it was 2020 and as i sat across the kitchen table from wellsie, i started to speak, “i’ve got something to tell you mate”
he knew something was up by the tone of my voice as much as the words.
“i’ve been diagnosed with parkinson’s.”
he was the first non family member i had told, and we moved toward each other in an unscripted dance move, and i wept in his arms.
david richard wells bsc is a medical guy, and runs a chain of wellness centres recently voted london’s best independent wellness provider, and he is a get it done guy too, and if he commits, he’s in.
i did not plan to tell him, it just felt right at the time, and he has helped me tremendously since, so i think it was the right call.
wellsie has always supported me, and back in 2014 when i was everest bound, trying to raise money for teenage cancer trust, pre bigmoose, he tapped into his extremely strong network, and raised over twenty thousand pounds abseiling off newport transporter bridge, he is a doer.
although, he is somewhat of a bad influence on me, and we have had some alcohol fuelled nights out, that probably should have stopped a few hours before they did.
one in particular.
i remember it very well, with a huge degree of shame.
however, like all good stories it started well.
a day in london doing some work for planet hollywood, a successful day, and a meal with wellsie planned, for a mates catchup.
i was staying in a nice hotel on gloucester road, with no rush to return to cardiff, i’d planned well.
we met, sat, chatted, laughed, ate, drank wine, a very pleasant, enjoyable, uneventful evening.
then the waiter asked if we wanted a nightcap.
horrific question.
brandy? he offered.
no takers.
sambuca?
our eyes widened like kids at a pick n mix stand.
“do you have black sambuca?” mr wells asked.
“we do”.
the waiter had lit the blue touchpaper, and i vividly remember the devil entering my soul, one black shot glass after another.
“i’m afraid you guys have drunk us out of black sambuca” the waiter informed us some time later, so we swapped the colour of our liquid, until we realised we were the last ones in the restaurant.
we entered the cold night air, and should have said goodbye.
shoulda, coulda, woulda.
instead, big mouth suggested “wanna come back to the hotel for one?”
big mistake.
we entered the hotel, unaware of time, but the hotel bar had long closed, and as we sunk into the giant comfy chairs we both vocalised our disappointment that our evening was about to end.
it was then that the sambuca induced devil that had entered my body hours earlier decided to make an appearance.
“wanna play high or low?” i said with confidence.
“what’s that?” wellsie returned.
you’re forgiven dear bigmoose blog reader for not knowing what ‘high or low’ is, as i had made it up on the spot.
”it’s simple, we choose high or low, and then have to get to the highest or lowest point in the hotel, first one to reach his goal calls the other and wins.” i explained.
“i’m in” the easily led mr wells replied.
“do you want high or low?” i asked.
“low.”
we looked at each other, and then ran in separate directions.
to the roof batman, i silently said.
stairs are quicker than the lift, and i bound up them, and before long i was at the top of the hotel, but the door to the roof was understandably alarmed.
i scanned my surroundings, my heart beating out of my chest.
must win.
i then spotted it.
a glass skylight.
the hotel summit was in sight.
i scrambled, and i swung, and i manoeuvred myself into position to open the aforementioned skylight.
i placed my foot gently on a beautifully placed pipe.
i prized the skylight open, victory was seconds away.
then.
crack.
my foot had pressed down too hard on the pipe.
the hotel fire alarm started, and i could hear water spraying .
i had set off the sprinklers.
i sobered up in nanoseconds.
what have i done, what should i do?
i dropped to the floor with a thud.
fight or flight?
or both.
i headed for my room two floors below skidding as i turned corners.
as i entered room 214 my phone rang.
wellsie.
“that’s you that set the alarm off isn’t it?” he laughed uncontrollably,
i had no words.
the alarm didn’t stop, and i heard bedroom doors slamming.
i opened mine, and one of the other hotel guests told me as he passed my door that the hotel was being evacuated.
i was now getting scared, what had i done.
i was going to be arrested, i felt sure.
as i made my way to the hotel entrance with the other guests i stepped outside to discover that of the hundreds of evacuees, i was the only one in a white bathrobe.
i caught wellsies eye, and as he walked towards me he was almost crying with laughter at my bathrobe.
“why are you wearing that?” he asked.
“i thought i’d blend in” i replied.
in the distance i could hear fire engines, and as they pulled into the hotel, i have never felt so ashamed.
wellsie laughed.
constantly.
it was only a couple of hours before we were allowed back into the hotel, and i did not sleep a wink as dawn broke, and i considered handing myself in.
i have never been more conflicted, and as i went to check out i enquired as to what had happened, and the receptionist informed me that it was a sprinkler malfunction, and that it had happened before, and i just couldn’t bring myself to fess up, and i have and still do live with the guilt.
i have never drunk black sambuca since, and will never play high or low again, i promise.
wellsie however plans to go very low again, and is doing a bigmoose fundraising free dive to 50 metres, swimming through the fuselage of a submerged plane, all on one breath, in a couple of weeks time.
he has set himself a target of fundraising fifty thousand pounds, and after two weeks of launching his just giving page he is on twenty one thousand and five hundred pounds, incredible i‘m sure you’ll agree?
here is his link, to learn more about the dive and possibly donate.
so to wrap up today, i’d like to say thank you to everyone that signed up last week to monthly giving, i was astounded at your generosity, and here is the link once again in case you missed it.
thanks for reading, and hopefully see you next week, and don’t do anything i wouldn’t.
blue skies,
jeff
