Grow Up!

By Benn Marks

Grow Up! is a 23-year-old man's diarised account of his travails upon returning home from a longish trip overseas ...  

The central character (Thom) is heart-broken after leaving the woman of his dreams in London (or so he thought she was), conceding he left her / the relationship because he was afraid; afraid to commit to a long-term relationship because he felt the need to come home and "grow up" - although not entirely sure what that entailed exactly. 

And, upon returning home (to a place called Morson Cove), he decides to write a journal over the course of several heady months, penning some of the events and encounters he experiences; his dealings with dysfunctional, crude and crass characters, plus his own thoughts and feelings as he struggles to find some sense of direction amongst it all, and "grow up".  

However, he's not entirely sure what that involves, exactly; does it mean getting a "real job," having a "real relationship" - whatever they are? 

Upon returning home however, he realises that the very things he desired all along were right under his nose - at home: building a meaningful relationship, finding a suitable job - getting a sense of direction, and of course, "growing up" - in a way that makes sense to him.  

Grow Up! is also set in a time (2005) when technology wasn't anywhere near as prevalent as it is today, so in that sense is set in a less complicated time & place ...

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Benn Marks
• Release date: Jan 27, 2025
• ISBN: 9798224321148

Book preview

By Benn Marks

Prologue

I have never written a diary before. I’m one of those people who prefers to think about things before moving on.

But over the past few months that hasn’t been the case. The thoughts haven’t been fleeting, they’ve been constant; something which has compelled me to write them down on paper.

The important thing being to write them out ... out of my system.

So from now on, whenever I feel the urge to write, and provided I have the time, I will. For clarity and peace of mind ...

What’s more, it’s been a whirlwind past few months, and I’m convinced that writing about things - ‘capturing the moment’ via the written word – will have a calming effect on me.

And I’ll be brutally honest with myself here, too ... I need to feel calm and relaxed more than anything else at the moment. Life is after all one big conveyor belt of thoughts, feelings, experiences, and memories. But sometimes that conveyor belt breaks down and needs repairing. That’s where the writing comes into it. It’s a mechanic, a fixer. Its appeal lies in the fact it’s a form of self-medication (one that’s completely free and legal!).

So what should I write about? That’s a redundant question. I’ll just write! ... About everything and anything.

There’s the Past, the Present, and the Future. I’ve lived one, am living one, and am yet to live the last one. But the Past is the one that seems to sting and sadden me in the Present. Not all the time admittedly, but a lot of the time.

... How does that work? It all seems so clear in one sense but not in another. I mean, how can something already lived have an influence on something living?

The Past ... That mysterious repository of all things that have transpired; namely, thoughts, feelings, and experiences. And what do they become after that? Memories? So is that all my life is - and will be?

... A mass of memories? Well, if that’s the case, thanks Life! Thanks for the memories ... Then again, perhaps I just need to Grow Up ...

Chapter 1

8:00AM Tuesday, 4 January 2005

I landed about an hour ago and felt truly awful. I still do! Like a lead balloon ...

Looking back over the past few months seemed like a blur to me now. More like a whirlwind. Europe was my destination and base for a good ten months. I only intended staying for a few weeks but decided to stick around. I mean, who wouldn’t have ...?

And in that time, I managed to see a load of countries and strike up a relationship with a girl who I could have seen myself settling down with. But I didn’t. I came back. I came home. Why? ... Because I was an idiot. I was afraid and wasn’t sure what I was doing. I thought I had to be all serious and stop having fun, so I did. I mean, you can’t have fun forever, can you? ... Didn’t there come a time when you just had to Wake up and smell the Roses, as they say? Be mature, get a job, settle down – whatever the hell that meant, and live life, adult-like?

Some of that I accepted, but most of it I didn’t. Why? Because it sounded like a bunch of stupid rules; rules made up by those who were too scared to live life. And yet those same rules – made up by those too scared to live life, ended up prodding me into action where I felt I had no choice but to come back. So I did. I allowed the fun-Nazis to rule over me and dictate the terms of my existence.

I was scared, they won. But to be slightly fair, and only slightly fair, my money was drying up, and I felt a bit aimless as well. There was something at the back of my mind that kept on screaming: Get some direction in your life, just get some bloody direction!

And that translated into jumping on a plane and coming home. Now I was questioning whether I did the right thing. The more I thought about it I’m not sure I did, especially when I thought about Georgia. I was a cynic – still am - but even a directionless cynic like me had to concede that nothing beat love, having experienced it.

The type of love where you woke up in the morning with someone exceptional lying next to you and thought to yourself: this is the life. It most certainly was.

The intimacy, the companionship, the ability to talk, the ability to connect, the ability to make love; they were the things that made you want to live with that special person forever. Until fear kicked in and you chucked in the towel and bolted. That’s what I did.

I’m surprised I actually lasted as long as I did. I mean, the weeks abroad ended up morphing into months abroad. It happens. It did actually happen. And I met Georgia and things changed.

Georgia was beautiful and smart; incredibly smart; and worldly; and self-sufficient; and independent, and self-possessed.

And she met me and put a monumental spring in my step. The sort of spring you just don’t feel very often. I was in love. I used to think my heart was a purely mechanical device, one which could turn on and off at whim.

But it appears it was made of mere flesh and blood after all because here I was now – back home pining for her. Pining for Georgia ...

So there I was, in the present and my head was a mess. A big almighty mess and I had no one to blame but myself. I felt like crap. I needed some semblance of normality. I needed to shower, have a cup of tea, a quick snooze (if I felt like it - but only if I felt like it), then unpack my intimidatingly large and heavy backpack.

I’d ring my family and friends after that, those here and abroad, and let them know I was back.

