Jesus Suffering Fuck!!!

original post - late April 2022

Over the years, I’ve collected quite a few nicknames. Some I’ve shrugged off, a few have hit a nerve, and several I’ve grown quite fond of— as often happens with nicknames.

One that stuck was Haggis. Among the many, this one always felt endearing—far more palatable than some of the less flattering alternatives.

I’ll admit, I didn’t like it at first, but over time it grew on me and ended up sticking around for good, on and off. I’ve always had a soft spot for haggis as a dish, so in a peculiar way, the nickname suited me.

The License Plate

Back in 2005, during a period of perceived prosperity and definitely indulgence, I decided to splurge on a personalised number plate. I recognised the extravagance, but my excitement overshadowed any hesitation. Being a frugal Scotsman at heart, I was further drawn to the idea when I saw that “HAGGIS” was available as a premium plate in New South Wales. However, the cost gave me pause.

In true tightwad fashion, I found a workaround: “HA66IS”—a standard configuration that didn’t demand the premium price tag. Perfect.

Thus, “HA66IS” became my signature on the road.

There’s a lot to unpack here, and I can’t even recall everything, despite just typing it. Honestly, this is only the first page! Rereading this afterward makes me feel like I was rambling a bit.

Things About Me

• I get manic (though I probably need a better word) and enthusiastic about things. Other times, I just can’t be arsed. Perhaps there are several better words than “manic.” Earlier, I swapped “frenzied” for “manic”—but that still feels unkind. Work in progress. Maybe “excited” fits best here.

• I’ve had my reckless spending moments. Other times, I’m so tight I squeak when I walk.

• I try not to care what people call me or think of me. But I do like affection, friendliness, and camaraderie—which, let’s be honest, proves I do care. That said, I’ve been leaning more into the belief that what people think of me has fuck-all to do with me in real terms.

• I enjoy debating, playing devil’s advocate, and exploring different perspectives—sometimes a little too much. Occasionally, I take a contrary stance just to be a bit of a shit-stirrer or to shake things up and see things from another angle.

• I like to think I’m fun-loving.

• I am loving.

• I like to be liked (there, I’ve said it more than once now—I want excellent pals, for fuck’s sake). And I think I’ve got a decent sense of humour.

Some of My Bad Traits

I can be:

• Quite intolerant.

• An argumentative bastard.

• Rarely open to the idea that I might be wrong (I’m working on it).

• Guilty of swearing too much.

• Responsible for some questionable decisions.

• Someone who has drunk too much, too often.

• A poor eater.

• A lazy bastard when it comes to exercise.

• Not always great at nurturing friendships.

• An overthinker.

• Impulsive—though I may be starting to embrace this.

• A terrible, terrible, terrible procrastinator (see what I did there?).

Oh, and:

• I buy far too many shoes and clothes. I keep finding unopened, unworn t-shirts, undies, socks, and shirts (I recently unearthed 17 unworn shirts).

• I think I’m stylish—but, given my shopping habits, that’s probably debatable.

What I Care About

There are a few obvious things that matter to me. And there’s a reason I’m starting this blog.

• My boys—Carter (16½) and Miles (14 in May).

• My loving partner, Kerry Ann (Kerry).

• My football team—Heart of Midlothian FC (Hearts, the Jambos, the Jamtarts, the Famous, the JTs, the Boys in Maroon). Mostly, this is a source of online mischief and controversial commentary.

• Technology—but not too technical.

• Cars. Jeez, we’ll probably get into that now and then.

• My new scooter—Royal Alloy TG300s, a birthday gift from my amazing Kerry.

• Diabetes—I’ve read and learned a fair bit about it. I might touch on my experiences, but I’m not here to give medical advice.

And Lastly, The Main Reason for Me Starting This…

On Tuesday, 12th of April, I had a confirmed diagnosis of

Mantle Cell Lymphoma.

I've come to realise that writing about this—documenting the highs and lows—might provide some comfort. At the very least, it could help me manage the side effects of treatment, especially insomnia and cognitive challenges, which have become unwelcome companions.

I'm also wrestling with thoughts about fate. It's a belief I tend to lean towards, but it's one I probably need to explore more. Faith doesn't come naturally to me, though I have nothing but respect and admiration for those who find solace in it.

Organised religion? Really, not my Jam. However, I do appreciate certain aspects—the peaceful stillness of churches, the tranquility of graveyards, and the symbolism in some religious traditions.

What has tested me the most is timing. This diagnosis arrived just as life seemed poised for a more happy chapter with Kerry. The sheer unfairness of it all reinforced my belief that any God capable of inflicting suffering on those it supposedly loves isn't one I can reconcile with compassion or kindness.

I'm not here to argue with theologians. If faith brings you comfort, I respect that. But divine cruelty? That's beyond me.

In the words of Billy Connolly—

JESUS SUFFERING FUCK!!!

Or, alternatively:

BRILLIANT, FUCKING BRILLIANT!!!

I settled on the first one. But honestly, the second could've been the title.

The Best Title of All

For what it's worth, the absolute best thing anyone calls me is Dad.

If I could hear that just once a day, I'd be a happy camper (maybe Carter and Miles will read this).

I love you, Kerry. X

I love you (unconditionally), Carter & Miles. XX

(Though, let's be real—you can both be a pair of wee shites sometimes).