Taking Praise to the Bank

The Grace of Acceptance

In life, whatever you do, whether by nature, through practice, or by good fortune, compliments do not come easily. Perhaps they do for others; however, what matters most is having the grace to accept those encomiums when you have been appreciated.

Yet sometimes familiarity makes praise seem either mundane or biased. I am occasionally embarrassed by how Brian compliments me; the thought crosses my mind that he cannot possibly be talking about me. His words can be effusive and quite adoring. I suppose a sense of modesty suggests it is too much, whilst a feeling of inadequacy implies I have not yet reached the standard for which the applause has been loudest.

An Unexpected Exposure

Then this afternoon, a work conference segued into a conversation between two. Idle banter touched on many things, and then she said, “I found your blog.” She had been searching for information when the results led her to my blog. Shock and surprise on my part brought the realisation that I had been exposed.

However much we try to compartmentalise our lives through secrecy, segmentation, or even sequestration, we can only be so successful when we leave footprints online. I got my first email address in 1994, just as I began a subscription to CompuServe. My identity number is just about to slip from memory in the present — I remember it now.

The Weight of Recognition

Not only had she learnt a great deal about me, in blogs spanning almost 23 years, but she also appreciated my writing: my use of language, and the ease of reading. She enjoyed everything she had read and pleaded with me not to stop blogging. Amid this deluge of compliments, I was close to blushing.

There is no day when I do not receive compliments, usually from strangers, and I respond with thanks. It is different when a colleague at work, who knows you in a particular setting and character, sees another side of your expression and acknowledges, commends, praises, and compliments that aspect of your art. You want to take it to the bank and cash it.

Cashing It In

In this case, I have taken it to the bank of this cache of over 4,250 blogs and cashed it in as an acknowledgement. Brian has always maintained that I can make a blog out of the simplest moments or interactions. This is one of those instances. Thank you—you know who you are.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - LXXIX: Reading the Signs We Miss

The Streets of Manchester

The fascinating people that live in this city or visit it never cease to captivate me. Whilst I do attempt to be inconspicuous, I nearly always fail to blend in, but the attention usually brings compliments that I am glad to accept with gratitude.

The streets of Manchester bring both the familiar and the revealing. Looking at the health dashboard for the north of England, there have been outbreaks of measles and other respiratory viruses, but COVID-19 remains six years on.

I take Coronavirus vaccine boosters twice a year because it is an evolving virus with strains, we have literally forgotten to keep track of. I'm on the take-your-jabs side of the debate.

An Arresting Entrance

Attending a function yesterday, someone arrived late enough to be noticed in more ways than one. First, it was her blonde hair with red highlights and bows to the left and right, very much as one would have imagined Heidi would look, or a traditional Kellnerin (beer maid) at Oktoberfest.

Her dress was purple and slightly body-hugging, and her shoes were platform boots, the type that makes your gait look like a plod. Each footstep was an ungainly stamp, not so much soldiering but what you might observe from a horse in canter.

Her face had a chubby, childlike quality, but it left us wondering if she had left a face mask on, because it seemed unlikely that this was the result of make-up application.

A Mystery Unfolds

An intriguing personality, you might think. You had the urge to introduce yourself and then found yourself tongue-tied, unsure which of the thousand questions coursing through your thoughts to ask first.

After she sat down, it became obvious that she was unsure of what to do. I plucked up the courage to walk across the room to tell her that food was being served around a corner in the longer part of the hall. She seemed to prefer a sprint to a walk, even in this enclosed space, displaying an unnecessary urgency that drew concerned attention.

Even after several people tried to engage her, none came away with her name, who she was, where she came from, or who she was wearing for either fashion or make-up. I doubt anyone paid compliments, and if anything commendable were said, it might have been along the lines of, “You're quite brave to leave home like that.” Everyone wondered who had broken all the mirrors and reflective surfaces in her home; I dare not say care home.

Reading the Signs

In retrospect, many of the signs were there. The sprint across the room when a walk would do, the inability to engage in small talk, the preference for group activities that required no conversation, even the styling choices that perhaps made perfect sense to her but read as incongruous to others.

These weren't eccentricities designed to provoke or performed awkwardness for effect. They were markers, perhaps, of someone navigating a neurotypical social space with a neurodivergent compass.

