Imperfection Is Not Invalidation

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A recollection is, first and foremost, someone's story. That a memory may be imperfect does not invalidate the one who holds it, and denial by another does not disprove the event. On the Spencer revelations, and on why a recalled truth deserves more than a rebuttal.

A Book That Unsettles

The current serialisation, in the Daily Mail, of the 9^th Earl Spencer Charles Spencer's book "Swan Song: Diana, My Sister" is yielding quite interesting revelations about Diana, Princess of Wales, who died in 1997, and it has left the Royal Family reeling.

At the heart of the matter lies a phone conversation between the then Prince Charles and Charles Spencer. In the book, the earl recalls words the prince spoke to him in the days after Diana's death, to the effect of, "Rest assured, we'll forget her soon enough."

In response, the Palace has released a statement: "While we do not comment on books as a matter of principle, His Majesty is mindful that the pain of fraternal grief can cloud reason, affect judgement and colour memory in ways others do not recognise, even many years after such a loss."

Why Fabricate?

When I first heard this response, I did wonder why the earl would choose to fabricate such a statement and attribute it to the prince who is now Charles III. I am a supporter of the monarchy as an institution; at the same time, I appreciate that it is peopled by humans, just as you and I are, with all the vicissitudes of humanity in frailty, attitude, behaviour and conduct.

The conversation took place on the phone between two men who were, it seems, affected to differing degrees by the death of Princess Diana. The eulogy the earl gave at her funeral suggested there were issues between the Spencers and the Royal Family; I still remember the applause that rippled from the crowds outside into the church. I commend him for using that platform the way he did, even if a stuffy cohort felt it was improper.

Words That Stay

In my view, many conversations take place around us, and usually there is something within them that simply sticks; you never forget it. You hear it in your head, in the very voice in which it was spoken to you. For me, a medical professor stood by my hospital bed, after a cancer diagnosis, in September 2009, and one thing I remember him saying, amongst other things, was, "You probably have five weeks."

If I met that professor today and recounted that conversation, there is a likelihood I could be told that, in my pain, my reason had been clouded, affecting my judgement and thereby colouring my memory. Yet those words I heard clearly. Whether another might agree they were spoken is another matter entirely, and it does not invalidate my story.

The Survivor's Truth

This is not an abstract concern for me. I recognise the shape of this dispute, because I have watched the same manoeuvre used against me, where a memory is met not with denial of the facts, but with doubt cast on the one who remembers. I understand this better than I would wish to.

The same goes for other memories I recall vividly, whether it be child sexual abuse or serious emotional abuse, along with utterly reprehensible and unbelievable acts of cruelty meted out to me by people to whom I was a ward. I have heard denials, perhaps out of forgetfulness, or out of an inability to face the consequences of their actions, once committed in private, now brought to light. My experience and my story will not be erased by their blanking the event as though it never happened.

Any book I hope eventually to write as an autobiography will contain explosive revelations, and many of the nuggets already exist, scattered across almost twenty-three years of my blogs. The memories, even those from childhood, still play back like reels of film, each movement or sound relaying in emphatic slow motion, unmistakable cranial celluloid. I know what I lived through, how I felt at the time, and how some of it has affected me today.

When Memory Is Named

In the same vein, I am wont to believe Earl Spencer's recall of that phone conversation. A survivor does not owe you a convincing story; they can only tell you what they know. Whether you believe them, in the end, is entirely left to you.

Too often, a memory is renamed grief, pain, loss, misfortune or spite, or any other unfortunate experience that can be used to neatly dismiss it, or to cast doubt on its veracity. A memory may be imperfect, since we rarely have a recording to replay, but imperfection should never be mistaken for invalidation.

A Gemini Notebook AI Podcast on this blog

Contempt from the Ringside Seat

The Ringside Seat

Imagine having a ringside seat at a boxing match, not because you paid good money for it, but because you share such a close relationship with the boxer that no other person would be allowed to take that seat, even when you were not present to sit in it.

The person you are supporting is the challenger for a title, and through the rounds they are pummelled and battered. Every round portends a possible knockout, yet the challenger endures. They keep going, taking the blows but never being beaten, and the points tallied at the end of each round add up to hand the challenger the victory and the belt.

Then, in your telling of that encounter, you speak of bloodshot eyes, of mouth guards being knocked out, and of the uselessness of the challenger, insisting that you could put up a better fight and walk away unscathed. That becomes the report you file, neglecting the simple fact that your person was the victor.

Telling My Story

In the story of my life, about which I have written quite extensively, there are many strands of adversity and failure; but the successes and triumphs bookmark the telling of this story, so that it would seem strange to major in the misfortunes.

One narrative could have been given in this light. Akin has had such a blessed life. I have watched situations of failure, joblessness, two debilitating bouts of cancer, and challenges that seemed insurmountable.

And yet you would not look at him and think he had been touched by anything but the good fortune of scaling through life on sheer luck and almost undeserved providence. What an inspiring story he has, should he ever wish to talk about it.

Rather, of all that could have been said, what got relayed back to me was a mis-telling of my story: a conflation of events, suffused with half-truths, then given the veneer of a wastrel and ne'er-do-well, constantly down on his luck because of his irresponsibility.

