Some notes on suicide

I often contemplate commiting suicide. I think about how I would do it with alarming regularity. At my worst, I have a recurring image in my head of stabbing myself in the stomach, like a mental GIF if you like, over and over. Different knives, different techniques, sometimes someone else doing it. But the same idea. Over and over.

I often ponder a (real-life) story I read recently about a British man who, after two failed suicide attempts – jumping off a building, which paralysed him from the waste down, and an overdose on pills – joined a gun club in Las Vegas, flew over, spent the day doing the induction course and then shot himself dead that evening. You've gotta love 'Murica,

About a year ago I visited the local Homebase. I'd gone in to buy some picture hooks. They didn't have the type I needed so I turned around to see if there was any more choice. Behind me there was a wide selection of rope. All the different types of rope you could imagine. More than enough to hang yourself with. Something clicked into place for me: that's how I would do it. I began to think about what rope would be best. Images of my nephews flickered in my mind. I pushed them away. I thought about buying the rope, realised I would be buying nothing else, no hooks. Paranoia flushed through me: the cashier would know. She would know what I was up to and call the manager. I rushed out the store as quickly as I could.

Is that shocking to read? That I sometimes want to kill myself? I expect it is, we just don't talk about this kind of stuff, you and I. It's taboo, and terrifying to think of. Easier done than said. And so those 800,000 or so people a year who do actually commit suicide, those 20 million or so people a year who attempt suicide, and those probably 160 million people a year who have suicidal thoughts are mostly going through that experience alone.

The World Health Organisation (WHO) lists stigma and taboo as the top challenge, or obstacle, in tackling the problem of suicide. And it is very much a problem, particularly among men. In the UK alone "13 men a day kill themselves, nearly 5,000 men a year, accounting for 78% of all suicides in the country". This year male suicides hit their highest rate in more than a decade.

The astonishing numbers have prompted a coalition of charities, including Campaign Against Living Miserably (CALM) and The Samaritans, to call for the government to treat male suicide as a public health issue and debate in the Commons the proposal that local authorities should develop and implement a suicide prevention plan and spend more money on research into the subject. Despite stigma raising its ugly head in the form of Labour MP Jess Phillips' incredulous snigger at the proposal, the debate took place in Westminster Hall today, International Men's Day.

So there's the social context. And I'm sure the statistics make you go 'ooh' and the seeming paralysis of the authorities in doing much about it makes you go 'blimey'. But really, unless you've been directly affected by suicide, this information is as abstract to you and your real life as the Beirut bombings were to Westerners in comparison to the Paris attacks. To feel empathy to a social or global problem, we need to put a face on it. A familiar face, if possible.

I first dabbled in suicide when I was 17. Pills and beer. It was a naive attempt, that resulted merely in me being ill for a couple of days. I remember waking up the next day quite distraught I was still alive. I was gay in a community where it was considered abhorrent to be so. I was desperately in love with my clearly heterosexual best friend. I didn't know what else to do. The thought of going on was too much. The thought of killing myself in any other way too terrifying. I buried my head under the pillow.

I had another wave of depression in my mid-20s. I had suicidal thoughts, but the closest I came to acting on them was contemplating the likelihood of death while standing on the edge of London tube platforms, something I've done many times since and read about often with macabre curiosity. They never report the details of those "fatalities on the line" that often delay our London travel. Or even name it suicide. These "train deaths" are usually "not being treated as suspicious". The Australians are the same, while the Americans are a little more liberal with the s word. 

In my mid 20s I lived with a loving group of friends. In my mid 20s there was still potential in my life, it was still early doors. Now in my late 30s that potential feels like it's fast waning. I've seen my peers travel the world, find their life partners, buy houses, have children, start businesses, get divorced, marry again. I've done only one of these things (although I really did the hell out of it) and as such I feel like I've been left behind, trailing at the back as I usually was in the races on school sports day. 