The unnecessary urgency, the difficulty with eye contact and introduction, the retreat into structured activities like dancing where the rules are clearer and the social demands more predictable; all of this suggested someone for whom these gatherings are both desired and exhausting. Someone who wanted to be there but lacked the social scaffolding that others take for granted.

The Enigma Departs

Later, she got involved in the dancing and some other activities you could do in a group without having to chat to anyone. She remained a mystery, an enigma of sorts, and we left nonplussed. She might have decided on being the girly doll version of Chucky.

She was Black.

A Google NotebookLM AI Audio Overview Discussion of this blog

Men's things XXXI: Can Intimacy Be Reclaimed After Prostate Cancer?

The Unspoken Battle

It is the unspoken conversation, one I have barely had with myself and definitely not with others, including my partner, my medical and cancer support teams.

When I was diagnosed with malignant prostate cancer in June 2024, the first physical urge that left me was sexual desire, as though someone had just kicked me in the balls. It wasn't pain, just a numbness of confusion and incapacity.

Preparing for the Obvious

Even for a man with African heritage and no need for machismo, I have been open about the bowel and bladder issues. I was quite read up on them and ready to attend to the matters concerned. I didn't want a catheter insertion for whatever reason, but incontinence underwear? I was ready to model it for men of a certain age and body, if necessary. I do like my underwear, and I have used linings too; the situation is manageable.

However, on the sexual part—the big mammoth in the room—I have ignored its presence and viewed it as part of the weight-bearing structure of that space, insignificant if it played dead and never moved. But 17 months after radiotherapy, with all things looking good, the mammoth is awakening from its imposed hibernation.

Weighing the Options

If I wanted sex, and I enjoyed sex, this diagnosis exacerbated and crystallised the ideas of sexual dysfunction in my mind.

In choosing the option for treatment, I first spoke to the consultant surgeon about the radical prostatectomy procedure. A year before, a men's advocate who had undergone it explained that the expert surgeon was able to save the nerves necessary to retain some sexual functions.

The surgeon was quite candid with me: my prostate gland was so enlarged that he couldn't guarantee anything could be saved of my nerves until he was in there conducting the surgery.

Imagining the Aftermath

As this procedure is conducted under general anaesthetic, the prospect of waking up to a surgeon trying to express happiness and sadness in the same facial expression was one I was not intent on seeing.

His professionalism and years of experience might have given him the skill as a comic piece, but it would have been a joke at my expense. “Mr Akintayo, we successfully removed the prostate gland. However, your sex life is gone; you're impotent. But we can make some interesting toys for you, to have some sensation and other elements of pleasure.”

I'd be crying tears of joy for being free of cancer, catheter inserted as there is no urinary control for months, finding where my pelvic floor is, and living happily ever after.

Then I ask, even if this smacks of medical paternalism: should surgeons be more proactive in discussing sexual health outcomes?

Learning from Others

Another friend had undergone the procedure a few years before. He, a straight man, came to me to seek advice about the kinds of sex I know. Much as I could have helped, I felt he needed to join a men's support group to appreciate the experiences of men in similar circumstances before thinking of this, because his views were explorative to my hearing, rather than developed.

From that surgery discussion, I knew it was not for me. At the same time, I needed that cancer excised because, whichever way you look at it, dead men do not have sex.

Another question arises: how do cultural expectations of manhood affect seeking the essential prostate health check-ups first, before considering the treatment decisions and recovery?

Radiotherapy and Its Consequences

As I took radiotherapy, the immediate and enduring side effects have been bladder related, with a few bowel issues. My sex drive is depleted by being unsure of ability and compounded by lacking confidence. It is also not something that can be addressed with bravado.

As you can read, I am tackling this issue alone because I do not understand this vulnerability enough to appreciate the kind of help I need.

The Medication Dilemma

Yes, I can get erectile dysfunction medication and pop pills like sweets, but that not only becomes a prop; it does not address the emotional and mental issues. Rather, it becomes a legalised version of chemical sex, getting a prescription from a pharmacist instead of illicit drugs delivered by a dealer.

The question then becomes, how many highs can I have before drug-induced priapism or severe hypotension with the risk of death is the danger?