There is a useful distinction to be drawn here between interpretation and misrepresentation. Two honest witnesses may weight the same night differently, one dwelling on the punishment absorbed, another on the resilience shown; but neither is entitled to erase the result. Perspective explains emphasis; it does not license fabrication.

There is every possibility, like the person invited to the ringside seat, to tell a different tale with the outlook of a curmudgeon incapable of seeing the good in anything. We own the filters of our perspectives on things.

The Four Pillars

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The architecture of trust, whereby your ringside supporter reports your story in the best light possible, the truth and not embellishment, the honest and frank assessment of what was observed, rests on four pillars: care, concern, consideration, and confidence. One could define those four Cs in the terms that follow:

Care: the baseline emotional investment a person has in your wellbeing.

Concern: the active protective instinct they feel regarding your vulnerability.

Consideration: the cognitive foresight to understand how their future actions might actually affect you.

Confidence: the secure container that the first three pillars create.

Blog: Thought Picnic: Confidences, Not Secrets

The Honest Retelling

An honest retelling, then, is one the subject can recognise, even when it is unflattering. You may wince at a true account, but you will not fail to find yourself in it. When the portrait no longer resembles the sitter, the fault lies with the painter.

Honesty also requires proportion. To recount the joblessness, the two debilitating bouts of cancer, and the seemingly insurmountable challenges, and yet omit that I am still here, still working, still writing, still standing, is not honesty; it is selective editing masquerading as candour.

When to Speak

With that in mind, it is difficult to understand how reality and retelling could diverge so far, so hurtfully, and so much to another's discredit, for reasons best known to the teller. When a portrait is this false, one feels there is little option but to confront it and to challenge the narrative set loose about you.

Invariably, if you have nothing good to say about someone, you are not obliged to say anything at all out of a need for conversation, small talk, spite, malice, or anything else. Your silence does not have to be bought; it is a quality of self-control to bridle your tongue.

Brian’s Point of View: Words Can Break Something We Thought Was Safe

A Gemini Notebook AI Podcast on this blog

Thought Picnic: When the truth you think it is, is not the truth at all

Dangerous Navel Gazing

We should be cautious of the sort of persecution complex that tends to give credibility solely to our own viewpoint and narrative about matters involving others.

I read a narrative at the start of the week that nearly made me snigger as I shook my head, because, although it was believed by the narrator, the truth was a considerable distance from where they were.

However, to resolve this issue, we need a proper sit-down to talk and an open mind to listen to what the other has to say, considering the facts, their perspective, and their experience.

Our prospective interlocutor lacks the emotional self-control needed for such a discussion. The level of self-absorbed self-indulgence makes that conversation almost impossible; those who have attempted it have been left utterly exasperated.

Breaking free and moving on

Amid a growing trail of unresolved conflicts, parental interference, and sibling rivalries, coupled with a tendency to seek refuge in victimhood without examining where one might have been at fault, it becomes a rather daunting task.

As it stands, everyone engages out of goodwill and good nature because that is the only fallback—apart from completely extricating oneself from the process—and that is what I resorted to, as the bond of trust had been utterly broken beyond repair.

Some might see this as making a mountain out of a molehill, and that’s fine with them, but if you lack the courage of your own convictions, then where does your conscience fit in, if you can be persuaded against your will to do things merely to satisfy others? As this line of thinking led to a conversation being aborted and not resumed, that inclination has not been compelling.

Your narrative is not the full story

To be accused of stabbing another in the back is to level a charge of treachery and betrayal, none of which was evident beyond egotistical entitlement conveyed with deft miscommunication bordering on disrespect.

The person claiming to be a victim was never genuinely one; yet, when allowed emotional blackmail, it was deployed, but I refused to be baited. The tendency for public lamentation with their version of the truth requires a wary reading.

We did not have another conversation afterwards. I gracefully excused myself to tend to my physical, emotional, and mental well-being. Other responsibilities faded into the background.

I am pleased that all proceedings went smoothly, based on the feedback I received without participating in any way. The knowledge that everyone will find their level and support, regardless of involvement, is also reassuring.

In conclusion, just because you possess a narrative does not mean you hold the full story, if viewed from all sides and exhausted through mutual discussions rooted in respect for one another. The truth is somewhere, but rarely in the loudest talker’s mouth.

Gosh! I'm giving writing advice

Maybe I can write

I inadvertently found myself giving some advice on writing the other day on my way to the hospital. I get commended more for my ability to write even if I rarely appreciate the talent I am supposed to have in expressing myself in words.

Then, after over 20 years of blogging, I might have earned a basic status from the act of practice, called experience that may help others along the way. I know there is no formula to it, but we tend to stress ourselves so much that we are left incapable of doing what we hope to do.

How I tend to write

Putting my views into basic tips, it can all boil down to the following:

• Writer's block happens to everyone, you're overthinking the piece like counting your chicks before they are hatched, and that’s why it seems quite hard to start.
• Discipline yourself to just start writing and the rest would flow. You can review it later to make the adjustments, clarifications, and editing later. And much later after it has been published.
• I have rarely written a blog the way I originally imagined it would turn out. In most cases, I have just a word or a phrase, I develop it like a seed and water it with words that follow.
• Trust the process, trust your skill, start the journey and follow the route wherever it takes you to any amazing destination you get to.
• You can abandon something for a while until the framework or ideas reform into something you can use. Do not beat yourself up for that.
• Only what you publish gets read, what is left in draft form is like opening a restaurant but serving no customers.

