They Screw You Up Your Mum & Dad, But Only If You Let Them.

I had breakfast with my dad this morning.

So what? You may think. It's hardly the most auspicious start to a piece of writing, but if I tell you I didn't speak to him for 15 years, then I did and we went some way to fixing the father / son relationship, but then we crashed and burned again, maybe you'll read on?

I was never close to my father, from the age of 13 up until I was 21 I had no respect for him and from 21 onwards I had no need or want of a relationship with him. It had a lot to do with the break up of my parents marriage and myself taking on the mantle of being my mothers protector, but as I've grown older, and I've lived and had relationships of my own, I've realized that there was no villain of the piece, that they were both to blame and they both (and there is only one word that is suitable) "f***ed up" - BIG TIME.

I've always thought, that unless you were abused by your parents, there cannot be a reason to blame them for your behavior as an adult. I've been down the therapy road and I'm used to all the terms and words used about "learned behavior", "repressed memories" or repeating the patterns of your parents. You don't need therapy to know when something's wrong or bad for you and you don't need to do that much soul searching or self analysis to realize what didn't work for them, is never going to work for you. Children who grow up in a house full of screams / shouts / tears and tantrums are either going to become withdrawn and frightened of the world or they grow strong and soon realize that's not going to be the way they live their life. I have two brothers and we all turned out extremely different. I'm not saying we came out of that house unscathed, but the three of us seem to fight against repeating the example we grew up with.

I love my dad but it's taken me a long time to get to the point where I can sit down with him and we can talk. He wasn't an ogre and I didn't grow up in a house full of fear, in fact the opposite is true,but I did grow up in a house that was always full of tension. I never once saw my parents show any affection to each other. I think the nicest thing I ever saw my mother do was set my dads newspaper on fire whilst he was still reading it and the nicest thing he did for her was not to prefix a four letter insult with an eight letter insult. When you grow up in a war zone you learn quickly, and my in depth knowledge of profanity and dirty words went down a storm in the school playground. What I hated at home became endlessly entertaining at school. My mother and father should probably never have got married, they didn't ever seem to grasp that the endless arguing, smashing things and screaming wasn't doing either of them any good, in the end it made both of them ill and it left the whole family fractured and emotionally cold.

I had breakfast with my dad this morning.

We talked about the weather, his breakfast, my breakfast and then we finally TALKED. We talked about everything. My mum, their relationship, my relationship with both of them, both of my brothers, how my dad feels, how I feel and the exact reason why we haven't spoken for so long; and I told him that it's my fault, it was my choice and it's something I have to deal with. My reasons for not talking to him are because I wanted a quiet life and I had thought that after almost twenty years of not having a relationship with him, that I didn't need one anyway. I didn't think I missed him and I thought I wouldn't have anything to say to him but it's not the truth. I do need my dad and I have lots to say to him.

I will talk to anyone. I say hello to strangers, and I strike up conversations with people in supermarkets, on the street, on the Internet and on tube trains but I didn't even bother to take the time to talk to my own dad. I was wrong. Relationships need to be nurtured to grow, or revived and restored to keep growing, and the older I get the more aware I am that those I love are not going to be around forever. It's never clever to throw anyone out, to give up or just walk away from your family, even if that isn't the way you grew up or how you were taught to behave. We are all products of our parents and our life experience be it good or bad, and in hindsight, it really wasn't that bad. I wasn't abused physically or sexually, I just grew up witnessing two people abusing each other verbally and emotionally.

The funniest thing about today? My dad picked me up in an old transit van, full of newspaper, rubbish and dust from his working week and he said to me "You don't mind me picking you up in the van do you son? You must remember us always driving around like this when you were a boy?"

And the nicest thing is, I didn't mind, and I do remember.

From Fashion To Buddhism, Could You Give Up Everything That Defines You For The Sake Of Enlightenment?

This week a friend of mine will walk away from his rapidly growing clothing line. He will switch off his iPhone, turn off his Mac, and drop out from Facebook, Twitter and every other social media.

