Mitchell's Mustard Blog

September 23, 2016

The things I would tell a younger me

  • Don’t start smoking . . It may seem like everyone else is doing it but smoking will stay with you longer than most of those people.
  • Be yourself . . I wasn’t happy with who I was until I reached my 30s, it wasn’t too late but I could have been happier earlier.
  • Not everything your parents tell you is true . . They want the best for you but sometimes their opinion can make your playground smaller.
  • Be respectful of others feelings . . Everyone has a personal battle and some of your actions can affect others in ways you couldn’t imagine.
  • Appreciate the people close to you . . One day they won’t be there anymore and the things unsaid will haunt you.
  • If you believe in something, fight for it . . If you let it slip through your fingers then chances are you didn’t care about it that much.
  • ‘There’s always tomorrow’. . In most cases that’s bullshit, you’ll only keep putting it off, get it done!
  • Learn to agree to disagree as early as possible . . Everyone has a different opinion on things, most aren’t worth falling out over.
  • Some days you’ll feel like you’re alone, you’re not. . Talk to someone, open up and trust people. Your pride can take the day off.
  • Stop shaving . . You look much better with a beard. Stop complaining about the itchy stage, man the fuck up.
  • Don’t fear doctors and dentists. . They’re here to help you (and make you skint). Your health should be a main priority.
  • Don’t be negative . . Stay away from negative people and energy, that shit is incredibly  contagious. Don’t be part of the chain!
  • Drugs . . Do what you have to do, just be safe. Don’t be peer pressured into taking anything you’re not sure about. You can easily find yourself in a black hole that will chew you up and spit you out.
  • Learn a new language, or musical instrument . . You will try to learn both later in life and find them both near impossible.
  • Never think any idea is too big. . If you want it, go for it. If you fail then at least you have tried, that’s better than most. Shoot for the stars!
  • Nothing good comes easy. . If you want something to work then you have to be willing to roll your sleeves up and work for it.
  • Balance your work and personal life. . There is a fine line between the two and it can tip either way. Do you work to live? Or live to work?
  • Be polite. . Just because a lot of people around you have no manners, doesn’t mean that you should act the same way. Two wrongs do not make a right.
  • When your Grandma is ill, go see her more often. . Say the things you want to say, hold her hand, tell her you love her. Saying it to a hole in the floor isn’t quite the same.
  • Research tattooists properly. . Have a good look around before you settle on a tattooist or you’ll find out halfway through your second tattoo that the tattooist line work is a little off because he has a glass eye!
  • Don’t pretend to be something you’re not. . Or you’ll find that the people who befriend you or fall in love with you don’t actually know you. Don’t lie to them and don’t lie to yourself.
  • Girls that like bad boys. . Don’t even bother! You might have your father’s mind and mouth but you have your mother’s heart and emotion. You will never fall under the ‘badboy’ category.  
  • Don’t get too involved in others bullshit. . Be supportive but be careful or their bullshit will eventually become your bullshit. You have enough weight on your shoulders, you don’t need theirs as well.
  • And finally. . Believe in yourself. Don’t put yourself down, there’s plenty of other people out there that will do that for you! Be kind to yourself, and for god sake smile more.    

February 29, 2016

She Got That From Her Mother

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 9:30 pm

It was either the nausea, or the pain streaming through his head that woke him. Before he opened his eyes he knew things weren’t okay. With all the telltale signs around him, it was his gut feeling that put him in panic mode. Knowing he was awake but feeling like he was dreaming, he would pinch himself but movement was limited. Frustrated that his body was ignoring his commands, like a child with no control. His lungs rebelling as his chest squeezed tight, looking for the biting point, the line of no return. Finding it hard to concentrate, like distracted adolescence. The pain, enclosed breathing space, a loud humming from a distance. All the things playing hide and seek with his senses added to his confused train of thought. His mind jumping back and forth, current to past. The uncomfortable seat he was slouched in, the smile on his daughter’s face. The fear of opening his eyes, his wife holding his hand.

Feeling his chest start to pulse, liquid leaving his mouth and nose. It felt like a memory, but the realisation kicked in with the damp feeling in his lap. Is this a dream? If so, he wanted to wake up now. He felt guilty, confused because he didn’t know what for. Feeling his throat wheeze reminded him of his father, he had smoked for years against everyone’s complaints and concerns, his father’s whistle. The memory stuck with him while he slipped deeper into the dark. Remembering the anguish across her face, the sound of his daughter crying his name as he left. Tears found their way down his face through sealed eyes, his nose burning.