Home ...

2:05PM Tuesday, 4 January 2005

I unpacked my backpack which was a good start but had to prepare myself for the cascade of thoughts that would inevitably flow now that I was idle.

I had some idea of what they were and could see them galloping through the dark recesses of my mind towards daylight.

They would bowl me over in an instant if I wasn’t careful. I needed to do something, anything, just to get my head out of the thick, densely wooded forest. The one where I ran the risk of getting lost in if I didn’t watch where I was going.

First thing’s first though - I needed to ring my aunt, Aunt Jackie (AJ) and let her know I was home.

She was at work when I did, so we could only talk briefly but my homecoming dinner was confirmed for tonight. Bonus! I also wanted to see how Jack her Border Terrier was travelling. It’s fair to say I loved them both equally but in different ways and for different reasons.

They were both the last fragments of family I had on this side of the planet. AJ was my bedrock; she was smart, sensible, loving and kind. And Jack? He had such a lovely temperament for a dog; easy-going, relaxed, friendly and he was always up for a walk! In fact, when AJ’s work commitments had her travelling away from home, I was the one who picked up the slack – or leash as it were – and walked him. I had no problems with that. It was good for him, and it was good for me. I used to walk him regardless of whether AJ could or couldn’t.

In fact, walking Jack was – and had always been - an integral part of my life; speaking of which, I needed to walk now. I was restless, bloody restless. My thoughts were like a disembowelled pillow with its feathers strewn everywhere. A complete mess.

Did that come with broken-hearted territory or simply I feel like crap territory?

I honestly didn’t know. There were a lot of things I didn’t know. Such as, why was I thinking about the plane that flew me home now? More precisely, the flight home in it? What was that all about?

I didn’t do much for the seven or so hours I was airborne, except sit on my idle bum in an uncomfortable seat in coach and watch two lousy movies; activities which were only punctuated when I got up twice to stretch my legs and head to the lavatory for two quick toilet breaks. But wait! There was more!

I did do something else now that I think about it ... I grieved!

So while the plane was busy hurtling through the heavens like a rocket, I was gulping away the sadness that had enveloped me.

A profound sadness at the thought of having left behind a beautiful woman. That’s all I did, and I was guilty as charged.

I had to do something to stop the sadness. I had to get out of the house ...

Now ...!

5:15PM Tuesday, 4 January 2005

My mental state consisted of yet more persistent and sharp thoughts ... regret, loss and pain being chief among them.

My present state was pathetic. Talk about being a sad sack of God knows what. I had to stop it and break the cycle! I had to move; get out of the house. Again. What a great idea!

My plan was to walk up to Wellington Boulevard and check out the new café that had sprung up in my absence. The one I saw in the cab on the way home this morning. I wanted a (good) cup of coffee now more than ever, because I hadn’t had a good brew for the past forty or so hours - perhaps longer when I considered the scarcity of good coffee in London.

Despite it being a magical city in so many ways it was sadly deficient in the "Now, that’s a great cup of coffee!" stakes. Perhaps I was just being petty, although I did fervently hope the new café, whatever it was called, could and would whip up a solid brew.

It would become my regular haunt if it did because I needed a regular haunt; something familiar. Creatures of habit needed familiarity because without it they floundered, especially in times of sadness and loss. Like now.

And after that little exploratory trip I’d send Georgia an email, letting her know I’d arrived home safely. (Why though? – I didn’t know why.)

And then I’d ring the lads, Pozlowski and Tony, to organise a catch up ... 

1:20AM Wednesday, 5January 2005

I was wide awake now. It had to be the jetlag and its perverse partner in crime, disrupted sleep, because all I could feel now were its hallucinatory effects.

I replayed certain poignant European Vacation experiences in my mind as I lay awake in bed; plus, dwelled on my conversation with AJ over dinner last night.

She cooked a magical Welcome Home dinner, true to form!

There were certainly no complaints my end, and it was lovely to be in a familiar environment with loving family members again; and it was also good to hear her news, that she and Jack had been keeping well while I was away.

Not that they wouldn’t have, however it was nice to hear it all the same. Then we talked about the trip - at length. The sights, the sounds, the people, the places – all the things commonly associated with travel that most people talk about and reminisce over after they’ve done a bit of it.

And of course, we talked about Georgia which was great for me but perhaps boring as bat-shit for AJ. But she at least listened to my idle ramblings, and I thank her for that.

So, to set the record straight, AJ was my family, my confidante – on all matters spiritual and emotional. That might have sounded ‘wet’ or just downright bloody ridiculous ‘New Age’ claptrap, but the truth was she was that for me.

And Jack, the Border Terrier, what could I say about him?! That I loved him to bits and missed him enormously while I was away? ... I didn’t miss AJ as much if only because I knew she was okay doing her thing. But Jack - yep because his safety & well-being was contingent upon AJ ... I missed the four-legger a ton.

So, the welcome home dinner was a warmly appreciated gesture. It settled my mind quite a bit, and provided me with the opportunity to re-establish the physical vis-à-vis links that had been put on hold while I was O/S.

That was important to me. I then told AJ all about Georgia and she just listened and smiled. But that smile of hers. It spoke volumes and was laden with an incredible sense of knowing. There was of course her ‘other smile’ - the wry one! It wasn’t a cynical or dismissive one by any measure, but it strongly suggested the ‘owner’ (al la AJ) was acutely aware of the sublime nuances of any given circumstance; like mine when I told her about Georgia.

However, at the end of the day AJ was an infectiously good-natured, warm-hearted soul who would always be there to lean on when things got tough.

However, I could only imagine what she must have been thinking when I told her about G – that being G for Georgia!