He will give up the ambition that has made his fashion business start to be recognised worldwide, and he will give up the social life that sees him flit in and out of hundreds of peoples lives every day.

This week my friend will be ordained as a Buddhist monk.

As an out and proud atheist I am in awe of his willingness to step away from the very thing that drives and defines him, and also at a time and in an industry where a fickle mind is the very thing that puts money in his pockets. Fashion is fickle and immediate, of course classic brands will remain and would have us believe that style will endure, but are any of us ever really brave enough to give up our passion, our growing business, a love affair or even our favourite meal in the hope of enlightenment?
Or at the very least, for a very large portion of good karma?

I look at the things I have amassed over the years and surrounded myself with, and not just the material things (of which there are many) but also the relationships and friendships I've nurtured or walked away from. I look to the rituals and 'quirks' I have that allow me to leave the house every morning and prepare me emotionally and physically every day, and I wonder if I could ever truly give them up? I try very hard to live a simple, uncomplicated life but when I think about the minor details that make my day run smoothly, things like a perfectly timed tube arrival and then actually getting a seat, or a deadline met with time to spare, or even down to just getting my favourite shower stall at the gym and I wonder, could I ever give up the inconsequential for a months worth of meditating and quiet reflection? Are any of us willing to let go of the things we can control to gain a little more insight into the things that make us 'tick'?

The reasons for my friend taking the decision to be ordained are personal to him but after talking to him and learning what his time in the temple will consist of, it is the total opposite of how most of us live our lives now. I am not talking about spirituality or moral code but more about the way our lives are filled with details and distractions and how our minds are filled with things we will never really need or learn to use. How many of us become annoyed because the barista didn't make our coffee just how we like it or because we didn't get included in a group email? How many of us really concentrate on what we should be doing or whom we should be paying attention to? It's so difficult to focus on anything constructive and when we do focus on ourselves, it's normally on how good our hair looks, rather than 'how can I make myself a better and calmer person today?'

"I will have to eat what I am given, I cannot ask for anything at all, I will have to sleep on the floor, speak quietly, sleep little, eat little. Practice patience, self-control and self-awareness every single waking moment of the day. During the time I'm a monk the key is to be mindful of every thought and every action. Not to yearn for anything, not to acknowledge when I'm hungry, to suppress sexual desire and not even think of it. When I'm walking only focus on walking, when I'm meditating I'm only meditating."

Sounds like hell doesn't it? I seriously do not know if I could do it or if I'd even want to. I've even given it some thought that maybe it's just his perfect excuse to step away from the frivolity and inherent falseness of fashion, but fashion is my friends business and he's very good at it. The decision to become ordained is not some spur of the moment whim or a "I need a sabbatical' ego trip. This isn't an 'Eat, Love, Pray' research trip either, it's a personal decision that is also part of his culture, his upbringing and at the core of how he makes his life choices. From listening to Mark and understanding his reasons for wanting to walk away from a life that some may see as glamorous and others deem as meaningless, it makes sense for him to step back and just let life 'be', but he is very driven and his company is his (financial) lifeline. 
The boss isn't just going on a holiday, he's going away to become a monk. He may not ever come back? Or maybe he'll come back forever changed?

"When I was working on my most recent range an American friend said he finds it bizarre how I can be a Buddhist and function in the fashion industry. I said to him that you can work in any industry, no matter how bitchy or catty and still be Buddhist. If you don't associate, rise to or put yourself in those negative situations, 9 times out of 10 you don't find yourself in them. Some of my friends are Atheist and say that they don't believe in Buddhism. My response to them is, even if it is all hocus pocus, and karma, reincarnation, and merit do not exist? At least I am learning a psychology of how to simplify my life and how to do every action out of kindness... Surely something good will come from that?"

