The house is empty save for myself on the sofa. It’s Sunday afternoon and there’s Cup Final football live from Wembley on my tele and election results on the laptop. Whatever skewed confused cocktail it is that makes me up, this is about as good as it gets.
I pick up my phone and leave a reminder to myself to write about it; to write what this nerdy and essentially me moment felt like.
And then I stop and think and breathe a sigh of relief.
One of my trite aspirations is to appreciate the good times as they happen. Bad times hit you over the head with a metal bar. There’s no missing them, but good times, be they moments or years, often pass without ever being consciously appreciated, only then to slip through the memory net so easily. That’s why you have to notice them, mentally snapshot them and of course, enjoy them as they happen.
Yet with all the footie and political nonsense I could ever want at my fingertips, all I think about is writing. Through all the recent months of self doubt, it’s been there as it always is. I love the footie and I love the election count, but what I do is write.
Sometimes it’s good just to be shown the bleedin’ obvious.
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