Furthermore, because it has been offered, is the medical establishment over-reliant on pharmaceutical solutions rather than psychological support?

Rethinking Intimacy

As men, we are fixated with erection and penetration as the full expressions of sex; the absence of either or both feeds a kind of sexual frustration for the person and their partner. Does sex become a distant memory rather than a present experience with a hopeful better consummation, or are damaged goods being repackaged for a partner with different expectations?

For gay men, where physical intimacy and sexual expression often form central parts of identity and connection, the loss can feel particularly acute. The dynamics of same-sex relationships, where both partners understand male sexuality from lived experience, can create a unique space for empathy and shared problem-solving.

Yet it can also mean both partners acutely feel the absence of what was, and the uncertainty of what might be possible. The fear of being seen as “broken” or inadequate in a community that sometimes prizes sexual vitality can compound the isolation.

For straight men, the challenge often involves navigating conversations with partners who may not fully grasp the psychological weight of erectile dysfunction on male identity. There's the added pressure of traditional gender roles and expectations around male performance.

Meanwhile, bisexual men face both sets of pressures, depending on the gender of their partner, alongside navigating healthcare systems that may not fully recognise or address their specific concerns.

Regardless of sexual orientation, the fundamental question remains: how do you maintain intimacy and connection when the language of physical expression you once spoke fluently becomes halting and uncertain?

Confronting the Fear

Yes, I have literally thought through all this with a clear indication that I probably need to re-engage with a support system that would address many of the pertinent issues after treatment for prostate cancer. The questions are not abstract; they are real issues in existing relationships.

You might wonder, if I have managed the bowel and bladder issues that well, why am I struggling with the sexual one? Whether we like it or not, it defines, to a certain degree, manhood, manliness, performance, and self-esteem. Maybe, just maybe, this is part of the fear that stops us black guys from talking about men's things.

One last question: are Black men receiving adequate support and information about sex, sexual health, and sexual expression after cancer treatment?

Moving Forward

Yet we need to talk. Prostate cancer cannot be the last story, and navigating a way to fulfilled sexual satisfaction after prostate cancer treatment must not be greeted by the shock of the experience, but by the hope of new possibilities through therapy, support, and understanding.

How intimacy changes in relationships is a journey that has no clear answers for both parties, and that might not be the prospect a partner desires in what looked amazing before cancer struck and stole our virility.

Check your Prostate Cancer risk in 30 seconds.

Blog - Men's things XXX: Let's talk Prostate Cancer

Blog – Photons on the Prostate - A year from starting radiotherapy

Blog - A prostate cancer diagnosis, one year on

Blog - Men's things - Prostate Cancer blogs

A Google NotebookLM AI Audio Overview Discussion of this blog

The Bottleneck Paradox

Breaking Free from Groupthink

The tendency for us to participate in groupthink can lead to stifling our ability to see things from a different perspective. Then sometimes, I suffer from an inclination to see things from a different perspective first, before seeing the blatantly obvious.

As readers of my blog might have observed in my debunking of the half-glass-full or half-glass-empty debate, this only matters in what is in the glass. You cannot judge my sense of optimism or pessimism from the notion of the glass without examining its contents.

The Contents Matter Most

If the glass contains fine wine, it would likely be half empty because I am enjoying the drink and, by inference, it will remain half full, or full, if I cannot abide the taste, quality, or bouquet of the wine poured in it.

My wine example could spark debate about whether I am proving my point or demonstrating confirmation bias, yet it is in what the glass contains that we can deduce the state. Just as if I knew the glass contained poison, it would remain half full.

This morning, in an engagement with a colleague, he expressed concern that an activity might cause a bottleneck. Here again is the tendency in all definitions to see a bottleneck as a problem.

Reframing the Bottleneck

According to the AI Overview my browser provided, “A bottleneck is a point of congestion in a system—such as production, software, or computing—where a single component's limited capacity restricts the overall speed, throughput, or performance. Similar to the narrow neck of a bottle, it causes delays, reduces efficiency, and creates backups, often requiring the slowest part to be upgraded or optimised to improve the entire process.”

