the pattern of destructive negative thinking errors.

#Depression made me believe doors of opportunity were closed to me forever. @PrioryGroup helped me understand I just needed to find the key.

#Depression made me think, 'why me?' Recovery helped me ask, 'why not me?' #selfpub #mentalillness

The irony of #depression is that those who need help the most are the ones least likely to ask for it #mentalillness

The road to recovery from #mentalillness can be a little bumpy. Sometimes it helps to have someone walk alongside.

I am not mentally ill. I have suffered from #mentalillness. It is an important distinction, to understand that I can CHANGE.

You can't change the past any more than see the future. But the here and now is a gift, that's why it's called the present #mindfulness

#Anxiety wants to make me believe there is always something else I should be doing. #Mindfulness reminds me simply to live in the now.

#Anxiety exacerbates errors, tells you that you're a failure. But this is a negative bias. Choose to ignore it. You are in control.

Negative thoughts are like rain clouds. Allow them to pass. It can't rain all the time #mentalillness #depression

#Depression is like pot holes in the road of life. You can't always avoid them but when you do hit one, keep going on your journey.

Do not presume to know the mind of others #anxiety

Be careful not to label yourself. You are not a fixed state, you can become the change you wish to see #mentalhealth #healingwords

#depression can come over you like a creeping fog. Before you know it, you can't see where you're going and don't know which way to turn.

And Why I Will Not Be Doing It

By now most of us are aware of the Ice Bucket Challenge. You can't engage in social media without seeing someone chucking a bucket of water over their head.

Inevitably, I have now been nominated. And why not? It's to raise awareness of a good cause. And it's all just a bit of fun. Isn't it?

I had never heard of Motor Neurone Disease (MND, or ALS to Americans). I was first introduced to it when my Dad dropped the bombshell news that he had it.

It was supposed to be a happy time. My wife and I had just had the news confirmed that IVF had worked and we were expecting twins. Then my Dad told us the news.

The obvious first question; what is it? MND is a progressive neurodegenerative disease that affects the nerves and causes muscle wastage.

'How long?', we wondered. 'Who knows?' came the reply. It could be a year, two years, maybe ten. We just didn't know.

And so life went on. But gradually, the disease started to take effect.

The first warning came with a heart attack. A mild one in hindsight but a stark reminder that my Dad, once so fit and strong, had become frail. We secretly wondered if he would live to see his granddaughters.

Live to see them he did. However, MND took hold by wasting away the muscles in his arms and legs. He could hold the girls, but only with the support of a cushion to position his arms.

Over time, he found it difficult to walk, shuffling around the room like a man in his 90's. A stairlift was fitted to help him up the stairs.

His arm deterioration continued until he could no longer lift a fork or spoon unaided. His legs failed him, restricting him to a wheelchair. His neck muscles became weaker, making it difficult to support his head for long periods.

Finally, a special bed was installed downstairs, a harness fitted to help my Mum lift him in and out of bed. He was now reliant on full time care. His body had betrayed him. This man, who had always been so full of life, so full of energy, now confined to a chair.

And all the while, life went on around him.

I entered therapy for depression and anxiety. I had to lose myself in my own world and sort out my own issues.

IVF was again successful and we broke the news that my Dad would soon welcome his first grandson.

The chair, the harness, the 24 hour care, it all became part of the routine, part of the background. This was just how life was now.

The second heart attack came suddenly. His breathing stopped, only the swift actions of a neighbour bringing him back. He was hospitalised, where they told us he had pneumonia, on top of everything else. But he would be okay, we told ourselves. He just needs to rest. But then he began to deteriorate.

48 hours later, I sat with my Dad in the hospital room as he took his final breaths. He was gone. Finally he was at peace.

He never got to see his grandson.

MND remains a fairly rare, albeit devastating disease. There are subtle genetic, lifestyle and environmental factors that may cause it. There is no known cure.

The Ice Bucket Challenge has brought the disease squarely to the fore. Significant sums of money have been raised, helping to ease the suffering of those living with the disease. Perhaps even one day leading to a cure.

Yet, when I watch these videos, I cannot help but feel that some of this message has been lost. For all the money raised, do those partaking in the challenge truly understand what this disease is, what it does? Has it simply become another fad? Or, dare I say it, a bit of fun?

I have nothing but admiration for those who have done the challenge in memory of a loved one, finding a scrap of grace and good humour in the face of this terrible illness. However, I cannot join you. The pain and bitterness remains too much.

Perhaps I am taking myself too seriously. What's the harm, everyone else is doing it? But therapy taught me the importance of not subjugating myself to satisfy the will of others. This is how I feel.

I respect all of those who have raised awareness and money by taking the challenge.

I hope in turn that you respect my decision not to.

#healingwords, taken from some of my blogs;

The key thing for me is that I want to get better and now, having climbed out of the well, I want to stay better.

Anxiety is worry of the future, depression regret of the past. I therefore choose to live in the present.

So who am I? Someone on a journey and for once, I am determined to enjoy the ride.

