Travel life’s real education

The calm before the storm

There is always a calm before a storm and I feel it. Though I should be grateful all is going well, I am frustrated by my continuing enforced immobility. Funnily enough, it was easier the initial 4 weeks particularly the first 2. Partly because I expected to be laid up but also because I was in a lot of pain, partaking in the delights of OxyConti and his friend (Oxy)Norm!

I didn’t particularly experience any mind blowing euphoria, but it sure helps with the pain. Not because I couldn’t feel it, quite the contrary! But because, I just didn’t care to think it was bothersome. Perhaps that’s why it appeals and is abused by many poor souls in pain for other reasons. Needing the emotional rather than physical numbness and indifference, these drugs give you. Who knows…..

Another 2 weeks or so of crutches before I can weight bear fully and begin my rehab, but more importantly drive. This will allow me the freedom to get on with all that needs to be done in preparation for the next chapter in life. Anyway the wound is much better now given the terrible start.

Much of this blog in the future will be detailing the trials and tribulations of my journey, transitioning from a full time professional to a meaningful life travelling on the road. But I find myself at a hiatus unable to get on continuing this journey because of this current immobility, although it in itself is part of it.

Let me tell you a story…..

Why tell a story you might ask? The truth is we all have stories which capture our most important experiences. We can do this in a positive redemptive way but equally in a destructive way. We are all storytellers and storytelling is how we make sense of our experiences. By taking these disparate pieces of our lives and placing them together into a narrative, we create a unified whole that allows us to understand our lives as coherent and this coherence, is a key source of meaning. The way we tell our story and how we tell it, gives clarity to how we became who we are. The way we spin our tales allows us to craft a positive identity, be in control of our lives, and thus progress through life using the obstacles we encounter positively.

So here’s a tale or two……

My earliest recollection of school is a funny one now as I look back, but it must have been very distressing at the time. Having arrived in England when my father left the forces, it must have been midway through a school year. I could not have been more that 5 years of age. Everyone knew one another and I was the new kid, needing to make a good first impression.  

Having been introduced to my new class mates, some of whom appeared openly hostile, I was sat at one of several large round tables with surrounding small seats. Shortly after sitting down, I began to smell shit. Looking under my brand new black shoes, I realised I must have trodden in dog shit just before arriving at the infant school with my mother. Acutely aware of the developing smell, I actively but covertly tried to rid my shoe sole of the offending material by scrapping the sole on the floor under the table. In my desperation, multiple attempts to rid my shoe of the offending material merely smeared it in repeated streaks all over the flooring, worsening an already difficult predicament. The smell, slowly developed into an obvious aroma, leading to an inescapable feeling that my new teacher and colleagues, were beginning to think that somebody, probably me, had shit themselves! 

Not a good start to school life or introduction to your new classmates. Thankfully, it was realised that rather than having shit myself, I had stood in something unwittingly treading it into the carpet. The extent to which it had been trodden in, was not commented on but must have been noticed.

The teacher at the time was a young newly qualified girl with two great assets. I’m not sure why, as a very young boy, I would observe  these which such clarity. Firstly, the finest pair of the voluptuous breasts I have ever seen, even to this day. A pair, my brother in law recently remarked, when recounting this story could be regarded as two assets in themselves. So thirdly, the thickest and longest blonde hair I have ever seen. Often fashioned into a long thick platted pony tail.  At barely five years of age, I fancied my first teacher and but there would be others.   

I have vivid memories of my experience of junior school, many of which must have shaped my future direction.  

Generally, I don’t have a problem with authority but I don’t like being told I cannot do something! Even to this day my internal mantra, if I believe it’s the right thing to do is, “where there’s a will there is a way!”

Junior school was challenging, because of my poor behaviour. It didn’t take long for my behaviour to attract the attention of the new headteacher. Resulting over the proceeding four years in a number of corporal punishments. Subsequent conflict with my parents culminated in the head asking my parents to remove me from the school. As it happened, this was right at the end of the year before moving on to the new comprehensive school, so it did not happen.

With the benefit of hindsight, my poor behaviour was more likely to be as a result of boredom and playing the fool, rather than a wanton disregard for authority. Bizarre then, that many years later, I would meet and marry my now wife of 29 years, Christina, the old headmasters eldest daughter!

I have a few stories which I recall on fondly when first setting out in the big wide world as an aspiring university student.

