Endings and New Beginnings


Okay so it *may* have taken a little longer than I planned. I have finally gone and done it though. I have my very own self-hosted blog! Designed from scratch by little old me (using a theme counts as from scratch yes? well it does in my head…).

Say hello to……..Jumbled Rambles (link)

There is still some tweaking here and there to do. Actually who am I kidding? I will always be making the odd tweak. It is though ready enough to be opened up to invite people in. Some of my posts have moved over, many have not. It is a new beginning complete with the history that has bought me to this point today.

I have moved you my lovely followers over so hopefully you will find yourself there and continue along with me on this blogging journey.

I do feel a sense of loss at saying goodbye to this blog. It was where I cut my blogging teeth. Where my love of writing was reignited. Something that kept me going as my world disintegrated around me.

My Etsy shop Mr B’s Button Jamboree is still open. For now. I will close it soon. With sadness that it didn’t work out. With pride in myself for giving it a go.

Goodbye and see you on the other side.



Photo by Dominik Scythe on Unsplash

October Earworms

headphones next to album sleeves

When I wrote my first Earworms post back in August, it was a one-off. A curiosity. Nothing more. Seems like my brain had other plans though. Something in the examination of the near constant music I hear in my head, the whats and the whys hooked me. So I continue to pay attention, scribble them down and ponder.

Indulgent? Perhaps. Fascinating for no one other than me? Maybe. Am I going to carry on. You bet.

The songs I list here. These are the ones that stick. The loiterers. The ones that won’t let me go. That sometimes speak to the very core of me. Not the ones that flit in and out of my head like a constantly re-tuning radio.

They often seem to reflect my mood. Frequently low, melancholic with a side order of angst. Occasional bursts of enjoyment, love at the brilliance of life. Sometimes simply songs that say ‘hey-I-am-going-to hang-around-and-bug-the-hell-out-of-you-just-for-the-fun-of-it’.

Alongside the ever present thrum of Tom Hickox, the sounds in my head and occasionally (unfortunately for those present to hear) sung out loud last month included:

Kids by MGMT – I adore this song. I hear it, I smile…even when it is on repeat in my head. Which happens surprisingly often. For some reason this time, I found myself hooked by the lyrics ‘Decisions are made and not bought. But I thought this wouldn’t hurt a lot. I guess not’. Why I have no idea.

Sweet Disposition by Temper Trap – It kinda reminds me of me right now. Moving between long, slow, low moments and bursts of energy where everything feels alive. A recurrent earworm that dips in and out of me. That reminds me not to ‘stop till it’s over’.

Low by Cracker – a real blast from the past this one. Heard on 6 Music (best radio station ever!) and then in my head for the next week. From back in 1993, it bought memories from my misspent youth. Of dancing on sticky club floors, of feeling like I could do anything. Could be anyone. Of life before so much went wrong.

Shout Out to My Ex by Little Mix – rare example of a earworm that I don’t actually like. Annoyingly it is one of those songs I simply have to hear or see its name for it to be rampaging with glee around my head. If I hear it, it sticks. I couldn’t even look it up to link to it for the fear of what it would do to me. Every year Strictly Come Dancing dumps unwanted tunes in my head – why oh why did it have to do this to me though?

One thing I did notice from my taking stock of my earworms is the influence my recent rash of binge watching has had. Soundtracks have literally become my soundtrack.

I missed the little gem of zombie awesomeness that is In the Flesh when it was first shown on BBC 3. I discovered it whilst on a trail of seeing what Emmett Scanlan has been in (my current method of choosing what to watch. Follow the trail of an actor like I am walking the yellow brick road). Anyway I digress. The music of Keaton Henson lays amongst and between the episodes. His work is not for the happy amongst us. It is raw and melancholic, full of sadness and uncertainty. Much like me. My head flicks through his songs with relative frequency and is haunted by 3 in particular – You, Flesh and Bones and Charon (*trigger warning – song and video deal with suicide*).

My biggest binge watch has left me with some serious earworms and a desire to feel the beat of heavy bass in my bones again. I loved the UK version of Queer as Folk and gave into my curiosity as to whether the US would simply be a poor imitation that I wouldn’t want to watch. I was wrong. I love it. And I love the music. I had forgotten how alive ‘thumpa-thumpa’ music makes me feel, the deep urge it provokes to move my limbs.

I couldn’t decide whether to share the songs or the clips for the earworms from this show. I went with clips in the end as it is the show versions I hear in my head. Be aware that the show was a LGBT adult drama and you *may* not want to watch them at work …

You Look So Fine by Garbage – a brief yet intense earworm. A brief yet intense (and ever so slightly filthy) clip.

High School Confidential by Carole Pope – a poptastic tune, saucy lyrics and a scene involving a young man dancing and eventually stripping to his pants. Makes me smile, want to dance (though thankfully not to strip) and probably one of the most persistent earworms I have had for some time. Odd.

Absurd by Fluke – definitely the most filthy of the clips, this song though is awesome and its beats pulse through my head frequently. Turns out I have owned the album it is on for years yet never remember hearing it before. Foolish!

Earworms = mood at the moment. The lively ones that make me want to pull some shapes appear when I am not deeply low. Keaton is there the rest of the time. The likes of Little Mix…well I have no explanation for them. Much like my moods…

This will (hopefully) be the last post on this blog as my new blog is nearly up (exciting! and running. Fingers crossed we are nearly good to go.