Thom, you’re being an idiot! A complete idiot! Georgia’s gone now but at least you both had fun together. But - and there’s always a but - you have to let her go now. You really do! Accept the time you had together and move on. That’s easier said than done I know. But make a start on doing that as much as you can now. Why? Because you decided to come back, that’s why, and it’s as simple as that ...

I could have laid a safe bet AJ was thinking along those lines because as I reached the end of my wistful account of G, she asked a couple of simple yet poignant questions. Questions that had to be asked, but questions I didn’t have any satisfying answers to.

Questions like: You have to ask yourself why you came back, Thommy? ... I didn’t know.

Or these ones: You came back for reasons only you know, Thommy. But would you, or more to the point, could you go back now? ... That is, would it make any sense to go back now?" ... I didn’t know the answer to those questions either.

‘We all do things Thommy, some of which are rational and some of which simply aren’t,’ she said.

‘But life goes on! The issue for you is to identify what compelled you to flee in the first place, to use your word,’ AJ added.

‘And if you decide not to return, you’ll need to accept your decision – and any sadness that comes with it, because you can’t really avoid it in situations like this. It’ll envelop you, it’ll hurt you, but it will ultimately subside over time. I know you and how you think, Thommy. Knowing you you’ll feel it quite acutely, but it will settle down over time. I should probably let you that that’s what happened to me. So I have some idea of what you’re feeling and going through!

‘We meet people while we’re away and do things, things we’d never contemplate doing at home. We gamble, we take risks, we live life. We basically do all the things we’d love to do at home, but we don’t. Why is that?! Then we think we’re onto a good wicket and think something must be wrong, so we pull the pin, as they say. Isn’t that interesting!’ ... Yes, very much so!

AJ threw in a few more accounts of what she did in her youth, and how she felt afterwards. Feelings of regret being chief among them. And her accounts penetrated my thick bony skull and reverberated throughout the grey slush that was my brain.

‘You know what, Thommy. As much as Georgia sounded like an absolute catch, you have to be realistic. I mean, could you just jump on a plane and go back now? And if you could, would it be the same? And think about this. If the terms of your departure were unclear and ambiguous to her, which you tell me they were, would she be open to you just entering her life again?’ ... No, probably not.

I could definitely see where AJ was going with her thoughts.

‘I don’t want to diminish what you’ve just been through Thommy, and experienced for that matter, but do you want to know something else? You probably met a great woman over there, but there are bound to be some over here too, you know. Don’t ever dismiss that possibility! That’s jumping ahead a bit, I know.

‘The sadness - you’ll need to run with it for the time being. It doesn’t go away overnight, so just work with it and be sure to do things. And that’s so you don’t just sit and fester.’

In retrospect it’s fair to say that my dinner with AJ and Jack on the first night home proved to be the perfect tonic. AJ was an absolute gem. In fact, the sad thought of leaving Georgia was partly ameliorated by being able to talk with AJ about her, which softened the impact of coming back.

That was the thing about AJ. She was a very stable rock - and a family one that also happened to live in this part of the world with me. That is, in Morson Cove.

My parents lived elsewhere; they were doing the work stint in Southeast Asia. I was close to them, but my life’s trajectory hadn’t taken me to their part of the world, and I don’t think it ever would, such was life. Anyway, weren’t offspring supposed to make their own way in life?! 

I’d chosen to remain in Morson Cove (with AJ and Jack), and that was that. So AJ, my mum’s older sister, was all that remained of my family in ol’ sleepy Morson Cove. And that was enough for me.

AJ was the kind of person who seized life by the nads. She was married to a man for fifteen years but parted ways with him several years ago. Sure, she’d been sad when it happened and openly wept for what seemed like months but bounced back with zest, for which she was renowned. AJ was a toughie who embraced life whole-heartedly.

And Jack, her six-year-old Border Terrier canine, had been as faithful and as dedicated to her as you could hope for. He’d been my best friend, too. Jesus! Was I waxing lyrical about those two or what?! Yes, I was! But I was proud of them and loved them very much. The three of us happily flew the Reading family flag in the absence of my parents.

What was it about being wide awake at 2:00AM in the morning that compelled the mind to drift off on some wild tangent? In this case, a stock-take of recent events and what was important to me? It happened, didn’t it?! For some inexplicable reason the notion of family – my family – seemed to dominate proceedings in the little thought bubble I just happened to be in the midst of at 2:00AM on this particular morning.

But in exploring the notion of family further (again, my family), it was probably fair to say that close friends constituted family to some extent too. That was a fair call to my way of thinking as well.

All I needed now to embellish my little 2:00AM reverie was a bit of musical accompaniment and the sting of thinking about Georgia would be gone for good! That was the plan anyway ... would it work?!! Nope!

And to reinforce the point, when I turned on the bedside radio, the local station was blurting out some late night/early morning love song dedications. And as luck would have it, I was out of luck. Some wet-fart romantic had just called in to request a song for the love of his life who was, he revealed, no longer around.

Typical! It was a topical theme!

2:30AM Wednesday, 5January 2005

Why couldn’t the reign of sadness only ever be short-lived – with happiness and contentment long-lasting? Why not? Because that’s just not the way life worked. If grief and sadness had the potential to be protracted affairs you could be rest assured they would be.

But getting back to that despondent twit who called in earlier and requested a late-night love-song dedication - it just happened to be none other than Frank Sinatra’s The Summer Wind. Great! Just what I needed! Not!

I tried bloody hard to concentrate on my thoughts, and not some song that was going to make me pine for Georgia. It proved to be a mighty challenge ... So where was I? Ah, yep – family! And of course, friends! Those closely associated souls who supported and buttressed the notion of what a family was, or what it consisted of. I had two notable friends who had been in my mental family picture frame since junior high school.

