I have had another frustrating week with regards to training as I was struck down yet again by a miserable cold. I'm just about over the worst of it now, but still doping myself up with lemsips and working my way through packets of tissues like there's no tomorrow.
The week was not completely wasted, however, and on Thursday Katie and I put ourselves through the torture of having our photograph taken for the local paper. This was upsetting for me on many levels. I'm never much of a one for being photographed, but add in the fact that I am currently ginger and that this was for the paper and if it's even possible I was less enthusiastic than ever at the prospect of standing in front of a camera.
The photographer came to meet us during our lunch break at work. He decided that it would be a brilliant idea for the photos to be taken outside where the light was better, despite the fact that it was cold, windy and (lightly) snowing. I didn't have my coat, and Katie didn't want to be photographed in hers, so we stood outside, teeth chattering in the middle of the car park as some of my colleagues watched on laughing from the window. Poor Katie's hair was blowing everywhere and unbeknownst to me my hair was also a little all over the place. Thankfully he wasted no time and Katie checked and approved the photos (there was no way I wanted to see them, thanks very much) so the whole ordeal was relatively quick and painless.
Once that was over I had to tackle answering the journalists questions. Initially this wasn't a problem, the questions were standard and easy, all apart from one which I found a little more difficult to answer. I had intended to get Katie to help me, but I soon realised that there was no way she could help me with this, just as she couldn't help me when I was caught completely off-guard by the photographer asking me how old I was when my brother was alive and how well I knew him. You see, here's the thing. I don't mind talking to people about this kind of stuff and I have been answering questions like this for the last 24 years. That's ok, people are curious and interested and I'm hardly going to lie when the inevitable "do you have any siblings" question comes up and say that I don't have any brothers. But really, it isn't something I talk about much, and then only with people I know and trust and almost always on my terms. Even then, most of the time I will just brush over it with something along the lines of "it's fine, it was a long time ago", which is obviously a lie because it's hardly fine.
The week was not completely wasted, however, and on Thursday Katie and I put ourselves through the torture of having our photograph taken for the local paper. This was upsetting for me on many levels. I'm never much of a one for being photographed, but add in the fact that I am currently ginger and that this was for the paper and if it's even possible I was less enthusiastic than ever at the prospect of standing in front of a camera.
The photographer came to meet us during our lunch break at work. He decided that it would be a brilliant idea for the photos to be taken outside where the light was better, despite the fact that it was cold, windy and (lightly) snowing. I didn't have my coat, and Katie didn't want to be photographed in hers, so we stood outside, teeth chattering in the middle of the car park as some of my colleagues watched on laughing from the window. Poor Katie's hair was blowing everywhere and unbeknownst to me my hair was also a little all over the place. Thankfully he wasted no time and Katie checked and approved the photos (there was no way I wanted to see them, thanks very much) so the whole ordeal was relatively quick and painless.
Once that was over I had to tackle answering the journalists questions. Initially this wasn't a problem, the questions were standard and easy, all apart from one which I found a little more difficult to answer. I had intended to get Katie to help me, but I soon realised that there was no way she could help me with this, just as she couldn't help me when I was caught completely off-guard by the photographer asking me how old I was when my brother was alive and how well I knew him. You see, here's the thing. I don't mind talking to people about this kind of stuff and I have been answering questions like this for the last 24 years. That's ok, people are curious and interested and I'm hardly going to lie when the inevitable "do you have any siblings" question comes up and say that I don't have any brothers. But really, it isn't something I talk about much, and then only with people I know and trust and almost always on my terms. Even then, most of the time I will just brush over it with something along the lines of "it's fine, it was a long time ago", which is obviously a lie because it's hardly fine.
Anyway. I tackled the question, got a couple of people I trusted to look at it for me and sent it all back to the journalist (a little later than she'd wanted it). She came back with two more questions, which I suppose I wasn't all that surprised about, but I really wasn't sure I could answer. Worse, she wanted a response within a couple of hours and I was at work, a place where I hardly wanted to be thinking about "my memories of James, what happened, how it affected me as his sister and whether he was still a big part of my life because of the Trust". She understood why I wasn't sure this was something I could respond to at work, told me I didn't have to answer because her deadline was lunchtime. But the questions were sat there in my inbox, and I couldn't help but think about them so to get it from my mind I quickly wrote something down without thinking about it too much and sent it back to her (after, once again, getting Katie to read it for me) before blocking it from my mind.
That evening, I got a couple of messages from people because the article had appeared online. It's here, if you haven't seen it yet. I haven't read it. So there we go. This is an example of me talking about it on my own terms and asking that you don't bring it up unless I do, though you are of course perfectly at liberty to rip the absolute piss out of how gay my hair looks.
To conclude. It wasn't the most successful of weeks, hopefully next time I write I will have some better news to report with regards to my training and I will have kicked this stupid cold for good.
Also, a reminder that you can get tickets to come to our champagne and wine tasting evening on 20 April by messaging either myself or Katie and you can of course always sponsor us by clicking here.
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