Photo by Mark Solarski on Unsplash




Road closed signs

It has taken me many years to feel quite how much writing means to me. The release it gives to the jumbled tangled inner me.

Let’s not go into quite how many years…am kinda feeling my age at the moment and wondering where time has gone.

Anyway back to the writing…

The thing that has made me really understand its importance is how fragile I feel when at times like this I haven’t written anything for a while. Like I can barely hold it all within me.

I haven’t written here or in my ‘daily’ writing (which maybe should be renamed my occasionally-when-I-feel-like-it writing) for nearly 3 weeks. And I don’t like it,

So why am I doing this to myself?

Sometimes it is because I have too many ideas, too many things that I need to get out. One thing you don’t give me is choice. My anxiety makes me question everything. Which idea do I write about? Will I do a better post on this idea or that one? And so it goes on until I choose nothing. I run away from the tight feeling in my bones.

You see. This is one of my skills. I build up roadblocks because I am scared. Because life seems so damn tough and against me that I hide. I do nothing so I don’t fail. So I don’t have to face up to the effort and vulnerability that my choices may bring.

It is a skill I could do without.

My new blog has become one of these blocks. Yep that new site I started talking about way back in May. I was so excited at the idea of having a new blog, my very own self-hosted blog. And then this depressive episode hit. Along with so many things, my enthusiasm for my new site vanished. Progress has been painful. And it has stopped me writing. I want to save my ideas for it. So I do not move on with the blog and I do not write. I am stuck.

So I do nothing. My pen has stopped moving, my fingers no longer tapping.

It needs to stop. I cannot lose this. I refuse to lose this. Where is my sledgehammer? There are some roadblocks to be taken down.

1 week to 1 new website. Fact.


Photo by Jamie Street on Unsplash


16 Years On

If you must work,
Work to leave some part of you on this earth
If you must live, darling one.

Just live.

Keaton Henson – You

Yesterday was my transplant anniversary. Sixteen years ago I was battling to live. Without the bone marrow transplant, I would die from my leukaemia. Having it could have led to the same end game.

I never quite know how to feel on my transplant anniversary. There is too much tied up in that single day. So many memories, so many emotions. Regret at the life I have led since. Fear at what the future brings. Hate for the depression and anxiety it triggered in me. Joy at being here still.

Yesterday for the first time ever I forgot. I did not wake up in the morning with the anniversary the first thought pressing away at my mind. I did eventually remember and when I did, I mourned deeply like I haven’t for a long time.

People see me as a survivor, as someone brave. Most people seem to have forgotten that it ever happened to me. I never forget. Even 16 years on. I was not brave. It was not a choice. I had something living in me that would kill me. I could either let it or I could have treatment. That was my choice. Not being ill or surviving it.

People see the happiness of me still being here. Being alive.

And I do too.

I am here. I am alive when many others have not been so lucky. I breathe, I smile, I cry. I live. And that is more wonderful than I could ever put into words.

But I also see the scars. I see the physical ones when I look in the mirror. The scar from my hickman line, the loss of pigment in my skin and hair resulting in patchy skin and white eyebrows. I feel it in my hands that are so bone achingly cold sometimes.

I feel scars too. The fear when I think about the minute possibility of the leukaemia returning or the long term effects of my treatment. I mourn for the me I was before. I live every day with what it has cost me, the price I paid for it with my mental health. I carry the constant reminder that my brother (my donor) is no longer alive. That he could not save me again if it did return. The bittersweet knowledge that in some way he is still alive in me.

There are many scars. I wish I could forget them. That I had found the meaningful new way of life post-transplant that I see so often in inspirational stories about people who have, like me, faced death.

But I haven’t. I am still stuck trying to find my answer to dealing with my post-transplant life.

I am still here though. And I need to find a way to live this life

This is not sadness

black and white image of woman walking up stairs

Photo by Nic Low on Unsplash

The words ‘depressed’ and ‘depression’ get used too much. And at the same time not enough. Mental health is still not talked about enough, the support provided is still not enough and the understanding from society is still not enough.

These words though have been accepted better than any person with a mental illness. They have become part of our everyday language, become something less than what these words truly stand for.

People use them for when they are sad.

Depression is not sadness.

It does not go away after a good night’s sleep. You cannot make it disappear by ‘thinking positive or happy thoughts’. It is not a choice or someone just being miserable. It is not the feeling when your football team is not doing well or there is not enough money to go out for the night. It is not solved by ice cream, a big engulfing hug or the smiles of friends.

It is not sadness.

It will not simply go away tomorrow. It is bone crushing weight. A low that never leaves. Something that saps all things happy, positive or worthwhile out of you. It is emptiness. It is bleakness. It is despair. It is wondering whether you will ever feel that lightness in your body again. If you will wake up in the morning without that weight deep inside. It is loneliness. It is not being alone. It is not caring enough or seeing the point in bothering. It is questioning everything in your life. It is wanting to be out of your own skin. It is desperately seeking something, someone that will save you from feeling like this.

It is not an emotion. It is an illness.

Be careful using these words. Don’t take away from the weight they carry.

Everyone gets sad.

This is not sadness.