mostly david ephgrave

The plum tree my wife bought me for my fortieth has started showing tiny shoots and leaves, which is a handy metaphor for a new beginning as far as these things go. It's surprising what such a tiny aspect of the natural world can do for your mood. Sitting in the garden now in the sun has given me a burst of energy I didn't have before. It's like a balm for the mind. Until I moved out of Hitchin, I've never had a garden, aside from a communal one at my first flat, which we never used due to some deep-seated need to hide from our neighbours. It's the same reflex that makes you pretend you've not seen someone you know on the street, only more intense, as you've less reason to chat to the guy who banged on the ceiling the night before because you were listening to Bob Dylan too loudly. Oh, those carefree student days (when I swear no-one smoked wacky baccy). (For an insight into our antics, my flatmate Mark was once an hour late for his girlfriend because we wer...

I need to turn my head to new thoughts and a different direction before my narrative becomes so weighted in the past that I become trapped in the role of a toxic person's definition of me and tied to their disordered expectations. The damage a narcissist causes is too complex to sum up in a few words and seeps into any space you let it. And the truth seldom plays a part in your dialogue, nor is there any recognition for your previous actions or character traits. It's all projection and recrimination in the hope they'll provoke a reaction that's big enough to deflect from their own behaviour; it's the bully who pushes you over, then tries to blame your decision to obey gravity for you hitting the ground. But while I'm still coming to terms with our toxic relationship, I recognise it's wholly down to me to remove the validity of their critique. Every so often, I remember the times I begged them to treat me fairly like it was down to me to make a case for it. A...