I have faith that, beyond the choppy waters, happiness lies waiting for me on the horizon and I intend to set sail to find it.

Therapy, much like life itself, is not a destination – it is not a one way trip from unwell to well – it is a journey, and for the first time in a long time, I am determined to enjoy the ride.

As a writer, perhaps I can express it best like this. I am the lead character in my own story. There were times when I thought the story was over. But I see now that it has only just begun. There are many more chapters yet to be written.

And I for one cannot wait to find out what happens next.

My life is my own.My choices are my own.

So, what makes me happy? I don't know. But I want to learn.

One step at a time.

The Eager Beaver scurried into the wood, sniffing the air before him. They had told him that he was here.

Depression!

He caught the scent of someone in the air and darted off to his left. In a clearing, sat on a tree stump, he found a lion, dancing and laughing.

'Hi, I'm Eager Beaver,' he announced.

The lion stopped dancing and smiled down at the Eager Beaver.

'Well hello to you good sir,' said the lion. 'Welcome to our wood. I am Happy Dappy, the laughing lion and I am so HAPPY!' And is if to prove the point, he leapt into the air with a shriek of delight before breaking into another dance, humming a happy song.

Eager Beaver thought there was something strange looking about the lion. 'Say, are you wearing a m...'

'Happy, happy happy!' interrupted the lion. 'Let me see your happy face!'

Eager Beaver smiled. 'Say friend, maybe you can help. I heard that Depression lives down here somewhere. Do you know where he is?'

Happy Dappy stopped dancing. 'Depression? Well he's certainly not here. I'm far too happy for depression! Maybe try over there,' he said, pointing further into the wood.

'Okay, thanks,' said the Eager Beaver, trotting off.

A short while later, he came across another clearing. There was a small pond in the middle and a Frog sat on a stone. The frog was crying.

'Hey there, why are you crying?' asked the Eager Beaver.

The Frog looked up, sniffing. 'Oh, hello. I'm Sally and I'm so sad. My favourite lily pad sank into the pond and now I have to sit on this cold, jagged rock and, and...' Sally started sobbing uncontrollably.

'There, there,' said Eager Beaver. But Sally was inconsolable. Eager Beaver looked around and suddenly spotted something. He picked it up and brought it to Sally, dropping it into the pond.

'Sniff. What is that?' asked Sally, her crying stopped.

'It's a big leaf. It fell off that giant tree over there,' said Eager Beaver.

'But it's not a lily pad,' said Sad Sally, tears welling up.

'Perhaps not, 'said Eager Beaver. 'But I bet it would float and be more comfortable that that rock.'

Sally thought about it for a moment then tentatively reached out a foot to the leaf, then another and then finally put her whole weight on the leaf.

'Oh thank you, thank you!' said Sally. 'This is so wonderful and soft. Oh however may I repay you?'

'Well,' said the Eager Beaver. 'I'm looking for Depression. Have you seen him?'

'Oh, him,' said Sally. 'Last time I saw him he was down by the lake. But I wouldn't go near him if I were you, he isn't very friendly.'

'Okay, thanks,' said Eager Beaver, running off towards the lake.

At the lake, he found an alligator. He was snapping and shouting to himself.

'Excuse me, are you Depression?' asked the Eager Beaver.

'No I am not,' said the alligator. 'I am Alan and I am angry. Someone has stolen my cheese and I am very hungry.'

'Oh,' said Eager Beaver. He was beginning to think he would never find depression. 'Are you sure someone stole it? Perhaps you misplaced it?'

'Of course someone stole it!' snapped the alligator angrily. 'I bet it was that lion, he's always down here bouncing around telling me how happy he is. Why just last week I was wading through the lake, snuffling in my favourite reeds when...'

The alligator stopped. He snuffled in the reeds with his mouth and came out with a large lump of cheese.

'Well, what do you know?' he said, smiling. 'It wasn't stolen at all! I must have left it here. Ho, ho, what a silly alligator I am.' And with that, he began munching happily to himself.

Eager Beaver trudged off. What a waste of time this had been! He sat down glumly next to a tree but all of a sudden, he heard a rustling in the bushes. He looked over and a great big lion jumped out.

'Cheer up, grumpy pants,' shouted the lion. 'Happy Harry is here!'

Eager Beaver was confused. 'Wait, I already met a happy lion. He said his name was Dappy.'

The lion laughed, a big booming laugh. 'Ho, ho ho! There is only one happy lion in this wood and that's me, Happy Harry the Laughing Lion!' And with that he bounded off, singing a song to himself.

What a strange day this had been. He had met happy lions, sad frogs, angry alligators but no-one who was depressed.

He hadn't been watching where he was walking and before he knew it, he had come right back to where he started. He saw Dappy sat on the tree stump again but this time he looked different. Eager Beaver walked up to him. Dappy saw him coming and quickly reached for something at his feet but it was too late. Eager Beaver had seen it.

'Hey!' said Eager Beaver. 'You're not a lion at all. That's just a mask!'