This may only work for some; you eventually emerge with your own way and style of writing that you begin to type, and your new tapestry of ideas begins to unfold. However, what you must never do is stymie or kill the urge to write. Your story matters, you never know who will benefit from your experience.

Thought Picnic: In time we travel in strange individuality

Using time for a purpose

Time is a journey that we traverse for which we know neither the length of it in the existence of things nor the sections that punctuate the start or the end of what defines a life.

Life is represented in birth, living, and death, events becoming milestones that govern the stories we get to tell. Indeed, I write a lot about telling stories, my own stories, the stories of interactions, and the stories that I narrate of my observations of others.

Relationships form a significant part of how these stories develop, some of these relationships thrive on nurturing with due consideration and others wither because selfish posturing pervades the context.

How it made you feel

Invariably, I curate my relationships in interesting ways. The ones in which I naturally belong that I did not initiate have suffered more because ties are generally of obligation rather than of interest. The influences from nativity into adolescence have laid a marker of unresolved trauma and consequences that leave one in a state of sad disinterest.

Yet, these are my roots, in need of understanding and exploration even as the outlook that becomes me suggests I am totally different from where I am supposed to have some affinity.

It is not what many may understand and there is a likelihood that some regret might greet the further passage of time for which I am wont to allow resignation than ruefulness. Emotions can be attached or detached, and this is within the model of feelings of direct or indirect abandonment that constitute the upbringing I enjoyed that others might recall differently.

With autonomy, you find your own posse in the partners and friends, acquaintances and networks, communities and involvements which are parts of your interests and give some purpose to living.

I will tell my own story

What no one can do is tell my story just because they are part of my story, they can choose to forget what I remember vividly or even misremember the details of how I was affected. It is not a gift many possess to read the mind of another or sense the internal turmoil that is the reflection of a situation.

This is what makes us unique, consanguinity hardly affords similarity in looks, character, personality, experience, or life. Having the same source is hardly indicative of the direction of flow, we diverge from the moment we draw breath and travel these storied journeys until the last breath.

When the books are closed, an account is made that constitutes a tribute of sorts, where is fondness, there is much to mourn and the absence of which leaves us untouched to the point of being unconcerned and indifferent.

What we do for the dead is more for assuaging the conscience of the living for the dead can do nothing for themselves. In the end, what they have sown in life bears fruit as to how they are revered. What is cultivated poorly yields a poor harvest, where there is no work, whatever the result, that is what is there to see.

Cancer: No journey is the same

Cancer humanises us

The news that King Charles III has been diagnosed with cancer brings a sense of shared humanity in its frailty, suffering, mortality, and survival. We are told it is not prostate cancer and it was discovered when he went in for a procedure due to an enlarged prostate. [BBC: King Charles diagnosed with cancer]

As a monarchist, a fellow human being, and a survivor of cancer, I can only wish His Majesty a full recovery and restoration to health and vigour. Yet, a cancer diagnosis can come with shock and a dire prognosis, in my experience, is not a battle to fight as only the real tools we have against cancer are faith and hope. Faith that the medicine, the miracle, or both work and the hope that there is a life after cancer.

This looks serious

I watched as what seemed like Athlete’s Foot on my left sole change from the dark blotches of discolouration into a painful weeping sore, I foolishly thought it would go away even as a little voice in me whispered this was cancer tugging at the heart of my life ready to thrust me off this mortal coil.

Eventually, I summed up the courage to go to my doctor demanding urgent attention as the pain had become otherworldly unbearable. The moment she saw my foot, she said, “This looks serious, I have to refer you.” Immediately, she was on the phone to the hospital and moving heaven and earth to get me in as soon as possible, and I got an appointment for the day after.

On observation by the consultant, he said, this is serious and is related to internal diseases, the internist would be in next week on Tuesday, it was Thursday, and I’ll be the first person he’ll see. I was given painkillers that killed nothing, a placebo would have done much better to manage the pain.

I have heard, then again, I know the pain of cancer, I was eventually on 4 different kinds of pain management, the most effective being a Fentanyl patch that I received a doubled dosage of after a few weeks because that pain just refused to fully subside.

We can treat this

Several analyses were conducted on what were fungating tumours that antibiotics did not seem to affect, having eliminated a diabetic cause, a deep biopsy of the lesions was done, and then the consultant came to my bed to give me the news on the 9^th day of my admission to the hospital.

These were his words, “We can treat this, but it depends on how your body can take the treatment, if you can tolerate it, you’ll be fine, otherwise, you probably have 5 weeks.” Two things I took away from this message, the advances in cancer treatment for Kaposi’s sarcoma were such that medicine had confidence, and the fact that mortality loomed 5 weeks away left you with a sense of the gravity of what a cancer diagnosis might mean to anyone.

At that point, I thought, I am going to survive this because I had by then navigated the Kübler-Ross Five Stages of Grief, skipping Depression and Bargaining to reach an Acceptance that I spoke within myself, “Akin, you have cancer, what next?” I was already looking beyond cancer and with that, I had my belief, my faith, and my prayers with the support of many friends and particularly neighbours.

