Perfection

 Sorry, I couldn't do a Sunday reflectuon yesterday. I was travelling back from my God daughters wedding in Paris on the Euorstar, then I went to the London International Ska Festival gig at the Electric Ballroom with Misty in Roots and The Ruts. As weekends go, I'd say it was pretty good, nearly perfect. My God daughter is the eldest daughter of my eldest sister. She is a mere eleven years younger than me. I was thrilled to bits when my sister asked me to be her Godfather back in 1973. I was only eleven and it seemed a real honour. I tried really hard to always remember her birthday and buy her nice presents when she was small. As she lived in Northampton growning up, we'd see them every few weeks when my sisters kids were small and Dad enjoyed the drive. Now I see her at weddings and funerals mostly.

She married a French chap as a teenager, moved to Paris, had four lovely daughters, but as sometimes happens, she drifted apart from her then husband. She has done well for herself, becoming the general manager of a French theme park, which gave her a good deal on the hospitality for the wedding. It was a lovely setting. As much as anything can ever be described as pefection, the wedding party was. I love seeing my family. My other two sisters went along, but sadly my brothers were unable. As we always do, we had a good laugh, a few nice meals, a visit to a gallery. It seemed to all go by rather too quickly.

My God Daughter was lucky, the Gods of Weather smiled on her. My family are generally lucky with such things. When I was lucky, my Dad told me the secret of making weather. It was something that he said and Aboriginal witch doctor had told him in the out back. My Dad was born in a town called Coopers Creek in the outback of Queensland. There had been a drought and he was four years old before he saw rain. He expalined that he got chatting to a passing witchdoctor, who explained the art of making rain. Dad replied that if he could make rain, why didn't he fix the drought. The old man replied that no one had asked him. He explained that, as a witchdoctor, the medicine only worked when he did it for someone else. So Dad asked him. He then said "It's my job, if you want rain, you''ll have to pay me, what will you pay?". Dd thought and said "Well Mum has just made some biscuits, you can have one if you make it, they are very tasty". The old man looked at him and said "Ok". Dad ran in, explained to his mum. She said "Tell him that if it rains tonight, I'll give him another biscuit tomorrow".

Dad took the buscuit, and told the old man of the deal. He replied "Tell your mother I'll be back at 4pm for my biscuit" and wondered off. Dad's mum said "Don't tell your Dad, he'll be cross, he doesn't believe in all that" and hid a biscuit. Dad was excited when he went to sleep. He was awoken at 6am, to the sound of his dog barking. Dad ran out and couldn't believe his eyes. Water was streaming from the sky. The dustbowl at the bottom of the hill was a huge river. Over the next few weeks, the land turned green and all manner of strange creatures emerged. The old man did not return though. Two weeks later at 4pm, he turned up. He told Dad "Can you get my biscuit". Dad was scared, this man clearly had great power and he didn't want to break the deal. As he was only about four, he ran to his mum and said "Mum, the man has come back for his biscuit". His mum retreived the biscuit from the hiding place and said "Here, go and give it to him". Dad ran back and the old man thanked him and went on his way.  Dad ran back to his mother and said he'd given the man the biscuit and he'd gone. His mum said "Laurie, whatever you do in life, always keep your side of the bargain. The old man didn't say what day he was coming back on, just that it would be at 4pm. He was testing you to see if you were trustworthy and honourable". Dad realised that he knew where the biscuit was all the time, but didn't help himself. 

A few months later, the old man returned. He had a chat with Dad and explained the way medicine works. You can't do medicine for yourself. If you do it for someone, then they must give you something in return to keep the deal in balance. You don't ask for things, just see what they are willing to offer. Dad had offered a biscuit, which to a four year old in the outback of Australia is a pretty wonderful thing, worth far more than if a millionaire had offered him a thousand pounds in terms of what the giver was offering. If you do medicine for someone, don't expect thanks, just that they keep the bargain. Dad asked the old man if he could teach him how to make rain. The old man replied, there is no hocus pocus, you just explain to the ancestors that this fella wants some rain and they've struck a decent bargain and the rain will come. Dad asked if anyone could do it. The old man replied "Yeah, anyone can, so long as they talk to the ancestors". 

