Have you read this book? Andy has. I haven’t. Oliver Burkeman, the author, used to write for the Guardian newspaper, a publication that makes me feel nauseous for many, many reasons. Ergo, Burkeman is equally guilty of the sick-making by association. Anyway, he wrote this…
It’s all about managing your life time based on the guess that the average person lives around 4000 weeks. When you put it like that, it doesn’t sound very long, does it? That, I am surmising is the idea. Our time on Earth is but fleeting - don’t waste it by doing numpty things. But, as I say, I’ve not read the book. I’m just making wild assumptions as to the purpose of it based on my own anti-Guardian newspaper type prejudices.
I wonder how many weeks I’ve lived so far, thought I. So I checked, out of curiosity. Reader, in two days’ time I shall be 3,000 weeks old exactly!! That, apparently, means I am three quarters of my way through my allotted 4,000 weeks. Crikey blimey oh heck! Actually, I thought this news would be a bit of a leveller, but it turns out it isn’t. That’s because I am of the belief that you can only live one day at a time and hopefully, you try to make the best of each day as it comes. And if you don’t for some reason - like maybe someone REALLY hacks you off, or your scrambled eggs glue themselves to the bottom of the cooking pan and it all sends you into a grumpy tizz, then you wrap up the end of the day with finding something to be grateful for (at least you had eggs, at least you aren’t that idiot person) and you can start again on the morrow. Providing you wake in the morning. And if you don’t, well, you won’t know anyway, until you realise you are floating around with the lovely angels. Am I drifting? Back on track, then. Or not.
Today is National Purebred Dog Day. Nell scoffs at this. She is a cockapoo (Cockerpoo? Who knows? Who cares?) which in olden days terms means she is a cross-breed, a good mix of genes and less likely to have health problems. But nowadays it also means she is a designer dog. Ridiculous. What’s the difference between a cross-breed and a designer dog? The purchase price, that’s the difference. Ah, but what price can you put on a constant supply of muddy footprints, having your hand used as a teething ring and being constantly under siege to the demands of a ball of puppy fluff, eh? Don’t answer that.
It is also Chocolate Parfait Day. I shall ignore this. Parfait, schmarfait. I am baking a chocolate chip and banana cake instead. Visitors for lunch, don’t you know. It’s a good cake for visitors.
It is International Workers’ Day, which is ironic given it is a) the May Day Bank Holiday and 2) the country is steeped in strikes so barely anyone is working anyway. It is Global Love Day - good luck with THAT one.
But best of all it is Mother Goose Day! This is a celebration going back to the late 1980s to celebrate the good old fairy tale. Hurrah! I love a fairy tale. I love writing a fairy tale. One of my half-completed novels has a fairy in it. Only I spell it ‘faery’ because it’s more sinister. She’s a naughty faery. (N.B Spellcheck doesn’t like the word ‘faery.’ It has already tried to change it to ‘fairy’ and, bizarrely, ‘fakery.’ I hate spellcheck.) I should finish writing that novel before I buy a novel which is remarkably similar to MY idea and I become really annoyed I didn’t get there first because of my insane habit of procrastination. Why do I procrastinate anyway, if I’m living for the day? That makes no sense at all, and I’ve only just realised that! Blimey, barely 10 a.m and I’ve had an epiphany.
Onwards, then! Crack on to the end of my 3000th week! Bring on the next 1000!!
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