Treating cancer, killing cells

I began my 1^st course of chemotherapy on the 5^th of October 2009, it was to be administered at 10:00 AM but delayed for 3 hours, I did not know that after the course I would be consigned to cytostatic ostracism as the cytotoxic component of pegylated liposomal doxorubicin (tradename Caelyx) meant no one should be in contact with any of my bodily fluids for up 5 days after chemotherapy. Nurses had to don personal protective equipment (PPE) to take blood or dispose of my urine. It was unpleasant, the treatment and the treatment.

As I tolerated the chemotherapy, more sessions were added, and I became more nauseous after every session three weeks apart that by the 5^th session, I was given novel anti-emetic medication to help keep my food down for the days after chemotherapy.

When I saw that a 9^th chemotherapy session was scheduled, I remonstrated to my consultant that I was planning on restarting my life from the 1^st of March 2010 when I was to have received the 8^th chemotherapy dose, they stopped with the 7^th which I took on Monday, the 8^th of February 2010 in the afternoon after I had attended the funeral service of my dear friend Dick van Galen Last who sadly did not tolerate the chemotherapy as well. We had the same oncologist.

By the 4^th chemotherapy dose, the cancer lesions had disappeared, and beneath the necrotised skin which had to be stripped off was fresh pink skin which however did not retain that colour.

What to expect

Each cancer journey is different, I count myself fortunate that the body of knowledge accrued from many who had no hope when medicine first encountered these cancers, others on whom experiments were conducted and never survived, then those for whom successes led to improvements and advancements that we further down the line took advantage of because medicine was confident and the treatments could be better managed for good outcomes.

• Do they know what you have?
• Do you understand it and how far gone is it?
• Is it treatable and what is the prognosis?
• What particular outcomes do you want, what options do you have, some might just want to go home than face gruelling cancer treatment? 
• How prepared are you in spirit, mind, and body for this journey?
• What is your source of hope in the midst of adversity?
• What support networks do you have to draw on?

Hope springs eternal, I believed and saw myself beyond the cancer and probably not much further, but each stage of progress gave the kind of assurance that there will be life after cancer and even if there was none, I would not have died in despair, hopeless, hapless, and without any sense of having lived well.

It is the most encouragement I can give to anyone facing cancer, it is a difficult process, it is part of the human story, some survive, and many do not, we are all grateful for life, but the biggest battle when faced with adversity is whether you can see yourself getting beyond it or life ending because of it.

There is no judgement in what you see, either way, your life and your story would be you lived, you loved, you touched and were touched, and the rest falls into the annals of timeless eternity, you walked this earth and will never be forgotten.

Thought Picnic: Whilst in the midst of life unkindly, I look up still

Keeping it to ourselves

Typically, we are advised not to talk much about going through issues, trials, and tribulations whilst within the mix of the experience as they make for better stories when told after the fact. In the secrecy of what we hold somewhat sacred to avoid shame, embarrassment, ridicule, or pity, we soldier on in life batting away in the hope that we make an innings of significance.

Yet, the life of man is made up of events too many to number, even as we highlight the exciting ones more and the depths receive nothing but silent contemplation where even ignorance or unfamiliarity limits understanding of how to get help or assistance through the hardest of times.

Live life for the better

At one point, I was even counselled to present my situation as more pathetic, the thought made me feel like a fraud, bad things happen to people regardless of where they are in life, in the depths of misfortune there is hope and blessing to consider, for as one has life, there is much more possible beyond the present circumstances.

Indeed, I find myself at crossroads, buffeted from every angle and needing to make some consequential decisions as there is what I would want to happen, what I want to achieve, where my heart wants to be, and options laid before me that challenge many frames of reference. Yet, none is that new to me, just that the apparent solutions seem less easy to access than they seemed to be before.

Make a story of you

This morning, I encountered three sets of new stories, an entertainer I knew from over 30 years ago, who as drag queen Lily Savage, performed at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern before they made a successful career on television and radio passed on [Paul O’Grady], the legal position that might suddenly render me homeless was deemed valid, and a titan in Pentecostal circles, who founded the Hillsong Church and has met with increasing misfortune was landed with a drink-driving charge [Brian Houston].

Whilst it gives many opportunities to reflect, the cycles of life are interesting; where there is an end, others are left to mourn and celebrate your legacy, however, whilst you live, you face the journey ahead of you, in Manchester, in a possible California, or in a likely Cape Town, there is a story itching to be told and I guess I am the man for all his experiences to tell another interesting story again.

For all that I have suffered with the bad experiences, it does not make me any less grateful for the wonderful blessings that have given me much to celebrate and that is what I would do, count my blessings as I step up and out to new experiences.

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Thought Picnic: When mountains seem immoveable

Why am I here?

There are times when you walk into a place and a sudden vehemence attempts to rise up within you to protest that you do not belong there. There is an otherness of the unfamiliar to which there is little relationship or understanding, the stuff you read about is usually, the sort of thing that exercises remoteness to your situation until circumstances change to give you experience.

The things I am good at, I think I know, and there are many other things I have rarely been able to adopt and bring into my frame of reference. Even where there is an entitlement, that ability to exercise access to such is at once distant and a niggling sense of failure. Things were not supposed to be like this, but things do happen and you do not have to be elected or selected to be the object of happenstance, it is the cycle of life.

What do I do?

