They are more than just words and thoughts, they are ideas…

(c) K Wicks
They are more than just words and thoughts, they are ideas…

(c) K Wicks
We go from here
The narrative set
Is a landscape of fear
Turned they have
The normal brain
To be taboo
To feel insane
For questioning
What should be fine
But instead
We walk the line
Of knowing not
Where this will go
Beholden to
The strangest show
Yet on we go
Because we must
No longer sure
If we can trust
Ourselves

Rhyme and Reason
(c) K Wicks
Its difficult to define what it is when someone may ask or say to you –
“Why do you look so sad” or “You have sad eyes”.
You can only use the answer, but that’s just my face for so long before you really start to wonder what everyone else sees. I do not try to hide my melancholy most of the time, I am both happy and sad so can be smiling and enjoying what I am saying, doing, or seeing. And then can remember everything else. My face is a mere snapshot of what is going on in mind.
As I get older though I begin to understand. What came before can follow you and make you feel as though the weight of the world has become too heavy a burden. And it can show. I had this feeling as a teenager and it has followed me all the way through. Maybe there are many of us burdened by life and ourselves but making the best of it, just muddling through and trying to find a bit of calm in all the madness…

(c) K Wicks
There is much
That shapes the way
Of how we see
The world today
Perceptions change
And what we find
Is sometimes just
A different mind
Where once before
We thought that way
It is not then
But is today

(c) K Wicks
Rhyme and Reason
If sometimes life
Throws you a curve
From where you stand
You should observe
Where you are
And where you’ve been
What is your purpose?
What does it mean?
It could be relevant…

(c) K Wicks writer and photographer
Rhyme and Reason
I had been panicking about my career from a very young age. I had a list of jobs I wanted by the age of ten, most of them unattainable, but it didn’t stop me dreaming of working – not sure if other children do such a thing. I do think this was partly influenced by family, my mother didn’t have a very good job although worked a lot and my real father was a drop out, so my grandparents really drummed it into me about succeeding. It was all about prospects, what you bring to the table, what you can offer and what you can achieve. I do sometimes have a rather antiquated attitude and understanding for someone my age, but I took it all in. Everything they taught me from a bygone age and attitude. I’m grateful for it though as it has given me a unique perspective on things.
In all my planning of my future of being a grown up, I had conveniently overlooked one thing, becoming a grown up. It was tough and after a series of upheavals and difficulties, my plan was derailed. I had to drop out of school, I was struggling massively to re-adjust to yet another school and couldn’t find myself. I was given a state appointed tutor for my compulsory education for three hours a week at home, which I must say, was minimal. I already knew what I needed to though, so it was adequate for it’s purpose. I was one of many, I didn’t expect the education board to notice me or care, why should they? I ended my education with nothing to show for it, and the psychological repercussions of that is what initially destroyed me, then probably what drove me on. I had already failed, so what could be worse?
What followed was nearly a decade of trying to make up for it, while also still trying to navigate life which often got in the way. I had focus and a belief in myself though that didn’t require anyone else’s input. I stopped getting praise in my adult life, I had no parents after eighteen and went off the rails in the view of my grandparents, so was left to my own devices for a couple of years and had to be able to be proud of myself. I wasn’t quite measuring up to the family standard, which had already slipped one generation before me. I had the gift of the gab back then though and worked round my lack of formal education, often doing jobs better than people with qualifications. I realised then that the system was a bit of a con, that I hadn’t needed to go to college and university to do well at all. As I got older I knew plenty of people who went, and had nothing to show for it apart from a large debt and an inflated sense of employability. Something I only learnt from experience, how could I have known that then.
One of my jobs that I think taught me the most, was working in a recruitment agency. I had worked for them before as a temp, doing cleaning work, catering assistant and factory work, but this time I was behind the counter. I liked that job very much, but not because of what it was or who it was for. What I started to see were people, with very different situations in need of work, although not all of them were willing to. I happened to be there at a time when the EU opened it’s doors to more countries and we had an influx of foreign workers, mostly Polish who came to our town. Years later I have heard people moan about how they ‘came and stole our jobs’ but the reality was different from where I sat. They took the jobs no-one else wanted to do.
Most of these Polish had very limited English skills but a work ethic that outshone the locals when it came to manual work and labour. We struggled to fill the jobs for bin men and cleaners, for factory workers and fruit pickers. Our college leavers and graduates felt that work was beneath them, and they weren’t afraid to say it.
“I’ve got a degree! I won’t work for £8.00ph!”
I nearly laughed my head off when someone said that to me. Maybe because I was working my way up or maybe because I understood about hard times and appreciating opportunities. Either way, that attitude was not unique, and not restricted to graduates. I always thought a job was a job and if you need to pay the bills, I was proud to be able to pay my way. Have standards by all means, just make them realistic. Soon though those Polish workers became locals themselves and I moved on. I didn’t want my career to be based on people being reliable (because they aren’t), recruitment was not for me. It did however, show me how much people were willing to pay for finance work and I started to realise that is what all businesses have in common, so used my initiative. I booked myself on an evening course at the local college for computerized accounting and made myself look better on paper. It’s all very well being good at talking, but you must be able to get to the talky bit.
It was also just good timing that I handed in my notice with no job to go to, with just a good feeling to go on. Finding a new position as an accounts manager within a couple of weeks and getting on the finance ladder. Very soon though it became clear to me that my standards exceeded those of who I worked for, so self-employment seemed the only route. I was driven, obsessive, love paperwork, am meticulous and can work to my own deadlines – it really was a no brainer. I kept studying for the first five years, doing home learning and exams while growing the business and keeping house.
Working for me is important, it keeps my brain active and focused. Knowing you are part of the bigger picture and participating, paying your way and getting by. But that’s what we are taught to believe isn’t it? That we should be finding our place in society and fitting in. Work, work, work till you are almost dead, then have time off. I really have taken that to heart unfortunately and in the last few years have had to find a bit of balance. With a bit of time and perspective you can often think differently. I understand they need us to work, if we don’t they can’t take your tax, apparently nothing will get done and we will all lose our minds to boredom. The system is not broken, it is how it is meant to be. Capitalism at its finest…