In England, we rarely have to pray for rain. Quite the opposite. If I want good weather, for an event such as my neice's wedding, I simply say "Hey Dad, any chance of having a word with the ancestors to sort the weather out". I ask of nothing, just that everyone has a wonderful day. There is a downside though. Sometime in the next few weeks, I'll get drenched. 

Now you may wonder what all of my rambling anecdote had to do with perfection. Well, my God Daughters wedding was pretty much the perfect day. The ancestors came up with some wonderful weather, that was not forecast the day before. But perfection is a passing fancy. Both good times and bad times come and go. When things are perfect, such as Saturday, enjoy the moment. When things are bad, remind yourself that such times pass. The last couple of years have been full of tremendous highs and awful lows for me. For my band and the football teams I follow, things couldn't be much better. For my health, it has been a challenge. I was chatting to my brother in law, a wonderful man, retired teacher, who was explaining how age has been catching up with him. My sister is fourteen years older than me and he's a couple of years older than her. She had some serious health issues a couple of years back and we were terrified we'd lose her. If you saw her on Saturday, you'd never know. 

I was mulling on perfection and I realised that human beings suffer this terrible affliction that we cannot ever appreciate how good things are, when they are good. Shortly after I had my radical prostatectomy, before I had a clear idea of what my recovery was likely to be like,  a mate said to me "are you glad to be done with all that sex stuff?". This was a mate the same age. I was confused by his question. He'd had the same operation a few years ago and told me that it was a relief no longer "having to worry about sex". I replied that the doctor told me I'd most likely see my sexual function return and that I'd not given up hope. He told me "they always say that, it's not true, you'd better get used to the idea that the only thing you'll be left with is memories".

I felt intensely down about what he'd said for a couple of days. Can you imagine that you feel exactly the same in every way as you did a month ago, except for the fact that you knew you'd never be able to have a fulfilling adult relationship with the person you love? All you would have is memories and all these would do is remind you of what you've lost? Before I had the operation, the thought of this situation had nearly made me decline treatment. When I finally opted for the operation, my wife told me she'd been terrified that I would bury my head in the sand and let the cancer have it's wicked way with me. 

That was over a year ago. I doubt that anything will ever truly be totally 'perfect' in my life again. I'll never see the Ramones at the Roundhouse again, Colin Bell charge down the wing for Manchester City again, have Xmas dinner with Mum and Dad, listen to my Dad's stories of Australia as a kid, have a pint of Ale in Bree Lousie in Euston, browse in the Model shop in Mill Hill or nip in for a cuppa with my dearly departed ssurrogate grandma in Homefield road on the way home from School. All of those things are perfect moments in my memories, but like the sands of time have slipped through my fingers. But then again, I had a perfect weekend, some of the gigs I've been to and played in the last year have been amazing, and I have my kids to spend time with. The old perfect is not the new perfect and unlike the past, I can shape the future. 

I wish my neice and her new husband a wonderful marriage. Such things as marriage are not perfect all the time, but I'd not swap my life for anything. In truth, you only realise you reached perfection when it had gone. The trick is to enjoy the moments for what they are and when things are more difficult, keep the faith that there are good times ahead, you just have to negotiate the rocky rapids to reach the calm, still, sunny lake. 

I'll leave the final word to my Dad. He said "Son, it''s not the beer that makes you happy, it's the people you drink beer with, and if you go to the pub and the beer doesn't make you happy, change your pub not your beer". It took me a few years to understand what he meant. I'm glad my God Daughter has changed her pub and I hope she enjoys drinking the beer of life in her new one!

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And I will finish with what I think is perhaps the nearest thing to perfect I've managed to write as a songwriter!

The False Dots will be launching our new album at The Dublin Castle on Sunday 17th November from 2pm. Please come along Tickets here  - wegottickets.com/event/627785