I'm not a Buddhist but for me these are the simple principles I try and live my own life by, but I still do not know if I could sacrifice all of my little comforts, the things that make my day better, or the relationships that help me to be strong to truly find some peace or the ever elusive 'enlightenment' that most of us are searching for, but what is most inspiring about Marks journey is he isn't sure of what he will find either. 
I've asked him what he will miss most and he told me it would be his partner. His business will be hard to let go of and hard not to focus on but he has faith it will still be there without him, and even though his business is all about appearance, he's certainly not going to miss his hair or his eyebrows or any of his expensive denim. He's not going to be aware of getting or missing 'that Friday feeling' either because he'll be sat crossed leg in 'saffron robes' and enjoying peaceful solitude.

I have no idea if saffron is in this season but I guess ultimately, in Mark Thomas Taylor's case, once you're 'in fashion' you're never really out of it, even when you're a monk.

http://markthomastaylor.com

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Dreams Of A Life. The Story of Joyce Vincent.

I rarely watch television. The box in the corner of the room or the flat screen on the wall hold little temptation for me. If anything, they scare me. I know I'm susceptible to letting my mind wander. I can be easily distracted and I can sometimes let myself get carried away with inane thoughts and shallow thinking, so when I do allow myself a few hours of 'light entertainment', it's mostly something dark, dangerous or disturbing, and at the very best, life changing.

A couple of weeks ago I saw that 'Dreams of a Life' was being shown on Channel 4. Directed by Carol Morley it tells the story of Joyce Vincent, a woman who died alone and lay undiscovered for three years. When her skeletal remains were found, she was was surrounded by the Christmas gifts she had wrapped, and in the corner, still switched on and 'alive', was her television set.

I had some memory of Joyce Vincent from what was reported in the press at the time of her discovery in 2006 but I wasn't aware of the life that she had lived, or the choices she had made that had taken her to being the 'woman who died in front of her TV'. Thousands of people die alone watching TV, so the story of Joyce had lost it's relevance to me. I was aware of her, but like some kind of urban myth, I hadn't really given her much serious thought. In fact, I couldn't ever even remember there being a photograph attached to any report of her death. She wasn't 'front page news', so in essence, her story died with her.


It's taken me a while to bring myself to sit down and write this. I was afraid of where having to really think about Joyce Vincent was going to take me because Joyce's story did not die with her. Carol Morley made a film and a testament to a woman who was beautiful, intelligent and gifted but somehow damaged and disconnected, and the story of Joyce Vincent made me look at myself and how I connect with my friends, my family and acquaintances. It made me question my own choices, and it made me aware of just how easy it is for any of us to disconnect, to lose touch or to make decisions that can leave us vulnerable and alone.
Joyce Vincent was young, vibrant and beautiful, and young,vibrant and beautiful people are not supposed to lay dead for three years without anyone questioning where or how they are. Vibrant, beautiful people are the ones we all think are having a much better time than we are. They are the ones that can flit in and out of our lives on a whim and we never really worry about them because they are most probably off doing something glamorous and having the fun we want to be having. We bet they are falling in and out of love or building the amazing career that's going to buy them an upwardly mobile lifestyle and a dishwasher. The one thing that seems to indicate success in a material and reality show obsessed world is the size of your flat screen, so it's as relevant as it is heartbreaking that Joyce Vincent died alone and lay undiscovered in front of a flickering TV screen for three years.

I don't want to quote Carol Morley's film or do an in depth analysis of it but it changed me. Joyce Vincent was the girl that all the guys wanted to be with and all the girls wanted to be, and I think when you have that much impact on people but you're inherently lost yourself, you become extremely vulnerable. Not many people ask how you really are or how you are feeling because it's taken for granted that you're always going to be fine and that your life is going exactly to plan. We all have our 'demons' and we all have reasons for hiding our true character behind a series of fake smiles or feigned bravado, and I think what the story of Joyce Vincent truly represented for me was that for all the opportunities that come our way, for all the people that fall in love with us or the friends that want to be with us, we are all only a couple of bad decisions away from being alone.