Every gathering of peers now features conversation about relationships, house renovation, career decisions. I feel the stigma of having been single for 5 years. I feel the stigma of not owning my own property. I feel the stigma of having been in my job for three years and not being ready to move on. All this life stuff is too hard, I think. I don't know how to achieve any of it. Maybe that death stuff would be easier, for all involved. But then I feel the stigma of that, and keep that to myself as well.

I think I've always been depressive, and I've never really learnt how to talk about myself or the things I've been through. The British part of me has been taught it's not the done thing, that it's self-indulgent. The male part of me has been taught that talking about your feelings and things that are affecting you is weak, laughable. The gay part of me has been taught that being open about it is abhorrent, disgusting. Even today I find it rare to meet people, gay or straight, for whom homosexuality is normalised. I can count on one hand the friends I have that I know homosexuality itself won't be a point of conversation when we meet.

Basically, men talking about their feelings, or talking about the traumas we've been through, is wrong. According to Professor Rory O'Connor of the Institute of Health and Wellbeing at Glasgow University, we're a 'buffer' generation caught between fathers for whom dealing with life meant keeping a stiff upper lip and that chin firmly up, and sons who are growing up more able and used to talking about how they're feeling. We don't know how to do that, so we don't. And it's killing us.

UK rapper Professor Green, real name Stephen Manderson, made a bold attempt to counteract that social stigma in his recent BBC Three documentary Suicide and Me. In it he attempts to make sense of the suicide of his estranged father, who killed himself seven years ago, aged 43. It's a hard watch, not least because it focuses an unflinching gaze on (in this case British) men's inability to talk about themselves. The interview with Manderson's father's best friend of 30 years is heartbreaking. He just had no idea what was going on in his friend's head. The suicide was baffling to him.

It's the interviews with those left behind that stayed with me. While suicide is mostly not a selfish act – on the contrary, most suicidal people genuinely believe the world would be a better place without them; I've certainly thought that often – it does leave a dark hole in the lives of loved ones. The pain of their loss, and not having any understanding of why their father, brother or son did it, is etched clearly on their faces. It's this horrible, inevitable result – the grief-stricken, confused look on my sister's face – that has stayed my hand in recent months, that made me neck just that bottle of wine, without the codeine chaser.

Manderson doesn't really get to the bottom of why his father killed himself, but he does get plenty of hints: an insecure childhood, inability to face up to his many responsibilities, the suicide of his brother, the death from cancer of his sister. In Manderson's interview with the aforementioned Professor O'Connor of Glasgow University, O'Connor describes the rapper's father's situation as a "perfect storm".

"What your story highlights is that it's never, or very rarely, just a single factor, but a complex set of factors which come together. And sadly for too many men in our country... that perfect storm of factors comes together and leads to suicide." 

I won't delve into the numerous factors that cause me to have suicidal thoughts. I have touched on some here, kept others to myself, as I am wont to do. I just want you to know that I do wrestle with those thoughts, as do many men, and women, around you. I have been wrestling with those thoughts more intensely for the past two days and now, having spoken to you, I'm feeling the fog clear a little.

The Bodmin Wassail

(Written for the Bodmin Wassail website, originally published here.)

Each year on 6th January (or the 5th, if the 6th falls on a Sunday), we (a small group of local men) make our way around the Cornish town of Bodmin, singing wassail songs to the locals. We dress in top hat and tails, smart outfits comprised of “gentlemen’s hand-me-downs” – clothes acquired from the local gentry and passed down from one wassailer to another over the decades. 

Our day begins at the offices of Bodmin Town Council, where we sing for the mayor and local councillors. Following this, calls are made to residential homes, local businesses and public houses of the town, but most of the day is spent calling at people’s homes, announcing our presence at the door with one of the three wassail songs we sing. 

