25 of 50

He was hardcore, army through and through. Guns, helicopters, scout cars.

She was beautiful, long blond hair and frilly dresses.

They were alike in other ways.

It was summer in the late 1970’s and under a kitchen table with a blanket over it, love was blooming.

She’d show him all her different outfits, he’d show her his collection of weapons.

In other rooms in that same house more serious things were happening.

But under the kitchen table, Action Man was about to take Sindy for a ride in his Scout Car.

He figured he could go out the back door, down the steps and up the back garden path. They could have a picnic when they got to the end of the path, on the lawn under the apple trees. Their humans could have orange squash and penguin biscuits.

Ultimately their love would lead to a marriage, but they would be separated when school started again.

In that late 1970’s summer, my Grandad was dying. He was being nursed by my Mum, Grandma and Aunt. My cousin and I were perhaps oblivious to what was going on, we were being indulged and allowed to play. Basically allowed to amuse ourselves, that summer it was all about Action Man for me and Sindy for her. Together their adventures were second to none and only limited by our imaginations. Ultimately Action Man and Sindy married that summer, but that was to be short lived.

To this day we still talk about that summer, we were allowed to ride up and down my Grandma’s front drive on a neighbours pedal go-kart, walk on the golf course, build forts in the woods, and of course play with Sindy and Action Man.

Looking back I think we were being encouraged not to engage with the serious nature of what was going on in my Grandad’s room. I do remember going in to see him one morning and he was surrounded by many different machines and bits of medical paraphernalia. At the time I had no idea what all of these things were, but now with a more adult set of knowledge I could name most of them, and none of them are particularly good news if you’re hooked up to them.

Of course the overriding memories of that time are of fun. I think being allowed to have those good memories of a time that was pretty miserable for the adults is a sign of good parenting. We weren’t (as far as I can remember) lied to about what was going on and ultimately when my Grandad passed away my Mum was quite honest about what had happened – I can still remember her telling me that to this day too. But I think because we were preoccupied with our play, we weren’t asking any awkward questions either.

The Action Man above is that Action Man too. I found him when I was clearing out my parents loft. I suspect my Mum kept him for me to pass on to my kids. That won’t happen and I honestly don’t know what to do with him, his vehicles and weapons. For the time being he’s staying in the trunk I found him in, with the rest of his platoon.

I wonder if Sindy is still around, I’ll have to ask my cousin.

Thanks for reading.

If you’ve been forwarded this post by a friend or clicked on a social media link this is Fifty from Fifty, which is where I am recounting 50 things – memories, stories, musings, missives from my half-century of life, and we are at the halfway point, so from this point forward there will be more stories behind us than in front of us, so please do check out the archive.

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24 of 50

Once again welcome to new subscribers, it’s great to have you here. Please do check out the archives, as this is Fifty from Fifty, which is where I am recounting 50 things – memories, stories, musings, missives from my half-century of life, and we are nearly at the halfway point, so soon there will be more stories behind us than in front of us.

If you’ve been forwarded this post by a friend or clicked on a social media link and like what you read but aren’t a subscriber, then it would be great to add you to the weekly list, simply click on the button below.

In 2015 I became self-employed, after twenty plus years of being someone’s employee. In some ways it’s better working for yourself; in other ways not so much. When I first took the step another self-employed consultant who’d done some work for me, told me that – “It’s all feast or famine” – basically meaning that you’re either working flat out or not at all. Fundamentally there are times that I’d say that adage is true, but also times where you have just enough work to get by, but are wondering whether you have enough to continue being a viable business, next week or next month.

The one thing I don’t have any more is a boss, and I am no longer anyone else’s boss. I miss neither of these things. I’d like to think that I was a good boss to my employees, and beyond just my direct reports, but I guess you’d have to ask them to get an honest assessment. I do however know that I have had bosses that have been both good and bad.

It’s funny, when I started writing this I tried to note down a list of all the bosses or line managers that I’ve had. The outliers were easy to remember, those that were either very good or very bad, those who occupied the centre ground were much harder to remember. There were also some who on the surface appeared to be good, but actually were probably looking more at their own careers than mine.

Some were enablers and promoters, others blockers and idea thieves, some were empowerers and others micromanagers.

I had one who was an outright bully, and ultimately I arrived at the decision to leave the organisation who I worked for because of him.

All of my bosses shaped my own managerial style though. I was determined to be as good or better than my good managers and never to exhibit or behave in the ways that the bad ones did. A pretty good ethos, which served me well.

After seven years being self-employed I’m occasionally asked if I miss being a manager. The short answer is I don’t miss the pay and rations bit – the approving leave requests, signing off on expenses claims and all the other admin tasks that are a necessary part of being a manager. I do however miss the coaching and training elements, empowering and support staff and watching them grow. There are former employees who I see in their careers now that are successful and great managers in their own right and I maybe had a small part in helping to get them where they are and that’s a good thing.

Would I go back? Maybe. Never say never. I’d like it to be for the right reasons though and not because self-employment became a total famine and I had no option. It would be nice for it to be a choice for the right reasons and not because I had to do it.

Thanks for reading.

Next week we hit 25 of 50, the halfway point. I have a post I’ve been saving for a special occasion, an unusual love story from many years ago. Until next week!

23 of 50

Welcome to my newsletter where I am recounting 50 things – memories, stories, musings, missives from my half-century of life. If you have been forwarded this from a friend or come to it via a social media link and would like to receive it directly each week then you can do so by clicking the link below. It’s completely free and will end when I’ve reached the 50th thing – what happens after that I haven’t decided yet, but I won’t be keeping the email list for any other purpose.

