Dave Kean

Not sure when the last time I travelled through terminal-3 at Heathrow was. I’m sure it’s been quite a while. In comparison to the new T-5, T-3 is a tight, claustrophobic shopping mall under renovation with seats shoehorned into every space. This is the T-3 departures lounge today, on what I was told was a quiet day.

T-3 was first opened in 1961 as the “Oceanic Terminal” and was built to handle all the long haul flights out of London. It was only used for departures initially, an arrivals hall was not built until 1970, about the time it was renamed Terminal-3. Spend any time there and it’s clear it’s 50 years old, was never designed for the 14-million people it handles every year and has seen a number of expansions to the 39 gates it houses today.

T-5 was opened a couple of years ago and is used exclusively by British Airways, this picture is from last September. When it’s finished it will have over 70 gates, deal with 35 million passenger a year and has the biggest airport lounge I’ve ever seen. Inside it is huge with large open spaces and is a massive contrast from T-3.

I’ve talked a number of times about being without mum and how difficult that transition been. I spent a little time today at the garden of remembrance at Guildford crematorium where her ashes are spread.  I got some flowers and after spending a couple of hours with dad in the Royal Surrey I was probably not in the best frame of mind for it, but none the less I went.

I still get emotional about it, I know dad misses her terribly and in his typical “I’m a Scotsman and we don’t complain” stoic demeanour he’s not going to share his pain unless you corner him. And even then he’s going to fight it. It’s just how he is and we all know that.

First thing is how well my niece has dealt with the transition; my brother and his wife have been masterful in guiding her through this process. Protecting her from some of the more harsh realities, but letting her express how she feels. They have done a hugely impressive job in always setting a positive model for her and letting her recognise mum in a way that’s meaningful to her.

To no ones shock this has unquestionably been a huge thing for me. The biggest, most emotional thing I’ve ever been through and it’s affected me in many ways that I’m only just coming to recognize. It was not so much the death that changed things for me; it was more what went on before hand. Mum’s passing was expected somewhat, we knew it was coming despite the time line being uncertain, even right at the end.

It was what went on leading up to that, it was a roller coaster ride of emotions for many months before hand. The really hard part started when I found out it was about managing quality of life rather than treatment to save her. It was well over a year before hand, we all knew, but denial as a coping mechanism does run strongly in my family. And I think we were all happy to buy into that, including mum.

I know it worked for dad and to find out what was going on I’d have to read the rather meticulous notes that were kept by the McMillan nurses that came to look after mum a few times every week. Mums last letter to me, written only a couple of months before she dies was especially poignant, it took me months (and a very good bottle of wine) to open it and read it. I had it today in my pocket, it weighed heavily as I wandered around the garden of remembrance today.

It was the late afternoon when I got there, not long before it closed and the sun was low in the sky. The air was very still and it was cold, well bellow freezing. I went and looked in the book of remembrance to see where my grandparents were interned and spent a few minutes there before wandering through the very peaceful glade before sitting down to contemplate what’s gone on.

While we had our differences, the love mum and I has never been in question. Interestingly she brought up a couple of times that as the eldest child she felt some extra responsibility fell to me, I’m still not sure what that it, but she was the eldest and when my grand father passed she did feel the pressure of being the eldest child herself and felt she needed to in part take on some of Granddad role.

I’ve said all this before somewhere in this blog, but this really has been incredibly tough. It has given my significant perspective about what is important in my life and what I need to do to align myself to these changed realities.

Having said all of that, if I ever find out who stole my case last year in Minnesota with a couple of mums letters to me in it I’d take a baseball bat to them. These little notes was meaningless to them, but was everything to me.

My final thought today goes back to sitting in the garden of remembrance and rereading her last letter, she said she saw my pain and just wanted me to be happy, more than anything else. While it’s taken me time to discover what that really means for me, but I have a better idea now and embrace my life in a very different way. It was inevitable that your passing would change me; with a little distance I believe that change was for the better. I’d swap it all for you.

Mum believed in an afterlife, and got a lot of comfort from that. I hope she is right and I’m wrong, I love you mum.

Wandering along Guildford High street this morning, heading to the book store if you are interested, and looked up the High Street. It really is a wonderful view, for a start the cobbled high street goes back at least a couple of thousand years to the Roman, and probably a lot longer.

Live music, a little history and a couple of good book shops. Really could you want any more?

A crowd collecting around a couple of Barnett Newman painting at the Tate this afternoon. Taking a tour with one of the curators really does add, I now have a clue what “chromatic structure” and “generated tension” in a painting means. It was a very interesting to kill a morning before visiting hours start at the RSCH.

In Trafalgar Square Nelson is currently looking down at the bottled replica of his flagship HMS Victory from atop his column.

There are four large plinths in Trafalgar Square, three of them are occupied by George IV, Henry Havelock and Sir Charles Napier. The fourth plinth has been filled by a rotating list of new public art. Yinka Shonibare’s “Nelson’s Ship in a Bottle” currently fills this space.