What has sometimes threatened me and held me up is a kind of paralysis, the inability to fathom and find the wherewithal to act decisively in areas where there is little knowledge or total ignorance. These are places where for my failings and foibles, I probably need a bit more patience exercised from interlocutors as I am guided towards possibility and accessibility.

When humbled by the situation and humiliated by circumstances, you are quite easily marooned in the throes of turmoil, unable to concentrate and less able to accentuate. Progress comes to a standstill and confidence begins to look like a wonderful tool that was once effective but left to waste and somewhat ineffectual.

Where is the source?

When I look at it, I cannot answer why I am here, but since I am here, it is what I have to deal with. I have gotten to a point where I am no more praying for time, even as time is a constant rolling forward of participation engaged or reluctant, now, a miracle is something else, that is one thing I know I need, not just one, but many.

Even when I think I have run out of resources, strength comes, we never really know our own strength until a demand is made on it. I have to believe I am here to write a better story.

Thought Picnic: Great capacity and gratitude beyond adversity

The days of then

In a life that has had the experience of many things, I find in each day, a cause to be grateful and thankful for life, even when other things are not particularly going right.

The 1^st of March, 13 years ago would have been the 8^th session of chemotherapy after which I felt I was ready to restart my life with no inkling of what the long tail of cancer would entail. It transpired that I did not have to take that last drilling of cytotoxic medication because when I saw a 9^th session scheduled after I took my 7^th, my consultant and the oncologist decided not to proceed with the 8^th.

Just over 5 months of chemotherapy changed me, I had lost 25% of my body weight and though I had the willpower for a lot, there was little strength for much. My medical team felt I needed at least 6 months of recuperation, however, there were mounting bills and a mortgage I could not ignore. In the third week of March, I was back to work.

In adversity, see possibility

My team was very understanding, I was allowed to have Wednesdays off, and that meant, I had enough strength to work and recover. I look at that journey where if the chemotherapy did not take, I was given 5 weeks through the statistical information that people who were admitted in my state not lasting a decade after diagnosis and say I am exceedingly blessed.

It is the same spirit that informs my approach to many other hardships I have faced since then, part of which was selling up my apartment in Amsterdam at over a 10% loss, needing to return to the UK to start over again, along with a few downturns in employment prospects. There is hope and strength that powers me through adversity that keeps me full of gratitude.

A story shared

When I attended a support forum on how prostate cancer affects black men yesterday, I was surprised at how my own experience of cancer affected the participants, they all seemed to want to hear more and all I wanted to say was not to be afraid to have things checked out along with working with medical personnel for the best outcomes.

I thank God that I am here to share my experience and tell my story that even when you seem to be hopelessly staring death in the face with a stark and dire diagnosis, you can have hope and expectations to the point that when you look back the passage of time leaves in awe of the wonder of life. Shalom!

Thought Picnic: If only we knew the truth

A runaway train at speed

We can so soon be carried away with the media frenzy and the dimensions of how a situation is portrayed, and this along with the commentariat spawns a world of imponderables and the utterly incredible.

Sadly, this is rarely within the context of the event or representative of the truth, but once sensationalism has grasped a story by the scruff of the neck, it runs away at such speed that the truth probably has no chance of catching up and correcting the impression made.

A moment to regret

Sometimes, the principals in the story in a moment of indiscretion, a lapse in judgment, or a poor choice of words with a microphone jabbing at their lips inform a sceptical audience of their intentions only to have opprobrium heaped upon them. By consequence, their causes and mission sometimes suffer irreparable damage, even as reputational risk is heightened.

There was a news story way back in 1987 that became the hallmark of a rather distinguished career that was quite impactful for another two decades. Between a kind of desperation to achieve for the good of the many and for a renowned public speaker, words that attracted derision over praise became a negative by which the person now deceased is remembered by the wider world.

The benefit of the good

In my own opinion, I strive to believe in the best of people and understand that they have faults and failings that do not necessarily make them nasty and irredeemable people. An old saying I learnt from a preacher over 30 years ago, feeds my inclination to ‘have as much sense as an old cow, eat the hay and leave the baling wire.’

This is what allows me to engage with people I may not totally agree with, yet the same people have gems of wisdom and knowledge that can be quite profitable to me. However, having absorbed the stench of the prevailing news story which had become a controversial and trenchant part of his biography I never researched any further but took it at face value of the reportage.

If only we knew

In listening to a message today, I caught a portion where the event was related by a witness with insight into the motives, intentions, and rationale of the person in question. You then realise for every story that gets told about you, there is probably little that could be done to arrest the juggernaut careering down the steep incline of gossipy and salacious interest. Some battles like that cannot be won, but you should not for the noise abandon your determination and purpose.

I put it down to a moment of human weakness and an unscripted poor choice of words. If everyone knew, they might have been forgiven. Then again, when a story has grown hairy and swift legs, it is unlikely the truth would be allowed to get in the way of a story about to breast the tape of notoriety, ignominy, and obloquy. Selah!

Spare: Prince Harry's storytelling prerogative

The epilogue first

That Prince Harry has decided to tell his own story is his own prerogative, just because he is royal does not take away both his agency and his individuality. Prince Charles and Princess Diana gave primetime interviews and ghost-authored books too. In the same vein, no one is under any obligation to read his book, it is not being forced on anyone.