'Why I don't know what you're talking about,' said Dappy uncertainly. 'I'm Dappy and I'm so ha...' He stopped mid sentence and lowered the mask. 'You're right. I'm not a lion at all. I'm just a monkey. And I'm not happy, I'm depressed.'

'You're depressed?' shouted Eager Beaver. 'Fantastic!'

'What do you mean,' asked Dappy.

'Oh, sorry,' said Eager Beaver. 'It's just that I've been looking for you everywhere.

'You have?'

'Yes sir. No one knew what you looked like so I wanted to find out.' Eager Beaver looked him up and down. 'You don't look like I thought you would.'

'How so?' asked Dappy.

'Well for one thing, you're not crying,' said Eager Beaver.

'I don't cry. That's Sad Sally. And I don't get angry either, that's Angry Alan.'

'But you are happy,' said Eager Beaver. 'I saw you laughing and smiling earlier.'

'Oh, that,' said Dappy. 'I was just pretending. It makes others feel better if they think I am happy.'

'So if you're not sad and you're not angry and you're not happy, what are you?' asked Eager Beaver confused.

'Nothing,' said Dappy. 'Being depressed isn't about feeling sad or angry. I don't feel anything. I just pretend.' And with that, he let out a big yawn.

'You tired, fella?' asked Eager Beaver.

'I'm always tired,' said Depressed Dappy.

'I'm not surprised,' said Eager Beaver. 'It must be exhausting always trying to pretend to be something you're not.'

Dappy looked at Eager Beaver and smiled. 'You know what, it really is.'

They sat in silence together for a long moment.

'So, why are you depressed?' asked Eager Beaver.

'It's a long story,' said Dappy 'And I'm not even sure I can remember it all.'

Eager Beaver smiled kindly. 'Let's go get an ice cream.'

The caterpillar crawled across the leaf, looking for a fresh patch to munch. It had been a long day.

The Wise Owl had settled on his favourite perch and the caterpillar made his way over to him. He let out a long sigh.

'What's the matter, young caterpillar?' asked the Wise Owl.

'I'm bored,' said the caterpillar. 'Every day is the same. Wake up, munch a leaf, go to bed.'

'And that is not enough for you?' asked the Wise Owl.'

'No!' said the caterpillar. I want to... I want to...'

'Yes?'

'I want to...fly!'

'Fly?'

'Yes! Like the birds. Look at them! Look how free they are, how happy they must be. They get to go anywhere, do anything. I can't even get off of this stupid tree.'

The owl looked closely at the caterpillar. 'It will not always be this way, young caterpillar. Things will change with time. You must be patient.'

'I don't want to be patient,' said the young caterpillar, sulkily. 'I want things to change right now.'

The owl smiled knowingly. 'As you wish. Good day to you young caterpillar.' And with that, the Wise Owl fluttered away.

That night, the young caterpillar went to sleep dreaming of the skies. He dreamt that he was flying, swooping amongst the leaves.

When he woke up, something felt different. He opened his eyes but he couldn't see.

He seemed to be stuck in a strange casing. Panicking now, he tried to twist his head,using his teeth to bite through. It started to give, he was able to pull himself out, bit by bit, inch by inch until finally he was free, he could feel the breeze on his...

'I have wings?' he said. 'Where did these come from? Look at them. They're beautiful'

He waved a wing around, taking in the beautiful array of colours as they glinted in the sun.'

'I'm a butterfly. I can fly!'

Barely able to contain himself, he sprinted towards the edge of the leaf, ready to launch himself off the edge, to spring into flight, to soar into the sky, and...

He stopped, almost toppling over the edge. He peered over. On the leaf below, he could see a family of caterpillars, munching their way slowly across the leaf.

The Wise Owl came swooping out of the sky and sat on his favourite perch.

'Why young caterpillar, is that you? All grown up, just like you wanted?'

'Y-yes Wise Owl. It's me.'

'Look at your beautiful wings. You will be able to fly.'

'I guess,' said the butterfly, dejectedly.'

'What's wrong?' asked the Wise Owl. 'Is this not what you wanted? To fly? To be free?'

'Yes, but...' started the Butterfly. 'It's just that...'

'Yes?'

'I'm scared,' said the Butterfly.

'Scared?' asked the Wise Owl.

'Yes. I don't know how to fly. I'm scared that I won't be able to do it and I'll just fall flat on my face.'

'I see,' said the Owl.

The butterfly turned away. 'I don't want to be a butterfly,'

'You don't?' asked the Owl.

'No! I want to be a caterpillar again. I don't want to fly, I just want my nice safe leaf. I want things to go back to how they were before.'

'Young butterfly, everybody falls. That is how we learn. The secret is to get back up again.'

The butterfly looked over the edge of the leaf, then back towards the owl. 'You really think I can do it?' he asked.

The owl smiled. 'I know you can. but you must believe in yourself.'

And so the little butterfly took one last look then leapt off the edge of the leaf...

