Hail The Conquering Hero!

Yes yes yes! I did it. I am practically bouncing up and down as I devour my well earned celebratory beans on toast. What might you ask is this achievement of which also proud? Have I discovered the meaning of life? Have I successfully split an atom using nothing but a Stanley knife, a g-clamp and duct tape? Have I finally completed my life long dream to sing bare chested in a boy band to a horde of screaming fans.

Well it's none of these. This morning I accomplished something far greater.

I ran non-stop for 4.7 kilometres.

Okay, I can here the bemused silence from here so I had better explain. 4.7 kilometres is the distance from my house to the local Sainsburys whilst travelling along the river Lune. I have been running along this path now roughly twice a week since the beginning of the year. As the months have progressed my running distance has steadily increased so that the amount I run supersedes the amount that I walk.

Well, today saw me run the whole length of the path with no walking or breaks whatsoever. What's more, I managed it in a sweet thirty minutes.

Now I know that's no record breaking feat and I don't think I'll be booking into the London marathon just yet, but let me put this into context. Before January I had never run consistently like this before. My Ménière's disease would not let me. I would jog along to the end of the street and the world would spin as Quasimodo played a bell concerto in my ears. Today however, I feel totally upright and high on endorphins. The tinnitus is still there but rather than Big Ben I hear the gentle tintinnabulation of gentle summer wind chimes.

This is a victory. The sight of my triumphal arch (the gate into Sainsburys) marked a turning point in my life. This my body; it does not belong to Mister Meniere's. With effort, grit and determination I can make sure that he never claims ownership of it ever again!  

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Bring On The Cartoon Bluebirds!

It's amazing what a little drop of sunshine can do to lift one’s spirits. For the last few days weather here in Lancaster has been dull, damp and downright depressing.

Today, however, I woke to find a bright sky, flowers nodding in the garden and cartoon bluebirds serenading Schroedinger, my kitten, through the kitchen window. Okay, so I made that last bit up, but you get the idea.

While the weather has been grim, I've been curled up on the sofa trying to concentrate on the latest adventures of Daredevil whilst Mister Meniere's has been dancing round the living room, shaking his ample booty in my face and calling me a loser.

So today, accompanied by the first of the spring sunshine, I have donned my fedora and headed into town to find a sunny seat and start on my next Sam Spallucci book, Dark Justice. As I sit upstairs in a local coffee shop, I can see people going about their day-to-day business with a a lot more bounce in their steps. Their heads are up, looking around at the newly-illuminated city and gone are the large hoods protecting them from the elements. Like the first flowers poking up from warming earth, people are crawling out from under the covers to finally start enjoying the new year.

This puts me in a good mood so, in the eternal fight with Mister Meniere's, this round belongs to me (and those sweet little cartoon bluebirds…)

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A Tale Of Inspiration

I do enjoy my morning runs by the River Lune as it snakes it's way through the centre of Lancaster. Not only is the fresh morning air exhilarating but I actually find running by the sleeping dragon quite inspirational in my constant battle with Meniere's Disease.

When I first arrived here as a student back in 1990 I was told about how the Romans founded the city. The story went that they decided that the hill by the Lune would be an ideal point to set up shop as it had a perfect view all around for keeping an eye on pesky Celts and possibly a few sneaky Picts.

However, there was just one little problem.

The river was in the wrong place.

In order to ensure that they were firmly secured, the river needed to go around the base of the hill and not in its existing straight path. So it was that the Romans did to this force of nature what they did to just about everything else: they subjugated it and bent it to their will. They dug a new path for the Lune that gave the river it's familiar kink around the base of Castle Hill, they settled Lancaster and the rest, as they say, was history.

There is, however, one problem with this story.

It never happened.

Recent archaeology has shown that the river was never moved. It has always been in the position that it occupies and resolutely flows from hill to shore blithely ignoring all who stand in its path.

So this is the true inspiration for me. A river that refuses to be cowed by the actions of others stands as an example for me in my constant battle against Mister Menieres. My journey may twist or turn, but as I continue I shall build in strength and power until one day I shall overcome and see the ocean blue.

Don't forget, you can catch up with my writing bits and pieces at the following places:

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A Fairly Pants Day.

So, today is a fairly pants day. Those close to me would say that I've been overdoing it but how can I overdo things when what I do is a fraction of what other people are capable of?

One thing I hate about Meniere's Disease is being treated like I'm made of eggshell. I still remember the days of my youth when I would cycle for miles and miles, run with carefree abandon through fields of nettles and other such youthful nonsense. Now, however, spending a morning staring at a computer screen whilst entering invoices makes me want to vomit and attending a comic convention for two or three days takes over a week from which to recover.

So, I get told that I'm overdoing it and I need to rest.

But what if I don't want to? What if I want to live a normal life like someone without stupid little sacs of imbalanced fluid inside their ears? Is that too much to ask for?

I think not.

I don't want to spend the day feeling constantly tired or depressed. I don't want to dread having to cook my tea because that means standing up for half an hour watching vegetables boil whilst the room is spinning.

Right now, I would kill for normality.

