Good Riddance 2017 – Reflection, Correction and Downright Dissection

New Year’s Eve means the year is almost over, and to be blunt, I’ll be glad when it is.

I feel however hard I have tried these last twelve months, things have just kept continuously and relentlessly going wrong.

Sometimes it just isn’t your year.

I am generally a lucky person, and friends often describe me as one of the most positive people they know – but even I get downtrodden sometimes.

And to be fair, some good things have happened this year: a trip to Florence and Pisa, a mentorship in the Cayman Islands, running a 10k race whilst raising £250 for charity, and best of all, acquiring, refurbishing and renting out three more houses to local families.  

But far more bad things have happened, too many to list and pointless to dwell on - but this continuous chain of unpleasant events have caused a massive confidence crisis in my own mindset.

 

 

In short, I am not where I want to be.

I am disappointed in myself.

I have let myself down.

 

 

I very rarely fail at anything; the last major event being abysmally failing my basic Cycling Proficiency Test aged 10 (which gives you some indication of my gormless co-ordination skills!)

I feel like a failure, and it is an unpleasant feeling which I am not used to.

I have struggled for weeks to regain my natural motivation and mojo. My get-up-and-go has got up and went. And one doubt continuously creeps into my mind: what if I’m just not good enough for this?

Despite proving that I am, that I can do it - because I already have - that one niggling thought continues to cling, evade and disrupt, and it is a real struggle to shake off.

 

So let’s imagine the worst case scenario: I am a failure at this, and I must go back and get a ‘real job’. Getting up early and dragging my sorry ass out of bed in the dark. Doing the long, tedious driving commute, where the most exciting thing that prevents boredom is when an 80s classic comes on the radio. Arriving at the workplace, aka the ‘dark satanic mills’, trudging into my room. Desperately wishing it was hometime already, willing the time and drudgery to go quicker. Putting up with other people’s nonsense and stupid behaviour, smiling and being polite, because that’s what my contract insists I have to do. Attending irrelevant meetings, making noteless notes on pointless policies. Power trips from the senior management team, just because they can, not because they’re competent. And then commuting home, traipsing mindless work with me, which eats into my own free time. Tired all the time, miserable, fed up, bored, and doing what other people tell me.

Is that what I really want?

Is that not why I left in the first place?

From being a bizarre, weird little only child, I always knew I was different. Independent. Forthright. Freestyle.

I'm just not the norm.

I’m not sure why I spent so many years trying to fit in, when I was born to stand out.

And because of this, it pisses me right off when I don’t get to do whatever I want.

So a normal job was never going to be right for me, because quite simply, I don’t like being told what to do.

Young Kellyann dreams of the future...
 ...where she can grow up and work herself to death doing things she doesn't like for other people.
Yay!
Who wants to be normal anyway?

Is it thus going to be true that I’m not cut out for a ‘non-normal job’ as well?

Well that depends on me, I suppose.

You see, you and I, and everyone, are essentially infinite choice-makers in every moment of our existence.

And it is a stinging realisation that this year has been, in my eyes, unsuccessful - because of me.

Being self-employed means being self-starting, self-productive, self-directing and self-acting. There’s nobody coming to save me, help me, or to wipe my arse. It’s down to me, and me alone.

It is said that many of life’s failures are people who did not realise how close they were to success when they gave up.

 

If it was that easy, everyone would do it. But business owners are willing to sacrifice short term gratification, to experience pain and hardship, so that they can live their life long-term in ways other people can only watch and dream of.

So am I giving up and becoming “normal”?

Or am I drying my princess eyes, telling myself to toughen the fuck up and working harder to make next year far better?

What do you think?!

 

 

 

 

 

# DISCLAIMER WARNING - PROCEED WITH CAUTION #

 

Here's the barefaced truth I need, not something beautiful.

The following content is not suitable for pussies who can't handle the truth, or an abomination of F-bombs.

You have been warned!

 

 

Happy New Year everyone.

My very best wishes for 2018 x x x

 

 

Time Runs Out – A Tribute

In memory of my beloved handyman, and friend, Derek Raimond.

 

I am distraught to report that only a month after we celebrated his 70^th birthday, Derek passed away very suddenly.

His sudden death has affected me much more than expected, possibly since it has been a long time since I lost anyone close to me. It is a smarting reminder that nothing and nobody lasts forever, and that we should indeed make the most of every day we have left. 

Time could run out for us at any unknown point.

It is difficult for me to comprehend that I shall never see his cheeky face again, and so I have decided to write this tribute for three reasons:

- to try and alleviate my grief. There are already streaming tears appearing as I type, and it’s only paragraph three.

- to remember the good times we shared, and to share these memories for all that knew him

- to help anyone else who is suffering with grief from the loss of a loved one

I met Derek around fifteen years ago as a family friend, and already retired and a bit bored, he began doing some gardening for me. It kept him entertained and busy, and it meant he got to annihilate fifteen cups of coffee and the contents of my biscuit cupboard as he was at it. (I was always amazed how he never actually had to go to the toilet after all this coffee, one of life’s little mysteries, but that’s another story!)

We shared many commonalities: our love of Elvis, Las Vegas, Benidorm, getting bargains, biscuits, pizza, chocolate bars, chocolate eclairs…

Derek on the day I introduced him to Dominos takeaway pizza.
"Margherita, Kell?"
He loved it!

When I began renovating property, both my own house and for rental, Derek got involved, and he enjoyed working on my little projects.

Derek and Suzie Wong stand in front of their mammoth list of refurb tasks

Quickly earning various nicknames during refurbs such as ‘Captain Bodge’, ‘Dodgy Del Boy’, ‘Bodgerama’ and ‘Doctor Devastation’, I am sure you can guess the extent of his workmanship skills. He would flick paint everywhere, merely stating “It’s only water-based, Kell!” - because obviously that makes it alright that he's trashing the place! 