Tony Mennea and Michael Pozlowski, or ‘Poz’ as we’d called him since day one because it had proven easier to do so. We were all in our early twenties now (I was three months into my 23rd year). And the three of us had remained solid friends since being thrown into the mosh pit that was junior high school way back when we were young, cocky, hopelessly naïve, yet not surprisingly overly confident teenagers (aren’t all teenagers like that?).

Tony Mennea and I became good mates by virtue of sitting at the same two-seat desk together in Year 7. While Pozlowski, who had sat at the back of the class all by himself, had gravitated to us when we both stuck up for him after the class bully and all his dickhead mates did him over one Thursday afternoon.

The bully and his posse then decided to punch the bejesus out of us the next day after we stuck up for Poz - but we gave as good as we got! In fact, Poz (who was now a lanky 6’2") got so wound up he practically demolished the five tyrants in one foul swoop. We never had any problems with them after that.

And if the truth be told, we were kind of feared after that episode by the rest of the student population. Not because we went out of our way to cause trouble or prey upon other school kids, no, we were just seen as the trio you didn’t mess with.

And contrary to the popular expression that two’s a company, three’s a crowd - that never applied to us. The three of us were the perfect foils for each other ...

So what was the state of play between the three of us now ... in 2005?

Tony was a successful mechanic in his uncle’s motorcycle business, one he was likely to inherit, repairing bikes from the respected production lines of Ducati, BMW, Cagiva and Moto-Guzzi. And Tony had also been in a long-term relationship with Selina, his Italian girlfriend for the past four years.

I introduced them to each other when I worked with Selina several years ago in some sweatshop call-centre as a temp. Fortunately, we both got on very well when we were forced to buddy up and share the same workstation all those years ago, and for some funny reason I knew straight away the two of them would get on even better if I played the role of cupid.

I organised an informal drinks session for a few people after work one night, invited Tony along for the ride, and he and Selina hit it off immediately - as expected. I’m happy in the knowledge that I did my bit to introduce my long-time buddy to the girl of his dreams. And she still was.

But who could forget Poz?! A second-year Electrical Engineering student drop out, an electronics whiz kid extraordinaire, and prolific internet dater. Poz still lived at home with his parents, younger sister, and grandfather.

He lived in an adjoining bachelor pad at the back of his parents’ home, and his place was a nightmare. There were electronic computer boards here, data cords there, tools here, boxes of spare electrical circuit boards there, and several TVs and computers in various stages of (dis-)repair littering the floor basically everywhere.

In his early teens Poz was, according to family lore, diagnosed by the family doctor as having a bit, more like a lot, of Tourette’s, ADHD, Asperger’s, plus a bit of bi-polar.

And by his mid-teens he was described by others as being anxious looking and strange, and therefore different which explained in a roundabout way why he was mercilessly targeted and punched up in Year 7 by the class bully and his little cruel squad of goons all those years ago ...

On his bad days he was an impulsive, hyper-active and socially inappropriate lad who’d verbally lash out, fart, burp or say things – highly inappropriate things - at the most inappropriate times. But to be fair, besides his cognitive glitches, he also had irritable bowel syndrome (IBS), which he simply called the slops. It was something that affected him, his end, no end.

On his good days however, I don’t think it was unreasonable to say he was a closeted genius, with an inventive capacity that bordered on the wondrous and amazing. He could bring old televisions, DVD players and even old, obsolete computers back to life. How he did it, no one knew.

But he had a knack for fixing things that were broken. As for his family doctor who tried to label him with God knows what all those years ago ... It was irrelevant at the end of the day. Poz was Poz.

He was half Polish (mother’s side) and half Latvian, father’s side. His mother was lovely and seemed to take her son’s gifts in her stride, while his father was a bit of a temperamental old fart. His grandfather, Ivan, didn’t believe in washing his teeth with toothpaste, preferring instead to rinse his mouth out with Methylated Spirits. Christ!

His younger sister (by two years), Danika, was lovely too, although she was prone to passionate outbursts from time-to-time like her brother, but they were no way near as explosive. Incidentally, her relationships typically never lasted anything beyond five weeks.

She was worldly as she liked to consider herself, and constantly recited a list of things which she believed supported that assertion. For example, she’d tried everything from drug-riddled dance parties, rock-climbing and lesbianism (which she said just doesn’t suit me), to smoking dope, taking speed and ecstasy, as well as alcohol, in all its endless varieties and concoctions.

Danika also liked her classical music and had been an avid classical music devotee from a young age. Incidentally, she did show promise as a violinist at an early age but got bored with it after three or so years.

And her catchphrase: I find classical music soothing. So incredibly soothing, summed up her love for it perfectly.

And Danika would also drag me off to a classical music concert, a piano recital, a string quartet, a movie, a book club meeting, an art gallery exhibition, or a public lecture on God knows what, whatever really, from time-to-time too; and I’d happily accompany her because it was good for me as well. Nothing beat a dose of culture – besides yoghurt.

And to be fair, Danika was an experimenter and wasn’t afraid to try anything new and I admired her for that. She’d be right there in the thick of it (I couldn’t say I would be). So there it was ... AJ, Jack, Tony (and Selina), Poz (and his family) and my family – in absentia. They were the core family/friends who had been in my life thus far.

There had been one or two girlfriends in there too, but nothing ever long lasting or permanent; certainly nothing worth noting down here.

So where was I currently? I mean, why did I flee overseas as a 22-year-old male in the first place, only to return and mourn over an apparently dead relationship now? Did I flee? Was that the right word to use here?

