Last journey

Front seat, his seat.

Beside the one he adored.

Never had his head out the window, 

Not that common.

On his bed, cold, quiet.

He’ll come back

Onyx wrapped, ashes.

Always with us,

In our hearts and memories.

RIP Chizel. Gawd I miss that little dog!

Happy birthday Philip David Sheppard

Why a blog post to wish my brother happy birthday? Why not! I don't know where he lives, his email or his phone number, but I do want to wish him well on his 70th birthday.

Oddly he's appeared in a couple of my dreams recently, and I remember waking up thinking how nice it was to see him again. 

Happy birthday Phil, I do hope life is treating you well. Sending love from the family, which includes nephew (in Australia), your niece (in Cambridgeshire), your great niece (Bella) and great nephew (River).

And of course from me, your sister, and your sister-in-law Sheena. It might make you smile to know that her son calls me 'dad'. I hope so.

Happy birthday bro.

#philipdavidsheppard #philipdwightsheppard

Back to skule

Bad blogger! - no posts since last year and it's 1st April already. However, this blog post is not an April fool - I really am studying again.

Having done a Diploma in Direct Marketing, and a Diploma in Fundraising, I am now launching yet another learning experience - this time in AI.

Why, at my 'time of life'? Ignoring all the 'Plan your perfect retirement' messages and connections on LinkedIn, I'm not ready to hang up my fundraising boots just yet. Why AI? Because it needs understanding and - in the third sector - we need to harness it for good.

There are many ethical considerations, not least of which is the amount of energy/water the systems that power AI use. As someone with a strong conservation background, this does concern me - but even more so it makes me want to use AI to produce good outcomes, not just a funny meme of me in cartoon format.

The course I am on is an Apprenticeship in Business Analysis, using AI. With Corndel and the Imperial College, I am going to (hopefully) get another diploma level qualification. But the qualification isn't the end goal - it's what I can do with it to make work easier (ergo better spend donor's money, ergo better serve our charitable aims). And that's what motivates me - why I want to keep working, and keep learning - even though my course takes me beyond my 'state retirement date' (assuming that the government doesn't change it again).

This course will take around 17 months, but at the end of it - whether I get a qualification or not, I will hopefully have another set of skills that I can use not just at work, but in other areas of my life too. 

The picture may be AI, but the writing is 100% me. 

Liked this? Try... 

• The somewhat odd life of a musician and fundraiser: A sense of justice

Useful resources:

• Building trust in data and AI
• Corndel and Imperial College

Creative change of direction

For most of my life, being a musician has been a big part of who I am. But as arthritis has robbed me of the ability to just pick up a guitar or any stringed instrument and play; the frustration and loss hurts. If I go to a folk club and sing a couple of unaccompanied songs, it just reminds me again of what I used to do, but now can't.

I can still play the bass as that doesn't require my fingers to curl and make chord shapes (though I play a lot slower now), but my creativity is stymied. I find that watching or playing music brings up a frustration, and a sense of loss. I have a clever electric instrument that mimics a guitar and I spend some time playing it - and then stop when I can't do what I really want, because of my own limitations as well as it's technical functionality.

And the other day I dug through an old hard drive and found songs and music I'd written ages ago that I had forgotten about. And I'm sad again that I can't just play or write or even have the drive to do so now because of the sadness it causes. 

This sounds like a pity party, but it's not - it's about why someone who was so wrapped up in music is not the same today, and what I'm doing instead. I am still a creative person, just not the musician I used to be. I will still play music with my friends, and do my best - but I still know deep down I used to be able to do so much better. So - instead of mulling on what I can't do, let's focus on the good stuff!

I am developing my other creative skills and started to make videos for my old songs using AI to help, but still keeping the themes my own. I am also moving my creativity into other areas such as making things out of wood. I'm very amateur, and the effects so far are 'rustic', but I do enjoy working with wood and want to learn  more. Again my arthritis does limit me, but it's easier than playing an instrument.

I write this blog still, but my poetry and stories have fallen by the wayside a little. I'm hoping that when I eventually get to retire I'll be able to do all these things I want to do, but that's more about prioritising my free time, which still seems to be at a premium when I want to do the gardening, do my wood projects, go birdwatching, do more photography, keep working full time (including some pretty long commutes) and, of course, spend time with my wife and relaxing.