This plinth in the northwest corner of the square has become one of the most public stages on contemporary art over the last decade. The next installation will be in place over the Olympics in 2012 and there are six pieces that have made the short list to become the next installation on the plinth and were on view in the crypt of St Martin-in-the-Fields on the east side of the square last time I was here.

The winning piece is a large golden rocking horse called “Powerless Structures, Fig 101″ by Elmgreen and Dragset. The fourth plinth and what is being done with it really is a wonderful example of public art at it’s best.

I spent a couple of hours at the UK head office on the South coast of England. It was awfully cold with the wind coming off the Solent, but a very productive visit.

This is the Spinnaker. The closest analogy I can come up with is that it’s Portsmouth’s version of the Space Needle in Seattle, just with no restaurant at the top. Both have impressive ocean views from the top (I imagine in this case, as I never actually went up) in this case it’s the Isle of Wight.

Last night I went to Tesco to grab some food, and these jumped out from the shelf into my shopping basket. No only Jaffa cakes (with the smashing orangy bit), but dark chocolate Jaffa cakes!!!

I get that for those of you living in the UK this may be no big deal, but it was for me. I got a little excited about these and despite the temptation I did not have them for breakfast.

Guildford High Street sometime early this morning, a surprising number of people around despite the time.

With the rush back to Guildford and dealing with all of that things got a little crazy, my taking it easy vow has not got off to a good start. For a start I need to find somewhere to plug in and work for a couple of hours this morning to get a presentation put together for one of our Japanese partners.

Of course being the first morning back I was wide awake by 4, jet lagged and alone in the house. I sort of got used to being alone in the house last summer when dad as in then, but it felt very strange to get up in the middle of the night and not hear him snoring.

At 6 the sky was still black as I was leaving the house to go for a walk. I drove to Newlands Corner, and there were the first streaks of light in the sky as I parked up in what is about my favourite place.

As I posted a week or so ago one of things I’ve been trying to do recently with is finding time to relax and wind down. Baby steps like 10 minutes with a book before bed, or a few moments somewhere quiet to remind me how wonderful my life is. Walking down the south face of the downs in the semi-darkness gives me the same feeling of tranquillity, it shows me that despite being around people who don’t pay their bills and the pressures of work there are places in the world that provide perspective and allows me to put those things in their own compartment and deal with it then.

The North Downs are a large chalk escarpment that runs across England south of London, Guildford grew up in a gap in the escarpment caused by the river Wey flowing North into the Thames (thank you school geology field trips).

It’s a 40 minute walk to Saint Martha’s church with lots of up and down. The sky was light by the time I got the top. The view is wonderful and there are a few other early morning walkers around. All glowing and feeling superior, lets be clear I only got to watch dawn from Saint Martha’s because I’m jet lagged and it felt strange to be in the house by myself.

On a regular morning there is not much chance of me joining these people in jogging up and down steep hills. It’s not that I’m lazy, just realistic in knowing how much I struggle to get out of bed most mornings.

It’s not much above freezing out, but it is a beautiful morning. I’m no poet and have no idea what words could even come close to describing the serenity and quiet that is starting my day off. After a few minutes I’m starting to feel the cold, it is January after all and I get up to head back to the car.

I take a slightly longer route that keeps me in the trees on the crest and off the bare escarpment. I spent a lot of time playing and cycling in these woods. And while details have changed the paths follow the same routes and there is a comforting familiarity to this.

I was talking about something unrelated to someone a few months ago and she said “you can never go home again”, and while I agree with that in respect things being the same, they can’t. Roles evolve and change, it can’t be was it was and I’m OK with that.

Living in suburbia cuts you off from the seasons, but walking, along with looking out of my bedroom window gives me that awareness back. In the early light of a crisp January morning this is a wonderful place to appreciate and enjoy.

Take where I was walking at that moment it’s a place where my friends and I would take our bike, build jumps in the dirt and push ourselves. The ramps and deep bombhole like depressions are still there, kids have been playing silly buggers on bikes here for at least 25 years. Waking through here brings back a number of long forgotten and typically painful memories. It’s where I face planted hard when I totally mistimed pulling up to get more air off one of the larger jumps. This is also where a friend broke his collarbone dropping into one of the bombholes and trying for style points.

These thoughts make me smile (and wince a little). It’s not only that we traded a lot of skin and pain in these places, it’s also where we had fun, learned, explored and pushed ourselves. It’s the old adage, a little competition never hurt anyone, it does push everyone to do their best, no matter if it’s at work, home or on a mountain bike.

The wander this morning gave me a few little smile and brought back a few long forgotten memories. I love this place and while I agree with the statement that you can never go home again the familiarity and my history here is comforting and helps me deal with coming back to the empty house in Guildford. Now back to presentations and the real reason I’m in Guildford…

Another unplanned trip to Guildford and the Royal Surrey…