When a persons confidence is built upon the way they look, how much charm they have or how many people like them it's very easy to make the decision to walk away from a relationship or a friendship. It's easy to keep friendships and relationships on a shallow level and never really give all of yourself when you are afraid to show who you really are. Sometimes it's even better to just be alone when you decide you don't want to be the object of attention or affection anymore, and this can even carry over to career choices.
How many of us have walked out of a job because we didn't like how we'd been talked to or treated? I've done it more than a few times because I have always felt, 'oh well, something else will come along and I don't deserve to be treated like that' but something better doesn't always come along and a series of disappointments will break even the strongest of wills. Sometimes the lifestyle we have defines us and when it's taken away, we can lose sight of our identity.

I may be wrong but I took that away from Joyce Vincent's story. Her sense of self was conflicted by what she felt she deserved, what she should have achieved and maybe where she had finally found herself. Youth brings us confidence, especially when our beauty, vitality and personality is affirmed by others but what happens when we get a little older and somehow we've wasted opportunities that will never come our way again? There isn't much sadder than a person still chasing dreams that should have come true ten years before.
For me, Joyce represented so much of myself. I try so hard to be happy, to be strong and to be independent but at what cost? Joyce Vincent's back ground is much different to my own, her mother died when she was only 11 and there is a suggestion of childhood abuse so her vulnerability and isolation is easy to comprehend. She made bad choices and turned away from people that truly loved her, and found herself in relationships that would never be any good for her. A damaged childhood will make you do that, but from watching the film it is obvious of the affect she had on people and the woman she had always tried to be.

The film features conversations with the people who loved and knew her and yet somehow became estranged from her, and it is obvious that she was a woman who tried so hard to love life and to achieve some happiness and a level of success. How a woman who was loved and yet lay dead for three years without ever being found is hard to comprehend, but what I ultimately took from the story of Joyce Vincent is that she is missed, and Carol Morley's insight into her life made me change some of the decisions on how I will carry on living my own life.

Joyce Carol Vincent was 38 years old when she died, alone and in front of her television. She lived in a bedsit above a busy shopping centre and lay undiscovered for three years. Carol Morley brought her back to life in 'Dreams of a Life' and I'd advise anyone to see it. It will change how you look at your own life, your opportunities and your relationships and it has also made the life of Joyce Vincent an incredibly important and valid one.

St Valentine's Day And Not A Cupid In Sight?

St Valentines, it's that time of year when Christmas seems like a lifetime ago and summer seems like a lifetime away. February is always a HARD month to cope with. It's like the drunken lull when you're in a taxi on the way home after a really good night or like the mid afternoon hangover that suddenly comes and hits you over the head after a really amazing night.

In fact, it's like any thing that reminds you that life isn't all nightclubs full with tequila shots and short skirts or pubs stacked with bottles of beer and football shirts. Sometimes life gets in the way of us having fun and the only way we can break the monotony of dull and grey, day to day February, is by dressing it up in red ribbon, throwing chocolate covered hearts at it and imagining fat little half naked cherubs firing arrows of love at us. 

St Valentine has come to get us, and this time he's not taking no for an answer.

I've researched St Valentine, (and there are a few of the loved up Lotharios) and like anyone who supersedes others and sticks in our consciousness, the one we celebrate and get down on one knee for on February 14th has a rather sketchy past. Not much is known about him except for where he is buried and that he was born on April 16th, so quite why we celebrate him two months before his birth date and then say it with flowers, cheap perfume and condoms is anyone's guess?

St Valentine is supposed to signify love, romance, passion and post coital cuddling but in reality he represents the prose on a Hallmark greetings card, over priced and uninspired set menus and maybe a little extra foreplay (if you're lucky). How many of us truly believe in a little thing called love when we've been forced to sleep in the wet spot or turn a blind eye to someone’s drunken flirting? Valentine's day for many represents a day of masking a seething anger and trying desperately not to turn a romantic meal into the Valentines Day Massacre. 

A fistful of roses can be just as useful as a bouquet of barbed wire, it just depends on what vase you stick them in.