It was time to recap (for my own benefit!) ...

Oh that’s right! As if I needed to recap (I seemed to do that without any coaxing whatsoever!).

(Disclaimer inserted here: the mind’s a cruel device. It forces us to remember things we don’t want to, don’t need to, but more importantly, don’t want to. Bloody useless thing!)

So, yes, why did I skedaddle O/S in the first place? I knew why and it went something like this ...

I was working in a mind-numbing job, doing God knows what, working with a bunch of twits. The kind of twits that lived for nothing more than football, getting thoroughly pissed every Friday night, as well as meeting the one at the local bar which happened to be around the corner from where we all worked.

I could feel my brain oozing out though my nostrils: thick, grey, viscous gunk dripping into the waste basket placed discretely under my workstation (not simply desk).

But was that all? I mean, there had to be more to it than that, surely? There was. I was frustrated, disillusioned, empty, unfulfilled, unchallenged and consequently, apathetic. Hopelessly apathetic.

On reflection I blamed my co-workers for a lot of things when in actual fact it was me. And me alone. In retrospect, I could see how easy it was to blame others for my own faults. Call it convenient, call it lazy.

But who wouldn’t think like that when all I was doing was pointless office work; working with idiots who lived for the weekends, so they could get pissed and shag like horny rabbits, or at least give the impression of doing so?

Said idiots who lived for the latest reality TV shows, reciting them in minute detail the very next day at work; twits who lived for meeting The One (I’d already mentioned this but it was a strong, recurring theme in said twits’ sad lives); twits who lived for Friday afternoon football tipping in the office; twits who lived for standing around in the kitchenette talking dribble for thirty minutes at a stretch because work could wait, while the work that did pile up was ultimately palmed off to others less senior in the organisation to do.

Ultimately, I reached critical mass. Where the slightest provocation – as trivial as it was, set me off. By set off I mean nothing really happened, nothing at all. But if the truth be told, I was frustrated, incredibly frustrated. It was an existentialist frustration more than anything else. One which sprang forth from within and roamed freely when I reflected on how miserable I was when I contemplated my circumstances and how utterly powerless I felt to do anything about them.

I also had to consider the very real and unavoidable possibility that I was truly apathetic in all of this. I did my work and worked hard, but I was sad, dejected, spiritually empty and spent; and all at the ripe old age of 22. Quite an achievement really!

And (there was always an and) - I allowed my co-workers to get to me. We all needed excuses for our own short-comings, and they were mine.

Not surprisingly, I grew sick, tired and angry whenever I saw or heard them, which, not surprisingly, was all the time. Put simply, they did my head in. More to the point, I allowed them to.

And to rub salt into the bitter, twisted, festering wound, I allowed the trivial aspects of their lives to eat away at mine.

If it wasn’t words such as like and whatever that got a rise out of me, it was the inane snippets of soporific co-workers’ conversations I overheard that did. Rich topics about such things as – boyfriends long gone, boyfriends met only three days ago and shagged senselessly but who hadn’t called since; or drunken boyfriends who’d puked inside their precious cars without a care in the world – and with no offer forthcoming to clean or pay for the cleaning of them who were still, despite this, the best, sensitive men out there.

I was sick of hearing it and just wanted to be left alone - but NO! It never worked like that. I was told how to do my job, even how to live my life. We’ll tell you what to do, Thom. We certainly will!

I shouldn’t have been so cynical because perhaps trashy TV shows and trashy magazines could offer something to the masses ... spiritual guidance and profound philosophical insights being chief among them. Without actually knowing it I was quite possibly in the midst of a period of enlightenment (the 21st Century version of it anyway). But alas, I wasn’t.

I got systematically more and more pissed off with the world, with the idiots in it, and myself, and thought: Is this all there is? ... Surely there had to be more to it than this. Surely? And that was it in a nutshell. My nutshell (plus the fact that nutshell had morphed into a spiritually devoid toxic waste ground).

So I did what I did best and that’s leave the scene of the crime (although no crime had been committed). I had to leave, more like flee – to an environment that wasn’t so overwhelming.

And I did just that; that is, flee to greener pastures, to a life a little less crass and overbearing. It did me the world of good. But here I was now – back on home soil. And that question Why? hit me like a ton of bricks again, and again, and again. Why? Why? Why? Like a rapid firing machine gun. Why? Because I felt I had to come back. It couldn’t have lasted. It probably wasn’t meant to anyway, was it?

What’s more, I saw trends, indicators, pointers – whatever the words were, that strongly hinted at the possibility that what I was fleeing from at home occurred overseas too.

The grass wasn’t greener over there as much as I wanted to think it was. It wasn’t.

So I was back now, pining for a woman, and that was something I had to accept. I made the choice to return. It was my choice and my choice alone.

Deep breaths, Thom! Deep breaths ... That was then, this is now. One journey had come to an end and a new one had begun. Schmaltzy? You bet-cha! - but the sentiment resonated with me all the same.

With that in mind, what was next? An Ad Break?! ... "And when we return, Thom Reading will be ruminating over another pressing matter - besides Georgia - and that’s money! Yes, a very pressing matter if ever there was one! Why? Because Thom Reading has none, that’s why!"

Money, Money, Money! That necessary evil, that necessary ‘need’.

But the truth was I’d depleted my Credit Card while abroad. Not dramatically, but I did need to find a job so I could start repaying it. What’s more, I couldn’t live on hopes and dreams alone. I needed a job so I could get what I needed – and that was Ka-Ching!

Problem solved, Thom! So besides thinking about Georgia, and the fact I’d chucked it all in – STOP IT, THOM! Just stop it! Deep breaths, son! Deep breaths!

