Chapter 51 

Chapter 51

Time Check   Time Out

'Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time

Plans that either come to naught or 600 pages of scribbled lines'                     Pink Floyd

Time. 

Sixty-three years of living it.  So far.

Three years of writing about it. 

Three years of people politely asking how it’s coming along?

Three years of them doubtless becoming bored by the answers; ‘Okay thanks but I’ve just thought of another chapter.’

Three years of digging up the memories, re-living the experiences, asking questions, doing the research, seeking opinions, challenging beliefs, reinforcing thoughts.

There might be more to come but that will definitely do for now.

So that’s it.  All bundled together into one manuscript, a document that was mainly about me and my views on all sorts of unrelated stuff, but happily included lots of the people I’ve encountered along the way, many of whom are still attached to me by one form of link or another.

It’s my view on my life.

It’s what the aliens Sam and Ali out there on Beta Arietis, who we met in Chapter One, will observe over the next 60 years as all the data about the human they selected to start monitoring when he was a baby just three years ago finds it way to them over future time and space.  In fact if they lose interest in continually observing me year-on-year progress they can pack up now and just wait for this book, which will provide the summary (which is all they really need), to arrive electronically onto their radio telescope six decades after I press the send button.  Actually it won’t just be out there heading for Beta Arietis; once it’s on it’s electro-magnetic journey it’ll be travelling in all multi-dimensional directions and available for anyone, anything, anytime and anywhere in the universe.  Rather like the light from earth now visible to any observers on planets 400,000 light years away who are only now getting their first glimpse of my ancestors heading out across the savannah, driven by that same urge, that’s been handed down to me, to see what’s over that next ridge as they begin the long, incredible journey that’s transported my family’s genes across thousands of miles over thousands of generations, to reach, for the time being at least, a home in Bristol.

What will anyone make of it all?  Actually I’m not particularly concerned. It’s largely been written for me as an exercise in getting memories and experiences down on paper; for getting opinions, hopes or frustrations off my chest; for reflecting on those incidents or individuals that have inspired, influenced or uplifted; and as an opportunity to acknowledge and thank all those who have been a part of the ride.

So this rather jumbled kaleidoscope of a tale tried to mix in all those significant events and places, music and images, that have formed part of the fun and sadness, the success and the failures.  Blended in throughout as vital ingredients are all the family, friends, colleagues and characters that have made it all possible and who have added the colour and depth to the fabric of the story.

The gang of friends we’ve had for almost forty years; an endless list of mutual adventures and the comforting awareness we can shout for help and support at any time.

Colleagues who shared the ups and downs of a career that went a long way without ever going anywhere.

Teachers, coaches, and mentors who managed to encourage performances that achieved better than I probably otherwise would have done.

Mates from school and university; still there, just a click or phone-call away, still chatting about the same stuff, still laughing at the same things.

First girl, first love.

Grandparents, uncles, aunts, and neighbours who ensured a rock-solid, safe, foundation for a child to grow up in.

Parents who provided the example; love, guidance, fun, morals, ambition, inspiration and so much more.

A brother and sister; always there, always interested, no matter where.  The only ones now who can really share the family stories from the early decades.

Sue.  Forever Girl, Forever Love.

And the boys.

They’ve all been included in there somewhere, all sharing responsibility in one way or another for the direction that’s been taken, the decisions that have been made.

And at the core of it all was me.

Formed, just like everyone and everything that ever existed, in the stars; from the cosmic dust and raw elements that 14 billion years ago the Big Bang spewed out across the universe and that’s been recycled, blasted further outwards repeatedly by supernova until, carried on the zephyrs of solar wind and pulled one way then another by the invisible fields of gravity the ingredients for me were all delivered to the same address.  A planet, third from a sun circling on an outer arm of the galaxy called The Milky Way, just one planetary post-code location amongst zillions of potential others.

Forged by a mind-boggling combination of ingredients, merging the cells and DNA of millennia through an equally awe-inspiring series of chemical and biological reactions that smoothly morphed a tiny embryo into a chubby baby and onwards into a laughing, jumping, snotty, sulky conscious youngster with some semblance of intelligence.  The evidence, provided by old Kodachrome slides and family folklore started to tell the story.

Moulded by family, friends and teachers throughout the energetic, elasticity of youth when obstacles were there to be vaulted, the mind there to be challenged and the body could do anything it was asked.  It became a clearer picture, the story had more substance; school reports, certificates, books, the memories, not just mine but those of friends and siblings, the music, the sport, and the ever-expanding archive of photos.

Finessed throughout young adulthood as relationships, responsibilities and realism required balancing with love, ambition, dreams and finances. The body was in prime shape but lacked the opportunity to exploit its advantage as career, children, leisure and a busy social scene gobbled up time.  There was no shortage of data; everywhere were the artefacts, the buildings, the people, the bank statements, the digital records and an absolute overload of stories, adventures and photographs.

Then whilst happily maturing as an adult over several decades the realisation slowly began to emerge, ruefully revealing that the biochemistry which had created such a brilliant vehicle had now edged, imperceptibly at first, but undeniably, into reverse gear.  It couldn’t run or swim as fast, it was not as strong or as flexible and maybe the mind wasn’t not quite as sharp as it used to be.  To keep it functioning anywhere near an acceptable optimum it is increasingly necessary to train it harder and maintain it smarter.  On the upside it’s apparent that more knowledge, wisdom and tolerance has accrued with the increasing birthday count although strangely, there’s an unfounded suspicion that something is interfering with time and space as the years seem to be passing with steadily accelerating speed. 

At least there been more time to reminisce, to reflect, to reinforce, to regret, to rejoice, to recover the memories, to sort the documents, to archive the photos, to …. write the story.

And that’s taken me to a point where the line can be drawn for now.

So let’s aim to enjoy the rest of the ride together, focusing on the day to day good stuff we can actually influence and experience, whilst maybe occasionally just reminding ourselves that we’re really only a few privileged microdots hitching a brief lift on a timeless journey across the universe.

  Time may change me, but I can't change Time