Then this and much more…

As a monarchist, I vow

Maybe I should start with a statement that I believe the constitutional monarchy of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland serves a purpose. For broader reasons, I would say I am both a monarchist and a democrat.

However, as a matter of necessity, all institutions need to adapt and undergo changes, some radical to remain relevant or they risk extinction. There is a difference between the institution and the people who for whatever period of time get to helm those institutions, be that the monarchy or government in the office of the Prime Minister.

The weaknesses of our democracy

Sadly, I cannot report that the crop of politicians we have today exhibit the qualities and abilities of leadership that can persuade me that ridding ourselves of the monarchy is wise at this time. The political parties especially the Conservative Party which once was a broad church of diverse representative views have evolved into one where there is only one persuasion and any deviation from that leads to expulsion.

That is what the Brexit situation wrought on the Tory Party at the 2019 election, they got rid of the reasonable and acquired the reactionary. Looking back over 12 years of predominantly conservative government, I think we can agree that the nations are not better off now than when they took power in May 2010, but I have already digressed from the purpose of this blog.

Changing is banging at the door

The state of our monarchy after 70 years of Elizabeth II calls for a review of how they exist and operate, their ability to adapt would require Solomonic wisdom with Churchillian persuasion. We have a clear line of succession, the King, his heir, the Prince of Wales, and the grandson, Prince George but they do not have the obscurity that conferred the mystique on the aristocracy that Queen Elizabeth started with, and there was much radical change in how the monarchy conducted itself over those 70 years.

To many, Queen Elizabeth was a symbol of stoicism, rarely did you see displays of emotion or expressions of character that might look interesting. King Charles pen wars at his assession that continued during his visit to Northern Ireland or the much-rumoured fiery temper of Prince William, the Prince of Wales, we know a bit more about Prince Harry, the Duke of Sussex and we would soon learn more still.

The press of the press

I doubt I have the spare change to buy Spare, the memoir by Prince Harry to be released on the 10^th of January 2023, but some revelations that have been shared would suggest there is a firestorm coming for the monarchy and I am not sure there is any dexterity to hand to manage the blowout.

What I know is that Harry and Meghan have had the most unfavourable British press that is followed closely by the Australian version, we have been swamped with stories and regaled with tales, there had to be a time when the people affected could talk back and clear the air.

It began with their exodus to America and the Oprah interview, however, people have taken sides and formed whatever impressions about the couple that the entrenched are totally unpersuadable about a different narrative. That the sides could be along racial lines is something I have observed too.

The whoredom of the press and the royal family

If we go back to when Princess Diana was alive and had issues with the press, it is sometimes believed it was the pursuit of the paparazzi that contributed to the automobile accident where she lost her life in Paris, one can say the press is unrelenting in its quest for celebrity tittle-tattle, you need to be in a totally different domain to escape it.

When reading up about Franz Welser-Möst who conducted the Vienna Philharmonic New Year’s Concert, he alluded to the relationship between the press and the Royal Family and his time as the conductor of the London Philharmonic “Look at the press about the royal family,” he noted. “There’s no other country where the press is just so weird as it is here.” That was in 1995, you can draw whatever conclusions you want from that. [Los Angeles Times: Conductor Battles Burden of Success]

Angry black woman loading…

One widely reported excerpt from Harry’s leaked book was one related to a confrontation between Prince William and him, captioned below:

Describing a confrontation at his London home in 2019, Harry says William called Meghan “difficult”, “rude” and “abrasive”, which Harry calls a “parrot[ing of] the press narrative” about his American wife.
[The Guardian: Prince Harry details physical attack by brother William in new book]

I do not know Meghan Markle, but as a once successful and independent woman who married into the royal family, she had her work cut out. That beast called love would put you in unintended situations for which you have to battle for your survival.

Yet, as is indicative of a monarchy at risk of being found moribund, the Queen asked her most trusted aide from a certain age and time to help Meghan adjust to entering the royal family, this without considering the same lady failed to help Lady Diana Spencer integrate well too. Yes, that Lady Susan Hussey, has met a shockwave of opprobrium and is on a crash-course on engaging with diversity in these times. Having a stiff upper lip is not enough for getting on with life, regardless of status, means, or privilege. We have long left the war years, and nostalgia is keeping us back.

However, back to William’s view of Meghan, he said, she was difficult. Well, ask any black woman who has had trouble in any settle because they have dared to have an opinion, initiative, a voice, or exuded a sense of independence. The first loaded word to castigate them is difficult and the straight journey to an impossible angry black woman has already begun. Meghan never had a chance, the moment she gained the epithet of difficult and the long tail of descriptions that followed.

Tell your own story

The difference between Prince Harry and Prince William is Prince Harry was ready to stand for his relationship, and stand up for his partner and wife. That cannot be said of how Prince William first broke up with Kate Middleton before he saw the sense to rekindle their relationship and marry her.

Blog - A welcome but unprincely separation (April 2007)

That Prince Harry has decided to tell his own story is his own prerogative, just because he is royal does not take away both his agency and his individuality. Prince Charles and Princess Diana gave primetime interviews and ghost-authored books too. In the same vein, no one is under any obligation to read his book, it is not being forced on anyone.

