Understanding Love, With Father Ted.

As a child, I never liked Father Ted; the mid-90’s Irish Television comedy, based around the trials of an uptight Catholic priest, and his eternally dim associate. Being a lover of farcical British comedy - and the fact it was an acclaimed show, I should have enjoyed it - but I didn’t. I found the jokes one-dimensional, characters stereotypical, and a gutter-mouthed old drunk to be a boring, drawn out cliché.

Which makes the next sentence somewhat contradictory. For the majority of this Christmas period, I have found myself laughing my arse off (not literally, that would defy medical science), at one show in particular - and openly admitting how brilliant a work of comedy it truly is. You guessed it… Father Ted!

The question I have asked myself, is what happened? How did I go from seeing this comedy as an exercise in moronic wisdom, to an entertaining source of merriment? Initially, I thought my sense of humour had changed; but as the comedies of my childhood still make me laugh, this is untrue. Maybe I am more mature, and able to appreciate the subtle intelligence? But I chuckled endlessly at Alan Partridge when I was barely thirteen, so even this made no sense. After consideration, I believe the answer comes from two aspects of life; the first, is my girlfriend. The second, is that old chestnut love. Allow me to explain...

Now and again over the past year, Father Ted has turned up in random, intermittent periods on Television; while me and my other half have been together. Much as I couldn't stand it, she enjoys the show. Because of this, I would – at least initially, force myself to sit through sporadic episodes. On Christmas Eve, the show popped up as we relaxed under the glow of Christmas lights. For the first time, I found myself enjoying and appreciating the beauty of the comedy. Somewhere, somehow, something I never cared for, became not just tolerable, but enjoyable. Looking at her, and seeing her happiness - born from a mixture of youthful memories and surrealist humour, I began to understand I had learned to love this show, purely because I love her; and by giving it another chance, was able to appreciate just why Channel 4 deem it the funniest comedy they have ever produced.

Ordinarily, if I had no genuine love for her, I would have scoffed at the stupid show, switched it over, and hoped Dave was showing a marathon of the comedies I would view over and over; enjoying like a pair of predictable old trousers - such as Bottom, Blackadder, or The Office. But when you truly love someone, a part of you embraces their wisdom and offers it a chance; as you subconsciously begin to search for that nameless place, which omits their own energies of love upon surroundings.

"I didn't do it!"

And this is where I believe a simple idea, can show us how a love for the wider world is paramount in creating a happier, productive life. If I am able to transmit lesser forms of this same love anywhere I roam, maybe it is possible to begin to appreciate, enjoy, and ultimately, love aspects of it I have so often disregarded - through my own ignorance, as stupid. Maybe empathising with the local kids could allow me to bop my head, as I enjoy the robotic rap of N-Dubz. Perhaps if I find connection with the growing level of uber-nerds, I could figure out how week long Dungeons and Dragons battles, ignites serotonin in their Games Workshop loving brains. And maybe, just maybe, if I can learn to sense where those who learn to love the internal bitterness which overlaps the human spirit, I can bypass all their negativity, and find the human spirit they hide - through a fear, masquerading as their friend.

Those who truly love you, will not judge you. They will never criticise the choices you make, because of their own doubt and insecurities. They will also try to understand how you see the world, even if their eyes do not view it in the same light. I am still a million miles away from understanding the constructs of love - it takes a lifetime to even begin to, I would imagine. But I now know the roots of love are found in finding an acceptance, appreciation and genuine respect for portions of life, maybe once scoffed at as ridiculous. All you need is an open mind, an open heart, a positive framework, and a loving partner - a hate filled one will destroy all the love you seek, or even distort that which has been built; but this is another topic, for another day.

Father Ted is actually very funny. The jokes are subtle, subversive, yet silly, and as an education in the Catholic Church, it is good enough for me. It is also impossible to compare with any other show; quite often a sign of works of genius. Now when the show pops up in random, intermittent periods on Television, I smile and hope it is an episode I haven't seen before. Falling in love is easy. Embracing and developing it, takes a lot of dedication, desire, and hard work - in order to utilise it's true power. In a very unique way, I owe my new ability in understanding love, to Father Ted..

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Ten Reasons you are Amazing.

1. You are alive.
2. You made it this far through the journey in one piece.
3. The power of forgiveness lives in your heart.
4. Even if you never know it, somebody out there loves you.
5. You can choose to remember, and choose to forget.
6. You can smile.
7. You can laugh.
8. You can dance.
9. You can sing.
10. You are a person nobody else could ever replicate - you.

