Once upon a time, in no particular house on no particular street, there lived two shakers who spent every hour of every day in a cupboard together. There was an orange shaker who was filled with salt – we’ll call him Orange – and he loved nothing more than a nice cuddle with his best friend, a green pepper shaker who we’ll call Greenie. They’d known each other all their lives. They were made in the same place, by the same craftsperson with very skilled hands and a very kind heart. She decided that she would mould them as two human figures, both with their arms outstretched, so that when anybody slotted them together they’d be locked in a passionate embrace. It was this that meant they weren’t like your average pair of salt and pepper shakers, because there was never any space between them, and as any being knows, be they human, animal or china condiment container, it’s very easy to strike up a firm friendship if you spend that much time with another soul. Indeed, right from the very start – and before they even knew what their destiny was – Orange and Greenie had a very good feeling about each other.

Now, because the two shakers were different colours, the family they lived with could easily distinguish between which carried salt and which carried pepper. They were both therefore given two very distinct things to provide to the meals on the table, but even though they were both very proud of their individual jobs, they were also very proud of each other, and Orange was always ready to encourage Greenie at any moment, or Greenie to encourage Orange. As you would expect, there were an awful lot of hugs between the two. “Don’t worry”, Orange would find himself saying. “I’m sure they’ll want pepper on their tea tomorrow.” The shakers always treated one another as equals regardless of their differences, but after a while there was no denying that the family seemed to prefer more salt on their food than pepper. The latter wasn’t always suitable for a meal, so Orange found himself in use more and more often, with meant Greenie found himself being left all alone in the cupboard, with no best friend to hug, more and more often.

Poor little Greenie.

At first, he was sad, and still just as happy to see Orange again when he was put back into the cupboard. The hugs continued, day after day, week after week, but one day Greenie decided they weren’t quite the same anymore. He began to feel resentment that Orange was wanted more, that he now appeared to be number one shaker. He was beginning to reconsider whether he really wanted Orange to be his best friend. “After all”, he thought to himself, “isn’t orange a stupid colour? And who wants to be friends with a shaker that’s scratched and chipped, and not perfect and clean like me? I don’t really see any reason to like him at all.”

The next time Orange was put back into the cupboard after another successful salting, Greenie wasn’t there to welcome him as he usually would. Orange could see him in the corner, his back turned amongst the Marmite and the mustard jar. Greenie would spend hours in the shadows, staying silent, and when Orange tried to find out what he’d done wrong, Greenie would say how much he hated him because he was a salt shaker, orange, or chipped and scratched and imperfect. These comments were mean and hurtful, and they took their toll on Orange. His arms quickly started to droop, as he didn’t feel the happiness he needed to give those cuddles, and more chips and scratches started to appear on his body, even though he wasn’t being dropped by Mum or Dad as much. He was well and truly losing his sparkle, but even though he missed being happy, he missed his best friend considerably more.

The silence and nasty comments continued for many weeks, until one day when Orange and Greenie found themselves alone together once again. Mum had cleared the cupboard out and for the first time in a while, there was no Marmite or mustard jar for Greenie to hide behind. Orange knew this was it. He had to bite the bullet.

“Greenie? What’s wrong with being different?”

Greenie slowly and reluctantly turned to face Orange.

“Because you’re orange, and a salt shaker, and chipped and scratched and imperfect.”

“That’s not a very good answer.”

Greenie, now completely stumped, turned back to face the darkened corner of the cupboard, trying to avoid Orange’s gaze.

“None of that is important, Greenie.”

With that, Greenie took a moment to look around himself at their surroundings. Everything else was gone, and it was just them, like it had been in the old days when they spent hours hugging one another, not giving a single thought to any differences between them.

“Don’t you see?” said Orange. “It shouldn’t matter whether you’re human, an animal or a china condiment container, whether you’re orange, green, red, purple, yellow, black, white or any other colour, or whether you’re chipped or scratched or imperfect in any way. Everybody should love and respect each other, no matter who they are or what paths their lives take.”

Orange paused, and in an instant he could feel his arms gaining strength, and some of his chips and scratches and imperfections beginning to heal. He had a good feeling about this, just like he always used to. Then, he had an idea. It was worth a shot.

“Hug?”