But in doing so, would I lose what I am, a survivor?

I have this constant battle every day and, so far, Mister Meniere's has yet to win the war. Yes, he may gain the occasional victory, but even now, sitting here with the fug of gloom encompassing me, I know in my heart of hearts that tomorrow will be another day. I will meet people who shall make me smile and I will receive all manner of cuddles and love from my furry friends.

So yes, today is a fairly pants day.

But that doesn't mean that tomorrow will have to follow suit.

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Mister Meniere's Fails In Liverpool!

The weekend just gone saw Yours Truly in his natural habitat: the comic convention. I pootled down to Liverpool for its first ever MCM convention. The idea, as ever, was to introduce new readers to my books, sell fantasy figurines and have a fun time making new friends and catching up with existing readers and other traders.

However, I had a stowaway in my little Citroen Berlingo.

Mister Meniere's.

When I leave the snug safety of the protective cave that is my home, Mister M will always try to do his best to ruin the event. This weekend was no different. Setup for the convention was on Friday, so Friday lunchtime saw me driving down the M6 with bells a-ringing and stomach a-fluttering. I gave them the finger by turning the Pet Shop Boys up loud and singing along to some camp eighties' classics.

Mister M was not deterred so easily. After setup, all a tired Austin wanted to do was to crawl into his hotel bed and snore away the wee hours. At 2am Mister M said it was playtime. The rest of the night was spent listening to bells and voices stamping on my auditory nerves. So it was that a slightly haggard Austin had to appear bright and breezy on the first day of the convention even though, deep inside, he felt like curling up under his stall and hiding.

As the day progressed my emotional state declined and I started to question my whole career path as Mister M cackled with glee in the corner and at six o'clock I drove back to my hotel in an exceptionally bleak mood.

However, Mister Meniere's had failed to take into account one crucial factor in his plot to overthrow the happiness of Yours Truly: other people!

The next day saw me stagger into the convention looking like Death's great uncle Horace. The traders next to me chatted away and it turned out that they had felt shocking the day before too. They had been tired from travelling and the day had gone on far too long for them. Another trader came and said, “Hi!” then went and bought me a decaf americano which both warmed me and cheered me.

Then my readers came and visited me. With each praise of my books and each purchase of my latest escapade, Mister Meniere's was thoroughly thrashed into submission.

By the end of the day, I was somewhat weary but also bright and cheery. As I packed up and headed home I couldn't help but whistle happily to myself.

So, to all the folks who unknowingly aided me in my silent battle in Liverpool, all those who came as unwitting knights in shining armour, I say, “Thank you!”

Don't forget, you can catch up with my writing bits and pieces at the following places:

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The Great British Conundrum

I sometimes get asked, “Why are you a vegan?” Now, I have to say this isn't a question that comes my way very often but, when it does, the part of me that is British suddenly becomes very uncomfortable.

There are certain things that Brits are known throughout the world for doing thoroughly and with great style. Queuing is one of them – look at the lengths we will go to for that new book or for a reduced price dishwasher in the January sales. Complain politely is another – hence our abhorrence for automated telephone systems (we would much rather have a nice polite chap on the other end of the phone with whom we can discuss our grievance in a civilised manner).

One thing we are not so good at is expressing or explaining our personal beliefs whether they be political, social or religious. We look at our American cousins and shudder at the brash televangelists or we scratch our heads when we see French lorry drivers blockading their ports. This sort of thing tends to be inherently alien to us as we would much rather sit at home and grumble into our newspapers about something rather than grab it by the neck and choke it into submission.

So when I get asked about my particular lifestyle choice, I tend to stare off into the middle distance before giving a bemused shrug and saying, “I just am.”

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The Sleeping River Monster

Had a really good run this morning even though Mister Meniere's was trying desperately to convince me to remain in bed. He thought he had achieved a cunning victory over me this weekend when he prevented me from going to see Deadpool on Sunday and his hopes of hitting me around the head with a large haddock were running high. However, both yesterday and today I managed to drag myself, albeit somewhat unsteadily, out of bed and today I even managed to reap a reward with an increase in my running distance.

I was also treated to this nice shot of the River Lune winding its way to the millennium bridge.

Normally, Lancaster’s river is a fairly lazy beast – it slouches down low in its bed and protests when it gets assaulted by flocks of swans. However, just before Christmas last year, this sleeping monster rose its head and burst its banks. A feat quite unbelievable when you look at it in this picture yet something which the city is still recovering from with many businesses still closed.

I see my Meniere's rather like the River Lune. I'm always aware of its presence. It's there, trickling away in the background with my tinnitus happily jangling and jingling in my inner ear. Then sometimes there's a splash and I suddenly feel dizzy or nauseous for no particular reason. And other times there is a torrential downpour which causes it to burst its banks and flood my senses with an overload of saturated information. I collapse in a heap and retreat to the safety of my bed for a number of days.

So, when this inundation catches me off guard from time to time, I just pile up the sandbags and hunker down in the knowledge that given time the floodwater will recede and life will eventually return to what I consider to be normal.  

Don't forget, you can catch up with my writing bits and pieces ate the following places:

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