Is This The Life

It started one Thursday. It was lunchtime. Aldgate. A work colleague gorging on sushi was highlighting his relief that both his children were appearing in the same nativity play at school. It meant that he only need to sit through one school performance rather than two. I’ve never had kids, so I have never had to ride the emotional gauntlet of a school performance for a loved one. I’m sure it has its rewards. I have no doubt. Pride. Passion. The desire to show support for offspring whether they or the play is good, bad or indifferent. It’s a rites of passage thing. But. I think it is safe to say, they must be pretty painful to sit through. The missed lines. The lack of emotion in delivery. The embarrassment and the crying. Regardless, I do recall sitting through other school class performances twice a year. Generally, my memories involve having a numb or – worse – sore arse from sitting cross legged on polished, parquet flooring for what seemed like days. I do not have an...

A few nights ago I was reminded of something from 30 years ago. Nothing unusual in that, I guess. Unless you are under the age of thirty three. Back in the late 80’s and early 90’s I was in a band. Not a successful band. Not a band that played to thousands of adoring fans, night after night. We didn’t even play to adoring fans, occasionally. We didn’t play live. We didn’t have any adoring fans. But, I was in a band, none the less. The band was called ‘Mystery Incorporated’. The name was taken from Scooby Doo.  In case you didn’t know, the ‘gang’ in the cartoon were called ‘Mystery Incorporated’, hence they drove around in the ‘Mystery Mobile’. Certainly they were on a non-Hanna Barbera endorsed album called ‘Scooby Doo and The Snowman Mystery’ that I owned as a child. It is this album and the opening theme that inspired our band's name: Anyway. Back to the band. It wasn’t a big band. Just the two of us. Me and James. Duo. We wrote songs. Some we...

It must be mid-morning. I’m sitting at a large desk with six or seven others in a meeting room. Somewhere outside Rugby. We’ve been fed tea. We have enjoyed biscuits. A Health and Safety Manager has just explained that a retail unit that we, collectively, manage has an issue where homeless and/or drug addicts defecating in the alley behind the store. The staff have complained that when they take deliveries into the store, they often have to carry boxes and heavy loads while watching their footing to avoid human turds. I knew what was going to be discussed in the meeting beforehand. I had responded to a couple of emails. I had already offered a couple of solutions and ways to support or resolve the issue. Regardless, I have been summoned to attend a meeting to offer the same solutions and the same ideas. But this time, out loud. I had sympathised with the staff member’s plight before the meeting and I am sympathising with their plight now. But the meeting has turned a littl...

In March 2016, I stopped living in Saudi Arabia. But the adventure isn't over. It rolls on. Step by step.  Eighteen months life away from my home in London has shown me that I have tales to tell.  So, tales will be told. Is this the life? https://www.instagram.com/sebastianfowles/ https://www.flickr.com/photos/sdfowles http://londontokhobar.blogspot.co.uk/