Greenie stirred. He turned back to Orange, slowly but surely, and his arms, previously sternly folded in defiance, began to gain strength too and outstretch as they always had done, ready to embrace his partner. He advanced towards Orange, a smile gradually crossing his face. Then, all of a sudden, a bright light dazzled both shakers as the cupboard door opened. The warm hand of Mum or Dad entered to grasp the pair, and as the fingers closed around Greenie and Orange, they were pushed back together and Greenie realised just how much he’d missed his connection with Orange as he gazed into his friend’s eyes and smiled wider. For Orange, the feeling was mutual and the smile reciprocated. In the warm grip of the hand, they made a quiet pledge never to fall out again, ready to put all of their disagreements behind them as they were taken out of the darkness and into the light – two becoming one for good.

The End

Mason

 

 

The other day, I saw a man become so engrossed in his sausage roll that he stepped out into the road, a second after the traffic lights had turned to green, and found himself narrowly avoiding becoming an interesting new bonnet ornament for an Aston Martin Cygnet. The driver slammed on the car’s brakes and came face to face with someone who had, in a crowded urban area, made rather a twit of himself, with his pastry snack still firmly in hand. No horns were beeped and no commotion was made. The man crossed the road and the Aston carried on its merry way. No harm done.

Having seen the whole thing, however, I couldn’t help but smile because I could see myself in this bloke. Maybe that’s how I’ll go one day, by not paying attention whilst my eyes are busy being bigger than my belly. I love food, be it a sneaky Mini Roll from the cupboard when everyone is out or a full Sunday roast lovingly prepared by Mum or Dad. I always maintain that as far as I’m concerned, the roast forms part of the Holy Trinity of meals, taking pride of place alongside a well-made curry and any kind of pizza. I haven’t yet been taught to cook anything (which I’ll have to be if I go to uni) so eating food tends to appeal to me more than making it. Alongside my ever-growing appetite, however, lies an appreciation for food helping me to connect with my friends.

Whenever I meet up with someone, the chances are we’ll go for a meal. I do believe good food adds to the camaraderie we already have, and in some cases it can help us to catch up with people we haven’t seen in a while. I bumped into an old friend on the bus to work last week, someone I hadn’t seen that often for the best part of two years. It was like some people say – there are certain friends from whom you might find yourself separated for a little while, because you’re just living your own individual lives, but when you meet again it’s as if you were never apart. We have that kind of connection, and on this particular day it just so happened that we also found ourselves together on the bus home. During the journey we hatched a plan – spontaneously, too, and that’s how all the best plans come about. “Let’s go for a pizza!” I said, and we did just that. The takeaway was heaven, and it was great to be able to continue the first good chinwag we’d had in some time. Therefore, the whole thing only cemented my belief in food and the good it can do for people’s relationships. It’s just a shame he wouldn’t let me pay for it, but I have promised I will return the favour next time!

Mason

After quite a long time being adamant that I would never go, I can finally admit that I am feeling what Mum has described as “the pull of uni life.” Surely nobody could deny how heartwarming it is to see family members and friends to go solo and study a course they love – and have had their hearts set on for some time – whilst also doing a bit of living and discovering along the way. I was previously concerned that I would only be there for the social and cultural benefits, and that I might not put in all of the effort required to be successful. Recently, however, I have suddenly come to the realisation that if you find the right subject, how can the studying be that much of a bad thing? And surely everything else that comes with the university experience, everything “extra-curricular”, as it were, can enrich a person’s life and give them positive memories to last a lifetime?

With these things all in mind, university does now seem like it could be worth a shot for me. Don’t worry – my head isn’t completely in the clouds! I am fully aware of all of the more serious realities, among which are those of a financial nature and those regarding the independent living every student has to deal with, so I am going to do some research. The courses themselves seem fairly self-explanatory, but I would obviously still need to examine those that I feel could be potential choices, whilst also looking very carefully at universities that would be accessible and practical for me where my disability is concerned (I would probably need a helper for some things too). Alongside these things, I’d need to see if I could be entitled to any financial help or grants of any kind as a disabled person. There is a lot to consider, which I obviously never doubted for a second.

I should stress that going to university is a possibility in its very early stages for me at the moment. It could be at least a couple of years before I get there, but it can never hurt to know more about anything, can it? The more I read up on the things I would need to know, the more prepared I’ll be for such a big step. I do think I’d probably feel even more comfortable with as much information as possible, as would anyone in my house who is somewhat sceptical about the idea at this point in time…

Mason

Once again, we’ve reached my favourite time of year, one that contains a run of months I like to collectively refer to as “the ones that end in ber“. I will admit that I feel like I’m entering them on the back foot, as I can’t help but sense a gap in my life, of the sort that opens when you’ve stopped a long-term focus on something and find that there’s nothing to replace it. I guess I’ve made the first steps towards filling the aforementioned gap by venturing into archery, but maybe other things will have to contribute to this as well. I am, for instance, looking forward to things at work becoming slightly more manic. I think everyone will agree that they prefer the busier times to the quieter ones – I personally find that I feel much more useful when things are like that!