However, if anyone has readily consumed whatever the media has said about Harry and Meghan without disregarding the apparently cosy relationship between the press and the royal family that offers access and patronage to portray the principals in the best light whilst reducing others to inconsequence, then it would only be fair to see what Harry has to say.

Finally, until we have met those persons and made their acquaintance to the point of knowing who they are, what we have is a media persona, a depiction crafted by benevolent and malevolent agencies over which the persons concerned gain or loss benefits and have a portrayal they have little control over. Harry and Meghan have chosen to make their lives in America, and they need to earn a living with the skills, opportunities, and even the privilege of birth. I bid them Godspeed.

Pope Benedict XVI - A man in a modern-day pyramid

As man is storied

Pope Benedict XVI was a man that represented the frailty of our humanity, for all flesh shall perish. That is nature as it has been from long before we recorded history I note that Roman Catholic Church is the longest continuously running political and religious organisation, what she documents in her archives, some unsearchable of the mysteries of our human race would intrigue those who eventually have liberal access to those libraries.

When Pope Benedict XVI took the papacy at the end of the long reign of Pope John Paul II, much as he was highly influential as the Dean of the College of Cardinal and Prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, he was also an old man of 78 and for almost 8 years he bore the burden of his ministry with the strength he could muster and the weaknesses that plagued him in the many domains where he wielded influence from within himself to the broader church and global political organisation he led.

As man is frail

When he decided he could no do more, he resigned from the papacy and took on the title of Pope Emeritus sequestering himself at the Mater Ecclesiae Monastery in the Vatican Gardens as Pope Francis succeeded him at the age of 76 and he presided over the solemn funeral mass of his predecessor, also now a frail man of 86 years of age.

Of men of advanced years, there was every possibility that the current pope could predecease the man he succeeded, my cultural heritage of the Yoruba celebrates the lives of people who live to a great old age at death, even as congratulations are offered to those who survived them. Our mortality is ever present in the course of our existence.

The concerns that a pope in retirement would inadvertently interfere with the organisation of his successor were not borne out. Pope Benedict XVI devoted himself to writing, studying, and prayer with the occasional snippets of news about him, what he was up to and his health condition.

As man is mortal

In his death, at the age of 95 on New Year’s Eve into 2023, there became how to celebrate a cardinal and a pope, as he was not the Sovereign of the Vatican City, apart from officials attending from Italy where the Vatican is situated and Germany, where he was from, any other country representatives would have attended in a personal capacity.

For the wealth and influence of the man and his standing, along with the offices he held, “As per tradition, the Pope Emeritus' pallium, coins and medals minted during his pontificate, as well as a "Rogito" or Deed summarizing the highlights of his papacy, were also placed inside the casket. He was buried in a triple coffin of caskets of cypress wood, zinc, and oak. [Vatican News: Deed of Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI placed in casket]

As man is mummified

The zinc casket is welded shut with seals and a plaque, but for the man who ruled over men, they see no corruption for they neither return to dust nor are given to ashes, they become mummies of posterity, an eternal reliquary of bones with hair and leathered skin.

It makes one wonder if the crypts of royalty or the papacy very much like the pyramids of the Pharaohs might be discovered millennia from the present time will reveal to that civilisation once again the treasures of antiquity exemplified in the lives of significant persons of our times only for them to be plundered in the name of archaeology for the new museums that as human beings we visit to gawp at artefacts with intrigue.

As I watch a replay of the funeral Mass, the solemnity with the obscurity of Latin clouds the ceremony with mystery and awe. Pope Francis was wheeled in on the chair, and we all at another funeral find that moment to reflect that the times of man are just for a season. The celebration of our lives is informed by how we lived and for all that we might have done, our stories are buried in a summary and our graves have the briefest of inscriptions; our names, the year of our coming and the year of our passing.

Blog - Academic theologians creating Islamic disquiet

As for man, his days are like grass; As a flower of the field, so he flourishes. For the wind passes over it, and it is gone, And its place remembers it no more. Psalm 103:15-16 (NKJV)

Thought Picnic: In my cave of safety?

I wasted many things

“Then said I, Woe is me! for I am undone; because I am a man of unclean lips…” [BibleHub Isaiah 6:5 (KJV)] These were the words of Isaiah the prophet as his inadequacies became evident in the realisation that he had seen God.

For one as I with many gifts unused and considerable potential unrealised, blessed with the grace and favour of fortune and opportunity that I have many times not appreciated, I find myself so literally undone by situation and circumstance, yet I should maintain a broader perspective.

A sorry story told

As a mere mortal with issues and vulnerabilities, feelings and imperfections that can stand out well beyond where you want expression, the vicissitudes of life can be quite impactful as you continually berate yourself of inadequacy and encourage yourself of possibility.

For a story tries to speak itself with volume that there was a time you could do this or another when you never had to think of that, facility and provision were present to do all that you desire and much more from that which you have acquired, but for the moment in which you reflect, you have nothing to deflect.

A longing for the hills

In the days of the seasonal chills,
As nothing is ringing from the tills,
You ingest with routine your nightly pills,
And wonder how to address the growing bills,
Whilst hoping you can dream away the ills.

Like the prophet, there is a humiliation of humility that strips you of the confidence that once betrayed your innate abilities, your voice is lost in the cacophony of the silence that envelopes you, the shell in which you find refuge is almost like you are caught in the helplessness of resignation, you want to lie down believe it is just a bad dream.