This is the first video I made using Clipchamp and AI - I think I got better the more I made:

Beach Busker

You can find more of my songs and videos on my Youtube channel. 

Useful resources:

• Arthritis UK

Liked this? Try...

• One morning at Vauxhall (a recent short story)
• A last gig (blog about playing music)
• Goosemilk and goatfeathers (a 2016 short story)

A Long(leat) day

A long day, and a long blog post.  

Longleat House

A coach trip with mother - planned to visit the winter light show at Longleat! A coach full - and I was probably the youngest on board. We set off from Lowestoft, and picked Sally up at Southwold, and then began the slow, gentle journey to our hotel in Swindon.

Sally had a rough night, but we had a lovely breakfast and set off with the coach to Longleat. One of my distant relatives married into the Thynne family, so I'm distantly related to the Marquis - and after a tour of the house (with a borrowed wheelchair) we found the family tree and I found my relative (see pic). The rooms in Longleat House are amazing - and I took lots of photos of the fabulous ceilings. If I can dig out our family tree, I can show how I'm related (I will update the Sheppard Family History blog at some point). 

Tired after the tour, I tried pushing Sally on her wheeler, but it wasn't really suitable as a wheelchair, so she slowly made it back to the coach at around 1.15. Climbing into the coach, which has very high steps, wasn't easy, and on the final step into the seating area her legs gave way and she collapsed downward. I and a helpful coach guest tried to lift her but the angle and dead weight made it impossible. She slid down and wedged her leg under the dashboard. This leg, by the way, is heavily bandaged as she has an ulcer.

Thynne Family Tree

At 1.30 the Longleat Paramedic (we'll call him Joe) arrived, along with some other Longleat staff. The coach driver (we'll call him Mike) stayed with us as Joe assessed the situation and amazingly managed to manouevre Sally into the jump seat at the front. Sally was distraught that we were going to delay the coach from going round the safari park - but there was nothing to be done. We couldn't move her as she couldn't take her own weight on her legs, and we couldn't drive off with her in an unsafe seat.

Joe called for an ambulance - but we were told the waiting time was unknown and nothing was available. Mike sent the coach trip off around Longleat and they enjoyed the other attractions and, as darkness fell, the amazing light exhibition (which was also on the tour itinerary). Sally and I, with Mike, and Joe, sat on the coach - waiting. Joe phoned the ambulance a couple of times, but by 6pm there was still no sign or indication of any arrival. Having rested though in the seat, and with Joe and other Longleat staff's help, we managed to get Sally from the coach and into a wheelchair and she was taken to the First Aid room at Longleat where we were looked after by Joe and the duty manager, (we'll call her Hannah) in charge of visitors (she had a posh title, but I can't remember it) and another Joe. An eventual plan was hatched by Hannah that we could call a special taxi and get Sally to hospital that way. Taxi arrived promptly and with Joe's help, we got her in. As we wheeled from First Aid to the taxi pick up, Hannah and Joe 2 asked if we'd eaten (not since breakfast) and Joe 2 dashed off and returned with two sets of sandwiches, crisps and bottled water for us. I cannot fault how marvellously Longleat staff looked after us. They even arranged for the coach tour to come back so they could complete their Safari.

We arrived at the hospital at 8pm and after a speedy triage Sally was put on a trolly and we joined  corridor care. Thankfully we were also moved into a bay reasonably quickly. Sally had her bloods taken (after several attempts), had an ECG and was monitored and observed regularly and the nurses were caring and helpful but rushed off their feet. We saw our first doctor at 12.45. At 4.20am the doctor came and told us that Sally had actually had a mild heart attack. We were all surprised as there were no signs at all. Apparently this is typical as women present very differently to men with heart problems. This doctor had her suspicions with the slightly abnormal ECG and some raised markers in her blood. Another doctor with twirly moustaches appeared and he and our first doctor did an echo scan of the heart which I watched. Good results, no signs of fluid around the heart, and no major issues - in fact it didn't really look like she had actually had a heart attack, but it was confirmed later that she had. I thought that was a good time to update Sheena, and it was lovely to be able to message with her on my phone.