Before falling flat on his face on the leaf below. The owl fluttered down to him.

'Did you see that, did you see?' asked the butterfly excitedly. I was flying, I was really flying!'

But before the owl could answer, the butterfly was off again and leaped off of the leaf. But his time he didn't fall. He flapped his wings and soared, high into the sky,swooping between the trees.

The owl smiled. 'Yes young butterfly. You really can fly.'

'Daddy, daddy!'

'Hmmm?'

'Daddy, jump.'

'Not right now sweetie, daddy's busy.'

His two girls trudged off with their mother, disappointed. Michael didn't notice. He hadn't noticed a lot recently.

'Will you put that thing down and spend some time with your children!' his wife had said. She didn't understand. None of them could understand. He did it all for them. Everything was for them.

Two kids is a big financial responsibility. And Amy couldn't go back to work, she would have to look after the girls. So it was all down to him. Michael had thrown himself into his work, pushing for promotions, working longer hours, always saying yes. When Amy had suggested he ask for a laptop to bring home, she had thought it would ease the pressure. Instead, he found he could now work even longer, staying at the office as long as he always had but now able to work at home too.

And then, six months ago, Amy had fallen pregnant again.

Today, Amy had insisted. 'You need a break,' she had said. 'Come along to the playgroup and spend some time with the girls. You'll have fun.'

The playgroup was set in the assembly hall of the local church. Amy brought the girls every week, a chance to let them loose and spend some time with other mums. And so, here he was. Although he hadn't been able to leave his mobile phone at home. That had drawn a scathing look from Amy in the car but, well, she just didn't understand.

Michael finished the e-mail he had been writing and, with a sense of satisfaction at a job completed, hit send. He tucked the phone back in his pocket (I should really turn it off but I better leave it on, just in case, but I'll put it on silent) and looked around for Amy and the girls. They had gone. Dammit, why couldn't they just wait? Where the hell have they gone?

He heard the sound of children's voices from the main hall to the left. A quick glance at his phone (no messages) and he pulled open the door and stepped through.

Where was everybody?

The hall was completely empty. Toys were strewn across the floor as if left abandoned in the middle of play. Drinks and biscuits had seemingly been dropped and spilt onto the carpet. And it was dark. That didn't make any sense. It had been bright sunshine outside when he came in, the middle of the morning. Now, the hall was shrouded in darkness, the only light provided by a flickering street lamp through the window.

Michael turned and went back into the corridor. Dark. How could that be? Where were all the other parents? He made to open the front door but it was locked, a heavy chain barring his exit, the windows in the door reinforced and unbreakable.

Michael started to laugh. This must all be a dream! He started to relax. A dream! You silly old goose, you've been working too hard. Probably fell asleep in the car! Any minute now Amy will dig you in the ribs to wake you up. Then he heard the scream.

It was an ear piercing, stomach churning sound, a scream of pure terror.

The girls!

The sound had come from the main hall. Quickly, he darted back into the gloomy room, in his haste tripping over a wooden horse, his hands coming down painfully on discarded building blocks. On his hands and knees, he heard the scream again. He scrambled to his feet, following the sound, in his panic failing to register the sound of the key turning in the lock of the door to the hall.

He stumbled forward and found another door, leading to a side room from the main hall. He pushed it open, his eyes scanning the darkness. He groped around the walls for a light switch, flicking the switch eagerly once located. Nothing. The room remained in pitch blackness. Was something moving? He strained his eyes to see, trying to penetrate the inky blackness. Was that a shadow? Or just his imagination?

A sound from the other end of the hall. He darted out of the room, his eyes now adjusting to the gloom, allowing him to skip over the detritus on the floor. At the end of the hall were a pair of double doors. Through the glass of the door, he could see a light, swinging back and forth. He pushed through, just as the sound of smashing glass reached his ears.

He emerged into the back chambers of the church. All the lights had been extinguished, save for a solitary light that swung from the ceiling, providing just enough light for Michael to see the horrors that awaited him. At the end of the room stood Maisy and Susie. Intermittently, as the light swung across them, he could see their faces, frozen in terror. Because of the arc of the light, at first he didn't notice where they were staring. Nor did he notice the cloaked arm, extended across their bodies, the gloved hand gripped around their throats.

Michael made to move towards the girls when his eyes finally fixed on the terror in the room. The light almost seemed to disappear into a void between the girls but as he moved forward, Michael saw the figure. No face was visible, just a black cloak, arms reaching out and holding his girls captive. For the first time, he noticed the stench, a cloying, overpowering smell of death and decay.

Fighting the urge to retch, Michael stepped forward. But as he did so, the fingers around the throats of his girls constricted, their faces turning purple, eyes bulging, arms flailing uselessly in a vain attempt to break free. Michael leapt forward but an invisible force seemed to hold him back. No matter how hard he strained, he could come no nearer, only watch in despair as the life drained out of his children. Then, as he looked on in horror, the gloved hands released. Before the girls now lifeless bodies could hit the floor, the cloaked figure spun, two razor sharp knifes protruding from the sleeves. The corpses were decapitated before they had hit the floor.