... So where was I?! ... Oh, that’s right! Money! I was talking about money ...

I’d start scanning the local newspapers for a job. It could be anything in the short term just to get the money flowing again. However, I needed to categorically state I didn’t want to go back to an office environment, if possible, if ever. Again. Why? Because I couldn’t afford to lose sight of why I resigned from my (office) job and headed overseas in the first place. And that’s because I grew to hate it, that’s why.

There was also that major sticking point about working with idiots; lobotomised idiots who made life intolerable for those who weren’t lobotomised. I didn’t want a repeat of that. And there it was, laid out plain and simple for me to see what I needed to do: Get – A – Job ... It was official now.

But also – I needed to stop thinking about idiots. It wasn’t fair to them; it wasn’t fair to me (and it wound me up unnecessarily).

And I needed to stop thinking about Georgia (easier said than done, I know, but I had to try) ...

6:30AM Thursday, 6 January 2005

I’d been up since 4:00AM this morning, which admittedly was not as bad as Wednesday morning’s effort, but it was still early enough. The jet lag was still there, but it didn’t seem to be affecting me as much as I thought it would. But Georgia? She did. She was ever-present, always on my mind.

Enough, Thom ... Enough ...!

8:15AM Thursday, 6January 2005

Coffee! Coffee! Coffee! ... I needed one - Right now!!

A new café had sprung up on Wellington Boulevard in my absence. I noticed it when we drove past in the taxi on the way home from the airport on Tuesday morning but couldn’t for the life of me remember its name. I was going to go there when I got back on Tuesday arvo, but things didn’t pan out that way. They never did.

In this case I ended up doing things around the house, like unpacking and cleaning up, all the while encumbered by some sort of mental fog which dimmed my wits and stifled my enthusiasm for wanting to do anything at all. And by the time I looked at my watch the day was practically over.

Did jetlag have that effect or was that (effect) attributable to something else? Oh, shit! I shouldn’t have sworn but it seemed appropriate now. Just like when you stubbed your toe and shouting, Cor, blimey! just didn’t cut it. You simply needed something stronger for dramatic effect; to capture the moment, to capture the exasperation and the pain.

And then, just like lightning, the café’s name appeared out of nowhere – in my mind. I must’ve stubbed my toe in my mind, which jolted it. The café was called Mocha Magic, I think. Mocha Magic café ... Really?! What kind of name was that?! It made sense on one level but not on others.

Actually, it didn’t make sense at all (even if the coffee was good). There had to be a story of some kind behind it. But then again, there always was a story when it came to names.

But the absence of a remotely compelling, logical name threw me out somewhat. More like a lot. I mean, when I thought of the word dickhead - and when you referred to someone as one - there was generally some basis behind it; or wanker – there was always a story behind calling someone a wanker, without fail - a justification of sorts. But Mocha Magic? No!

But what the hell did it matter what it was called? It was called that name because it wasn’t called something else, yet, here I was ruminating over the most inconsequential drivel it was pathetic. And the ruminating was driving me nuts because it was highly obsessional in nature.

That is, if I wasn’t thinking about café names I was thinking about Georgia, and if I wasn’t thinking about those two things, or names to call others, I’d switch back to Georgia, and failing that, it was bloody money (or the lack thereof). Argh!

Thinking about Georgia was severe punishment enough – my punishment. Georgia was incredible. She brought me joy yet the memory of her now brought me nothing but tremendous pain; a problem which was compounded by the fact a few thousand miles separated us now.

I didn’t expect to fall so in love with her, but I did. There was no point punishing myself for the fact I did because I was only human after all and did what was a purely human thing to do. The punishment stemmed from the fact I’d bolted. From her.

My punishment (if that was the right word to use here) was that I was no longer with her now ... As I thought about Georgia it was the little things that brought me unstuck. Like her perfume. It had the most divine scent, and I was entranced when she wore it. It was overpowering and incredibly alluring. Christ! I sounded like a bloody shampoo conditioner ad. What crap! Resilience, Thom! Resilience!

I needed resilience, I had to toughen up, and stop thinking about her. And her perfume, and all the other things that made her so intoxicating to me now. I had to move on. To do otherwise would make me a dickhead and a wanker.

I had to get a coffee - Right Now ...!

9:30AM Thursday, 6January 2005

My two-day quest for a decent cup of coffee was now officially over!

Mocha Magic had passed the test!

The barista made a full flavoured brew that practically knocked my socks off. If my first takeaway coffee there was anything to go by, I’d definitely be back for a second one. And a third. But when I really thought about it there was definitely something else at play here besides good coffee.

I had a local café I frequented when I lived in London with Georgia. It became a regular haunt of ours, a place where I could feel at ease and comfortable in while I was away from home. That was important to me. And despite being home now I wanted Mocha Magic to be that familiar place for me.

I also think it had something to do with the whole creature of habit thingy too; something which was me to a T. Then again, perhaps I was just being overly wistful; regular haunts, regular haunts with Georgia. Oh, no! I could feel it starting again!

Enough, Thom ... enough ... Enough!

The second box I wanted to tick asap was the Get back into the Workforce one, bearing in mind the semi-parlous state of my finances. They weren’t terminally ill, or beyond palliative care, however, I was painfully aware of the fact that the last substantial deposit I made in my bank account (which was approximately five weeks ago now) was my last pay cheque.

The funny thing about money was that you could dream all you wanted about how nice it would be to be a millionaire, living a debt-free life, but the reality was most of us would never experience such a financially blissful state. And I was as far removed from being a millionaire now as I was from setting foot on the moon.

Ah, reality ... nothing beat reality!