There are two types of wassailing. One is the house-visiting wassail, such as Bodmin’s tradition and has much in common with carolling. The other is orchard-visiting, found in the cider-making regions of England, which sees wassailers singing amongst the trees to promote a good harvest for the coming year. The beginnings of the custom are unknown, but it has elements of Anglo-Saxon traditions – the word itself comes from an Anglo-Saxon toast ‘waes hael’, meaning "be in good health". As such, it is likely the rite pre-dates the Norman Conquest. There are different versions of these traditions found all over the country, each taking elements of one or both forms to develop their own local tradition. In this respect Bodmin’s is no different. However, it does have a special significance in laying claim to being the oldest surviving heritage in the country, running unbroken for centuries. 

The first known record of the Bodmin Wassail was in the will of one Nicholas Sprey, a three-time mayor of Bodmin who died in 1624. As well as providing for his family, he also bequeathed the sum of 13s 4d for an “annual wassail cup” to promote “the continuance of love and neighbourly meetings” and “remember all others to carry a more charitable conscience”. Sprey – who was also Town Clerk and the MP for Bodmin during his career – directed that the wassail cup be taken to the mayor's house each year on the 12th day of Christmas, raising funds as it passed through the town. In 1838 the stipend was withdrawn, but the custom has continued to this day. 

The Bodmin Wassail’s relationship with the town’s mayors has continued as well, and we call at his or her house each year. In 2008 former mayor John Chapman cemented that relationship further by presenting us with a specially commissioned bowl. Drinking out of a wassail bowl is an oft-mentioned element of the tradition in the songs, and as this type of wassailing increased in popularity throughout Cornwall in the 19th and early 20th centuries, the vessel used was a cup made of wood and decorated with holly, laurel and tinsel. In Bodmin, however, it was always made of pottery, as recalled by Mr Tom Green Snr, who wassailed in the town for over 70 years until the late 1980s. He told his fellow Wassailers it disappeared following the outbreak of the Second World War. 

The current bowl was made by Lostwithiel potter John Webb, and is displayed throughout the year in the Tourist Information Centre in Bodmin’s Shire Hall. Its creation marked a new era of recognition by the council of the town’s ongoing tradition. Mayor at the time Bob Micek told the West Briton newspaper he felt it was appropriate for the council and the Wassailers to re-engage with each other: "It's a unique part of the town's and Cornwall's heritage and should be supported." Since then, thanks to the efforts and enthusiasm of Town Clerk Paul Callaghan, we have been made welcome in the Mayor’s Parlour by the town’s councillors, to toast the health of all at the start of the day. 

Recent years have also seen a refurbishment of the collecting box, which the Wassailers use for collecting money for local charities. The box was based on a church collection box donated by Wassailer Paul Scoble’s father, an old box which had been used for decades by the bell ringers of St Petroc’s Church. It is a marked improvement on the previous incarnation – an old plastic ice cream box with a hole cut in the top. Also, in 2014, a new leather purse for collecting money was generously donated. It was inspired by the lyrics from one wassail song: “We've got a little purse made of stretching leather skin. We want a little of your money, to bind it well within.” 

The songs are the most important element of the wassail. Bodmin’s tradition has three, which is unique amongst wassail traditions – they usually have just one. The first is sung on arrival before we enter the house or premises. The second was passed on to us by Mr Charlie Wilson, and is often sung during the eating, drinking, storytelling, fundraising and singing that goes on at each stop. The third is sung as we leave, thanking our hosts for their hospitality: “So now we must be gone to seek for more good cheer, where bounty will be shown, as we have found it here, in our Wassail.”

Something I want to say...

Today my Facebook newsfeed has been full of reaction to Tom Daley’s announcement that he’s in a relationship with a man. My own reaction was to not want to react. Really, the news is inconsequential. Olympic sports men and women fall in love and embark on relationships all the time. It has been quite stunning to see that people, gay and straight alike, still feel the need to make A Big Deal out of what is ostensibly the common event of two young people falling in love for the first time.

It’s this reaction that has made me react, rather than the announcement. For me it’s highlighted just how far away we are from two fellas getting together not being A Big Deal. Depressingly, there will of course be the social media trolls who fling homophobic abuse at Daley. But that, at least, will come from people so painfully stupid, you can almost disregard it. On the other end of the spectrum there’s the hundreds of messages of support: “It doesn’t change anything,” and encouragement: “You’re so brave,” that people are posting. Mostly this is beautiful and will no doubt make Daley feel relieved and able to move on with his life. 

