She used to tell me that those first impressions that people had of me were the ones that would linger in their minds. If they were good, people would think well of me. If they weren’t, then it would be hard to change their minds from a negative impression. And that’s so true.
However, sometimes, I’d try too hard. And it always led to me creating an impression that I couldn’t live up to in the long term.
There’s something false about trying to be someone you’re not. You can try to reinvent yourself, to appear to be better than you are. Or perhaps try and come over as sophisticated, to be outgoing, or even to try and be enigmatic. But when you do, you’re setting yourself up for a fall.
Because once you try to be something you’re not, that’s an act you have to pull off forever.
I thought that what my Mum was trying to get me to do was be better than I was. That’s youth for you! It wasn’t what she meant at all. All she really wanted was for me to be polite, respectful, kind and helpful, all things I was more than capable of being.
I’d see a girl I’d fancy and immediately try to cool and trendy, two things I most definitely am not or ever have been. It never worked. And if it had, I’d have struggled to live up to it.
I’ve always been the one on the edges of a group, never quite being part of the ‘In-Crowd.’ The truth is, growing up that I liked the idea of being ‘Mr Charisma’ but that’s not who I am and as I’ve come to realise over the years, it’s not even who I want to be. And what’s more, I’ve realised that people with charisma, don’t even know they have it.
Growing up, I sometimes felt that to become more liked, I’d have to push myself, to develop this new personality, be somehow better than I was. I’m pretty sure that many of us feel the same.
Sometimes, I’d even try, but it was just so tiring. It was such hard work.
What’s more, looking back, I’m pretty sure that when I did, everyone could spot it a mile off because unless you’re one hell of an actor, it doesn’t ring true.
And even though sometimes, it seems to work, in the long run, it doesn’t. People can read you like a book and you don’t end up with more friends, you end up with less.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that you shouldn’t try to improve yourself and become more likeable. That’s a noble aim, and what’s more, I think that through the course of our lives, we should all be trying to do that, to be the best we can be. But the goal should be to be a better you but at the same time to be real and honest.
What I’m saying is don’t try to change your natural personality. You are who you are. Be proud of that. It took me years to realise that.
I was well into my 50s before I became comfortable with who I am. It took me years to come to terms with the fact that, as much as I tried not to be, I’m a ‘heart on my sleeve’ kind of guy.
I always wanted to be black and white in my demeanour, because that’s often how I think. I have definite opinions on what’s right and what’s wrong. I didn’t like to see the shades in between. I tried to keep my guard up, not be emotional, not get too involved and to a great extent, I’m still like it.
But along the way, I decided that I’d had enough of trying to be something I’m not. I’m not trying to say that I was trying to be someone I’m not, I just tried to keep a facade up, a protective coat if you like.
But it’s not who I am. I’m not black and white. There are lots of colours in my personality. I can be happy, sad, introverted, extrovert, uninterested and intense all in the same hour.
If I’m amongst people I know well and am comfortable, I’ll come out of my shell, but amongst people, I don’t know well, I can appear aloof. It’s not a conscious decision to be like that, it’s just how I am.
I used to be uncomfortable being like that. I’m not anymore. I decided that it was best for me to just be who I am. What you see is what you get. No airs and graces. No need to be the centre of attention.
Don’t get me wrong, if I’ve got something to say, I’ll say it. I'm not a shrinking violet.
But as I’ve got older I’ve also learned some lessons in life. I’ve learned that pulling someone up because they’re wrong isn’t always needed. Sometimes, I don’t need to point out that they’re wrong and I’m right. Sometimes, it’s so unimportant that it’s not worth it.
The only thing that would come from it is that I’d make them look smaller, I’d look like a ‘know it all’ and it would only be point-scoring. The only thing I’d have been doing, would be appearing superior.
People don’t like ‘know it alls’. They don’t like people who aren’t authentic. They don’t like egotists. They probably won’t say it to your face, but they think it all the same.
People tend to like people who are real.
It’s an odd thing, we all know it, but it doesn’t stop people trying to be something they’re not.
In my case, for years I tried to be a different person from the one I actually was. I tried to be what I thought of as better, more outgoing, more (here’s that word again...) charismatic. All things I most definitely am not. Why? Low self-esteem I would think.
I spent years looking at others and asking myself why I couldn’t be like them. What a waste of time and energy.
What I didn’t take into account is that everyone, and I mean everyone has their own challenges, their own doubts and their own insecurities. And none of us really want others to see that.