I had managed 10 minutes kip in the chair by now and was flagging, Sally was nodding off every now and then but constantly woken by the automatic blood pressure cuff and other regular observations. At one point she had a blood pressure crash and went onto intravenous fluids and had her legs elevated - it felt critical, but she rallied. It was turning into a very long night. We were still in the Emergency Department High Care cubicle, but she was moved to the Medical Assessment Ward. By 9am we decided I should go back to the hotel and collect her things, and - on Sheena's insistence - get some rest. I took a taxi to the station, a two stop train ride (it was 10am but with the weird light and my lack of sleep it felt like 4pm) and then a taxi back to the hotel, I took a shower, changed my stoma bag and crashed for two or three hours. Sheena meanwhile drove from Suffolk to Swindon, and we then went back to the hotel for around 4.30pm. 

It was a 4 1/2 hour drive to Swindon from home, and then another 45 minutes to the hospital - and the queues of traffic going into Bath were awful, but luckily we cut off beforehand to get to the hospital. We stayed with Sally and had updates from the nursing staff and one of the doctors and eventually left her to return to the hotel. We arrived in time for supper and Mike the coach driver (who I had kept up to date by text) and the others were all asking after Sally. Of course as soon as we arrived, one of the other coach passengers said 'Hello Sheena...' 

The following day (Sunday) we went back to the hospital and spent more time with Sally. They weren't so worried about her heart, or the fluid on her lungs (new one), but the ulcer on her leg was worse so she was on intravenous antibiotics. We spent as much time as we could, had lunch in the hospital, and then set off after saying our goodbyes. The M4 was shut from Bath to Swindon, and our journey home took nearly 6 hours.

The doctors say Sally needs to have treatment for her leg for at least two weeks - probably intravenous but possibly oral, if she gets better enough. We are going to see if we can get her moved to our local hospital, but these things all take time. Message me for updates, or message Sally and cheer her up!

• Longleat House
• Royal United Hospital Bath's Charity

Misspent youth

Going to an in person seminar on the new Data Use and Access Act (my life is so exciting) in Islington the other day, I turned the wrong way out of the station. Sometimes Google maps doesn't help you orientate your direction - I ended up strolling the wrong way along Upper Street. I stopped to review my directions (yes, 180 degree turn needed), but mostly I stopped outside an arts centre that had a certain familiarity - because in the 80s it had been a pub.

Islington in the 80s was perhaps a little different to how it is now - the pub had a 'reputation', including several murders, but it also had live music most nights. And on Tuesday nights, for quite a long while (maybe a year or more), the resident band was Aardvark and No Money.

Pretty sure this is where A&NM
did their 'World Tour'

Aardvark and no money.... say it out loud and you might get the joke. Then imagine a nice black and white illustration of a cute aardvark on his back trying to get cash out of a piggy bank. And this is because in the 80s I was in a rock folk band called Aardvark and No Money and we did have a cute logo. 

Some nights we would turn up and have to clean the stage of human excreta or broken glass before setting up our PA. Some nights the audience would listen, some nights they would totally ignore us, but there was usually a full house. We advertised our residence at the pub in the Melody Maker as a 'World Tour of Islington'.  

Our singer at the time, Kevin, had a big old Luton van that we'd bring the gear in - that is until he wanted to sell it to a friend who drove it away without ever paying. The police said it wasn't theft, the absconder just owed him the money. I don't think  you could do that now. But I remember jumping in and out of that old van, unloading equipment (I had a big old bass amp), and one time in my tight PVC black trousers (couldn't afford leather) hearing a loud rip. That was an interesting night.

The pub dog was a big, friendly Doberman. He was blind and would wander around the pub in search of crisps, bumping into stools and people. The landlord told us that the dog had been stolen once, but returned the next day!

I can't remember an awful lot more about our residency at the pub, I can't even remember its name at the time! But it's funny how a wrong turn can just open up a slice of your past. (I just did a quick search and found the name of our first, and only album - 'Termite's the Night')

Liked this? Try...