You are amazing... never forget this.

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Twenty Pieces of Good Advice; (I Wish I knew a Decade Ago)

Ten years ago, I was twenty-one years of age. Innocent, fresh faced - a little jaded even, but - as I am now, a good soul loaded in wayward ambition while lost in crappy advice. So for all the young-adults of today, here is a short set of ideas to guide your future ambitions. Of course, just like I would have done in 2002, feel free to ignore them all, then, a decade from now, look back and say "Shit, I wish I knew these a decade ago"...

1. Men are not immortal.
2. Women are not always innocent.
3. There are a thousand colours between black and white.
4. Education is vital.
5. The human heart knows love is the simplest thing on Earth.
6. The human brain makes love the most complex thing on Earth.
7. Uri Gellar is a conman who cannot bend spoons.
8. Not all liberals are actually liberal.
9. Judgemental people are unhappy.
10. God exists; we just don't really understand how or why they do.
11. Everyone else's opinion of me, is merely a reflection of their own reality.
12. My opinion of everyone else, is merely a reflection of my own reality.
13. Never trust anyone who says "trust me".
14. The drugs don't work.
15. There is always someone out there worse off then you are.
16. You can only hate someone, if a part of you loves them too.
17. A friend who desires to burn a bridge you build, is not a friend at all.
18. Success and failure are relative.
19. It is okay to make mistakes. It is not okay to blame others for them.
20. Trust instinct, question intellect.

Lee.

Angry Herds.

"Angry Kid; Ginger, and very angry."

As a younger man, I was a machine of misguided anger. I am not talking about a moments of aggression guy, I refer to a pure, intense rage; the severity of which having you believe my head may explode at any moment - like the dude in scanners. This rage was never a direct physical threat to others; punching and kicking the shit out of inanimate objects was my outlet. Bare fisted fence destroying punches, walls kicked till my feet swelled like balloons, and - being the general fear of inanimate objects everywhere, radiators, Nintendos, and even toilet seats suffered.

I was very, very frustrated. A well meaning, intelligent boy lost in a deeply neglected childhood, carried with the feeling nothing I did or said was ever seen nor heard, bit deep into my emotional core. I was young, confused, and carrying the typical immature arrogance of believing I knew all there was to know about life, while in reality, being as clueless as a BNP voter discussing policies on the National Health Service; it probably involves sending all the educated Indian doctors to Calcutta, or some knee-jerk ill advised plan. My parents were non-existent - which never helped, but my siblings and friends often attempted to help me see light; their sights much clearer than my own. The last thing I needed at this point however, was some prick who had no idea what I was going through, to patronise me. It seems laughable to think I thought this now, but I honestly believed these people - who had the exact same issues as I did, were out to fuck me over; anger breathes on the oxygen of negative emotions, I guess.

But I always knew there was an element to this rage, which had value. Not the anger - anger is a wasted, pointless motion caused by an emotional inability to handle the situation at hand - due to a lack of knowledge, experience, or power to affect the surroundings. I was thinking more about the passion which arrived from it. The moments of anger were a release of all the pent up emotion, and my prognosis believed it could be channelled from a negative force of destruction - exploding like fireworks lit in the hands of arsonists, into a positive laser beam, imploding into some kind of beautiful display of a Springtime. I have always prided myself on an ability to shine a light upon darkened corridors - and this was one of my darkest.

So I learned an instrument. I read books, and wrote songs. I sat back and watched the world with quiet study; wondering how to adapt a more progressive approach, and figure out why the hell I was so mad at the world. I turned to writing. I wrote fictional screenplays, short films, comedy pilots, then wrote blogs, then wrote a book. I took all the frustrations, pain, and suffering, and twisted it to work for me, as well as I believed I could. I also began to workout. Even after eight years, if the day is rough and life is kicking my arse a little - as it does to everyone, I hit the gym, beat the living shit out my body as much as I can, then walk out a couple of hours later, walking tall, looking cool, and feeling fitter - and hungrier, then the moment I arrived. I still believe exercise is the greatest anti-depressant out there.