Michael sat in stunned disbelief. He tried to cry out but no sound would form. The cloaked figure stood before him, the knifes dripping blood onto the carpet, the macabre scene played out in staccato as the light continued to swing its unnaturally long motion.

As Michael looked on, the cloaked figure swirled, disappearing into a black cloud, drifting through the cracks in the doorway, the swinging light coming to a sudden stop. As if a constricting force had been released, Michael felt himself able to move and he pushed himself up, rushing across to the bodies of his girls. One of the heads had rolled towards the middle of the room and looked up at him, the lifeless eyes forever etched with the unanswered plea for mercy.

Michael felt himself start to stagger and before he knew it, he was bent over double, retching, the smell of his vomit mixing with the putrid smell of death in the air, doubling his nausea, causing him to retch again until nothing was left. Legs shaking, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pushed himself back to standing. He forced himself to look at the bodies of the girls. His girls. His precious girls. It was only then that he looked at his hands and for the first time saw that he was holding the knives, the blood of his children dripping into a pool at his feet. How could this be?

'Michael?'

He whirled and saw his wife standing in the doorway he came through earlier. He threw the knives to the floor, then watched as her eyes surveyed the room, taking in the scene before her. Watched as her face contorted in horror as she found the bodies of her girls. Watched as her mouth formed words, his mind working in stunned slow motion trying to catch up with events, picking up the sound mid-sentence.

'...killed them. You killed them!' And then she was on him, raining down blows with her fists, his arms instinctively coming up to protect his face, her nails digging into his flesh, fingers ripping at hair, clothing, anything within reach. Reluctantly, he pushed her back but she was on him again in a flash, kicking and biting now. He slapped her, hard, sending her reeling across the room to fall on the floor.

She pushed herself up, pure hatred in her eyes. Who is this woman? She made to start towards him again but then stopped, her head looking down to her stomach. Michael looked on in horror as her stomach started to ripple under her jumper, the skin pushing against the material, stretching out. She looked up at him, the hatred replaced with a bewilderment as her jumper suddenly ripped. A bloody hand reached out of her stomach, through the fabric. Behind it a devil emerged, it's face a mouth of sharp teeth, deformed ears and red eyes, where its nose should have been, just a red slit. Michael watched in horror as the devil inside his wife, the devil child he had helped to create, pulled itself out of the womb, crawling up Amy, who stood rooted to the spot in stunned helplessness.

With a guttural scream, the devil raised its hand, unnaturally sharpened finger nails gleaming in the single light of the room before bringing them down with a sickening squelch, plunging into Amy's eye sockets, pulling they eyes free before rearing back and sinking its sharp fangs into her skull. Michael could only watch as the figure that had been his wife slumped to her knees, blood pouring from the open wounds as the devil child she had carried consumed her.

It was then he felt the cold. A biting cold that seeped into his bones, his breath frosting in front of his eyes. And with it the stench, that smell of fear and death. The cloaked figure emerged from the shadows, as if he had been there all along. The devil child climbed off of the mutilated corpse of what had once been its mother, turning to face Michael, blood dripping off the fangs as he mouth formed a sneer of a smile. Then, it turned, leapt into the air and was consumed under the cloak of the mysterious figure.

Fear had gone now. Michael had seen too much. His family had been desecrated in front of his eyes and he knew he would be next.

'Who are you?' he demanded. 'Why have you done this to my family? They were innocent! The girls were just children!'

The cloaked figure did not move, just emitted a low, rasping noise. Michael strained to hear it, to understand its meaning. Then, realisation came. It was laughter. The cloaked figure was laughing at him.

An almost imperceptible flick of his wrist and suddenly a black hole emerged behind the cloaked figure. He stood unmoved as a void began to suck in the contents of the room. Too late, Michael realised what was happening and desperately tried to cling to something, anything that was fixed to the floor. But the pull was too strong and he was sucked forwards, fingers digging uselessly into the carpet in a final attempt to stop his momentum, pain adding to his desperation as his finger nails lodged into the carpet, pulling away from his skin.

He lost his grip and was pulled inexorably towards the void. But before he could be sucked in, the cloaked figure reached out a hand, placing it on his chest. Michael looked up into the cloak, the face shrouded. Through tears of pain, grief and desperation, he cried, 'who are you?'

The cloaked figure reached back with one gloved hand and pulled the cloak back over his head before releasing his other hand. Michael disappeared into the nothingness of the void, his final conscious thought the face he had seen looking back at him from under the cloak. His own face...

***

He woke with a start and sat bolt upright. A cold sweat had formed, soaking him through. He looked around. Home.

He was sat at the table, his laptop open in front of him, long since entering sleep mode. He looked at the clock. 3am. He had been asleep. It was a dream. Just a horrible dream.