I can imagine that for some, Valentine's Day offers hope. I think the last time I was full of hope on Valentines day I was about fourteen years old and waiting for the postman to authenticate my belief that I was the third best looking boy in the school by delivering a sack full of cards through my door. As it turns out, I only received two and my ranking dropped down to the late teens. As you can tell, my school was low on academia but high on personal appearance. It was also an all-boys school and I received two cards, you don't have to be a genius to figure out why my admirers didn't reach double digits.

I don't know what Valentines means to me now. It's been two years since my last relationship and the only cards I will send will be to my ex and his dog. I bought the cards from a quaint little card shop in an upmarket enclave of South East London (there are such places, you don't have to go North for posh frocks and fine dining) and when the sweet woman behind the counter said 'are they for your wife or your girlfriend' and I replied 'no, they are for my ex boyfriend and his dog', lets just say she looked like Cupid had shot her between the eyes with a flaming devils horn. Romance is alive in South East London, it's just only available in card form for a very select few.

I'm not expecting any cards, champagne, roses or even frantic, passionate sex this year. I'll probably spend the evening alone and cook myself a meal for one and then open a case of wine for twenty. I have no great hopes or faith that cupid has an arrow with my name on it and I don't think I'll be cuddling up to anything more than my lap top and a giant Toblerone but I'm actually fine and I'm at peace with it. 

This year I shall think that like puppies are at Christmas, a Valentine is for life.

So I'll just wait for the right one to come along.

Gay Marriage And Why I'll Only Come For The Cake.

I'm not married, I'm not in a civil partnership and as far as I'm aware there is no one even on the verge of making a proposal, getting down on one knee or even sending a postcard with some offer of a mutually beneficial arrangement. My days of romance, wine, wistful gazes and lustful stares are gone. I think I may have left them in a cloakroom in a club somewhere or maybe I didn't even bother to check them in? 

I've lost wallets, gloves, sweaters and once even a shoe in a nightclub so if I did lose my potential to be a husband / lifelong partner or "significant other" along the way then it wouldn't surprise me. I just hope who ever found my credit card for a lifetime of marital bliss enjoys it. I've cancelled all my compatibility pin numbers anyway and now the only credit I give myself is for being alone. 

 I have always subscribed to the point of view that anything two can do, I can do better.

 In the modern gay world and now that it's (almost) legal to be gay and married, it takes a huge amount of courage to be gay and single. The homos want what the heteros have always had, and that's the divine right to get shacked up legally, in front of family, a choir, a stained glass window with a cacophony of colour and a man in a long white dress. Who knew that getting married could ever sound so gay? And who, in the deepest recesses of their filthy little minds, ever thought that two men could get down on their knees in front of god and be betrothed in holy matrimony?

 There was a time when "bachelors" of a certain age were automatically deemed to be gay but now with civil partnerships and our continuing fight for equality we can actually do the Beyonce song and dance and REALLY mean it. We can't claim the reason we are growing old without a ring on our finger is because we're out, proud and loving our gay life when everyone else knows it's because we've been left on the shelf, dumped at the alter and never even had a whiff of a bridal bouquet.  Being gay and single is now as rare as finding 100% beef in your beef burger. Your hunk of beef is now hung like a horse and the best thing is, you can have him for life, he doesn't even come with a sell by date.

 Not conforming and living a life that was different to what was deemed 'normal' is what all of our great gay ancestors fought for, the right to be free from the constraints of society, to live a bohemian life, to sleep with people indiscriminately and to have fun. This may now seem old fashioned, decadent and not in keeping with our triple dip, down in the doldrums and recession weary lives but even the spectre of HIV/AIDS didn't stop the disco ball from spinning. 

However, it now seems for many of the eternally engaged amongst us, that the only time the mirror ball will twinkle again is if there is a wedding cake and an expensive reception directly underneath it. When did equality suddenly become the byword for conforming and becoming boring? Yes, we all want what they've got but at what price? Are we marrying for love, for a laugh or just because we can?

 I come from a 'broken' family and I live in 'Broken Britain' so I've never really succumbed to the whole idea of meeting someone, falling in love, getting married and staying together no matter what. In fact, I was interviewed almost a decade ago for an article on gay marriage when it was something that seemed so ridiculous and far fetched that my comments were 'If I had to do it for legal reasons, taxes, death duty and for keeping what was rightfully mine then yes I would, but as for love, I don't need to be married' and I still feel the same way. 