Come, come, come away

You cannot despair of the cycle of life, the turns that bring experience and lesson, for which knowledge of the past is not necessarily preparation for the present. How sometimes we could have seen the future better, but where would life’s excitement come from if you knew before it became known?

We all have our caves that little place that is hardly comfortable but generally safe, you can lick your wounds in secret, cry yourself to exhaustion in solitude, stir your spirit with some resolve and then rise to start the journey to where home and love abides. It takes time, time is the sting of realities ticking away like a clock, never really beginning to ever deeming to continue without an end.

Congratulations on 19 years of blogging

When writing brings freedom and joy

It is amazing how when we look back and realise how fast time moves, you can notice this in the growth of other people’s children but in this case, it is about Akin Akintayo celebrating 19 years of blogging.

My introduction to these blogs only started a few years ago and ever since I have been captivated, inspired, and encouraged by his blogs. Akin has an amazing way of storytelling regarding various topics.

Meeting Akin for the first time in South Africa was a scary experience for me – I introduced myself to him and all I said was ‘Hello’ and from that moment we started a conversation and during this occasion, I could tell that this man has a certain greatness about him, and just listening to his story I was fascinated wanting to know so much more about him.

As time would have it, Akin and I developed a friendship, and we made plans for more to happen and true to his word, we have met up on several occasions and with each rendezvous always something so much more to learn about him and discover interesting facts and opinions about the man.

Then came the introduction to his blog profile. Wow! there was so much information and topics of great interest, at that moment I remember being inspired to try my hand at publishing blogs, I still try to write but nothing as articulate and clear as how Akin does it.

Akin can write about anything, inspired even by one single word he has an amazing gift to build up a blog of interest, at times funny, at other times very deep and serious but all in all, Akin has a gift.

All who follow Akin’s blogs will agree with me that we now await the publication of his book. When reading many of the blogs one does realise that all the material is there for what I think would make for a bestseller.

On this day 19 years ago, Akin set out to share with us all his experiences and his thoughts regarding so many issues in the form of blogging.

Today, I want to thank him for being constant in his blogging and thank him for the man that he is – Smart and Intelligent, Motivating and showing so much courage through all that he has experienced and all that he does and for many more years to come, continue to bring us more insight that enlightens and encourages us to be better.

Congratulations and may you never tire in sharing your great work with us all.

Postscript

It has now become a tradition for Brian to write the anniversary blogs for which I am very grateful. In fact, this time, he promised to deliver his copy 48 hours ahead of schedule and since time is a concept of amazing intrigue in Zimbabwe, he did excel himself and somehow, I found his blog in my inbox this morning.

19 years of blogging, sometimes prolific and at other times lazy may not be a measure of anything apart from it being a kind of consistency at a leisurely pursuit. The promise of my book is in the works as I am collecting thoughts in writings and speech-to-text dictations, I am not sure of how it would come together.

Brian sporadically blogs at Brian’s Point of View and can be followed on Twitter at Brian07j.

Thought Picnic: How still I see me lie

Met in thee

There is a calmness that you find to gain some refuge from concern and worry, something that registers from that line in O Little Town of Bethlehem that speaks of the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.

Thee being the birth of our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ as we countdown to the celebration of Christmas, the Sunday past being the Fourth Sunday before Advent. It goes without saying that I am a man of faith, a spirituality that sustains me through times that do fill me with the dread of insufficiency and incapacity, that I fold into a shell of seclusion.

Met with constraints

There are things I would have been quite forward to do that my hand has been shortened by circumstances and situations that exacerbate fears, but all those are held at bay by hopes buoying confidence that change will come and change things so radically.

Occasions have come and gone to which an appearance was difficult, and support could not be provided, then many would not know why, it is just that times failed the opportunity and not for the want of trying.

Personally, there was pain, deep pain, but life teaches us only to stretch to what is available and not beyond the resource to the point of suffering, you can only work with what you have.

Met on experience

Life presents many cycles, and the recurrence of events and experiences does not offer the same solutions, you have to learn anew and then commit that to new experiences, learning is a continuous process for which in my own life, I am grateful that wherever I have been set in my old ways, I find that I am upset into new ways.

Realities are another thing, seeking assurances in a turbulent world where trust is finite that you are questioning yourself about what you have been assured of. This is where communication and the ability to do it well to elicit the information you need matters. How to turn sleepless nights into restful nights full of sweet dreams and the awakening to the freshness of a new day, energised to live and thrive in the moments you are given.

Met to befriend

Most of all, friendship and love are at the heart of the calmness, in love, there is someone to lean on whose voice is indeed a strength and stay much as they rarely realise who and what they mean to me. In friendship, is one that reads me better than I can read myself, whose support is unflinching and ever-present.

From relationships past comes structure and symbiosis, we seem to exist for each other, cheering on with encouragement and praise, we find the words of comfort to weather the challenges that waylay us in our pathways. This is not the stuff you take for granted, it is what you cultivate so that you are not left alone absent of people who cherish you and care deeply for you. The world I live in is about relationships and that is how even in the darkest hour, the dawn would soon be upon us.

It shall pass, it never stays still, for the motion of time is always the harbinger of change bringing us to the living splendour of dreams coming true beyond anything we could have ever countenanced. I strongly believe I have a better story to tell.