Actually, it wasn’t that I was truly desperate as I had a few weeks savings up my sleeve; financial fat to burn through during hard times if I may. So it’d be inappropriate to declare myself officially bankrupt now. I wasn’t.

But the thought of potential indefinite financial impecunity grated on me heavily. It basically overwhelmed me if the truth be told. And that thought was further compounded when I contemplated the news I’d heard from the lads and AJ, that the local economy wasn’t as robust as many had hoped.

Admittedly, the year was still in its infancy, but jobs were scarce. So yep, the thought I might not be able to secure something for a little while yet was a decent kick in the guts. 

And if I was completely honest with myself, I was a tad insecure. More like very insecure. I didn’t want to be in a social situation where, if I was asked what I did for a living, I could only say: I’m a cashless, hapless, companionless beggar. Stuff that for a joke! I didn’t want that at all, not one bit of it.

On a related note, the thought of going and asking my ex-boss to consider whether he’d be willing to re-hire me again didn’t exactly fill me with joy either. I finished on reasonably good terms with him, but it was the whole office job thing I was averse to: suits, men in suits, monotonous work, drab workplaces, lousy coffee, massive egos, dickhead co-workers – the list grew exponentially, and I didn’t want to add to it.

More to the point - why would I want to go back to any of that? The truth was I didn’t want to. (Hadn’t I already explored this one at depth earlier??)

... As I plucked idle thoughts off the mental conveyor belt for scrutiny, I realised I was losing sight of the end game here. That job was in the past where it would/should remain. Also, that period of my life belonged to last year - and it was now 2005 - a New Year!

It was time to try something new ...

9:55AM Thursday, 6 January 2005

From: Thom Reading

To: Georgia Paddington

Subject: Hello!

Hello Georgia,

Just thought I’d send you an email to hi! - and that I made it back safely : )

The flight back was nothing flash and being home has felt strange.

Before I start - I hope everything okay with you and that the breezy summer weather is still holding up its end of the bargain for you in London!

Now, what I will say (which I hope to work through in more detail in the coming days/weeks) is that I am truly sorry for leaving. More to the point, for leaving you the way I did. There was so much going on in my mind, so much confusion about what I should do with my life, I simply had no idea how or what to tell you, so just kept quiet. I kept quiet in the hope everything would resolve itself in my mind, leaving me to enjoy life with you but things didn’t obviously work out that way. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best idea or approach to take.

But I was afraid, and compounding things further were thoughts of ‘what am I going to do with myself?’

That is - where the hell was/am I going??  

I’m still all over the place now as I type these words - when all I wanted to do was just send you a ‘nice, neatly packaged email’ which summed up everything (my state of mind!) – and us – succinctly.

The email’s purpose being so that no one was left in the dark and we could just move on. It obviously didn’t work !!  

And I know this is not fair to say but I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I got back; I’m just so bloody confused about everything at the moment, it’s awful. And I’m heart broken.

I’m also aware you’re very busy right now, plus have your own stuff to work through, so please don’t take this the wrong way when I say you will always be in my heart no matter what happens in my life.

Always.

I hope you’re well, as always.

Thom Reading

I didn’t know what I hoped to achieve by typing that email to Georgia, but I had to type something. I felt an overwhelming urge to explain my side to her - not that there really was one here.

And yet, after hitting the SEND key I felt as if my email said nothing at all. It was just a mass of confusion, a convoluted soup of nothing. Oh, well! There was no point thinking about it too much now because I’d already sent it.

It was time to do something else ...

10:40AM Thursday, 6January 2005

Morson Cove’s local newspaper, The Morson Cove Chronicle, was pretty scant, jobs-wise.

Admittedly, the copy I had was three days old (it came out every Monday). But seriously, what did I think it would be like? Swarming with dozens of jobs all begging to be filled? ... If only.

What did catch my attention however was news of teenagers – The Gang of Five - who had been terrorising the local community lately by virtue of their behaviour, which had been described as rude, obnoxious, loud and thuggish. I thought that was symptomatic of teenagers, period. But I was intrigued.

A rowdy element had inserted itself into Morson Cove while I was away because this story – an exclusive – was a follow up from the one which first appeared in the rag three weeks ago. This week’s article said the young skaters shouted obscenities out at the top of their lungs whenever they visited the suburb, and at anyone who happened to pass them by in it.

According to some eyewitness accounts they’d forced pedestrians off footpaths and onto roads when they’d skated past them. Police said it was only a matter of time before someone got seriously hurt. Wow! Thanks for stating the bloody obvious, you idiots!

But I didn’t think the young skaters were overly concerned what the Police said or thought because, as the article stated, they were repeat offenders. What did strike me as being incredibly futile however was the Police kindly asking the community to assist them in providing any information as to the whereabouts of the gang members ... Who would know?

They appeared out of nowhere, ran amok, only to then vanish without trace (as stated in the article). Troublesome little gits! Yes, a lot had happened in seven months. Morson Cove had always been a quiet little suburb, so the idea of juvenile delinquents running amok in it while I was O/S was as alien a notion to me as being able to breathe underwater.

Did I sound like a disenfranchised, grumpy old man? Perhaps I did, however, that eternal question the older generation never tired of asking the younger generation: What is the world coming to? applied here (more than ever). And in answer to that - I didn’t have a clue.

Jesus, I was tired of this crap – the article - already; skaters apparently terrorising ‘da hood’, my impecunity, the need to get a job and of course, Georgia. It was definitely time to go and walk Jack in Gardley Park.

A little while later ...

I wondered what regulars would be out walking their four-leggers at this hour? Probably not many. Regardless, I thought it was a good idea to get Jack back into his old routine (mine, too) - by taking him on his usual, early morning constitution in, through and around the park, even if it was a bit late.