• So long and thanks...
• Music, music...
• Follow the link to an old Aardvark video to see what I looked like in the 80s - perm and all.

Honouring a friend

One of the toughest times with the breakdown of my first marriage happened to be at the same time as I was working a job that was a long way from home – Colchester. This was too much of a daily drive from Royston, so during the week I stayed with friends in Ipswich and only went home at weekends. I remember the dread I would feel on a Friday afternoon, and though I wanted to see my kids, I did not want to go home.

But this post is about the positive, the love and support of friends and the wonderful people I got to meet in Ipswich. Staying with my friends was such a breath of fresh air – I’d played music with them many times (even had a couple of band iterations). Whilst staying with them I met more of their friends and got involved in local activities, both musical and otherwise (including the local pagan moot).

Fast forward just over ten years, and my lovely friends (names changed) Jenny and Ric had moved to Wales. And at just 60 years old, a few weeks ago, Ric was suddenly gone. Totally unexpected and devastating for Jenny and her family. Everyone was shocked – just a few days before he had been cutting back the laurels that were overhanging the stream and blocking the flow.

Instead of a funeral, Jenny and her family chose to celebrate Ric’s life, and – in line with many pagan beliefs – his onward journey. Even though I hadn’t seen them for years, I really wanted be with Jenny on the day they had chosen for celebration.

I drove to Wales on the Saturday, and next day went up to their home where many friends old and new were gathered. Now I must confess that at funerals I am a mess – I know this is probably related to my own unresolved issues around my father’s death – but it may explain why my eyes leaked so much. This was a celebration of life, not sadness, but I found it hard to not see Ric there, with Jenny. It was so obviously a perfect environment for them both.

We were in Wales, so it was raining heavily as expected - right up until the ceremony, when the clouds parted and a glimpse of sunshine brightened the warm, but wet afternoon. The ceremony began with Jenny walking with Ric’s ashes in her arms around a stone-outlined labyrinth that had been laid out on the grass. All I could hear was the quiet babbling of the stream, the call of the long-tailed tits dancing from tree to tree, and the fresh rain-bathed smell of sloe, apple and oak in the grounds around the house. Once in the centre she sat quietly and first family, then friends, entered the labyrinth with a beautiful peace poem on their lips. I imagine it could have been a slow parade with a shared chant, but instead people read quietly to themselves, and as more and more entered the labyrinth on their way to Jenny and Ric in the centre, the solemnity was replaced with something more beautiful. As each of us passed one another, we hugged. Some got ‘lost’ and headed the wrong way and there were smiles and chats, redirection and squeezing past; when we reached Jenny in the middle, we hugged her and gave her a piece of paper with a message for Ric. Mine said ‘a duck billed platypus’. He knows.

After we had all entered and eventually left the labyrinth, Jenny emerged bearing Ric and the many messages. Jenny, Ric, her son and friends who were helping officiate went into the stream. There Jenny took Ric’s ashes (in a biodegradable box) into the water. More ceremony followed, with singing, rituals, calling to gods and goddesses (not my thing, but if you replace ‘god/goddess’ with ‘nature/universe’ it works for me). Ric’s ashes and our messages were dissolved – Jenny and her son stirred up the water and she looked so strong, yet so vulnerable. It must have been so hard to do, yet it was right for her, for him, and for her family. We were led in indigenous song whose words we did not understand, but when our voices joined, there was a beautiful, gentle hum. Jenny recited a ritual whilst being accompanied by the delicate tones of a pan drum, followed by a flute-tune that I knew very well and had indeed played with them many times. Music and nature – a perfect representation.

Afterwards we headed back to the house (and the rain started up again), and though I had to leave to travel back across the breadth of the country, there followed shared food and more music. That’s very much how I remember them both – sharing, musical, warm and loving.

A typical English funeral has some unknown pastor talking about someone they (usually) never knew – with family and friends separated in rows of wooden seats, joined only in singing and grieving. I may not have understood the pagan rituals or share all the same beliefs, but I very much preferred this kind of event where we could hug, talk, smile, cry, and participate in a true celebration of Ric’s life.

Further information:

• Pagan funerals
• Cruse bereavement support