He rushed upstairs and looked into the girls bedroom. They were sleeping peacefully. He moved silently into the room, kissing each of the girls lightly on the forehead. Maisy stirred, opening her eyes briefly, smiling at the sight of daddy before turning and going back to sleep.

He left them and went to his bedroom. Amy was sound asleep, the look on her face one that can only come from complete and utter contentment. He climbed into the bed and gently put his arm around her, encircling his wife and the baby she carried inside her. His baby.

He was woken gently by Amy shaking his shoulder. 'Did you stay up late working again?' she said, her tone reproachful and yet understanding.'

Michael sat up in bed and looked into her eyes. Without saying a word, he cupped her head in his hands and kissed her. When he broke away, he hugged her tightly and whispered into her ear, 'I love you. Never forget, I love you.'

Amy smiled, perplexed but pleased. 'What brought this on?' she asked, smiling.

At last, Michael pulled away. He looked at her thoughtfully. 'I never tell you enough,' he said.

'Okay,' said Amy, more confused than ever. Well Casanova, there is a cup of tea going cold downstairs and the girls want to show you a squirrel they found in the garden.' She kissed him on his forehead before getting up and going downstairs.

Michael lay back in the bed momentarily, taking in everything in his dream. It had been so vivid, so real. It seemed like more than a dream. He closed his eyes briefly then pulled the covers back and climbed out of bed.

He walked to the bathroom and splashed water across his face, massaging his temples to relieve the tension. He raised his head and looked into the bathroom mirror. His heart pounded. What was that? For a moment, he thought he saw something in the mirror. The cloaked figure from his nightmare. But when he blinked it was gone. Fool, it is just your imagination. That really was a vivid dream.

He walked downstairs to find his girls jumping around excitedly. He smiled and stood watching them for a moment before they noticed him.

'Daddy, daddy!' they cried excitedly. 'Come and look. Diddles, garden.' Diddles was the name they gave to the squirrel who climbed the fence in the garden.

Michael smiled as he turned to the table and reached for his laptop. He lifted the lid and switched it on. 'In a minute girls, I just need to...'. He stopped as he saw the face reflected back at him from the screen. This time there was no mistake. The black cloak was set back just far enough that he could make out his own face, distorted, vile but unmistakably him. The colour drained from him, his knees buckled.

And at last he understood.

'Daddy, daddy, come look,' the girls said, beaming at him.

Michael smiled. 'Come on girls, let's go and find Diddles,' he said. And as he closed the laptop, the cloaked figure faded back into nothingness.

For Dad. In loving memory...

This is both the hardest thing I have ever had to write and yet, in some ways, also the easiest.

It is the hardest, in the sense that this is the piece I never wanted to write.

Yet it is also the easiest as there is so much that I want to say.

My Dad will be different things to each of you, depending on how you came to know him.

I would like to share some memories of him as a father and a grandfather.

When I think back on my childhood, my abiding memory is of being happy. We never had the fanciest new toys or top of the range clothes but we never wanted for anything. And if we couldn't afford it, he would make it.

Both mum and dad brought us up with a clear sense of right and wrong but that didn't stop us from having fun. Ours was a house of laughter, never taking things too seriously.

It is perhaps only in later life, after having a family of my own, that I really came to understand and appreciate the type of man my dad was. Looking back, I have come to realise the sacrifices he made; the 12 hour shifts in a job he hated; the 90 minute commutes; scrimping and saving to ensure we never went without.

And through it all, he retained a remarkable energy and enthusiasm. He was there on parents evenings to support us, at football matches, at my graduation. And he was there at events for the cubs and scouts, where he found the Salvation Army.

I never shared my dad's faith but I know he took great comfort from it, especially towards the end. He took great interest in things that stimulated the mind, helped him to consider things in a new way.

The cruellest part about my dad's illness is that it took away so much of what defined him. He was always so busy, so active, never able to enjoy a lie in even when he had been up at 4am the day before. He was always willing to give, even to his own detriment. Now, he found he had to accept the help of others.

I can only imagine how it must feel as your body slowly betrays you until you are confined to a chair, reliant on the support of others.

I can only imagine the feelings as your grandchildren are passed from person to person and you are unable to hold them, unable to get on the floor and play with them.

And yet, remarkably, he never let the disease beat him. Right to the end, he retained an incredible perspective on life. He was never bitter, never self pitying, instead looking for the positives, finding different ways to enjoy life. He took pleasure in seeing his grandchildren playing together, even if he couldn't join in.

Truly he understood that life is what you make of it.

No doubt some of this strength came from having such close support of friends and family. In particular I think of his brother Michael, who found himself being designated as the resident handyman. Also our neighbour Brian, whose companionship and friendship was so valued and to whom we owe a debt of gratitude, for the precious extra 48 hours he gave us.

And most importantly, my mum, who dedicated herself to my dad, becoming not only his wife and companion but also his full time carer. As difficult as the illness must have been for my dad, my mum shared the pain and the heartache at every step. She went above and beyond any reasonable level of duty to ensure that my dad's last few years were comfortable and happy and I am full of admiration for her devotion and love.