(c) K Wicks Photographer

(c) K Wicks
My self inflicted ridiculous injuries seemed to get less after I grew up, but the end of them was marked with a big one.
I was 22, and had been working the Friday all day and was a couple of hours into another double shift on the Saturday as a bar manager. It was around lunchtime and the overall pub manager decided to put in an appearance, with an attitude of someone who was up very late and hadn’t really been to bed yet. I was not in the mood and decided today was the day to tell him to ‘do it himself then’ and storm out, which I did.
Then proceeding to go to the park instead with my friends on that hot sunny day and have a few drinks. Naturally staying in the park seemed boring so it was decided to go to the woods to check out a potential party site that we had heard about. My friends were a bit of a party lot. Cue a drive up into the woods and a small trek to a patch with a big dip and a rope swing. Yes, the rope swing. Can you guess what happened next?
Well, in my vaguely drunken and annoyed state, I had deduced that it would be a good idea to have a go on the rope swing. Got myself into position and swung out, but knew the moment I did, something was off. Nothing was wrong with the branch or the rope, but it was me. In my head for a split second I had been 12 again, full of it and bold. But in my stupor had misjudged it, the weight ratio was off and I knew I couldn’t swing round the tree and back onto my feet. No, I was going to swing out and straight back into the tree itself.
But there really was nothing I could do by that point except be correct. It happened as I saw it, I swung into the tree, hitting my ankle as I did and then back out into the middle of the area, still holding onto the rope and stick for a seat. The drop was about 10 feet, so I didn’t want to knowing I would land on my ankle. I didn’t have a choice, I dropped to the floor. The pain was immense and I started to try and stand before I realised it was really bad. The male friends I was with said I would be fine and disappeared over the way to check out the site, leaving one with me to try and help me walk. Minutes later they returned and leaned over the edge saying,
“Oh shit, is she still crying, we better get her out of there”…
Luckily they came through when they knew I was really hurt, carrying me back to the car and getting me to the hospital. Where I got given a tubigrip and a pair of crutches and told to go to the general hospital over 10 miles away – cue another favour from a friend. I happened to chose a bank holiday weekend for my injury so it was packed and faced with a minimum four hour wait and in lots of pain, I went home to return the next day.
So finally two days later what turns out to be a broken ankle is fixed, my leg is in cast and I am signed off work. I learnt my lesson there to not drink when annoyed, don’t think you are young when you are not, and don’t let people get to you. Easier said than done sometimes!…

(c) K Wicks
I’m not sure if everyone was prone to accidents when they were a child, I was sort of a tomboy and liked getting into it and giving it a go, which given my lack of awareness and balance, often led to some comedic accidents.
One of which I will share as it still amuses me very much to this day. As the title suggests, it does indeed involve a hay bale. So, I am 12 at the time, I lived in Hampshire as part of an army camp but not a restricted one. Squaddie brat was the term for us kids of the military folk and I think I lived up to the name quite well. We used to have to find things to occupy ourselves outside of school as all children do although on Thursdays I did used to attend cadets. During the specific school holidays the army were very good at providing activities and schemes for us while parents still had to work. These would include shooting, swimming, PT and other type things. But the rest of the time, we were mostly up to no good.
We were lucky enough to be surrounded by lots of countryside, fields and woods and as much adventuring as we could fit it. But come the late summer we had lots of large round hay bales begin to appear in field out the back of our estate. A game was devised, or trick if you will. Here it was, push the one ton hay bale down the slight incline of the hill, grab onto the netting covering said hay bale, hook your fingers into it and get pulled over with the now moving bale. The trick being a crafty leg swing as you are pulled over the top, and releasing your fingers at the same time. Which all going well, puts you in front of the hay bale while it now picks up speed down to the bottom of the field.
The principle was simple, and I see two of my friends complete this seemingly new manoeuvre without any issue or hesitation. I know what must be done and take my turn. But what I didn’t factor into this, was my lack of skill. I did not lack bravery or willing when I was younger, but as I got older the evidence became clear that I lacked skill, and this is what kept leading me into injury.
So, I stepped up to my hay bale and gave it a push, both hands in front of me starting the motion, I chose my moment to grip onto the plastic netting and was instantly pulled upwards towards the top. I swung my legs round as best I could planning the same smooth stunt I had witnessed, but something went wrong. My fingers didn’t unwrap from the netting, my legs didn’t quite go all the way round, and instead of jumping in front of it, I went with it. Imagine a steam roller made of hay with a person on it. That’s what happened. I went straight over the front of it and then proceeded to be crushed by it. Luckily only having some bruises and cuts on my face and a sore rib cage. I had to go home to my mother an explain why I had odd scratches and bruises down one side of my face. She laughed, a lot.
I would like to say that was a one off, an isolated incident, but I would be lying. My younger years really were filled with a number of mishaps…

(c) K Wicks photographer

(c) K Wicks