Without thinking twice about it, I responded, “Bottlenecks are good; they make the difference between getting the drink in the glass and spilling it everywhere.” Surely, that is a beneficial feature of bottlenecks and the reason why we do have real bottlenecks, as opposed to bottlenecks in application, production, or business processes, on computers, or in networks or traffic.

Those versed in systems thinking might, in this case, distinguish between designed constraints (intentional bottlenecks), which follow my response, and emergent ones (system failures), which engender the broader definition.

Reconsidering Received Wisdom

There might be other situations where the restriction of flow helps direct and concentrate resources to achieve an aim. These are worth considering further.

The other argument might suggest that the definition of bottleneck has evolved well beyond its original meaning. Just remember, when happy and gay literally meant the same thing.

Yet the situations where received wisdom suggests the negative deserve review from another perspective. There is often more to it than what we have been schooled to accept as the only truth.

Blog - Half of a quarter full of an eighth empty (October 2004)

Blog - Pour the wine and don't you whine (May 2024)

A Google NotebookLM AI Audio Overview Discussion of this blog

Essential Snobbery 101: Letting Mother Help You Choose Good Friends

The Wisdom of Maternal Instinct

Mothers of my generation who happened to be in the UK during the 1960s seemed to acquire a turn of phrase associated with that exposure, which we, their children, sometimes had trouble understanding. However, with hindsight, many of their observations were insightful, intuitive, and prescient.

When your mother said, "This friend of yours is too good for my liking," whilst she was not commanding you to break the friendship there and then, she expected you to find ways of extricating yourself from that relationship.

Usually, this meant bringing new friends into your orbit and having something aspirational within those friendships against which she could compare you, urging you to do better. As our parents cannot essentially make our friends for us, they exercise a kind of judgement on our decision-making in the best interests of our protection, even if we cannot see why.

The Mirror of Association

Another saying of foreboding is, "Show me your friends, and I will show you who you are." Association becomes a marker for discernment, character, and principle. Choose and keep the wrong associations, and watch your own reputation go up in flames, even if you are neither involved nor culpable in the nefarious activities of your chosen friends.

Moral judgement, a good conscience, along with a sense of knowing when something is wrong, are instincts we should all have. Beyond that, we need to be aware of when we begin to think that status and means provide immunity for impunity, creating an aura of invincibility bordering on being untouchable. It is the most dangerous cocoon of existence in which a man can find himself.

It is in this light that I have wondered how wise counsel deserted men of wealth and power concerning Jeffrey Epstein. Firstly, the evil and wickedness he inflicted on young, vulnerable women for his pleasure and that of those he corralled into his circle of influence is unforgivable. Lives were ruined and damaged beyond any form of redemption. The most public of them, Virginia Giuffre, took her own life last year.

The Voiceless Victims

For those still living, I can only hope that they find the love and care to give them not merely the will to live, but a purpose that can help them craft a better story regardless of their past. They remain the voiceless in this atrocity, in which he gave himself the easy exit of suicide rather than be held accountable for his actions.

His accomplice, Ghislaine Maxwell, is in prison but hardly languishing in a gulag. She probably holds a bargaining chip of influence and blackmail that could ease the severity of the punishment she truly deserves. However, apart from these two principals in this influential harem of inordinate abuse, almost rivalling the court of Caligula, no one else has faced the remote prospect of indictment, let alone prosecution.

A Global Web of Complicity

The names on Jeffrey Epstein's Rolodex and roll of shame reach into a global Who's Who of money, power, royalty, politics, and academia, touching the once respected, revered, or adored. We have begun to question our own sanity, yet one can only be in awe of how he networked to create a veneer of respectability over his disreputable and criminal enterprise. Those involved became inadvertent enablers, and within that bubble, they were mesmerised into the suspension of disbelief.

The taint of association has claimed scalps and led to disgrace in many spheres. It started with a CEO of a global bank losing his job, the marriage of the richest man in the world for over a decade collapsing, a prince losing his titles and honours, an ambassador sacked with the prospect of losing his peerage, and today, the chief of staff to the Prime Minister resigning for just being a friend of a friend.

That list is not exhaustive, but it is indicative of how a mother's observation could have saved the reputations and honour of some who have now become part of Epstein's story.