But trying to be something you’re not, just sets you up for misery. What it means is that you fake it, you attract the wrong people and when they realise, you lose them too. And how’s that going to help your self-esteem?
We all have ‘Our People.’ We all have flaws and failings, and what’s more, ‘Our People’ don’t care about them and often don’t even notice them.
And the things we dislike about ourselves are often why people like us. They’re part of the charm that we exude and part of our individual uniqueness.
Just remember, you don’t have to have more friends than anyone else. You don’t have to be better than anyone else. All you need to be is yourself.
All those years ago, when my Mum used to tell me to create a good impression of myself, she didn’t mean to be something I’m not, she just wanted me to be the best me that I could be. She just wanted people to see the real me. I didn’t get it until I had children of my own.
And here’s the twist – it wasn’t until I let my guard down, until I decided that I wasn’t going to keep hiding my imperfections and until I stopped trying to be something I wasn’t that I became comfortable in my own skin.
Even though I’m comfortable in my own skin, it doesn’t mean that I have stopped trying to improve myself. I’m still trying to be better. I’m still reading self-improvement books, I’m still trying to learn new things, develop a wider understanding and keep moving on.
And I thank my Mum for that because she wanted me to be the best that I can be. She instilled that into me. She created that desire in me. I didn’t understand it at the time.
But there’s immense satisfaction in knowing that, for all my faults, I’m a better, more rounded person today than I was yesterday, and next week, I’ll be better than I am today. That’s her legacy.
And it doesn’t matter if I’m not the flavour of the week. ‘My People’ get me, faults and all. And they don’t care.
And as the saying goes, ‘Those that matter don’t mind, and those that mind don’t matter.’
Be yourself. It doesn’t matter that you’re not perfect. There's integrity in being who you are.
And what's more, it’ll make you a whole lot happier too.
At the beginning of this year, I decided that perhaps it was time to do it. I’ve just finished Chapter 13 and I’m at Boarding School.
But I haven’t enjoyed the process and I’m not ‘feeling’ what I’ve written. Yes, I’ve got the bare bones of the story down and to me it’s just drab and I can’t see why anyone would want to read it.
I also have parts of my life that are so personal to me that I don’t want to share them. The problem is, they are very important in explaining the person I am, they are integral to the story of my life. And yet, they were painful to live through and I certainly don’t want to talk about them publicly. And I can’t say I’m looking forward to telling my story and skipping over what were such important parts. Without them, it would change the essence of the story.
I’ve been sending each chapter to a close friend of mine to read as I’ve gone along. He was the first person who put forward the idea of me writing a book.
Yesterday, I wrote a Facebook post about parties we used to have in the shed when I was a teenager, and it led to my friend inboxing me and mentioning that he felt my Facebook writings felt different to the ones I’m writing in the book.
It got me thinking and questioning why they would be different. I think I know why.
When I started writing my story, I did loads of research. Asked relatives questions and started to put my story together. I’d go in the office and I’d start to write about a particular section of my story.
My Facebook writings come from a totally different place. I never spend time researching what I’m going to write.
More often than not, the ideas are sparked from a song on the radio. A song that takes me back to a certain time, a certain place, certain people or certain events that I’ve become emotionally invested in.
What I write on Facebook comes from the heart. Something has moved me enough that I want to write about it, to tell a story, to share some feelings. It’s altogether more personal.
I can wake up in the morning and half an hour later something has brought a story back to my memory or something I've thought about spurs me to write about it. A story that chokes me. A story that I need to tell. And so it just spills out. No effort, no researching. It’s all there at the forefront of my mind, fully formed and ready to tell. And I tell it as I see it. I'm not saying I'm right, it's just what I'm thinking at that given moment.
A glance down my Facebook timeline gives glimpses into my life, written with more feeling than I could write in a month of Sundays of going into the office and mechanically getting it down on paper.
I’m a heart on my sleeve kind of person. I write better when it’s coming from that part of me that cares enough to write about something. Anything else is just going through the motions.
It’s for that reason, I’ve decided that I’m no longer going to write the book.
I know people like the things I write. They tell me often enough. I love that my writing resonates with them, interests them and moves them enough to tell me so. And I’m really grateful for that.
I’m a sharer of memories and thoughts. Not an author.
I don’t feel comfortable writing in that way.
What I write on Social Media, either Facebook or in my blog, is something I need to say. It comes with my whole feeling.