On the whole, my attitude to and feelings about life in general are better at this time of year than any other. Evidence of this came on 31 October last year, when I wrote a post here entitled “The November Ember”. In said post, I talked about how November 2014 had been a pretty rotten month for me (that having been my fault), and how in future I hoped to make November “a byword for positivity”. You might notice a similarity between the title of that post and this one. That’s there because I’m writing this as something of a sequel, to confirm that that plan was successful, and has since spread to cover the entire period that surrounds it. Last year, at around this time exactly, I was feeling very positive about the Creative Media college course I was starting, and although it didn’t work out in the end I have some fond memories of it and I keep in touch with some of the people I met there, Grace being one. When I left that course, I started looking for a job, and although I spent four long months without one I tried not to lose hope of finding something, and I still tried my very best to keep a smile on my face at all times.

Twelve months on, I’m feeling just as positive about the job I now have, and even though I might only have a few other things to look forward to, it’s well worth keeping this mindset. As I said in the last post, I can’t wait to go back to the archery club on Sunday, and maybe I’ll have other opportunities to meet people and more of my friends in the near future. Whatever happens, I’ll have this blog to record everything on, and that’s a prized possession as it is. It’s a constant reminder that I’ve been productive in at least one sense, and the words here will – I hope – be enough to keep life rosy as we go through the last and best part of the year, in 2016 and every year thereafter.

Mason

Tonight marked my first archery taster session at a local club, and I want to make immediately clear that it was nothing short of absolutely brilliant. In just under two hours, with Dad watching closely from the sidelines, I came from hardly being able to hold the bow thanks to a wobbly arm to seeing all but three of my arrows hit the target. Not only were they on course, in fact, but by the time we ended I seemed to be getting increasingly closer to the bullseye. And this was the first time I’d shot an arrow in six years or so! As you can imagine, all of this was incredibly encouraging and it provided a bigger adrenaline rush than I could possibly have anticipated.

Once I had been acquainted with the bow and arrows and was positioned along the shooting line (aiming to my left towards the target), I was eager to use every batch of shots – each signalled by a whistle that also indicated when the arrows could be collected – to take into account what the instructor was telling me. I pulled the bow back as far as I could, so that my hand was lightly touching the corner of my mouth, before letting go. I raised my right arm – the one I was using to pull – so that it was in the straightest and best possible position to launch the arrow through the air, and with my left arm I gripped the bow as tightly as I could whilst holding it completely outstretched. Meanwhile, my concentration was rigid and fixed on the target 10 yards away from me all times, and I tried my best to alter my aim a fraction higher, lower or to the sides if my shots were waning. These combined efforts resulted in the best workout I’ve had in ages, and the most satisfaction I’ve gained from an activity in some time. The fact that I made the target so many times proves that archery is most definitely doable for me, and silences any naysayers. When you consider that I discovered this in only a couple of hours, I was rather amazed by how quickly I was able to learn, and this also proves just how accessible archery is for everyone, regardless of anything that might hinder them. Everyone there certainly made me feel very welcome and encouraged me to take as much time as I needed.

I will gladly carry on with this, as I already feel like I’m on the crest of a wave having surpassed all of my expectations. The next step is the beginner’s course the club run, which I’ll go to for the first time next Sunday, all being well. It feels so good not only to be in the act of firing an arrow at a target, but also to be thinking about it between sessions! It is gratifying to have answered the question of whether I can actually participate, and I believe it will be even more so when I am establishing if I can be better. I can’t wait!

Mason

Recently, when I’m on my own – perhaps on the bus to and from work, for example – I’ve found myself doing something that some people might perceive to be slightly bizarre. I remember Mum noting many years ago that I had a tendency to repeat words under my breath after saying them, and although I’ve no idea why that was the case, what I’m doing now seems to be some kind of progression from it. If I have an idea that I want to explore, or anger and frustration with anything that I feel needs to be released, I’ll perform some sort of monologue in my head all about it. Alternatively – and I kid you not – I’ll have an argument about these matters. With myself. Debating whatever I love or hate about whatever it may be.