I would hate to think that there are 18 or 19 year olds who are just starting to explore their sexuality and are already thinking of settling down and getting married. Life is for exploring and I equate being gay with freedom, the freedom to live and love whomever you choose and not have the pressure of having to settle down and conform.  

 I have heard so many times that the 'sanctity of marriage' is the moral fibre that holds Britain and the church together and it always makes me laugh. No wonder so many Tory politicians, sanctimonious church goers and Daily Mail readers have gotten so irate and hot under the collar about letting the gays through the church doors. Only god knows what we'd be getting up to behind the pulpit and around the back of the organist. Love and marriage go together like a horse and carriage so the clichéd image of two lesbians roaring up to church in a motorbike and sidecar is hardly going to warm conservative middle England to the idea of the love that dare not speak it's name. 

And what if the trade off for letting gays get married in church is that straight people starting having sex in public toilets? 

 I believe in a thing called love and it is all encompassing. I don't need my relationships validated by the church, the government or anyone else for that matter but I do understand that for others to have their union recognized in the eyes of the law and their religion is majorly important. I just think for me, gay marriage has never really been about equality, it's always been more about the cake, and like the most upstanding and honest of politicians, I believe the sanctity of marriage is not always about love, truth and honesty, it's more about who will take the blame for my speeding points.

 I have been invited to a 'gay wedding' later this year and I have already thought of my plan to catch the bridal bouquet.

I shall lay back, close my eyes and think of England, because ultimately, isn't that what all married couples do?

Gay / Straight or whatever they may be?

How to Make Fake Friends,Have a Fabulous Career And Fool People.

Apparently, faking it is good for you . . . . . .

A recent study (please don't nail me down to facts and figures, I've already forgotten them) shows that everyone fakes some form of behavior every day, whether it be a smile, a cheery 'hello', a disinterested 'how are you?' or a screaming, earth shattering orgasm. We are all, in one way or another, guilty of putting ourselves aside to make someone else feel better or to make ourselves look better.

I have lost count of the times I've felt like smashing things in the aisle of a supermarket only to then smile sweetly at the cashier and answer her enquiry as to how I am with a 'I'm great thank you'. There may have even been a couple of times when I've bit my tongue and not told someone what I really thought about them, but these times are rare and rarer still are the times when I've laid back and thought of England, whilst someone I have no interest in at all busies themselves down south. Being nice to someone I have no time for takes up too much time, and 'putting out' for someone I'd never put up with, is far beyond my realm of understanding, but for many, the only way to get ahead is to lose sight of themselves and quickly morph into someone else. 

In my experience, anyone who spends far too much time pretending to be someone else, will normally end up drinking, eating or taking enough pharmaceuticals for two, but only ever have themselves to go home to.

I've never really been a 'faking it' kind of person. I understand the need to sometimes temper our behavior and adapt to certain situations to 'fit in' but it doesn't take a genius to find out when someone’s being disingenuous. Social chameleons and social butterflies are experts in the fake smile, the group hug and the 'I'm so interested' look but I've found that as I've got older, my tolerance for people I have no interest in has been pretty much worn down to the wire.

It's hard for me to smile when I'm stifling a yawn and even harder to look wide-eyed and excited when I'm feeling narrow eyed and furious. Botox was useful to mask a thousand looks of horror, indignation or boredom but when it also started to mask genuine emotions and looks of real happiness, I decided to step away from the needle and let people see my real face (both of them).

The workplace is the hub of fakery and amongst all the movers & shakers there will always be a glut of sycophants and fakers. Every office has a brown nose just like every Rudolph has a red nose. It comes with the territory, be it on a shop floor or the trading floor, that there will always be someone who so desperately wants to get ahead that their whole persona is molded to fit in with what the company vision is. The corporate world allows those with ambition but the personality of a setting jelly to get ahead, whereas the creative world allows those with no real direction to flip flop from one idea to another until they finally go completely off their head. 