Welcome to new subscribers that have joined this week.

The headteacher at my primary school was a big influence on me. I can’t cite any specific examples of things that he did for me individually, it was more his general demeanour and attitude. He was firm but fair – always, and he treated everyone equally. He would also step out of his role as an authority figure to join in the fun. Whenever it snowed for example he would come out of the school and allow himself to be target for as many snowballs as we could throw at him while he ran a complete lap of the school playing fields. I think he used to count on the fact that he could probably run faster than we could, whilst at the same time trying to make and throw snowballs.

As I moved on from my time in his school we stayed in touch. He retired the year that I left, but of course he stayed active in many different things. When I went to college in the same town as he lived I visited him on a couple of occasions, and we chatted over tea and biscuits.

Sadly he passed away when I was in my late 20’s / early 30’s (I think), I can’t find or remember the exact date but I do have a very vivid memory and funny story of attending his funeral and I think it would have made him smile, so I’m going to tell it here.

His funeral service was held in a very small country church, on a very hot and sunny summers day. It’s one of those days when the last thing that you would have wanted to have been doing would have been wearing a suit and tie, but obviously that’s exactly what we were doing. I’d gone to the funeral with my Dad, as he had also known him too and wanted to pay his respects.

As you do for these things we’d allowed plenty of time to get there just to avoid getting stuck in traffic, of course this meant that we arrived early and rather than sit in a hot car we decided to go and stand under one of the large yew trees in the churchyard in the shade. We were trying to stand there respectfully, sort of “at ease” but no too casual. After a few minutes the vicar arrived, and seeing us standing under the tree came over to speak to us.

“I see you’re trying to keep cool.”

“Yes, bit too warm to sit in the car.”

He nodded. “When’s the body arriving?”

We were a little slack jawed at this, thinking surely that he would have better knowledge on that front than us. “Sorry?” I asked.

“The body. You are with the undertakers are you not?”

“No. I’m a former pupil of the deceased.”

I think that’s the only time I’ve seen a Vicar blush, and I can understand why he might have thought that two men standing in his churchyard wearing black suits and ties might have been undertakers, but I suspect that’s probably the only time he ever made that mistake.

The service was lovely and unsurprisingly very well attended by many friends and family and other former pupils. I’ve been looking to see if I could find anything on-line but there doesn’t seem to be anything published about him, despite knowing that he was in local papers many times.

I’ve also never taken my fledgling career as an undertaker any further. I’m not sure whether being able to look the part is a flattering compliment or not, but it’s not a vocation that I have any intention of following any time soon.

Thanks for reading.

22 of 50

Firstly a quick welcome to new subscribers, thanks for clicking that link that allows me to drop a missive into your inbox once a week. If you enjoy the writing here then I also post (less frequently) at my website, where you can also subscribe. If you want to check that out here’s a link. You can of course unsubscribe at any time by clicking on the link in each post, but obviously I hope you’ll stick around.

If like me you have parents who grew up during and immediately after the Second World War you’ll probably be familiar with the phrase: “Don’t throw that away it’ll come in handy one day.” Very much a way of life to a time when resources were scarce or expensive and secondhand or reuse / recycle was very much more en vogue than it is today in our supposedly enlightened but still disposable society. Clothes where handed down from generation to generation until they did literally fall apart, and then tins of buttons and zips were kept from the clothes as they were relegated to dusters. Bicycles were passed on or sold secondhand when your legs got too long for the frame or cannibalised for parts or go-karts.

Ultimately though this resulted in a store of things being accumulated, and this is when perhaps “it’ll come in handy one day”, drifts unintentionally towards hoarding. Having to clear my parents house really brought this home to me. The boxes of “stuff” that served no real purpose but they had obviously kept because it might at some point in the future. My Dad in particular had hobbies that varied widely and liked to keep current. Everything from amateur radio to photography and all points in between. I was able to pass on his amateur radio equipment and sell some of his cameras and other kit, but some of it was considered obsolete and no one wanted it. I kept a few items myself but ultimately some had to go and be recycled.

My Mum collected elephants. Fortunately she never opened the elephant sanctuary, but she has a lot of carved wooden elephants, some china and others of different material. I don’t know what to do with these, I can’t bring myself to throw them away or donate them to charity so at the moment they’re mine to look after. She has some of them with her in the care home where she now lives but there are too many for her to have all of them in her room (although the devil in me would like to see the look on the care staff faces if I took them all in to her one day when I visit).

Having to do all this sorting of their stuff has also made me conscious of how much of my own I have stored. Not all of it really having a purpose. I’ll never be one for a minimalist lifestyle, although I doubt that if I lost all my possessions tomorrow that I would replace them like for like. Of course I have accumulated more stuff sorting through my parents. I didn’t adopt a one in one out policy or anything like that, although what I have accumulated since has mostly been on the basis of sentimentality more than anything else. Ultimately I currently have no heirs, so although someone will have to sort through my stuff when I’m gone the burden won’t necessarily fall on a relative, but I do feel the need to do some serious decluttering as we head towards our house move. I’m sure there is stuff in our loft that was put there when we moved here and hasn’t been touched since, so I don’t intend to move it again, at least not any further than the recycling centre or ebay. I want to be much more intentional about what I keep going forward. There’s nothing wrong with keeping things that are of sentimental value or can be genuinely reused, but I don’t think I need 3 tins of buttons and 2 tins of zips.

Thanks for reading.