The first was my experience when attending medical school interviews. I made five applications, as was allowed and expected in those days. I got two interviews, one at Nottingham and the other in Liverpool. The first in Nottingham, I have only a vague recollection of. I bombed, big style. It didn’t start well, when asked what paper I read. I replied ‘The Sun’, which was complete bollocks because I never read the paper. They didn’t care for my flippant response and it went downhill very rapidly from there. Needless to say I didn’t get an offer.

My Liverpool interview was a different matter. I can remember it as if it was yesterday. I had made a great effort to be smart with new slacks, shirt and tie. Very dapper or so I thought, with a crappy faux leather document wallet (for what I do not know) and even cheaper umbrella. I got the coach from the Arndale Bus Station early that morning arriving in plenty of time.

On arrival at the Medical School, I was shown in to a reception area to book in and then through to a large waiting room. I immediately felt out of place. Surrounded by other prospective candidates, all in expensive looking suits. The boys particularly regimented with School or Club ties denoting affiliations of superiority. There was I, a lad from Reddish, with a crappy plastic wallet and woven tie feeling very out of place. I didn’t speak for fear of saying something stupid while sweating profusely. My anxiety increasing with the realisation this was my last chance to get an offer of a place.

It seemed like an age to be called through, watching as each successive candidate came and went with an air to confidence, adding further to my anxiety that I was way out of my depth. Called through, I was immediately asked by the guy on the left of me, who was bald and very austere looking, which of them was the Surgeon and which was the Physician following a brief introduction. I had no idea. I was completely floored, a knock-out punch? I must have looked confused, so he went on to explain the rational for the question was that I had put in my application that I wanted to be a Surgeon.

Thinking on feet and not wanting to appear too hesitant, I immediately countered that he was the surgeon and his companion was the Physician. He leant forward peering down his glasses, calmly informing me I was wrong. Dumb founded, he ventured to offer a lifeline explaining that in their introduction he had introduced himself as Dr ‘so and so’ and his colleague as Mr ‘so and so’.

“Some feckin lifeline!”, I thought. I floundered, visibly shaking, pity must have taken hold of the younger smarter Mr ‘so and so’guy on the right, who enquired why I had answered thus. “It was simple” I said. “He (referring to the man on the left) looks older than you and it takes longer to be a surgeon”, I explained.

Immediately he roared with laughter, so loudly it must have been heard beyond the room. His response was not initially mirrored by my inquisitor who temporarily scowled but realising my honesty and logic defended by naivety began to see the funny side of things. Slowly smiling, he quickly joined his fellow in laughing with impunity.

I didn’t know then the convention that surgeons were called “Mr” rather than “Dr”. They had referred to this in their introductions which should have indicated to me who was who.  The Surgeon was amused in part by my honest naivety and logic. But as he then explained, he also enjoyed an unexpected back handed compliment of looking younger than his colleague despite being the older of the two, courtesy of my ignorance and honesty.

A real ice breaker and slam dunk. The rest of the interview was a casual chat about sport, particularly football as I had featured this in my personal statement. Several days later I received an offer of 2B’s and a C. The standard offer being an A and 2B’s. It was only some years later, did I learn whilst chatting to the medical school admin secretaries who looked up my record, that offers like the one I received were only for the most exceptional of candidates as I had been recorded as such in their assessment!

I love telling that story, as it is funny but also because it reminds me of  my vulnerability at the time, the challenges faced being from a working class background where “not knowing the game” presents itself and how me as the ‘cheeky chappie’ won out, through guile and quick wittedness.

The other story is one of experience and learning about social etiquette. Anyone who’s been to University, will know how full on the social aspect is.  It’s great and I dived in head first. Pretty much immediately, the social scene swung into formal events such Men’s Sports and Society Dinners and Formal Balls. Black Tie, often necessary, was not something particularly prevalent in Reddish in the early ‘80s. Yet I enjoyed getting  “suited and booted”, buying my first DJ from Paddy’s ( AKA Greatie) Market in Everton. Which sadly closed in 2005, I believe and was relocated. https://www.liverpoolecho.co.uk/news/liverpool-news/end-era-paddys-market-3524378.

One of my abiding memories was being confounded by the amount of cutlery at dinner place settings. I was only used to single knife and fork at home. Watching my new posh mates, I quickly realised you just worked your way in from the outside. Second nature now but then, mind blowing! Every day was an education in life then and there was so much to learn.

With those two stories in mind what strikes me is the real attraction of travelling for me now. It is about is getting off that merry-go round of monotony, boredom and complacency. To get back to what was so engaging all those years ago. Meeting people, going to new places, learning and experiencing new things. Be it a language, a lifestyle or skill we all have so much do learn. Travel allows all of this and more……..

Travel…The best education you will ever get!

Less than 200 days to go!