And until I can write a book in the same way that I write my posts and blogs, I think I’m going to give it a miss.
If I can’t share my story in the way that I feel comes from the heart, then it’s not worth doing at all.
It’s just a waste of my time and would be a waste of yours because you wouldn’t be getting what you were expecting.
Therefore, it looks as though you’ll just have to put up with my writings on an ‘as and when’ basis. At least they’ll be from the heart, even if they do jump from one part of my life to another.
And what they’ll also be are my own thoughts, feelings and opinions that were strong enough that I felt they were worth sharing.
And that means it’s going to be ‘glimpses’ and 'flashbacks' from here on in. Just as it’s always been.
Back in the 1980s when I used to frequent these shops, you could buy oldies (1950s and 60s) for 20p each in these shops. And because they were so cheap, I would take advantage. I remember in 1984 spending £100 on oldies singles out of the Pop Records shop.
I used to walk back onto the fairground carrying armfuls of records. Not rubbish ones either. I bought so many classic singles. Some I remember buying were Mama’s & The Papas, ‘Creeque Alley,’ Ricky Nelson’s, ‘Travellin’ Man,’ and The Supremes, ‘There’s No Stoppin’ Us Now.’
I can remember walking back on to the ground with a pile of records and Georgie Traylen, who was 20 years older than me laughing, and after looking through what I’d bought, telling me that I’d been born 20 years too late!
But that was part of the fun, trawling through record shops, hunting down records. I could spend hours in a record shop flicking through LP covers to see what was interesting and rifling through the singles searching for the hits I’d missed.
It was something I’d started years before.
I don’t remember, but I’ve been told often that when I was three, Alf Silver, a jewish man that used to sell lighting to fairgrounds, took me to a record shop and bought me The Beatles’, ‘I Want To Hold Your Hand. I was three at the time and already had my own record player.
Ride owners on the fairgrounds knew my love of music and were giving me the records that they were replacing with new ones, so I had a record collection of my own at a very young age.
Sadly, I really don’t remember any of this. In fact, I was 6 before I remember buying my first LP. I had some money for my 6th Birthday at the end of July, and The Beatles released their album, ‘Revolver’ just a few days later and I can remember buying it.
At the time, my parents had an Amusement Arcade in the Somerset town of Burnham-on-Sea and the records shop I bought that album and many more from was called Jotchams.
Buying the ‘Revolver’ album was just the start for me and over the next ten years, it was the main record shop I’d buy my records from.
A few months after that first purchase, the first single I remembered buying myself was Eddie Floyd’s, ‘Knock On Wood.’
We moved away from Burnham at the beginning of 1977 and from then on, I was a frequent visitor to record shops around the country.
It was from Weymouth in 1977, I caught a train to London specifically to buy a 12” import single from a record shop as I’d never have been able to get it locally. It was Roy Ayers’, ‘Running Away.’
It wasn’t the first 12” single I bought, that honour went to T-Connection’s, ‘Do What You Wanna Do’ but the reason I remember that import was because it cost me £5.99. It only cost me £3.99 for the return train fare at the time!
Along the way, other record shops became places of note for me. Rainbow Records at Ashford, The Music Box in Staines, Jay’s Records in Cambridge, Bluebird Records in Luton and so many more that I went to on my travels.
More recently, a few years back, Black Barn Records in Cambridge was another place to pick up some great bargains, but like so many other record shops, it’s now gone.
Like so many other people, I don’t really buy records anymore. On the odd occasion, I’ll spot something I want in a Charity Shop – normally old albums that my Dad once had that I hated at the time, but 40 years later, feel nostalgic about and so buy them and add them to my collection for no other reason than I’m nostalgic.
It’s all changed now of course, Although records have had a recent resurgence, they’re now too expensive to buy new for the most part. CDs are on their way out and also often seen most in Charity Shops or Car Boot Sales.
I’m grateful that I was born in that period when vinyl was king and I’d get to spend hours searching the racks.
Nowadays, it’s all mp3s and streaming.
Don’t get me wrong, I love mp3s. It’s made it possible to carry thousands of songs and tunes with me. They’re convenient and it’s easy to find what I’m looking for. I still buy record and CDs but the only time they get played is when they’re converted to mp3 and then they just sit on the shelf and it’s all too much effort when I can just push a button and I can hear whatever I want to.
I understand that the sound doesn’t sound as rich as a record would because of compression, but to be honest, my hearing’s not good enough to tell the difference these days.
