I blame the band Bleachers, but it’s not really their fault. They just happen to have written a song about loving someone sideways. And under normal conditions, this is a perfectly fine piece of music for me to listen to.  I’ve played it plenty of times with no ill effect.  I have absolutely no idea why then, on this particular occasion – a mild, temperate Saturday morning in the gym – that the song would have this effect on me.

It comes unexpectedly, uninvited, not necessarily unwelcome, or in fact, unwanted.  Connecting with it is part of life for me. It actually makes me feel normal now, strange though that may sound. For sure, its timing wasn’t great today – it often isn’t. It tends to catch me off guard. Like it’s snuck up behind me or jumped out in front of me. 

But there it was. Coming up for air. a gradual welling up.  ‘Welling up’ is a good way of putting it. It’s not a surge as such. It’s not as violent or passionate as a volcano eruption, or an earth quake tremor.  It’s much quieter. Almost timid. Gentle, at least at first. Like it’s coaxing me out in a friendly sort of way. Like it wants me to open up, to see it, to face it, to look at it head-on. It seems to know that, however hard it is to face into, it’s better for me that I do, and that I don’t avoid it. Or squash it down.

Over a few lingering seconds, my brain starts to connect with whatever is going on in my chest, in my lungs, in the pit of my stomach. My mind communing with my body, listening, recognising the feeling. Knowing it. Not like it’s trying to make sense of it. I used to do that. Now, over time, I just know it, I don’t need to analyse it, to try and figure out where its come from, or even what it is. There’s no sense in trying to make sense of the senseless.  

Just accept it. Let it come. 

Luckily the gym is quiet for a Saturday morning. There’s only a handful of people around and they’re all busy doing their thing. And without exception, everyone has earphones in. Set to max volume, no doubt. Playing a motivational playlist, like mine – ‘Bleachers Mix’.

Despite the relative safety of limited numbers and all wrapped up in their personal preoccupation, I still feel self-conscious. So I pace up and down a bit. Try to look absorbed in my routine. I find a quiet corner and hope no one’s noticed my tears. I try to look like I’m taking a break between rounds, preparing myself for my next circuit. I face the wall, staring intently at the poorly painted breeze block that’s seen better days. I jig about a bit, as my sight becomes blurry and the breeze block loses its definition.

Breathing can be tricky at times like this. It’s as though I’ve forgotten how to do it. And I end up having to take much deeper intakes of breath to sustain myself. 

It’s here alright. 

It knows me and I know it.  Now, we’re sort of friends really. We’re familiar with each other. Comfortable almost. I’m certainly not scared of it any more. I know it will leave at some point, sooner rather than later. And seemingly always before anyone around me notices it’s arrived. 

—

So follow me, I know this haze
And I love you sideways*

—

Later in the afternoon, showered and freshened up, I go to watch my football team play out a somewhat dreary League One clash. Nil-nil after 98 minutes. Not the best performance. Better in the second half, but still off pace, not fast enough in the attack. Good turn-out though.

At about half eight that evening, whilst watching a documentary about photographer Martin Parr, it comes again.  A bottle of red has probably surfaced it. It often does.  

So I retreat to bed and curl up with it, under the warmth of my duvet. We are sheltered away together. Riding the tide, seeing where the wind will blow us. 

Lying in the dark, I draw a circle in the air with my finger. Like I’m outlining a whole in space that I can climb into.

*’Sideways’ by Bleachers (from the 2026 album everyone for ten minutes) is written and produced by Jack Antonoff.