Sometimes, I think I have had a pretty uneventful life. Not that it is over by any stretch. At least, I don’t think so. If you know better, why not pop the details of my impending demise into the comments box below. Preferably, before the incident that shuffles me off this mortal coil occurs. I know that would empower me to take action to prevent my clog popping, but I promise I will continue as if I never knew. Like the “dealers” when they accept the kind offer from the banker in Deal Or No Deal, and they swear to play the remainder of the game honestly. Which ties me nicely into the why I had reason to rethink the opening line of this article.
I have just had the best week to have the worst week. I have just come home from possibly the most relaxing holiday imaginable. I was floating down a canal in Burgundy, experiencing incredible food, outstanding countryside, sumptuous luxury and extremely delightful company. The joy of such an amazing break was not overshadowed by the disasters that were occurring in my absence. In fact, the idyllic week on board La Belle Epoque pushed almost every disappointment, frustration and outrage firmly to the back of my mind. And I would like to thank every person involved in my week for that. You may not know how important you were.
I am an atheist because of many different reasons. I find the logical advancement of a species, through countless evolutionary changes and adaptations, a far more comfortable theory than a purposeful design by an unfathomable Creator. To give myself to a historically inaccurate and subjective transfer of unrecorded events seems dismissively simplistic considering the wealth of processing ability that the human brain possesses. While many of the teachings of all religions are admirable templates for a productive, socially aware and generous life, I believe that the founding principles of being a “good person” are a result of an inbuilt moral compass that is nurtured by society, but essentially a gift imbued by common sense and reasoned thought presented to, and by, the vast majority of all human beings. But these are not the strongest and most polarising reasons why I am an atheist.
I have never played golf. Not proper golf. I have flailed around like a hurricane embattled windmill on a seaside pitch and putt on a few occasions. I’ve also wondered how many real golf courses have to contend with negotiating a laughing pirate’s chomping jaws as I have on crazy golf, but I have never been to a real golf course to “play a round”.
It is not often that I am lost for words. Even if I can’t think of the most appropriate thing to say, I usually find something from somewhere. This weekend I was lost for words.
I write my little blogs and articles for both myself and, if anyone is kind enough to read one, to entertain others. Occasionally I receive a comment on what I have written and I love that people get involved. This weekend I received an Email that took every word away from me. I have copied it below, after changing the names.
Last night I couldn’t sleep for a variety of reasons. I rarely go to sleep early and never have been able to. I often have issues rolling around in my mind that refuse to allow me to rest. I usually listen to phone in radio shows to provide me with an insight into how other people think about the issues of the day, not to mention the tinfoil hatted conspiracy theorists. Often amusing, occasionally gripping and usually entertaining, I find myself drifting off to sleep with a smirk about the inner thought processes of the public at large.
We are often separated from our friends. Some we outgrow, some move onwards and upwards, some are snatched away from us. I have covered that subject in previous posts. We find our friends in many different ways and in many different circumstances. Going to school with someone is no guarantee that you will even remember their name by the time you reach your twenties. I have memories of my mates at school making me laugh, people in my class choosing to emulate Robert Smith’s biggest hair day while The Cure still enjoyed a cult following, and that funny looking kid wearing his Dad’s old shoes. The key there is “that funny looking kid”. I don’t remember his name. But I remember his Dad’s shoes. I was like a 6’6″ version of Carrie Bradshaw in my youth; it was all shoes, shoes, shoes to me.
Gluing my hand to my head seems extreme, Mr Ashley.
Slow news days always produce stories that can make a person wonder if they have just woken up in an alternative reality. One where the journalists failed to use the The Day Today’s calculation of “Fact x Importance = News”. The slow news day has been blighting and amusing news consumers for many years with stories about large vegetables, semi Royal visits, pork chops that look like James Cordon and James Cordon looking like a pork chop.
We have all seen a situation like it. Many of us will have been involved in a similar situation. I know I have. While at University, I spent many happy hours in the Students Union bar, as do many other students. “The Haigh” was the given name of Liverpool John Moores University student bar and was a well used watering hole by many. It was a strange sort of place now that I actually think back to it. None of your state of the art and trendy decor, no, The Haigh was simply a large room with a bar at one end and a couple of fruit machines along one side. If you removed the posters from the wall and turned your back to bar, it could have been a visiting room in a prison. The strange thing about it though wasn’t tied to the appearance of the place. It was the atmosphere. It was always incredibly friendly and relaxed. This might not sound like a revelation, but my mate came over from his Manchester Students Union bar and commented on how chilled out and relaxed it was.
Stand still....... this will only hurt a life-time.
What do you do when someone that you consider to be a friend betrays you?
Not everyone will know this, but in a previous life I was a firefighter. It was the job that I had wanted to do since I was a boy, so much so that when I reached 18 years of age, I went to a preliminary testing day for my local fire service. My Dad gave me a lift to the hosting fire station on his motorbike (a Honda CX500 for those that like to know these things) and I joined the queue to climb ladders, roll out hose and pretend I was in a burning building. Having a chat with the recruitment officers after the physical tests, I was horrified to find out that I was physically disabled from joining up. At that point in life, I didn’t sport the comfy, natural spare tyre that I have cultivated over the last couple of years and was pretty fit. My eye sight was 20/20 and I could hear a drunk girl puke from 500 paces. What was this unfortunate, excluding condition then, you may ask. I was too tall. At 18 I was pretty much at my full grown height of 6 feet 6″. The height restriction to join up was a mere 6 feet 4 inches. 2 inches away from being able to satisfy my childhood dream. Never let anyone tell you that 2 inches isn’t disappointing. It is. Extremely.