Should I Carry This On? You can live your whole #life searching for happiness, when what you are searching for could be right in front of you. I once read that somewhere and it had always stuck with me. It was perhaps the most powerful #quote that resided within me, perhaps the most important thought that had shaped my #life. As I look back I realised that was the one snippet of wisdom I had always mulled over in my most difficult times. I was called, or rather to my displeasure, named by my parents as Jasper Jacob Belfort. A rather pompous name that I never felt truly reflected my character. As I tell this story, I am sat next to a warm, cosy fire at the ripe old age of 84 at a time that is far too late for someone of my age to be awake. The tale I am to divulge is one that began 60 years prior to today so the early parts may be quite hazy, alas, I shall do my utmost to remember the important parts. On the 15th May 1954 I finished college as a fresh-faced 24 year old who possessed not a care in the world. Actually, that may not be true for I took great care of myself, much to the chagrin of my parents who saw me as a selfish young boy who had not matured into the man they had envisaged. I was to be, or rather I was forced to attend an apprenticeship at the local paper as my parents saw my future as a journalist, or rather they hoped I would become the editor. My first day of work came and went and that eventually turned into my first year and proceeded to become my first decade. I did become the editor to their wishes but unfortunately neither were around to see it. I lost my parents within two years of each other; it was tough on me even though we were never close. More so for my brother who has since not spoken to me due to the anger he suffers that I didn’t make the effort I should have with them, his words. During my time at the paper I met what was to be the love of my #life, Suzanna Marie Havisham. We were always the two who had to work late and review statements made by those interrogated by the journalists that day. We would have great fun deciding what would make the #quotes in the story and bonded over the humour that we shared. I wasn’t to know that our days were numbered as her parents sought a new #life in America, her father dreamed of doing business out there. Six years I had worked alongside her, I remember us sitting up late at night dreaming on the #life we were going to share, the adventures we were to embark on. I was heartbroken. My personality changed for the worse in this period of time. I slunk into the depth of the darkest shadows within my mind and shut down from the outside world. I was promoted to editor and the paper suffered as a result. I lost my position when I told them I could no longer handle myself; I was at my lowest ebb. This part of my #life I had spent in London. It was my home. Living in that area and seeing the sights that we saw together proved to be too much to handle, I decided to move to East Anglia where I knew friends who had told me the pace of #life was much slower. It was what I needed. I found a place in a small village not far outside of Norwich, a city that intrigued me from the minute I stepped foot inside it. It was in Norwich where the next chapter of my #life began. I quickly found a job as a reporter in their local paper and began to settle in to my new #life. It was as slow as my friends had promised. I had them to keep me company but I needn’t have, I was still in shut-down. For the first five years I held the same routine and never ventured outside of it, I became a robot. It took me so long to finally turn around to myself and self-counsel. I felt liberated. It was as if my eyes had reopened and I could see the world again. There was nothing in particular that inspired this change, nothing more than the sun shining the right way on the river I passed on the way to work and the cool spring breeze catching the top of my ears with enough bite to startle me out of the wallowing pit my mind occupied. It was that day my #life changed for the better. It was Tuesday 16th April, 1970. My morning had started off in the usual way, Jam on toast accompanied by a strong black coffee, one sugar. As I left the house I recall feeling intrigued by the way my mind was pulsating as I left the house, subconsciously instructing me to take a more laborious pace on my walk to work and allow my senses to inhibit all that was around me. I took more notice of the aroma that filled my nose as I passed the small arrangement of flowers in the neighbour’s front garden. As I ventured through the busier streets in the city I became more aware of the people around me. The man who was always wearing a trench coat, carrying the same black guitar case that always swung too freely to be filled with a musical instrument. The lady who seemed to possess a different handbag for everyday of the year, who had always taken the time to grant me a smile which I had always forgotten to return, today I had. I allowed the balls of my feet to bounce off the kerb in a way I had never since I paraded the cobbled streets of London, there was no mistaking it, I had a spring in my step. Work passed as it always did, although I surprised my colleagues by offering a couple of jokes to lighten the mood. They weren’t to know it yet but I was to be a completely different person in the days ahead. As I exited work I sought a drink in the nearby pub, my brain reinforcing the notion that this was to be the choice that completed my transition back into the real world. As I sat on my stool in the corner I looked up and saw a woman sitting not two seats away with her friend, excitedly chatting away. Deep in my own thoughts I had not noticed anyone around me. As I stared I caught some of the conversation: “Anne do you realise the possibilities of this, we could change the way people find work in this county. No. We could change it for the country!” The friend, Anne sounded less enthusiastic. “Yes Jenny, but you do not know that. It is a huge risk and this is not the first time we have had this conversation”. “I know” pressed Jenny. “I know I came to you before but this time it is different, I know this will work. Give me six months, a year tops and you will have your money back with interest”. Anne pondered for a moment, “Listen Jen, I believe you… I believe in you. And not because you are my best friend, I want to see this work as well. I’m all for it, just let me go to the bathroom, alright? And we will sort this out soon”. Anne left for the bathroom and I watched this Jenny girl bury her face into her drink, all smiles as she mulled over what Anne had just said. Without thinking I was already on my feet and heading over to where she was sitting, what was I thinking? I sat down on the stool next to her, unaware of what to say to this stranger I took a quick sip to steady myself. “Hi there, I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation, I’m a journalist from the EDP and if you are starting a business I can run an article on you in say, a couple of weeks?” It was as if I had not been staring at her for the last five minutes but as I took one look up close I noticed how truly beautiful I thought her to be. “Hi, I don’t even know who you are, and what gives you the right to listen to my private conversation? You know, that is what I really hate about Journalists, they think they can listen to everything and everyone. What makes you think I’m even starting a business, anyway?” I was quickly learning that Jenny was a fiery character; she would not let anyone in easily. “I’m sorry. Look, I don’t know you and frankly, I don’t even know why I came over here. Something just told me to come over and talk to you, ok? I heard you talking to that lady and figured that you wanted to start a business, I can help you.” I was immediately on the back foot, this was not going well. “What told you to come over and talk to me? Because you’re here by yourself? Look I’m not interested, ok? I don’t trust people from the paper and right now I certainly don’t trust you”. I was surprised at how she was handling this. But then again, in my new state of mental freedom I had perhaps jumped one cloud too high and overestimated my abilities in conversation. “Ok, look I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Your friend is now on her way back so I’ll leave you to it, I’m sorry ma’am”. I must have been out of that pub quicker than you could say pint! I lingered by the door just long enough to hear her tell the friend that I was a weirdo and an “idiot journo”. I spent the rest of the evening thinking about the fiery girl in the pub. She must have been my age, no, maybe a tad younger. Debating amongst myself I had already decided her political allegiance, favourite colour and pet and also her favourite singer by the time my dinner had cooked, I was already hooked. For the next few weeks I thought about this girl on and off. I spent the majority of my time opening up to people at work about my #life and why I had become that horrible character that first walked through their doors. It was in this time that I made some great friends, one who still is to this day.