But there’s also something a little bit sad about it all. Of course it “doesn’t change anything”. So why do we feel the need to say so? Because we’re both consciously and subconsciously aware of just how much prejudice exists in the world towards two adult human beings of the same sex falling in love and having a relationship. It’s also sad that what Daley has done really is still a brave thing to do. Coming out, telling people you like others of the same gender romantically and sexually, is a terrifying thing, something people who identify as straight are incredibly lucky to never have to go through. To confess (confess!) to something that has the potential to generate all manner of awful reactions in people is an extremely hard thing to do.

Especially if in doing so you seem to confirm people’s pre-conceived ideas about you. Most depressing is the “Told you so!” rhetoric that’s flying about. So you “knew he was gay” all along, did you? Just like you did Wentworth Miller? Or Ben Whishaw? No. No, you didn’t. You made assumptions about Daley based on pre-conceived ideas about gay men that were fed to us by society the media as we grew up, and generally continue to be so. You didn’t know anything definitive about Tom Daley’s sexuality until you watched his YouTube video today. Really, you still don’t.

And that’s one of the more inspiring things about Tom Daley’s announcement. Not once did he use the words ‘gay’ or ‘bisexual’ – still now he refuses to indulge the insistent speculation by labelling himself. Like Frank Ocean last year, he focused on what is the most important element of the story – he’s fallen in love with someone. Given the constant speculation about his sexuality, it’s an amazing achievement that Tom Daley has not allowed his status as a public figure to get in the way of or direct the development of his personal life. He has refused to be defined by what people say about him. He’s given himself time to work it out himself on his own terms, public opinion be damned. 

I endured constant speculation about my sexuality at school, which I also never responded to because 1) I was terrified of them not understanding and 2) I didn’t really understand it myself. In coming to terms with being attracted to the same sex, we’re dealing with feelings that no one talks about – not our parents, teachers or friends. We have to work it all out on our own. Often we’re strong enough to do that; sadly sometimes we’re not.

Daley’s (and Ocean’s) method of discussing sexuality and love without labels instils some hope amongst the depressingly inevitable reactions. It has encouraged a slightly new way of talking about same-sex relationships. Because Daley hasn’t explicitly said he’s gay or bisexual (“I’m in a relationship with a man… but I still fancy girls”), the media have had to talk around it somewhat. With Ocean, they quickly lapsed into calling him gay or bisexual: out of laziness, or habit. Now they are presented with another high profile figure saying “this has happened” but not defining himself by it. He’s painting a picture, much like Ocean did, of a more fluid, “let’s just see what happens” sexuality than is easily described by the labels ‘gay’ or ‘bisexual’. It almost feels like the first steps to a world so beautifully described by (heterosexual) Hunger Games actor Josh Hutcherson recently:

"I have this dream that one day, my kid's gonna come home from school and be like, 'Dad, there's this girl that I like, and there's this guy that I like, and I don't know which one I like more, and I don't know what to do.' And it'd just be a non-issue, like, 'Which one is a good person? Which one makes you laugh more?'"

He went on, adding to the growing rhetoric about fluid sexuality: "I would probably list myself as mostly straight. Maybe I could say right now I'm 100 % straight. But who knows? In a fucking year, I could meet a guy and be like, 'Whoa, I'm attracted to this person.' I've met guys all the time that I'm like, 'Damn, that's a good-looking guy,' you know? I've never been, like, 'Oh, I want to kiss that guy.' I really love women. But I think defining yourself as 100% anything is kind of near-sighted and close-minded."

