There’s another word for ‘talent’.
And it’s worth remembering.
That word.
Is ‘potential’.
Magic.
Talent isn’t where the magic is.
What you do with it.
Is.
Some people I know.
And you know them too.
In fact.
You might even be one of them.
They just want to feel valued.
They want to feel important.
They want to feel like they are doing something worthwhile.
They want to feel like they matter.
They want to feel loved.
And it makes them sad that these feelings are missing from their lives.
Well.
There is a way to feel more valued.
And that is to go out of your way to do more valuable things.
There is a way to feel that you are more important.
And that is to go out of your way to do more important things.
There is a way that you can feel more worthwhile.
And that is to go out of your way to do more worthwhile things.
There is a way that you can feel that you matter more.
And that is to go out of your way to do more things that matter.
And there is a way that you can feel more loved.
Let yourself love more.
Try it.
Try all of them.
It is impossible to fail.
I don’t think that if you have a Private Number Plate.
You’re a nob*.
And I am not saying that if you’re so in love with your Private Number Plate that you wouldn’t give it up under any circumstances.
You’re an arse**.
I just think that of all the the things that we humans own.
Private Number Plates are one of the most obviously expendable.
I mean.
They don’t actually do anything.
Apart from.
To some***.
Make you look like a nob.
Or an arse.
Food Banks.
The UK’s most expensive Private Number Plate.
25 O
Was purchased for £518,000 in 2014.
And in 2015-16.
Annual sales of Private Number Plates in the UK topped £100m for the first time.
And in a world where The Trussell Trust distributed 1.9m 3-day food parcels in the UK in the fiscal year 2019-2020.
So at £50 a food parcel that’s £95m.
If that £100m a year spent on Private Number Plates was re-routed.
Food banks would disappear.
Private Number Plates.
Private Number Plates.
I just think that of all the the things that we humans own.
Private Number Plates are one of the most obviously expendable.
I mean.
I’d never have one****.
* I do.
**I am.
***Me.
****Again.
I get desperate.
I feel life slipping away.
Really, I do.
In the quiet moments.
And it’s so very sad.
Because I don’t want to go on.
To the end.
I want to go back.
I want to do it all again.
Drama.
There’s no drama.
Just sadness.
Because it’s real.
The desperation.
And sometimes.
These thoughts makes me close my eyes.
And keep them closed.
And I close them so slowly.
I close them so gently, that.
I actually feel my eyelids kiss.
And I hear myself sigh.
Because I don’t want to go on.
To the end.
I want to go back.
I want to do it all again.
1983.
I get desperate for that time in the hot summer of 1983.
When that 17 year old girl whose family were visiting my friend, Darren’s family.
Walked slowly across the cricket pitch towards the 15 year old me.
And she spoke so quietly.
And so close to my face that only I heard her say she was going back to her room to lie down.
And she spoke so quietly.
And so close to my face that only I heard her ask me to go too.
I am desperate for that.
Because I don’t want to go on.
To the end.
I want to go back.
I want to do it all again.
1995.
I get desperate too for that hot late summer day in 1995.
When a 27 year old me turned up.
Alone.
To joined four of my friends who were seven days into a fourteen day Spanish holiday.
Barely alive.
They ran across the bare concrete floor of our small, filthy apartment to greet me.
Sending dozens and dozens of empty ‘Grants Vodka’ bottles scattering into pieces.
Before we all.
Rejuvenated.
Set about poisoning ourselves and each other for a further seven days in the sun.
I am desperate for that.
Because I don’t want to go on.
To the end.
I want to go back.
I want to do it all again.
Oasis.
It was later that same day in Spain.
Later on that hot late summer day in 1995.
That I pulled a CD from my bag.
A newly released CD I’d bought at the airport flying out there.
I presented it.
Still in it’s cellophane.
And we put it on.
And we listened to it.
All of it.
For the very first time.
Strangely silent.
Together.
Hello.
Roll With It.
Wonderwall.
Don’t Look Back In Anger.
Hey Now!
Some Might Say.
Cast No Shadow.
She’s Electric.
Morning Glory.
