This is the 53rd in this series. This means we've done a whole year of Sundays and we are starting again! As I write this blog, the Sun has just come out. Is it a sign? It was raining five minutes ago. My Dad was a great believer that a peek of sunshine through the clouds was a sign from God that everything was going to be alright. I remember him telling me about his experience in a prisoner of war camp in Bucharest, Rumania in 1944. He'd been shot down, he'd had to identify the mangled body of his best mate and the rear gunner in his Wellington bomber F/O John 'Spud' Murphy, he'd sprained his ankles. The food was awful, half a cucumber, half a dry loaf of rye bread and watery cabbage soup. Although the war was going well for the allies, he had no idea how long it would go on for. He was feeling very down and depressed. Then a ray of sun peaked through the clouds and he looked up. The sky was full of menacing thunder clouds, lightening was flashing, but it seemed a thin ray of sunshine was shining down on him. For a second, he felt its warm rays and felt good. He said "Oh Lord, Please give me a sign things will be alright". At that very moment, someone walked up to him and gave him a letter from my mother, then his fiancée. It was the first letter he'd received, he'd sent a couple but had no idea whether they had been received. Her letter explained that she'd been told he'd been shot down, presumed killed, but she knew he was OK and knew they'd be together soon. He was lifted from his miseries and immediately started to plan his escape. He said to me "Always keep hold of your dreams, they will sustain you".
That was 81 years ago. Mum and Dad are long gone. There's not a day that I don't miss them, but life is for living, not looking back with regrets. The last couple of years have been difficult for me. I feel that the ray of sunshine was a small sign that things are OK, just as it was for my Dad 81 years ago. Our problems, fears and worries are very different. He was a young man, I am not. He had dreams of the future. For me, my dreams are pretty much of the present. Age, health and fitness issues have deprived me of some of my greatest pleasures in life. The horrific truth when you get to sixty two is that physically you will not really get any better. For me, there may be small improvements still following my cancer surgery, maybe my knees and ankles will stop hurting enough to get properly fit, maybe I will have another 10, 15 20 years of active and enjoyable life. The harsh truth though, is that that if there is something I really want to do in my life, I need to do it now, because if I put it off until next year, I've come to realise the chance may have gone completely.
In some ways, the problem for me is that life has been too good. I've seen all of the bands I want to see, I've been to all of the places I really want to go. Life is almost a series of sequels for me! Shall we go to Australia or San Francisco again, shall we go and see Blur, Madness or Squeeze again? But we can't see the Specials again, because Terry Hall passed away. The great egg timer of life is ebbing. The Ramones, New York Dolls, Toots, Desmond Decker, Bowie have all gone. There will be no sequels there. Last Xmas, I had tickets for aa Damned reunion gig. They were playing with Brian James, the original guitarist. I was really looking forward to it. Sadly Captain Sensible got ill and it was cancelled. Recently, Brian James passed away. Another sequel that has been cancelled by the bit promoter in the sky.
The one great gift that cancer gave me was an appreciation of the here and now. What does this mean for me? It means that I have thrown myself into my band. I can no longer play football, but I can play music and I think we are pretty good, even if I say so myself. So today, the band play at The Dublin Castle to celebrate the release of our brand new single Groovetown. The gig starts at 2pm, so come along if you can.
Have a great Sunday
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