Wet plaster would be trodden on floors, paintbrushes and trays unwashed and left to dry out and thus be ruined, mess and tools left all over - and generally extra work made for us all. He was, in short, our ‘Captain Chaos’.

Saying this, despite the odd mishap (per day!!), on the whole he was a superb worker. Put a paintbrush in his hand and play an Elvis Presley / Billy Ocean / Billy Fury CD on and he would paint (and sing) all day.

I am eternally grateful for all the help he gave me with my properties.

He enjoyed gardening, and would have a go at owt really, being particularly impressed with himself the day he worked out how to hang internal doors.

He would do minor joinery work, fix skirting boards, block up chimneys, as well as his own 'special' brand of DIY bodgery: including his super tactic of filling small holes with a kitchen sponge before plastering over them (it’s magic, try it!)

NO FEAR! Up a massive ladder ripping
old ivy off an external wall. What a job that was!

Blocking up a chimney, after we'd put
our 'Time Capsule' note in it.

 

Like everyone though, nobody's perfect, and certain tasks proved to be disastrous for our Del Boy. After one such catastrophe involving my own living room carpet and a very keen Edward Scissorhands impression, he was never allowed to lay carpets again…

But bless him, he had a real good go at anything, and I only ever really wanted to kill him once or twice - one occasion being when he cut open a packet in the kitchen, inadvertently carving score marks into a brand new kitchen worktop with a Stanley knife.

Despite the mishaps, I am proud that Derek has worked on every single one of my houses to date. And although they are - not-quite-perfect - in some cases, it adds to their imperfect charm and effort put in by our have-a-go hero.

Checking out the 'before' and 'after' shots once we'd completed a project.

 

Moving forward with the next project without him will be difficult - but he knows what the grand plan is for the portfolio, the vision, and we can't let the families down - nor Derek. So we must continue with him watching from above, probably stating his favourite words, “It be reyt, Kell”…

Celebratory 'let's get fed' thank you meal after a project completion.
Delighted that day at being allowed a Mixed Grill!

 

Other favourite memories of Derek include his supreme self-confidence: “Good looking me, Kell, I could’ve had any woman I wanted when I were younger!”

He hated anyone knowing how old he really was, and as it turned out, how poorly he actually was, which was always brushed over as if unimportant. How dare being a little poorly affect his daily life! He did not allow it.

In a way, I am glad his passing was sudden, as he would have hated to have deteriorated - and have people comment on losing his good looks!

Birthday celebration, with minimal fuss about him reaching 70... !!!

We pestered and nagged him into celebrating his 70^th birthday with a little dinner, as he didn’t want any fuss, or “any birthday stuff where people turn round and look at you”. And then he proceeded to smirk with delight when the waiter fetched out a little cake with a sparkler on as everyone in the restaurant sang for him.

LOOK AT HIS LITTLE FACE!!!

 

He was over the moon when he opened his birthday present: an electric DIY multi-tool. The idea was it was supposed to stop him trashing mine!

I take some comfort knowing that he at least got a chance to use it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Derek was a wonderful man, and here are some of the key life lessons I learned from him.

LIFE LESSONS FROM DEREK RAIMOND!

-Don’t be scared to have a go at anything.

Smash a wall cupboard out? “Be reyt, Kell!”.

Cut off an old gas pipe using a sparking metal grinder? “Be reyt, Kell!”

And he’s right.

After all, what’s the worst that can happen?

And then, what’s the likelihood of that happening?

NO FEAR! Even with dangerous tasks!
I had to make him stop and put safety glasses on to continue with this sparking chaos!

 

Saying that though…

- Do not mess about with high pressure power tools.

After the pebbledash nightmare where the hydraulic paint sprayer dangerously exploded in both our faces, sometimes it is wise to hire in professionals in order to avoid trying to blind yourself.

Don't try this at home, girls and boys!
I'll never forget his paint-splattered shocked face after this explosion, it was very comical!
BUT VERY DANGEROUS!!!

- Come up with ingenious solutions for everyday problems.

The day I discovered he had sewn this sock into his jacket so he had an inside pocket, I laughed so hard because of this ridiculous, yet surprisingly practical idea. Why doesn't everyone do this?!?

See that?
 IT'S A SOCK SEWN INTO HIS JACKET FOR A POCKET!!

 - Being tight will make you rich.

Derek didn’t need to work for the money, he came and helped me out just for fun (Although for the record, I did pay him, it went towards spending money for his Benidorm bonanzas!) 

And although generous, he was a tight-fisted get, just like me. He loved a car boot sale, and if you saved him owt that you knew he’d like or need, he was well chuffed. I gave him a free t-shirt that the Selco shop had given me, and there he was wearing it proudly the next day!

He’s right though, why spend money on stuff when you don’t have to?!

Proudly wearing his freebie t-shirt, Derek eyes up his opponent: a cupboard he is about to smash out.

  - Do whatever you like.

Even at 70, he was still rocking his Teddy Boy lifestyle - cos that’s the sort of stuff you can get away with at 70. And who’s to stop you? When you’re a top lad, (self-assured with how good looking you are!), who’s to dictate how you live your life? Just you.

 - Treat everybody you love as if it is the last time you will ever see them.

Because one day it will be.

And then you will wish they are still around to throw paint all over your projects.

                 (It’s only water-based, Kell…)

 

 

I would like to offer my deepest sympathies to all Derek’s friends and family who are suffering his loss.

Be comforted that he will now be Halfway to Paradise; comb in pocket, ready to drive the ladies wild with his charm...