Champagne Supernova.
Then.
Then we listened to what we only knew at that time as.
‘Track 3.’
Once again.
And afterwards.
It was back to poisoning ourselves and each other for a further seven days in the sun.
Desperate.
I get desperate.
I feel life slipping away.
Really, I do.
In the quiet moments.
And it’s so very sad.
Because I don’t want to go on.
To the end.
I want to go back.
I want to do it all again.
Nobody is safe from this.
Until everybody is safe from this.
Nobody can breathe easy.
Until everybody can breathe easy.
We’re in it together.
Priorities.
There are priorities, though.
There has to be.
We should highlight and rally round the most vulnerable.
We should highlight and rally round the most impacted.
And that’s why we say ‘Black Lives Matter’.
And not ‘All Lives Matter’.
It is important to highlight and rally round the most vulnerable.
It is important to highlight and rally round the most impacted.
Racism.
Nobody is safe from this.
Until everybody is safe from this.
Nobody can breathe easy.
Until everybody can breathe easy.
We’re in it together.
For a year of my life.
Up here in Newcastle upon Tyne.
I travelled The Green Line.
About 5 times a week.
Every week.
The Green Line.
I lived in Kingston Park.
I worked in South Shields.
That meant I travelled the entirety of the Z-Shaped green line on The Metro.
One end.
To the other.
Kid A.
As I travelled.
I snoozed.
As I snoozed.
I listened to Kid A.
One end.
To the other.
Radiohead.
I listened to this Radiohead album as my sheepdog, Colin, now listens to me talk.
His head twisting slowly.
Clockwise.
Then anticlockwise.
As I converse with Colin.
His eyes on mine throughout.
As he tries.
Hard.
To fathom the noises I make.
That.
That’s how I listened to Kid A.
2021.
I listened to it again.
Just now.
And yes.
I listened just the same as I did 20 years ago.
Here it is:
The best way to get better at something.
Sometimes.
Is not to keep on doing it.
It’s to stop doing it.
Just for a bit.
Stop.
When you stop.
It gives you perspective.
Distance is valuable.
Things look different from a distance.
They feel different.
You’ll learn to see it how they see it.
If how they see it matters, of course.
And you’ll learn if you miss it.
Then.
If you do miss it.
When you start it again.
You’ll feel fresher.
More relaxed.
Happier.
Better.
The best way to get better at something.
Sometimes.
Is not to keep on doing it.
It’s to stop doing it.
Just for a bit.
I hardly knew the guy.
This guy I was chatting to.
As I sat alone in a bar.
Pre-lockdown.
I hardly knew this smiley guy.
This guy that was just the wrong side of familiar.
This guy that spoke mostly about himself.
This guy that asked me hardly anything about myself.
Teeth.
I remember his teeth, though.
They were shiny.
And big.
And when I say they were, ‘his teeth’.
Well.
You know.
Question.
This guy I was chatting to.
Eventually.
He did ask me a question.
Here.
He began.
Here.
I’m so at home talking to new people.
I feel so at home, with you, you know.
Right now.
He gushed.
I feel at so at home talking to any business people really.
I feel at home with senior people.
I feel at home with junior people.
Anyone!
Anywhere!
Then it happened.
His question.
What about you?
Where do you feel most at home?
He asked.
At home.
I responded.
Before I stood up.
Popped my coat on.
And went home.
I have to be really careful.
Because it can be such a distraction.
I know it’s been a distraction for me many times over the years.
It’s distracted me from what I really should be doing.
Over.
And over again.
Big Difference.
There is very often a very big difference.
Between doing what makes us the most money.
And doing what we really should be doing.
I can’t explain why that is.
But I do believe it to be true.
Money.
Becomes the distraction.
Money.
I have to be really careful when it comes to earning money.
Because money has distracted me many times over the years.
To the point where.
Sometimes.
I was earning far more money than was good for me.
(Which makes it all the more stupid).
True.
There is very often a very big difference.
Between doing what makes us the most money.
And doing what we really should be doing.
I can’t explain why that is.
But I do believe it to be true.
Money.
Becomes the distraction.