The creative industry is no place for a border line schizophrenic or those with a multiple personality disorder, and if you work in the fashion industry, you'll find trends come and go quicker than your mood swings. 
We have all faked it within the working environment, even if it's just having to go to lunch with the colleague we secretly hate or completely embellishing your resume, but if you find that every day at work you're having to bow down, curtail and tow the company line, rather than being yourself and doing what you want to do, I'd advise you to stop faking it for the pay cheque and go and do something you really love. 

Someone famous once said 'a career is wonderful, but it doesn't keep you warm at night' and thinking about that statement, it is, of course, incredibly fake, because they were rich & famous and could afford an incredibly expensive duvet.

I can tell you to leave your job, but I'm not going to pay your heating bills.

Although I couldn't imagine doing it now, I learned many years ago that sometimes the easiest way to appease a partner in a relationship was to smile and quietly go ahead with their wishes however unreasonable or ridiculous their behavior may have been. It was easier at the time to let them think they may have won the argument and got their way, knowing I would then run them a scalding hot bath that they would happily step into. It was also incredibly easy to serve them their dinner knowing I'd just rubbed their steak around the kitchen floor and let the dog lick it. 'Faking it' in a relationship will only ever lead to a broken heart or at the very least, broken limbs. If you find yourself smiling sweetly and playing the perfect spouse when really the only thing on your mind is murder, I suggest you stop faking it and leave, because revenge is not always a dish best served cold, even if you've wiped it around the kitchen floor and let the dog chew on it.

I've probably been guilty of faking an illness, especially when I worked for someone else. The good thing about being self -employed is that I never have to lie to myself. If I'm hungover I don't have to phone in with the flu, and if I really cannot be bothered to get up out of bed one morning, I don't have to say I'm late because someone jumped in front of my train. It is amazing the lies you can make up when you're desperate for a day off work. Illness, famine, and a death in the family will all work and the more ridiculous the fakery the more you'll be inclined to get away with it. I had a friend who said they were borderline asthmatic only to blow their cover when they jumped from their chair and chased the sandwich lady the whole length of the office to see if she had a spare pack of cheese and onion. I once said I was at an aunt’s funeral when I was sat on a beach in Sardinia.

The lapping of the waves was excused as the gentle sobbing of my cousins.

No matter how many lies you tell and how many truths that lay untold you will always get found out in the end. The biggest star with the biggest smile can switch that off in an instant once the camera has turned away, the most down to earth 'cockney geezer' can soon become the most arrogant (Country) of Squires and the most god fearing of pop stars will eventually be found face down in her bathtub with a nose full of cocaine.

It is never good to live a life of fakery, however big the paycheck or however tempting it may be. It's best to always keep life simple. Say what you mean, say what you want and be yourself. Don't hide your light under a bushel and never compromise who you are for another. There is no excuse for lies, fake accents, false emoting or floods of crocodile tears and there is never a reason to embellish, fabricate or down right lie about your background.

Unless you've taken a call from a cold calling salesman, you're sat next to someone on a long haul flight or you're on a blind date with someone you never want to see again. 

In those instances you have free reign to be anyone you want to be, just make sure that they never know your real name and if you're on the date, make sure that they pick up the bill.

Life is Too Short To Be Shy & The Rise Of The Nobody.

I understand being shy as a concept, if you're under the age of seven, but as a lifestyle choice, I think it's no longer an option.

I don't think in 2013 it's even possible to suffer from shyness. Surely, the glut of TV talent shows, reality TV and the publics thirst for horror stories like 'Keeping up with the Kardashian’s', prove that it's a spill out of your bra and then spill your guts world that we live in.

The last people I really remember being described as 'shy' were Princess Diana and Michael Jackson. Doe eyes, milky white skin, the over use of a Kohl pencil and a fondness for Military style jackets with Dynasty style shoulder pads made them both the embodiment of the perfect pop culture Princess. It was only a penchant for crotch grabbing and baby dangling that sullied Jackson's reputation and the tragic, high speed death of Diana that finally snuffed out our last sniff of her Royal shyness.