Gardley Park was Morson Cove’s little (actually large) treasure. It was a park junkie’s paradise! It was made up of at least six hectares of ovals, forested and shrubbed areas, plus miles of walking paths; for runners, fellow dog walkers, picnic goers, plus the odd office worker keen to get some fresh air in what could only be described as paradise in deep suburbia. Its only real downside being that there was a lot of dog poop in certain areas which wasn’t the best.

The powers that be hadn’t implemented the rule where owners had to clean up after their animals, like they had in other parts of the world. I wasn’t one for rules but thought that one had a place here.

But my canine turd gripes aside Gardley Park was a gem, and it was time to set foot in paradise with my little four-legged buddy ...

11:00AM Thursday, 6 January 2005

Gardley Park ... and here I was – in it! ... with Jack!

It was good to be striding with him in the park again. We’d been doing the promenade thing together since he was a pup. That was six years ago now, but it seemed like only yesterday when he was that spritely little fur ball that used to bolt back and forth between AJ and me.

I missed my walks with him a ton while I was. There was a very strong bond between us, one that had been forged over six years, and I loved the little chap to bits. He formed an integral part of both my and AJ’s lives and to think of life without him was unfathomable. I knew AJ couldn’t.

He was a loving, intelligent, affectionate and protective little bundle of fur that looked out for us - and we looked out for him. That’s how it worked, a symbiotic relationship of sorts.

A little while later ...

As fate would have it some of the regulars were out walking their four-leggers this morning, too. The regulars being the friendly ones; it was the blow-ins, the beautiful people, with their beautiful dogs and their accompanying beautiful conversations, about beautiful things, which elicited a degree of animosity from the locals.

But that probably also had something to do with the fact that many of them never cleaned up after their dogs. I was one of the regulars; and I didn’t go out of my way to be unpleasant to the blow-ins, so long as they respected the park and other fellow park users. The funny thing about Gardley Park was that there was a kind of unspoken sense of ‘etiquette’ about the place.

We – the locals - were mindful not to violate the space and serenity of it. Some – more like many - of the blow-ins sometimes simply forgot this, plus, of course, the other cardinal rule - clean up after your hound took a dump. And then there were the 50/50s.

They belonged to that vague category where they weren’t exactly blow-ins, because they visited the park semi-regularly, but nor were they considered regulars because they didn’t visit daily, more like ever 3-4 weeks.

I recognised some of them - but not all of them so acknowledgements between the ‘pacts’ was sparse.

But on the odd occasion when friendly gestures were exchanged, it amounted to nothing more than a solemn tilt of the head to indicate some form of wary acknowledgement, similar to rival elements of a now distant but formerly related clan. I was in one group, and they were in another.

Peace reigned for now, and they (the 50/50s and blow-ins) walked their dogs, while the regulars walked theirs, all the while maintaining that obligatory six degrees of separation. From what I gathered the three distinct groups never inter-mixed; clear lines were drawn, never to be crossed. It was just Gardley Park’s natural order.

While I contemplated the divisions, the clans, the rivalries, Jack bolted off about 100 or so yards into the distance. He was an extremely fast and agile little animal. I also recall that he happened to elicit a degree of attention from Wendy – a French poodle, who, without fail, would come bounding over to him whenever they happened to be in the park at the same time. Like now.

Wendy was a friendly pooch, offering herself up for a pat whenever someone decided to give her some attention/affection. But she was focused now. On Jack. She seemed to pick up from when they met last time, and licked him affectionately, never leaving his side. It was nice to see.

AJ’s surrogate son had an admirer even if they were physically mismatched; Wendy towered over him, but so what! Canines didn’t seem overly perturbed by the perceived physical shortcomings of their fellow species members like we did. They saw beyond that. It was all about love.

But Jack being Jack simply greeted Wendy curtly before resuming his determined gait through the park. It was all about priorities, and he didn’t want to neglect his.

I also recall that Wendy’s owner, Mrs Symonds, would always call out for her charge to return in a shrill voice after only a few minutes – but it was always a futile effort. Wendy had priorities of her own, like playing and flirting with Jack, perhaps even ruffing him up for a bit, however, all in dog-time.

I could only wish her luck because Jack played hard to get. He was always on a mission to sniff here, run there, pee over there, all the while laser-focused like a beagle on the trail of some hapless fox.

And poor old Mrs Symonds would call out again and again in that shrill voice of hers, for her four-legged ‘daughter’ to return to her side it was hopeless. She would shriek and shriek and looked more like a desiccated old prune every time she did. God bless her. But she was pleasant enough, despite looking like a shrivelled old husk, with her excessively dry leathery skin; of the kind that had seen one too many sessions under the solarium lamp.

However, she was relatively effusive and today was no different as I saw her approaching in the distance to retrieve her hound.

‘Hi Thom, long time no see, dear! How were your travels? Happy to be back, dear? Heading back any time soon?’ she cried out.

‘It was great thanks, Mrs Symonds, and I’m happy to be back now ...’ Blah, blah, bloody blah.

After the usual exchange of idle chit-chat had run its course between us, we parted ways and she drifted over to the far side of park, while Jack and I made a beeline for the other side. It was only when we heard Mrs Symonds scream in her blood curdling voice again that Wendy broke off from Jack, reluctantly, and with long strides was back at her master’s side

Reviews for Grow Up!

[jondalgety25 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I don't normally read books in this format, but I'm glad I did with this one.
Thought some of the characters the main character came into contact with were as zany as, which added to the book's appeal. Am glad main character also managed to steer a path through it all! Will there be a sequel, Benn?