Which is exactly how I feel about my sexuality. Except the other way around. I use the word gay to define it because it’s the shorthand we've been given to talk about it. Yet I'm not particularly comfortable with the word. I still hate saying it when trying to define myself to people – I always try and let people know my preferences in a more organic way. It’s partly because of internalised homophobia, caused by being brought up in a homophobic society. But also the word gay comes with a huge pile of baggage from the previous generation, a whole host of crass stereotypes, many of which I find difficult to relate to. And now the current generation have added a whole new layer of baggage by using it to mean rubbish or bad. Thanks for that.

Slowly (very slowly) it feels like we’re coming around to the idea of sexuality being a grey area of our lives, something not so easily definable. Personal experience, anecdotal knowledge and the odd bit of media coverage tell me that people are becoming less afraid to explore their sexuality. Straight male friends are messing around with other fellas, gay male friends are sleeping with women now and then. I have one female friend who seems to get over an ended relationship by going to the other sex. Which is quite a way of saying ‘fuck you’.

So, despite the crushingly inevitable reactions to Tom Daley’s relationship with a man, his announcement provides yet another sliver of light at the end of the long tunnel. When we get there, hopefully we’ll find a warm, new world where we’re not ‘gay’, or ‘bisexual’, just head over heels in bloody love.

Review: As One in the Park @ Victoria Park

While many European cities’ gay Pride events seem only to get bigger, London’s has become a shadow of its former self. Where once the capital’s gay community would take over a London park with an array of club tents and live acts for one of the biggest parties of the year, the focus is now much more on celebrating the cultural side of gay life. As such, club promoters Orange Nation – the minds behind London club nights such as Beyond, Orange, A:M, Later, Deelooded and Gravity – saw a gap in the market and took their As One night, held since 2010 at Vauxhall's Fire, to Victoria Park.

The organisers must have been punching the air on Sunday morning, as the sun decided to make a guest appearance for the inaugural As One in the Park and stayed for the whole event. It probably made a huge difference to the turn out, but even then, while the atmosphere was buzzing and there were plenty of people around, this fledgling festival didn’t feel full to capacity.

Potential punters might have been put off by the overly chart-pop line-up. The first talking point of the afternoon was infamous X Factor contestant Rylan, who injected even more camp into the likes of Psy’s Gangnam Style and the Spice Girls, and then talked a lot as well to a generally bemused crowd.

He was later followed by fellow X Factor alumni Union J, who did a bunch of covers and shamelessly aped every 90s boyband cliché they could. One Direction won’t be concerned about the competition.

In-between the X Factor re-run, though, As One in the Park capitalised on unexpectedly making headlines the other week by getting former foe Helen Mirren to come on stage and introduce the Batala London drummers. It was all a far cry from her storming out of Gielgud Theatre in full dress as the Queen to berate the drummers outside promoting the festival. She did, though, still complain the music was “too loud”.

Aside from the main stage, As One had a host of dance tents that made a reasonable attempt to represent the diversity of London’s gay scene. From cabaret at Madame Jo Jo’s to the female-centric FindHrr Girls Arena and the unfortunately tucked away Popstarz bandstand, there was, as they say, something for everyone. But easily the most popular area was the Circuit Arena tent, packed out with primped and preened muscle boys and playing host to a number of DJs including Roger Sanchez and Boy George, the latter of whom drew a large crowd with his pleasing, straightforward house set.

Back on the main stage Katy B did her best to bring some class to the proceedings. Dressed down in jeans with just two dancers backing her up, she’s one of the most laidback performers you’ll see. And yet she’s both compelling and able to whip a crowd into a frenzy. It’s mostly down to the tunes. While breakout hit On A Mission is sounding a little stale now, bigger hits such as Lights On and her collaboration with Magnetic Man, Perfect Stranger, sound incredible in the sunshine. Even less familiar music from her recent Danger EP has the crowd unable to resist, and she cleverly introduces Jessie Ware duet Aaliyah by singing a mash-up of songs by the pop star with whom that song shares a name. 

Holly Johnson felt a little incongruous in the Top 40-heavy line-up, and the poor showing of audience members reflected that. Undeterred, he and his impressive band ploughed through a bunch of lesser-known songs before bringing out the big guns. Solo hits Love Train and Americanos met with bemusement, but Frankie Goes To Hollywood classics such as Relax and The Power of Love finally got the crowd excited.