You only regret making a decision once it’s too late, no energy to turn back time. His life slipping away through his pores. He remembered attaching the pipe to the exhaust of the car, taking a look at life outside before he closed the garage door and sealed himself in. His mind was fighting but his body refused to react. Fatigued, frightened, alone. His final thought was of his daughter, she was beautiful, strong. She got that from her mother.   

September 1, 2015

I’m in my 30’s, if I’m not happy with who I am now, I never will be.

Filed under: Just a Thought — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 3:03 pm

‘I’m in my 30’s, if I’m not happy with who I am now, I never will be’ . . If you know me well, then there’s a high chance that you’ve heard these words come out of my mouth. I’ve always been a little different, a little bohemian. I get that from my father. It’s taken years for me to place it, an extrovert in my appearance, but introvert in new surroundings. In my 20’s, to be different, was to be judged. Especially when it comes to appearance. Growing up, I wanted to blend into the shadows, the faceless, in fear of being picked and pulled apart by those who seemed to preside. I’m not sure whether it’s now more acceptable to be yourself, which unfortunately I don’t think is true, or I’ve just grown to not care what others think. I remember a time when my confidence was lower than my heels, I’d be in a social gathering, surrounded by the local who’s who, generally an uncomfortable environment for me to be involved. I would hear someone laugh behind me and automatically think that they were talking and joking at my expense, I’d become anxious, reserved, and find that I would excuse myself from the rest of the evening. It wasn’t long after that that I’d excuse myself from the whole experience all together. The older I got, my confidence grew, to become who I wanted to be. I realised that if people wanted to have a negative opinion about me being comfortable in my own look, then . . I’d be comfortable and they can have their opinion, but that’s all it is, an opinion. I laugh it off now, ignore the comments, because negativity breeds on negativity.
Yes . . You might think I have a shit beard. Yes . . You might think I look stupid wearing skinny jeans tucked into boots. And yes . . You might think that I’m a blazer wearing wanker. But, I’m really not that bothered what you think. Full points on calling it a blazer and not a jacket though, well done.

One thing you can’t stop is that people around you will always have an opinion, and some will like to voice it. The one thing you can stop is giving a fuck what they think, you are who you are, be proud of that.

July 30, 2015

The Gentleman Section – Words

Filed under: The Gentleman Section — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 11:10 am

Words. Words are just fucking words that fill the silence unless it’s complemented with actions. Hand in hand like that of your childhood sweetheart, from the early age you need to understand that words can make you, and break you. Your words don’t always work out. People in your life rely on the actions that fulfil that verbal contract. That word, promise, it’s old and overused by too many. Washed, worn, and reused until it’s tainted and tatty. Don’t promise something unless you are committed to fulfilling it.
Be a man of your word, a man of honor and trust. Don’t use your words to get you out of a tight spot, use your words so that you never know where the tight spot may be. When you tell people what you think they want to hear, the only person you’re kidding in the room is yourself. To sell yourself out like that, no one will trust you if you can’t trust yourself to say what you think. As I said, words are just the façade. You have to be able to back it up, live it, believe in it.
Telling the truth may hurt, cause issues, but in the long run after the burn has subsided respect will always shine through. In no way am I saying you should just tell everyone one around you your opinion, that’s a whole different bag of ‘Fuck yous’. People don’t need to be told they’re fat, ugly, or boring . . don’t be rude! When it comes to having your opinion in a discussion that involves you, hold your own, but don’t be disrespectful. We all have different beliefs, visions, and feelings. A gentleman can always agree to disagree and move on.
Don’t raise your voice with stern words, stay calm or you’ll say something you’ll later regret. We’re all guilty of raising our voice when we’re passionate about something, but save it for the good passion, the ones that are followed by a high five or your very own victory dance . . . don’t deny it, we’ve all got one.
Words are just fucking words, or they could be something that people will rely on. It’s your choice.

July 1, 2015

Mirror

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 7:58 pm

Pale, the curving contours causing shadows and dull patches. Coloured spheres darting back and forth with a similar rhythm to a pendulum on an old washed out piano. A surface that has seen many elements, masked, but only a prevention from age, there’s no cure as the time passes away. Weathered, yet attractive. Like pebbles skimmed across the surface, leaving ripples and wrinkles of life, but unlike water, the wrinkles become more apparent with no signs of fading or drifting away. With each cycle of the sun, the lines hold firm and claim their place. Each passing he notices something different, a soft façade capable of love and emotion, but sometimes riddled with exhaustion and anguish. Depending on his frame of mind he sees beauty, positivity bringing on the attractive glow. Knowing that negativity will only swallow up the good and drag the insecurities to the surface, only for him to see but is believed all will bear witness. A state of vanity that’s stoked like coals in a raging fire, he knows that growing old gracefully is the only option. Most days he knows what he sees, but on the odd occasion he doesn’t recognise what’s before him, what looks back at him each and every day. He knows it better than most, the shape, the strengths, the weaknesses, but there are days, days that just leave him to question. Today isn’t one of those days, he might be looking older, worn, weathered, with dashes of silver, but that is what’s looking back at him. The mirror doesn’t lie, but the mind does.