And yes, I know it’s easy to just ‘Ask Alexa’ and you can hear what you want for pretty much nothing, but you no longer own your music anymore and when the company you stream from doesn’t have what you want you’ve just go to do without.
I also realise that it’s easier these days to get all of the music you want, but I feel sorry for all those people that have never had the joy of walking into a record shop and hearing a song they’ve never heard before that was just so good that you wanted that copy that was playing because it was the last one they had.
That happened to me in October 1977 in a record shop in Newbury when I heard the instrumental intro to Lenny William’s. ‘Shoo-Doo-Fu-Fu-Ohh’ and told the guy behind the counter I wanted it.
And the hours I spent looking through record racks searching for records I wanted. I was such a regular in The Music Box in Staines, that the owner would keep records back that he thought I’d want to buy and each time I went in, he’d have a pile for me to look through and listen to and usually end up buying 80% of them.
Sadly, the way we buy music has now changed and so many people will miss out on ordering a record before it’s released and waking up on the day, knowing you’d be going to collect it, like I did in 1976 when I got to go into Jotcham’s and get my copy of Stevie Wonder’s, ‘Songs In The Key Of Life,’ and rushing home to play that first song on side one. And knowing 20 seconds into ‘Love’s In Need Of Love Today,’ that I was going to love that song forever.
Today that album is still my favourite album of all time, and I remember walking out of the shop with the record in a Jotcham’s record bag and I can vividly recall how hearing that album with the free EP single and the joy I felt.
There was nothing like a record shop. The hours of joy I’ve had in them over the years will never be surpassed by going online and downloading an album, no matter how convenient it is.
And I doubt that on a Saturday, you’ll be chatting with your mates as you’re looking at your phone searching Spotify for something to listen to.
Because when we had record shops, I’d see my mates looking for their likes and you’d see the big grin on their faces as they pulled that record they wanted from the racks as you asked them what they’d found.
Record shops...the only shops I was ever interested in. The places where I could spend hours finding the songs and albums of my life.
Mind you, I’d have more money today had I never entered those hallowed havens of musical bliss!
Up until then, the competition comprised of non-league teams and teams from the lower divisions.
But what made the 3rd round so special was because once the big teams joined, there was an opportunity to see a ‘giant killing.’
I still have memories of Ronnie Radford’s stunning goal for Hereford in their win over Newcastle in the 1971/72 competition and wanting to see Yeovil beat Arsenal at their sloping home ground in 1971.
And that’s a common thing, we love to see an underdog do well. We love to get behind the ‘little man.’
But it strikes me as odd that whilst we are like this, some people rejoice when they see someone fail.
The media have been doing it for years. They love to sell papers on the back of someone’s rise from obscurity, only reporting with glee, when the hero they built up, does something wrong. They enjoy reporting on that person’s decline just as much, if not more. We can all think of numerous people that’s happened too.
But closer to home, I’ve watched numerous times, people become back-biting when somebody they know starts to move on in life.
It reminds me of the example of putting some crabs in a bucket. After a while, one of the crabs will try and crawl up the side of the bucket, to try and get out, only for the other crabs to grab at the one trying to escape and pull them back.
When I was a young boy, my Dad used to talk about how people were like this in life. He’d say to me that sadly, some people want you to get on, just not in front of them. And that’s so true.
I must have been lucky because my parents were never envious of others and I was brought up the same. They taught me to always feel happy when I saw people achieving, especially if I knew them personally. And I’ve always been the same.
I’ve never understood the phenomenon of being pleased for someone until they began to be moving in front of you and then getting so envious that you start talking badly about them.
As far as I’m concerned, I love to see people moving on in life. And here’s why.
I think that it’s a bit like the sea. When the tide comes in, all the ships rise, not just one.
And what I mean by that is that it shows that when someone’s moving on in life, it means that there are opportunities for you to move on. You just need to be aware enough to spot them and take them.
Jealousy and being envious never does you any good. Bitterness over someone achieving just eats you up. It’s like having poison in your system.
Your jealousy doesn’t affect them, just you. They’re moving on, they’re doing what it takes to move on. That’s positive.
What it also does, is it shows the jealous person their own inadequacies and that’s why they snipe, not because they’re angry at the person moving on, so much as they’re angry over either one of two things:
a) That the other person’s ‘luckier’ and getting the breaks that they aren’t
b) That deep down, they know that they’re not doing the things that can get them to move on. They’re really angry at themselves but rather than admit it they’ll snipe about the achiever.
