The splendid Gyppo Byard has kindly requested that I write six random things about myself. I note that the adjective "interesting" didn't feature, thankfully, so here goes:
I've lost track of who's done this and who hasn't in our spiral arm of the blogalaxy, so if you've read this and you haven't, please do.
Tag rules: Link to the person who tagged you. Post the rules on your blog. Write 6 random things about yourself. Tag 6 people at the end of your post and link to them. Let each person you have tagged know by leaving a comment on their blog. Let the tagger know when your entry is posted...
- According to my late father's genealogical rummaging, I am (very) distantly related to Sir Francis Drake (or Sir Walter Raleigh, I forget which);
- I've suffered two bouts of severe clinical depression (the last 17 years ago) and used to suffer panic attacks. I regained my fragile sanity without recourse to professional help or drugs, partly by reading Free to Be Human by David Edwards, a personal friend with whom I have shared many a beery night over the years. In fact, it may have been the beery nights that cured me, who knows?;
- When I was a baby I used to hum songs from the hit parade in my cot, way before I could talk, leading my father to predict that I was some kind of musical genius. Later attempts to learn the violin at primary school proved his optimism spectacularly unfounded;
- Despite playing rugby for ten years, I never broke a bone or suffered any major injury. Or made a tackle or willingly entered a ruck;
- I am allergic to crab sticks and Big Brother Brasil;
- I once "met" the late Princess of Wales when she came to watch rehearsals for our school production of Guys and Dolls in 1988 and walked within 3 feet of me. It was like seeing real life princess.
I've lost track of who's done this and who hasn't in our spiral arm of the blogalaxy, so if you've read this and you haven't, please do.
Tag rules: Link to the person who tagged you. Post the rules on your blog. Write 6 random things about yourself. Tag 6 people at the end of your post and link to them. Let each person you have tagged know by leaving a comment on their blog. Let the tagger know when your entry is posted...
Comments
I'm sorry to hear about the depression; although being a 'depression survivor' is clearly better than being depressed. I share your aversion to all things Big Brother (I have a suspicion it was invented by the Nazis, probably under the title "Big Brother - Axis All Areas").
I too was a timorous rugger player; in my case, unfortunately, my build rendered me ideal as a front-row forward, a position from which avoiding things is rarely possible.
I'm not good at Rugby.
Sx
Gyppo, I gather from your comments that you were a tubby youth - I was small and nippy, so I either ferreted around the fringes at scrum-half or stayed firmly away from the contact area on the wing.
Ms Blue, your comment opens the door for someone to make a light-hearted comment involving a reference to the rugby position "hooker", or "oddly-shaped balls", but it ain't gonna be me.
Gadjo, I look forward to hearing about your random things.
I am a depression survivor, too. I had my last bad episode 3 years ago, but it plagued me from about the age of 25. I haven't touched medication for 15 years (apart from self-medicating hemhem). My breakthrough came when someone dredged up the phrase "self-limiting illness". I don't know why, but it seemed to put it all into perspective, and at long last I could cope with episodes without thinking I would never recover, or go mad. Or madder.
What wise words. In my experience, the fear is (a) this will go on forever, and (b) one really is losing one's mind. Thankfully I discovered that being morbidly obsessed with one's condition is, ironically, its very cause. I've found meditation a great help, and try to think of others as much as possible, albeit extremely imperfectly.
This is the best thing to discover, but it can still creep up without you noticing.
Right, I'm off to hunt out some oddly shaped balls so I can learn about Rugby and how to be a hooker...
Sx
Wales might be a good place to start, on both counts.
You could always tell the Rugby Union players at Uni. by the teeth marks. One friend had his head shaved one time and we were astonished to find the imprint of a deep bite mark at the cranial apex. Mind you, he played the game in Batley, where they'd have mouths big enough for the trick.
I loved rugby at school. I was a fly half, and noted for my stoat-like swerving and violent fingers.
Nowadays I try to replicate this when driving.
At the risk of upsetting those with depression, I have in contrast been blessed with a flippant attitude to life which has nonetheless proved a burden at times. I foresee a future blog entry about the incident with the crucifix, the ill-timed bon mot and the nun, which nearly led to my being burnt as a heretic.