June 13, 2015

I can’t promise you tomorrow

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 9:28 pm

The surrounding earth meant nothing, not right now. He could hold the dirt in his hand and watch the grains slip away with the wind, it still meant nothing to him. In this moment it wasn’t real, the ground he sat on that worked it’s way into the fabric of his trousers, the tree he leant against that gently swayed in the wind, the forest that cocooned him with danger and protection, none of it was real. He refused to believe that he was awake, he didn’t want to be awake. Not any more. The colours that danced around him played tricks on his eyes, submerging only to rise again, like a playful game of peekaboo that he never enjoyed. The side wind pushed at his tears to confuse their direction, his cheeks felt sore, his eyes tired, his body weary. Knowing that he would have to start getting used to this feeling. It was cruel. Once he gets to the stage of looking for a silver lining in his story he’ll think there was a sense of relief getting his results, the weeks of not knowing had caused him nothing but worry, now there was no need to worry about himself, he needed to worry about all those that surrounded him, depended on him.
The words came as a shock, even though he had prepared himself for the worst, there was still that little bit of hope that clung on like a leaf in autumn. Like a hammer to the heart, he still held self preservation until he reached his car, until he had made it to his current spot, it was their spot. Today it was lonely.
He wasn’t scared of dying, he was scared of telling her that he was dying. Knowing that she’ll be strong until the very end, he’d leave her knowing that he had let her down. He feared watching her face crumple, mirroring her heart. The thought that he would hurt her like this and have no way of fixing it. The old wise words ‘time is a healer’ had no room in his existence, not any more. He loved her, funny thing is he loved her more now than he ever had done, he didn’t think that was possible. All the little things she did that frustrated him now meant nothing, all the petty arguments that they passed to and fro meant nothing. He loved her with everything, more than any man had tried, or ever could.
Wiping the tears from his cheeks, pulling his achy body from the floor, he needed to face his fear, he knew that they’ll have so much to do but with such little time, a true understanding that forever is just a word, a myth, a lie. But love, love is the glue for this broken story, and love will keep them marching on until the end.

May 5, 2015

On the pull like a plastic gangster

Michael_Carroll_210230a

Picture this – My partner and myself are just stepping out of our local supermarket with the evenings to-and-fro ideal dinner ingredients, bags in the basket of the city bikes, just about to peddle off home when a couple of plastic gangsters walk past. One of them spots my partner as she’s positioning her sunglasses, ready to peddle. Suddenly, his slumped hooded head, foot dragging, intimidating stare characteristics all changed. The transformation happened in a blink of an eye. He stopped in his tracks, and everyone else’s tracks I might add, his pigeon chest was puffed out and became more apparent through (what could have been) his Kappa plastic coated jacket. His facial expression went from one of intimidation to what could have been uncomfort? His chin held high, sucking the inside of his cheek like he was practising his finale at a local parks gurning competition. There could have even been a grunt thrown in there as well, but I couldn’t hear it over my chuckling. First thing to remember from this situation, people. don’t laugh at plastic gangsters, they don’t like it. Anyway, within a split second, he had become what I can only describe as a infantile testosterone filled chimp with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on my partner. As he stood there, working on his best ‘come to bed/I’m not sure if I’ve shit myself’ eyes, a kind of pouty-gurn-like facial expression, an arched back so that his groin was at the forefront of his existence. To him, he looked like he had game. To all the passers by, he looked like he was having a stroke, but no one wanted to ask if he was okay just in case it was a scam and would end up with their wallet suddenly missing. After all the effort he had made for her, to look like someone had placed a cattle prod up his sheriffs badge, after all that . . She hadn’t even noticed this whole transformation happening in front of our eyes. Whilst cycling, she was intrigued as to why I was giggling to myself, so I explained all on our peddle home.
Lesson to be learnt by this, if you think you have game, that probably means you haven’t!! It’s been a few years since the caveman pulling technique worked, I’m not sure the opposite sex are keen on being dragged anywhere by their hair anymore. If you want to catch someone’s attention, talk to them. Don’t stand there trying your best rejected boy band pose, it doesn’t work, you must have seen Zoolander, right?