You got the feeling most were merely getting a good spot for headliner Rita Ora, however. Wearing a bobble baseball cap and disconcerting trousers with a face on, she looked every inch the pop star compared to the more casual Katy B. The crowd, by now pumped up after a few hours at the festival, showed their appreciation as she ran through hits such as Hot Right Now and How We Do (Party), the latter song’s refrain “party and bullshit and party and bullshit” ringing out across the park long after the song’s end.

That Rita Ora’s decent enough but hardly mind-blowing performance seemed like the highlight of the day goes to show that As One needs to up its line-up game for next year. But the fact that the crowd still seemed to be having an awful lot of fun in the sun says that this festival has got huge potential to run and run.

Review: Orbital @ The Warehouse Project

(Written for skiddle.com website, originally published here.)

It’s been an amazing year for Orbital. In April they surprised critics by returning with an excellent album – Wonky – that secured their return to prominence, something they’d been carefully working away on with a string of successful live shows since their reformation in 2008.

Old ravers who remember the heady days when the duo released their first single Chime, would not have been able to resist grinning at the sight of Orbital opening the Paralympics this summer alongside unlikely vocalist Stephen Hawking. It was a moment when you could almost have considered them national treasures, such is their contribution to music and the length of their tenure in the charts.

But that’s not to say Orbital are old-fashioned, or now an act based on nostalgia. Seeing them at the exhaustive Warehouse Project series, ensconced in a line-up that includes electronic music heavyweights such as Apparat, Joy Orbison and Modeselektor shows that Orbital are as relevant now as they’ve ever been.

The immense Warehouse Project venue is exactly what its name suggests – a huge, warren-like warehouse. It’s all concrete walls, metal awnings and the plastic drapes most often seen in abbatoirs or hospitals. This unforgiving environment is complemented by a pushy and up-for-it crowd that fills the space so efficiently you find yourself wading through elbows and shoulders at every turn.

It sounds intense, and it is, but that’s not to say it’s not fun. The crowd are as determined to enjoy themselves as they are to navigate the bottle-necks as quickly as possible. This much is clear during Apparat’s set – opening for Orbital – in the main room. Going against expectation if all you’ve heard is his recent, very mellow, album, the German producer played a stuttering, playful set that the crowd were lapping up.

Joy Orbison also had the crowd jumping over in Room 2, where he was playing a pleasingly bouncy set, maybe a little too pleasing as the room was thick with people.

There wasn’t time to hang around, however, as Orbital were taking to the stage in the main room. Opening with 1993’s 'Time Becomes', the duo ploughed into a set that was perfectly pitched between new album Wonky and the big hits. There were also a few surprises – a glorious 'Halcyon' segued into an unexpected cover of Belinda Carlisle’s 'Heaven is a Place on Earth' early on in the set, leaving you wondering what on earth was coming next.

Pounding versions of 'New France' and 'Straight Sun' flowed straight into Orbital’s riff on dubstep, 'Beelzedub'. It’s this sense of playfulness with different genres that enables the duo to make sense in both a line-up such as Warehouse Project’s, as well as any festival you might have seen them appear at this summer.

As the classic Orbital track 'Belfast' moved into 'Impact', before arriving at the Lady Leshurr-featuring Wonky, you get an (intentional?) sense of the decades of music that Orbital straddle. They completed their nod to the history of electronic music with a cover of the hugely influential Doctor Who theme tune – surprisingly danceable in this context.

But, as mentioned before, Orbital are not riding a wave of nostalgia. While many of the tracks will bring back fantastic memories for some of the crowd, the rest are enjoying Orbital because they sound very now and very comfortable in the context of a host of acts that form integral parts of the current electronic musical climate.

The penultimate track may be their still euphoric first single 'Chime', but they end the set on Wonky’s closer 'Where Is It Going?' – a pertinent question that Orbital are sure to be involved in answering.