Shy Di and baby voiced Jackson seem like an eternity ago. We now have a new generation of blonde's with ambition and the latest incarnation of those who fiddle with their faces can be found on the high street. Star power and the 'IT' factor got watered down and sucked up by anyone with access to a spray tan gun and a Botox needle.

Now our only superstars are soap stars and our Princesses are lowly pop stars.

Nobody has to suffer the drudgery of being just a nobody anymore. It's the right time to be a YouTube sensation and the perfect moment to kiss and tell. Sex has never stopped selling and that's why it's a viable option to record it and then flog it, or flog it and then record it. Whatever floats your boat when you're busy getting your rocks off can be used to make you a quick buck. Careers can be built on the back of a tape of you laying flat on your back, and it even works for the boys too. Ray J hitched his wagon on Kim Kardashian and ended up riding on the coat tails of Whitney Houston. What you do with your privates no longer stays private when there is money to be earned, and a reputation to be gained.

The downside of building a career based purely on sex? Eventually the bottom is going to fall out of your business and you'll be left on your knees.

In a buy now and pay later culture children are fair game to be exploited, made up, made over and overfed. The old cliche of the 'showbiz mother' is alive and well and her ambition is growing faster than her child's self esteem ever will. Babies are no longer thrust into the arms of a politician for a photo opportunity, there is a far bigger catch in the fame pool and his name is Simon Cowell. Like Jesus washed the feet of his disciples, Mr Cowell will accept any cash cow (child) thrust into his arms and parade them on a stage for us to vote on how talented we think they are. 

'Britain's Got Talent' is like a breeding ground for nervous breakdowns and shattered dreams and even our pets want to get in on the act. Our 'oohs and ahhs' are no longer reserved for someone with five teeth and pigtails, we now save them for puppy dogs in fishtails.

At least a furry thing with four legs will incur a lot less vets bills than a human 'finalist' will in therapy, and the best thing is? 

A dog can't answer back.

But what becomes of the talent show finalist once the dream is over and the cover versions are dried up? Big Brother will always be watching even after you've turned the public off. The only price you pay for trying to win them back will be by allowing us to watch your every move, witness your every emotion (real or fake) and then show our appreciation by voting you in or throwing you out. Tears will always work,  but tantrums not so much. A Queen with a flair for drama is a lot more user friendly than someone who's just a drama queen, and a 'fly on the wall' documentary about your relationship / engagement / wedding can be just enough to get you a photo shoot in 'Hello'. Flashing some flesh will always work, as will buying a baby or contracting some awful disease, because death has never been so lucrative.

Just make sure you live long enough to enjoy it.

It seems all of us are searching for an audience. 

If the first thing you reach for in the morning is your phone to check your Facebook page then you're just as much a part of the fame game as a late thirties housewife who used to be a Spice Girl. We all need a little recognition and social media has created a hunger for as many 'Likes' and friend requests as we can muster. I read recently that anyone with other 1000 Facebook friends is borderline narcissistic and most probably very shallow.

And there was me thinking they had really met, touched or slept with those people?

Luckily, I'm only half way to narcissism and I'm still splashing around in the deep end.

A celebrity obsessed culture has left too many people obsessed with becoming a celebrity. Why finish school when there's an audition to be attended? 'A Levels' and Degrees are no match for high kicks and low life's.

So you think you can dance? Sing? Be a top model or even stalk a celebrity? The fame game is now being played on an open playing field and you can bring whatever talents you have or even think you have and give it a go. You can wear what you like, say what you like, do what you like and then post your photographs on twitter. You can even become an Internet 'troll' and become a celebrity. You've gained 5000 followers at the same time as a criminal record but at least people know who you are.

So you see, there really is no time for shyness, for being coy or not chasing after your dreams. We can all build ourselves an audience, flirt with fame and try to achieve some form of recognition.

And if all else fails, there's only one thing for it.

I suggest you start writing a blog.