April 18, 2015

We can’t afford to live like David Gandy

Filed under: My Work — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 5:28 pm

David_Gandy_by_Conor_Clinch_(2013)_-_cropped

In this day and age, for some unknown reason, most articles in which you read about mens fashion, health, and lifestyle expect us all to have unlimited funds from that rumored tree in the garden, and a constant day off from the sometimes overbearing rat race. I know we’d all love to live a lifestyle similar to Harvey Specter, you’d be crazy not to. But let’s be realistic here. Being a man of 32 years old, I’m one of few in a position of having very little depending on me. Most men at my age, shared with their partner, have a family to feed, bills to pay, larger financial expectations to fulfill. So it’s rare that today, a modern man like yourself, will flick through this months must have gentleman’s magazine and decide to treat yourself to this new seasons blazer that will cost the equivalent to your next months rent. Or maybe your new born baby can go without nappies for a week so you can pick up a pair of socks that apparently best compliment your new Italian leather loafers which last month put you in debt with your utility bills? What I’m asking is, because most of us live a realistic lifestyle, does that mean we can’t be seen as fashionable? If we can’t afford the luxuries of their advice does that mean we will struggle to look after our appearance? Do we have to follow the guidelines of these so called gentleman gurus that lead us to the temptation of being broke yet looking good with it? Of course not!
If you’re not bothered by the label that’s sewn into the garment then you’ll be just fine, sometimes people are more worried about the brand they wear than how the actual item looks. There’s an old and wise saying ‘Money can buy you a suit, but it can’t buy you taste’. We all know that person, whilst out for a pint, they tell you the brand and cost of every item they’re wearing. A man with taste doesn’t need to talk about what he’s wearing, where it’s from, or how much it cost. He’ll let his outfit do the talking.
What I’m trying to say is, don’t be fooled into thinking that the glossy dream on the pages of an over priced magazine are the instructions to a modern day gentleman. You don’t need to spend your annual income just to look good. The sooner we realise that we can’t afford to live a David Gandy lifestyle, the sooner we’ll be comfortable in our own style. Just remember, he gets paid to look that good! We all have our own style, we’re all that little bit different, roll with it.
Whatever you do, don’t let your baby go without nappies, if you do then that’s a clear sign that you have an issue that needs addressing and your dress sense is the least of your worries.

March 27, 2015

Her little love notes

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 9:35 pm

‘I adore you x’. This was written on the post it note that he found in his suit jacket pocket, he hadn’t worn the black suit for years and was surprised it still fit him, probably due to the weight he had lost recently. He stopped and stared at the loving note, spellbound, lost, loved. She had beautiful handwriting, he knew he was biased, but he loved the way she curled her letters, delicate, passionate, and all without a concentrated effort, it just flowed. He pictured her giggling, running around the house with the post it note pad, quickly leaving love notes for him to find when he returned home from work. And when he found them, she would act blasé, nonchalant, but he could always see the excitement in her eyes as she followed him around the house asking questions about his day, she wasn’t worried about the answers, she just wanted to see his face while reading the notes she had strategically placed. She didn’t always hide them, he would find ‘morning sunshine’ stuck to the bathroom mirror, ‘I’m proud of you’ on the front door, or one of his favourites that he had kept in his wallet, ‘you make me tick’. He had found that note on her pillow a week ago, the morning she had left for work early, on the day she didn’t return.
She would sometimes buy him little presents, something she might stumble across, a little something that she knew he would appreciate. Leaving little post it note clues around the house for him to follow and find her gift. Her infectious giggle would echo round the house while he was hunting, following the trail. He missed that giggle.
He was perched on the edge of their bed in his underwear, he stared at the note. He knew this was going to be the last note he would find in her handwriting, because today, she was the reason he had to wear the black suit, the day he had to say goodbye for the last time. He kissed the note and placed it on her pillow. He knew he needed to get dressed, he didn’t want to, but knew the cars would be here soon.

March 7, 2015

A Smudge of the Retina.

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 1:20 pm

A refreshing beauty, standing alone in a crowd, for all that surrounds is just a smudge of the retina. All just blending into nothingness, the air around, beaming ripples like a pebble in water. An oxygen pulse that pushes it’s own boundaries, to leave a state of breathlessness like a heavy side wind. A smile that cures any moment of insecurity, whipping that moment of existence into the mother of all storms, a storm that won’t settle until you part ways once again, and you’re left with the craving of destruction. Eyes that hold the appeal of a sunset over this city, will always stop you in your tracks to admire. A beauty that takes you away from a feeling of worry, to think, to see, to realise that you have a moment, a moment to exhale and believe, a figure that can mesmerise and hold your attention, to cause all that you shade your eyes from, it all just slowly becomes a smudge of the retina. And in the blink of an eye, this moment passes, just like this encounter. No recollection of time, it’s not needed, time will only ever be a hindrance, until you’re counting down the hours again.

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