Heeding the Warning Signs

It is obvious that we need to regularly review the kinds of friendships we keep, no matter how influential, rich, and connected that person might be. I know those people my mother took exception to; there are two who never became good friends. One of them became involved in criminality in the UK, such that his history stood against his ability to practise law there.

Sometimes, I hear my mother's voice in my head. There are times I hear her in my own speaking, too. In both cases, I am glad there is that premonition to avoid some people.

A Google NotebookLM AI Audio Overview Discussion of this blog

Committing The Treason of Solitude

Misunderstood Perceptions

How I am viewed by others leaves me baffled, if not surprised. If I am not generally considered a curmudgeon, it is assumed I have a temperament easily disposed to petty angst and fits of pique, with a tendency to take offence without cause.

How this figment of imagination takes hold and plays out, as if an alter ego of mine has supplanted my reality and taken my place interacting with others, escapes me. It would be unkind to suggest others are getting ahead of themselves.

My True Nature

In my mind, I would think those with whom I have issues would be in no doubt that I have issues with them, despite every desire for them to think they have done nothing wrong.

Much as I tend to be a loner, keeping to myself and enjoying my own company in the confines of my bedroom, oblivious of the world, I do not pick a grudge for the sake of being contrarian.

The Demands of Others

Indeed, there are times I want to be left well alone. It is a prerogative I seem to have no unilateral licence to exercise without question; there are people who simply need my engagement regardless of my situation.

Tribute, attention, communication and calls must be made or answered, or an inquiry is instituted bordering on an inquisition. My guilt is decided without the option for innocence, all in a day, or even shorter, between dawn and dusk.

No Hiding Place

In this, I have no hiding place. My solitude is a room with too many keys, distributed freely to others who enter at will, demanding tribute in the form of my time, my attention and my immediate response. No excuse is ever good enough for breaking formation; I must meet expectations or face sanction.

If I had the temerity to consider changing the locks, just imagine how the charge of treason would stick, because I belong to something beyond myself. My boundaries and borders are without demarcation, access taken rather than given.

Why does a moment cloud and crowd out the significance of the enduring, from which the narrative and story bear their existence? I suppose I would never understand where, for some, the spectrum of security is transient, whilst for others it is a bond of endurance that cannot be nicked by ephemeral conniptions.

Thought Picnic: Rest, Sobriety, and Social Sacrifice

Treasuring Rest and Sobriety

There are two things I treasure: the opportunity for rest and keeping my sobriety. I get my sleep whenever I can, except when it is interrupted by obligation or responsibility—work or other necessities.

This means that even when I do not get sufficient rest during the week, which is usually the case due to what is essentially nighttime insomnia, I make up for the shortfall at the weekend. I will have a good lie-in on Saturday, not getting out of bed for most of the morning if I can help it, and sometimes I do give my Sunday to rest over religious commitment.

It is strange that some who are aware of these irregular sleeping patterns still seem totally oblivious to this knowledge in some self-serving way. I suppose that is to be expected.

A Teetotaller With Exceptions

On sobriety, I would consider myself generally a teetotaller, though not to the point of total abstinence. I do like wine. My work experience in a brewery laboratory at the age of 15 quite literally put me off beer, lager, cider, and ale.

It is not for religious belief that I rarely consume alcohol; rather, I have seen how drink loosens the tongue, prompting people to speak more candidly. These are thoughts they once had the wherewithal to keep unspoken. Moments of indiscretion or regrettable garrulousness accommodate the emptying of the bottle into the belly.

One core principle I keep more than ever is never to drink alone and mostly to drink only with meals. This makes drinking a social activity and forestalls the advent of hangovers. I probably drink with the utmost moderation; my experiences with light-headedness have come from prescribed medication rather than from losing control, paying homage to Bacchus.

The Darker Side of Drink

Walking up through the Gay Village near where I live, many a doorway is fouled by vomit. At night, you behold the sight of people barely able to stand on their own two feet, so inebriated to the point of incapacity.

The whole thing is quite scary to me: the thought that a portion of your sensibilities is lost to a void of nothingness, your memory failing to recall any recent event.

Then imagine a sober man keeping the fully drunk company, subjected to the inanities that make you question your own sanity. As much as it is part of socialising and being a social animal, you do you; I do me. Some sacrifices are necessary to make the world go round.