Right to the end, he was thinking of others. In what turned out to be our final conversation, far from worrying about his own condition, his only concern was that I go back to work the next day so as not to jeopardise my future prospects.

It became somewhat of a family joke over the years that mum and Stuart would say that I was just like my dad. Well if that is true, then I take it as a tremendous compliment. If it is cliché then so be it but if I can be half the man my dad was, then I shall have reason to be proud.

As we think about my dad today, there will be tears and there will be sadness, and that's okay. But when I think about him, I will think about the happy memories. The family holidays, the time spent with his grandchildren, the time he almost puked after a ride on the Quasar, playing his trumpet on the toilet, that stupid bloody thumb trick. These are the memories I will cherish and when I think of them, I will smile.

My dad will be different things to each of you; loyal friend, loving husband, dutiful father, doting grandfather.

Whichever he was for you, I know I speak for all of us when I say we love you and we will miss you.

Found this in my e-mails. In this of all weeks, nice to look back on some happy memories.

Wedding Speech

My wife and I would like to thank you all for coming today and sharing this special occasion with us, not to mention your generosity with the gifts you have bought us. I know that some of you have travelled quite some distance to be with us and it means a lot to us both that you have made the effort.

It’s a funny thing preparing and performing a speech. Some people, like me, are relatively nervous about it – you don’t want to trip over your words, you hope that your lame gags get a giggle. Then you get people like my new Father in Law and Best Man. I can quite honestly say I’ve never seen two men so relishing the prospect of making a speech quite like these two.

I of course have a number of people I need to thank so I won’t waste too much time.

Firstly I would like to thank Karen’s parents, Phil and Rachel. Their support in getting today organised, not just financially but their time and advice, has been invaluable. Not only that but they have been incredibly welcoming to me since the day they met me and have truly made me feel a part of the family. The bad news for them is that I am of course now part of the family.

As for my parents, they’ll get embarrassed if it gets too mushy. We’re not a family that goes around expressing a great amount of emotion if it isn’t strictly necessary, but tough, it’s my speech. So I’ll take the opportunity to say how grateful I am for the help, advice and support they have always given me, and continue to give me. Truly you have been instrumental in shaping the man I am today…so Phil and Rachel, you know who to blame

Seriously though, whilst each of us could never express thanks enough for all you have done for us over the years, we have a present for each of by way of thank you

Thanks also to Bruce for his lovely service today, as well as all those involved during the ceremony

A big thank you to our Ushers – The Boy, Conroy, Richard and Alan, not to mention Quentin who stood by ready and waiting to step in to the breach for us. For those who don’t know, Alan had an exam this morning and has jumped through untold hoops to be able to make it today. I know Karen would have been devastated if either of her brothers hadn’t been able to make it today so we’re both extremely grateful that they could be here. If I could ask all the Ushers to come up for a moment, we have a momento for each of you as a token of our thanks

We would also like to thank our bridesmaids for the job they have done today and again if I could ask Alice and Helen to step forward, we have a gift for each of you to express our gratitude

I also want to say a big thank you to our special bridesmaid – Rebecca was our flower girl who did a great job today looking after Karen’s dress as she came into the church and we have special little present for her too. Perhaps Mum or Dad could bring her up to get it.

A big thank you to all the staff today at the Mitre, especially Liz and Emma who have helped us get everything organised.

And now, I turn to my “Best Man”. A best man must be someone who’s friendship you have valued for years, who you would trust with your life, who will stand with you on the biggest day of your life, a man of such unimpeachable integrity that you ask him to keep hold of the wedding rings, a symbol of the sacred bond you are about to seal with your future partner. Well, they must be in short supply because the best I could come up with was Jon. Actually, I do need to say a particular thank you to his wife Claire who is due to give birth to their first child in about four days. We’ve been keeping fingers (and legs) crossed that she could hold on until the due date so I’ve had to keep the gag count to a minimum so as not to induce any sudden movements with an unrestrained bout of belly laughter

Finally, I turn to my new wife. For those who don’t know, Karen and I met through work, quite bizarrely I interviewed her for a job. Needless to say she was hired and I was able to work my charm from close quarters. If I have helped her to grow as a person in the years since then the same is equally true for me.

Now that we’re married, I’ll probably have to toe the line so I’ll take this opportunity to tell you my thoughts about Karen before she tells me what I really think. Given the best man speech to come, I’m tempted to use this opportunity to tell a few embarrassing stories about Karen but I would hate to step on Phil’s toes. Perhaps then I can tell you a little about made me want to spend my life with her.

It certainly isn’t what we have in common. I like gruesome horror films, violent computer games and watching as much football and fighting as possible. She likes babies, gardening and soaps. I like curries and hot spices, she likes plain chicken. I want to spend our money on a 40” HD telly, she wants to decorate the spare room as a nursery. We even disagreed over the wording of our vows. She wanted me to say that I would commit to her in this life and the next and I said ‘hang on, let’s take one life at a time.’