The problem with anger, is the longer it goes outside, the deeper it grows inside; and the more people give up on you. Which is precisely what happened to me. When you end up a young man alone, confused, and feeling as if the world has turned its back on you, all that is left is - much like a prison sentence, nothing but time; to reflect on how your path ventured on this road to ruin. This is the point reality bites - and boy, does it bite hard. So, being the survivalist I am, I evolved. I no longer played the victim, and realised I was in fact, the persecutor. I was angry at the overgrown children known as the guardians I grew up around, who I came to learn would have rejected anyone - due to their own ignorance and inability to grow; regardless of who they were. I refused to allow the past to dictate my future, I took responsibility for my actions - all of them. In essence, I manned up, knuckled down, then got on with my business. Slowly but surely, as the anger vanished, the people I lost, returned - this is why blood truly is thicker than water, and life, as it does today, went on.

Today, I still have moments of anger, but they are few and far between. The depression which I still believe arose from the pain of emotional abandonment lingers, but I fight it by building bridges, not by trying to burn those of others; with my box of angry matches I always carried around with me. Maybe I am lucky. Nature blessed me with intellect, I fell in love with one of the true good females out there - the bad ones can really fuck you up, and have I feel moved on from all those dark periods of my life. The only battle now is internal - much as it is for everyone; learn to love who you are, and there is no battle. I had to go through a mountain of self-created hell to get here, as well as lose everything, in order to regain it with a less selfish perspective. But I am glad I did. Anger is a complete waste of time. Passion, however, is a driving force, when used correctly.

Drive your passion with desire, not with anger. Anger is blind, passion is twenty twenty; trust me on this one...

Lee.

Shaved Sheep.

I suppose I should be wearing a smartly pressed haircut, hidden underneath an Obey cap. I should be dressed in skinny jeans tucked inside a pair of leather boots, as a v-neck t-shirt exposes my chest below the nipple line. I should be discussing the latest woes of Arsenal Football club, or chasing a collection of currently in-vogue celebrity endorsements. I should believe Cheryl Cole is attractive to the point of obsession, find Michael Mckintyre funny, own a 64 inch-television, a silver Mercedes, and play X-box games till midnight - as I down an army of Stella Artois. As I do all this, I should also throw out abbreivated terms clubbed together - such as Chillax, or Brangelina - as I tell everyone what I had for breakfast this morning on Twitter; it was Bran Flakes, as usual. 

Fuck that.

You see, I could do all these things, and feel as if the world is accepting me in turn; as I sacrifice my true interests, but it wouldn't be a true reflection of my character. Those haircuts look stupid, it is too damn cold for a v-neck, and while I agree on the boots, I sure as hell am not tucking them into my jeans. As far as the Obey cap is concerned, as soon as I realised the kids were not wearing them in iconic irony, I had to accept its replacement, of the 1990's Nike ticked shaved into people's head, as the dumbest example of how far societies will go, in order to feel as if they fit in. 

With the Arsenal team, they are all younger than me, and I have better things to do, than concern myself with the emotional welfare of millionaire teenagers - much less the Pringles or mobile phone networks they endorse; I stick with Orange, because it is cheap - David Beckham could dress as Elvis and do cartwheels, while fireworks shoot from his arse to spell the word 'Monkey', as he tells me to switch to Vodafone, and I still wouldn't switch to Vodafone. Cheryl Cole has vapid eyes, and looks one-dimensional, Michael Mckintyre presents a series of middle-class scenarios unrelated to my pikey-esque history - and milks his jokes way too long, in my view. A 64-inch High Definition Wayne Rooney scares me, and all cars go from A to B. I stopped playing computer games when Crash Bandicoot died, alcohol is for special occasions, and the English language is too beautiful to destroy; and no one needs to know what I had for breakfast.

I like shirts, dark blue jeans, funny looking winter hats and furry jumpers. I like listening to old music, talking about the taste of Mince Pies, the sheer tackiness of Darts quiz show, Bullseye, and watching Only Fools and Horses re-runs. I like clothes without labels, books nobody has ever heard of, and using terrible language in places where most people wouldn't - unless there are kids around, in which case I remain respectful. I like writing blogs about stupid things we humans do, and how we never seem to get it right - even though our meaning is generally positive. You could put me in a funny haircut and Only Way Is Essex get-up, but it would be like making a tone deaf fool sing at the Royal Opera House - he was never meant to be there, doing that, in that way.

I am not ripping into those who follow the trend - I am sure some genuinely like these styles. It is just not in my nature to follow the heard, I guess.But I am sure I am not alone in this. I cannot be the only one who rejects the notion of commercial acceptance, to find the real form that only truly ever matters - acceptance from within. These are all random thoughts, and this article is designed for some light reading on a cold winters evening. There is no right, there is not wrong, there is only the choices we make, and the consequences which arise from them.

But seriously, those Obey hats are fucking stupid...

Lee.