Judge me if you like, given that you most likely don’t do this, but before you do I should tell you that although I was baffled myself upon realising that it was happening on a regular basis, it actually works! To focus on something and get the words out in my mind, either as a long rant or an argument, is to give me less cause to inconvenience somebody else’s day with it. I can feel the stress and the pressure spilling out from my inner brain, and although it doesn’t leave the confines of my head, I always feel sufficiently calm afterwards. It has much the same effect as meditation in the end, except that instead of focusing on nothingness to clear my thoughts, I’m trying to stamp them out. I recognise that it might just sound like I’m giving myself more reasons to be stressed, and that such methods won’t work for everyone, but so far I have been pleasantly surprised by how well they’ve worked.

With these developments, however, I have been wondering whether using myself as an opponent in an argument has some sort of deeper meaning, like I’m a substitute for somebody else who should be there but isn’t – particularly when I’m looking into my own emotions or am conflicted by them. If that’s the case, my methods might be incorporating yet another reminder that I should get out more, but either way, and regardless of how odd you might now think I am, I couldn’t have foreseen how much some sources of concern have been eased by some inner, “one to one” expression.

Mason

Through the magic of my Kindle, I have read a variety of books over the last two years. Most of these have been autobiographies or tell-all works about the careers of their authors, and they have mostly revolved around motorsport or music (currently I’m reading Porcelain, the long-awaited memoir by electronica genius Moby). Some have even been about exactly the same person, band or subject, to such an extent that I may sometimes find myself reading about the same events and outcomes. Despite this, however, I have found that more often than not, no two books are quite the same, regardless of how identical they may initially seem.

Take Oasis, for example. If I think about it, off the top of my head I must have read at least four or five books thus far about that band. Each has covered their most successful and wildest years, namely in the mid-1990s, but each will give a different perspective of that period – in turn causing me to become even more engrossed in their rowdy rock and roll history. It just goes to show that no story is ever truly exhausted, because there are a million different avenues through which it can be explored. Everybody who worked close to Oasis that I’ve read about so far saw their lives affected in a different way, meaning it will therefore be translated to the page differently and in a refreshing manner that I have yet to experience. These experiences range from the relentless enthusiasm and passion, and excitement seen by their tour manager, Iain Robertson, as told in his book What’s the Story?, to the opposition faced by the band’s immensely underrated original drummer Tony McCarroll, documented in The Truth: My Life As Oasis’ Drummer. Both books come among numerous examples that prove you can’t necessarily have too much of the same thing, and that if you’re a writer who has another perspective on something to offer, you should definitely consider getting it out there. Not only does it give you the chance to get your creative juices flowing as you tell it, but it’ll give the readers, viewers or listeners something new to consume that’ll continue to stimulate them, and that may even gratify them if you’re lucky.

Have you got something else to add? Is it interesting? Are you certain there’s no risk of causing hurt or offence? If the answer to all of those questions is “yes”, what could be wrong with more of the same, if it’ll engross and intrigue us all?

Mason

The 2016 Olympics have kicked off in Rio, and as was the case four years ago in London I’m already fairly hooked. I like the fact that the Games allow us to see a variety of sports that would not otherwise be shown on television, even if I don’t always understand the rules! Take fencing, for example – the athletes are so agile and the action so quick that I find it hard to even slightly know what’s going on, and so far judo just looks like two people rolling around on the floor. Of course, I know there’s more to it than that, and I’d like to think I can make the most of the opportunity to learn more. What also satisfies me about the Olympics is knowing how it can inspire people to take up sport themselves afterwards, as it must be a fantastic feeling, after a period of searching, to finally find the one that suits them best.

I remember that following London 2012 I really wanted to try archery. I’d done it a few years previously on a school trip, but by then I was wondering whether I could take it up more seriously as a hobby. I spent a little while sniffing around a local club and made a few enquiries, but in the end I was not able to pursue it any further, mainly due to some slight opposition from Mum and Dad over the fact I wouldn’t be able to get there very easily (even though it was relatively close anyway). Perhaps it would also have been inconvenient because I was still at school at the time and in the midst of the GCSE years, but maybe at this stage of my life things would be different, with taking part possibly being less of an obstacle now I am 18 – 19 in less than three weeks, in fact! Archery is said to be an ideal sport for everyone, whether they are disabled or able-bodied, thanks to its lack of reliance on physical fitness. It is also very social and can do wonders for things such as hand-eye co-ordination, for example – and that’s probably something that could be improved in my case!