And what can be surprising is that sometimes, the person doing the sniping can actually be in a better position already, than the person who is moving on.
I’ve noticed this on more than one occasion and in talking to someone about this turn of events, had it explained to me that it’s often because that person is in fear of losing what they’ve got and worried about being overtaken. I wasn’t sure about what they meant by that as it seemed such an odd way to be thinking.
He then went a stage further and explained that when you’re not well off financially, it’s easier to take a risk, after all, you don’t have so much to lose. And you’re more used to living without.
However, if you’re financially well off, sometimes, it’s the fear of losing what you’ve got. And with that comes the fear of how you’d cope if you lost everything. That fear makes it harder for them to cope with seeing someone moving up the monetary ladder.
They start to question themselves and wonder why the other person is moving on and why they’re not. And so they succumb to the same feelings that the jealous or envious person feels.
Jealousy is an insidious thing. It eats at you from the inside, and when you’re sniping about others moving on, it tells others about you. And it also makes people realise that if the jealous person is talking about that person, they’d talk about them as well! And so all in all, it’s going to hurt the jealous person socially as well because the people that aren’t jealous of others won’t want to be around you.
After all, it’s true that we become like the people we associate with. Hang around with thieves and sooner or later, you’ll become one too. That’s just one example.
I’m glad to say, I’ve never been jealous of people moving on. I love to see it. I’ve never been jealous of people who accumulate more and better stuff, be that cars, houses, clothes etc. It proves to me that moving on can still be achieved. What impresses me is what they did to achieve it.
If they can move on, so can I.
And that’s how I see it. We all love a David and Goliath story. But for me, it’s even better when it’s someone who I know personally.
It’s probably why I love Americans and Australians so much. They love an achiever. They applaud people moving on. And I’m all for a bit of ‘ra-ra!’
So I’m here to announce that you don’t have to wait until the 3rd round of the F.A. Cup to hope to see a giant-killing, to see the little team beat the big team.
Instead of talking about them behind their back, applaud their achievements. Tell your friends about them and what they’re doing. Become a cheerleader.
For starters, it’ll make you feel better. And as a bonus, people will also see what a nice person you are!
Many people think of their base as their home town or the place they’ve been brought up in. Yes, I have connections to certain towns and places. Examples being Burnham-on-Sea and Weymouth the two places I’ve lived the longest at.
But my base point is my upbringing. It’s where I return to when I have situations in life. It’s where I go to seek answers. Who I am and where I come from is, at the end of the day, a Showman.
I’ve tried my hand at many things in life. They’re just ways to make a living. They’re not who I am.
I see people categorise themselves by what they do for a living. But what I do for a living isn’t me, it's just what I'm doing at this moment in time.
Yes, when people think of a Showman, they see the rides, the bright lights, the rain (“it always rains when the fair’s here!”) – but being a Showman is so much more than that to me.
It’s a cultural thing. Just because I no longer travel on fairgrounds, it doesn’t change the values, the work ethic, the person I am.
When I think of my base, it’s back there I go. It’s where I can be me; it’s where I look back to for my lessons in life.
Being a Showman allows me to rediscover my roots. The stories I tell reiterate lessons old and new. They remind me that I was brought up in a loving environment.
And to me, that’s important in these turbulent times. Knowing who I am, who my family is and where I came from is my reference point.
I’m not stuck in the past. After all, it’s OK to have ambition and move on in life. But knowing my roots and having that solid foundation always reminds me of who I am.
It reminds me that whatever life chucks at me, I’m from strong stock, from people who aren’t frightened of making mistakes, who are willing to step out of their comfort zones in order to move on. To never think they can’t turn their hand to anything.
I love touching base with my Showman life. Yes, it has downsides. I’m not saying every showman is perfect. After all, we’re all different.
But being a Showman, my base, is where I was before I got lost in the hustle and bustle, the trials and tribulations, and the road that life has taken me on.
And yet, it’s the one place I can look back to and find my starting point. It’s where I learned right from wrong, it’s where my character was moulded, and it’s that loving environment to which I’ll always return, not necessarily physically, but in my mind, my spirit, my soul.
For me touching that base, is what keeps my feet on the floor, and stops me from thinking I’m somebody I’m not.
It keeps me being proud of who I am and it’s why I don’t need to pretend I’m someone that I’m not.
And that has to be a good thing, wouldn't you agree?
