Bye Roger

I’m stood holding a plate of snacks. Nothing out the ordinary there, except when you’re stood on stage. Not only that but you’re wearing a dress and lets not forget you’re behind a fat man who’s only wearing boxer shorts and an Elvis wig. Who’s singing to the music of “In the Ghetto”, a song about food and the title aptly changed to “Chocolate Gateau” It may sound like some bizarre dream. Except it’s not, it’s a moment from one of the greatest and scariest nights of my life.

It was a part of the one off comedy night my friends and I put on. The man dressed up as Elvis was Roger. There were four of us, myself, Roger, Rich and Neil, with a few additional members that were Neil’s friends. However the core four had all met at college doing a media BTEC. We all shared a love for comedy, and got on immensely this led to Roger wanting to group together and start writing and performing sketches.

Last week I got a message from Neil telling me he had some bad news and could I ring him as soon as possible. When I called him, he proceeded to tell me that Roger had died. I was shocked; I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. After I ended the phone call I told my girlfriend the news a broke into tears. I’d never really had what people call “best friends” until I met Roger, Neil and Rich. Those three were really different. We were all different ages (Roger being the oldest) yet we all gelled incredibly well. When we worked together on our comedy it felt like something big could happen.

As the comedy night drew closer Roger became very supportive of me, noticing I was struggling with confidence. Often giving me a chance to back out of performing stand up but at the same time telling me I could do this. Just as I were about to go onto stage Roger took me aside and told me to go for it, telling me that no one could take this moment away from me, that it was my chance. When I got back off stage he was there for me asking if I was alright. But that was Roger all over; he always looked out for his friends. When he found out my girlfriend was pregnant he was very supportive and told me that I could talk to him anytime. Until many people that offered this support, Roger’s felt genuine.

Yesterday I attended his funeral. It was a hard time at first, seeing his friends and family all deeply missing him, having to come to terms that he really was gone. After the funeral everyone gathered in a function room of a nearby hotel. We all watched a DVD of Roger’s media work and comedy, it brought smiles to everyone’s faces. My friends and I all agreed that it didn’t seem real and it felt like he’d jump out at any moment. It seems hard to accept he’s gone. Maybe it’s because his death was so sudden or because he was such a funny genuine guy. I’ve got a lot of good memories of Roger, but it hurts to know that there won’t be any more. That I’ll never hear him impersonating Brian Blessed ever again or listen to him talk absolute drunken crap at 100mph. My biggest regret is that Chocolate Gateau wasn’t recorded, as I felt it was just incredible, funny and surreal. I feel privileged to have known Roger, even more privileged to have worked with him and have him as a close friend. I hadn’t seen Roger in around five months, but when I found out he’d passed away, I instantly knew I’d miss him for ever.

Miss you fella

Here is a link to a sketch from our comedy show, I hope you enjoy it.

 

Growing up fast

It’s hard to think that this time last year Julia and I were excitedly gathering together baby stuff, now we’re busy buying 9 to 12 month clothes – when you’re waiting you get loads of 0 – 9 months clothes either yourself or as presents then you suddenly realise you have not 9 to 12 month clothes – or getting excited over first Christmas and Birthday. The past eight and a half months have gone so fast and with that our baby girl is growing up so fast it’s quite saddening sometimes when you realise she won’t be tiny forever. It really does feel like yesterday that I was handed her and held her for the first time. The past nine months have just been a complete blur, you look back at pictures and you’ve forgotten how tiny she used to be.

She started crawling several weeks ago, when she was trying to crawl it was hard watching her get really frustrated in not being able to work it out, then when she starts its so tiring having to chase her everywhere! She is so full of energy and hardly sleeps during the day, she just wants to be about seeing, playing and communicating with everything and everyone. She really is a handful, but I feel really blessed to be able to say she is mine.

I think parenthood is one of the most wonderful rewarding things you can ever do, nothing cheers me up more then when Amélie laughs or smiles. Watching her explore, play and try to understand everything around her, then when she goes to bed you can’t rest as you want to watch her sleep. We took Amélie to Big Fun the other day where they have soft play areas for children of all ages, in the 0 – 4 years section there is this machine that blows balls into the air, Amélie loved trying to grab the balls and kept on trying to get more even when she had some. There were also ball pools to bury her in, she loved being hidden under the balls then sending all the balls around her flying with a few quick arm movements.

Playing with the ball machine

My hair looks like the infamous Something about Mary scene

Amélie in the ball pool

Hidden in the ball pool.

Coming to terms

My father died of cancer just over eleven years ago, I was aged nine at the time. I struggled most of my life to come to terms with the fact that he’d gone, especially around the start of this year when my daughter was born. It was hard to take that he wasn’t around to cherish his granddaughter.

Sikhism teaches that we are reborn thousands of times, every time we’re reborn our soul goes into another body, the soul has to evolve. When it is evolved enough it will be reborn as human. If the soul keeps on evolving it will eventually result in a union of God. If the soul does not perform righteous deeds it will continue to cycle in reincarnation. This means that to Sikhs the body is nothing more than a host to carry the soul to its next life. Cremation is the ideal method of disposal with the ashes immersed into the nearest river. An actual grave and worshipping of the dead by gravestones etcetera is discouraged, because as just explained the body is just a shell.

When I used to visit my fathers grave I didn’t feel like I was with him, I think my family feel like they are with him, my sister talks out loud to him as does my mother. However I never really felt like this and when I did do it, it was only because I felt like I was meant to. As the years past I visited his grave less because I was busy when my sisters went or something else prevented it, the more this went on the more I ached inside feeling like I should go, however at the same time I felt like I shouldn’t have to go, one of the main reasons for this is because of a famous poem which was read out at my fathers funeral.

Do not stand on my grave and weep
I am not there I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints in the snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am a gentle Autumns rain
When you awaken in the morning hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
I am the birds in circled flight
I am the soft stars that shine at night
So do not stand on my grave and cry
I am not there…. I did not die

Remembering this poem, made me remember that my father was everywhere and I did not need to be at his graveside to be with him. Sikhism teaches that God is in every living being, if one becomes in a union with God following their final reincarnation then they are surely also in every living being. It has only been in the past few months that I’ve come to realise that there is no point in visiting my fathers grave, he is not there, just his ashes. His soul has long departed and so has my guilt of not going.

My life I feel has pointed me to the way of the guru and Sikhism. My father was cremated and half of his ashes scattered by a river he used to go birdwatching at – he wanted all of his ashes scattered however my mother refused -, I felt out of place at his grave and eventually stopped wanting to go, the poem read at his funeral has a strong Sikh sense to it. Sometimes, we just need a little push to feel more awakened.

Peace.

I’m only beginning to discover more about Sikhism, I try to read up as much as I can however we’re often flawed so I apologise for any errors or misconceptions and wouldn’t be offended by correction.

First Post

This is a first post mainly to test how the main page looks. I’ll be doing a lot of messing around on here for a while. Figuring out how wordpress works, how I can change stuff and trying to get the best look will probably mean a lot of changes.