Perhaps archery is worth looking into again now, or at some point in the future. Either way, I will try it again one day, and it could be good for me to find something new to engage with, or just something that will get me out of the house a little more, be it a sport or anything else. I’ll try looking around to see what I can find, but my only concern is that I won’t be taken seriously, following all of the ideas I haven’t followed through before. It might be that my first challenge will be convincing some people that such an attitude isn’t necessary!

Mason

Now that the Formula One season has reached its annual summer break, I am facing a question that also occurs to me at this time every year – namely, what on earth will I do with myself until 28 August (the date of the next race in Belgium)? The answer lies in something I previously wrote about on here back in October, if I remember rightly; my keyboard, which I am sad to report that I have neglected once again recently. To combat this neglect, I have bought a book for my Kindle containing a variety of piano chords, written by people who know much more about what they’re doing than me. Each chord is given a double-page spread in the book, complete with its proper name and a diagram indicating exactly where the fingers of both hands should go. It seems to be the perfect companion for someone wanting to get reacquainted with the keyboard, and it certainly appears to have everything required for them to raise their game significantly.

When it comes to this game-raising, I admit that I am contradicting myself. I have acknowledged before that it shouldn’t matter what you play or how well you do it so long as you enjoy it, and because proficiency isn’t a must if you want to make good music. Now that I’ve been away from the keyboard for a while, however – partly due to a niggling fear of my own rustiness with it – even I’m finding it hard to deny that at least some guidance would be beneficial. I’m hoping that this book can be at least an average substitute for a real piano teacher, like the man who so warmly helped me to start learning around three years ago. Every week, in between lessons with him, I would practice the song parts I’d chosen and would generally then be able to reproduce them pretty well next time I saw him. That gave me a warm glow on the inside, as did his encouragement, and more often than not I actually felt like I was getting somewhere with my instrument of choice. Whilst I enjoy playing independently, at my own pace and to my own individual skill level, maybe I feel that some written instruction could rejuvenate my focus on the keyboard as well as improve my ability. For the vast majority of the time I’ve been playing, I’ve had to wear headphones so nobody can hear my mistakes. I’m a little bit torn – I’m not ashamed of the flaws in my playing because they’ll always be there and the experimentation will always be part of the appeal, but with so many chords under my belt, how many different possibilities could there be?

Mason

I only own one pair of sunglasses, bought around two years ago from Matalan. When the weather is as glorious as it has been today, I wear them (slightly ill-fitting though they are), but when it isn’t they lie in the bottom of my bag, the lenses covered in dust and fingerprints – often for weeks on end, as you’d expect in this country! Despite this neglect, however, I cherish the shades, black with red arms on the inside, because of the memories they carry from a special summer.

We were finishing Year 12 in 2014, not long after I’d bought the shades, and thankfully the sunshine was frequent enough to justify their use. As we made our way through AS exams, and weren’t needed as much in lessons, we had to find a way to make this newfound spare time – alongside the free periods we already had – worthwhile. Soon enough, my friends and I settled on taking advantage of a rather uncharacteristic summer and playing cards outside. For a good few weeks, we seemed to spend every possible minute with an ever-expanding cast of players, making our way through games with rules I needed reminding of on countless occasions. Needless to say, I don’t recall doing too well at any of them, but it was the taking part that counted – and the laughs and camaraderie, both of which were in abundance. Each game was an occasion of the kind I’ve mentioned before, where the respect I saw between many in sixth form was really clear to see. There was exactly the right balance of competitiveness and friendliness, and I personally felt well-supported, as always, in learning the ropes with a deck of cards. In fact, my positive memories of the entire period – conducted in locations varying from the grass verge outside the Post-16 block to the old common room, just as everything was being stacked up and shipped out – were compounded by being made to always feel fully included. Someone would always make sure that there was a space in every circle for me when we sat down to a game, and come the end of one there’d be somebody on hand to cheer me on when I was on the brink of finishing last!

Sadly, I’m not in as much contact with one or two of those friends as I’d like to be, but never have a few individual weeks been quite so vividly retained in my mind as those. It’s just a shame that we never got round to playing any more games, as we’d said we would after the summer holidays, but I suspect I’d only have needed the rules explained to me even more – I certainly do nowadays! Regardless of what has or hasn’t changed between then and now, however, one constant still remains in the form of those occasionally dusty Matalan shades. I put them on and some of the sunlight slips around the sides and into my eyes, but I don’t mind as much as you might think. Squinting is the least of my concerns when I have memories like those, capable of pushing any worry to one side. I leave you with this, then – throw those glasses away at your peril, because I wouldn’t throw the memories away for anything.

Mason