So no, we don’t have a lot in common, but then they say opposites attract and let’s face it, they would have to. But it’s what makes her different that stands out to me. Her generous character, her warmth and compassion. The way she looks at me like I trod on her dog when I wake her up in the morning. The fact that we have to buy her cereal from the kids section at Sainsbury’s.

And as I look at her today, I am struck by just how stunning she looks, truly a picture of beauty and elegance both inside and out. I’m sure you would agree ladies and gentlemen, as we stand here side by side ready to enjoy the rest of our lives together… what a lucky, lucky woman. And yet I too feel blessed. Yes she’ll try to wring a couple of kids out of me straight away and no, I don’t think she has bought me that 40” HD telly for my birthday. But even so, I am truly thankful that she came into my life. As much as I love her today, I know that I will love her doubly so tomorrow, and each day after for the rest of our lives. Ladies and gentleman a toast to the bride, Karen.

'A chihuahua!' said a voice in the dark.

'A chihuahua?' asked a second voice. 'Why would there be a chihuahua down here?'

'Hmm, okay,' said the first voice. 'Um...a cheetah!'

The second voice signed. 'No Dave, there are no cheetah's either.'

'Oh,' said Dave. 'Well I give up then.'

'It was cave,' said the first voice.

'Of course,' said Dave, 'That was my next guess. Okay Dirk, my turn. I-spy with my little eye something beginning with...er...c.'

'Is it cave?' asked Dirk.

'Wow, you're good at this,' said Dave, impressed.

'Enough bloody I-spy,' said a third voice. 'You're driving me mad.'

'Sorry Steve,' said Dave. An awkward silence rippled across the cave. 'If you're happy and you know it clap your...'

'Shut up!' shouted Dirk and Steve.

More silence. The only sound in the cave was the drip-drip-drip of water on the cave floor.

Steve sighed. A long, weary sigh. 'I-spy with my little eye...'

'Maybe we should work on a plan to get out of here,' said another voice.

'Wow, what a novel idea, Geoff,' said Steve sarcastically. 'Why did none of us think of that?'

More silence followed. 'Well, I was only saying was all,' said Geoff. 'After all, we've been in worse situations.'

'Oh I don't know,' said Dirk. 'I can't think of many occasions when I've been chained upside down in a damp, dark cave with Dave, Steve and a talking monkey.'

More silence. Drip-drip-drip.

'The Grand Old Duke of York...'

'SHUT UP!'

'Cough-cough-splutter-cough.'

'Who was that?' asked Dirk.

'It wasn't me,' said Steve. 'Was that you Dave?'

'It wasn't me,' said Dave. 'Have you got a cough Geoff?'

'Nope, wasn't me,' said Geoff.

Eyes in the dark turned to the general direction of the coughing.

'Cough-ahem. Don't mind me,' said a voice. 'I think I must have fallen asleep.'

'How long have you been down here?' asked Dirk.

'Oh, let me see now,' said the voice, pausing to think. 'Why I really don't know. A number of years I think.'

'Years?!' spluttered Steve. 'We can't be stuck down here for years, we have a galaxy to rescue.'

'Oh, that does sound exciting,' said the voice. 'So how did you end up being chained up in this cave?'

'Well,' said Dave with a sigh,' that is a long story...'

So begins the adventures of The Funky Gibbon and the Mere Mortals! Chapter One coming soon...

Wouldn't it be nice to jump in a time machine and go back and fix some of the things that went wrong?

None of the big things, just some of the small things. You know, those things that pop into your head at two in the morning for no reason and make you embarrassed, even though no-one else knows what it was or that you're thinking about it.

Well, here are a few of mine...

...the time I decided to 'fix' the broken plug, couldn't pull the socket off the wall so shoved the screwdriver in there, only to discover that I hadn't turned the electricity off and got the shock of my life...

...the 'short cut' that ended up with us going in a circle and adding thirty minutes to the journey...

...preparing some red hot chillies with my hands, stopping to go for a pee, then wondering why my, er, 'special area' was stinging like an angry wasp...

...slipping over in the snow just as a bus full of passengers drove past...

...walking through town, noticing a draft in the leg area and noticing that my fly had been open for goodness knows how long...

...admiring my mum's new bathroom, reaching up to inspect the shower rail and pulling it down, breaking it in two...

...aged six or seven, pointing to a 'To Let' sign, thinking it said toilet...

...walking out of the chip shop, reach down to take a bite of my jumbo sausage and drop it on the floor, pick it up hoping no-one noticed and see a woman walking past who stopped and said, 'I saw that'...

...getting drunk at a work party, getting out of the taxi to be sick then staggering home for five miles and feeling so ill that I don't make it in the next day, only to find when I get back in on Monday that someone made up a story that I wet myself in a taxi and was thrown out...

...getting one of my girls ready for bed, put on her sleepsuit and can't figure out why it doesn't quite fit, only to realise that I have put her arms in the leg holes and legs in the arm holes...

...and many, many more.