Breathe...

(Or: Gosh, it’s been a heck of a couple of weeks, hasn’t it?)

What’s the world been up to since I last penned thoughts, I wonder?

Well, some of us were reunited with our other halves after weeks and weeks apart. Hurrah. Then had to say goodbye to them again far too soon. Boo.

Some of us took our two boys to North Wales to see their Grandee and his lovely new wife. Some of us had a great time but were constantly reminded that no matter how much we miss our Mum, the world moves on.

Some of us realised the end of the book we’re writing will never get finished unless we spreadsheet the 72838 words to make sure the clues and logic and structure and red-herringness of it all makes sense. Do all the set-ups pay off? Has anyone had their name changed half way through or stated a fact that would make sense if they were revealed as the murderer, but will make no sense if, around 55000 words, it became apparent the murderer wasn’t in fact the murderer because another character suddenly stepped up with an unpredictably guilty conscience..?!

Must remember to breathe...

Some of us were very sad because a singing icon, a constant through our lives, died way too young (and way, way too close to our own age) and then read a piece by another cultural icon, furious that everyone steps up with ‘icon’ when the famous leave, but where the f*ck was everyone when they really needed us!!

And breathe.

Some of us thought we’d win The Ashes and then remembered a Test match in Manchester that requires dry weather is as unlikely as finding a cabinet minister with a heart, a conscience and a skeleton-less cupboard – all at the same time!

Some of us saw a famous man found not guilty on a number of counts and began to wonder whether he’d get his career back now – then saw the sewer of Twats on Twatter know with full certainty – certainly more certainty than anyone who, you know, considered the actual evidence in front of them – that he was guilty of everything because, well, he just is and they knew, because, well, they just did.

Some of us remembered 20 years working backstage in the West End and tried to remember any week when someone wasn’t a bit ‘handsy’ and wondered what happened to the trusty ‘f*ck off!’ for dealing with the final dinosaurs brontosauring up and down wing space in theatres all over the world.

Some of us wondered why an absolutely (for legal reasons) NOT racist (‘my wife's foreign', he might whine) but, nevertheless someone who does an amazing impression of one – so good, in fact, that he had some of us entirely fooled – some of us wondered why his super-duper only-for-the-special-people bank account got so much airtime when we’re pretty sure that almost everyone is more interested in why the multiple billions of our taxes squandered and all the powerful people lawbreaking and generally being awful, gets almost no air time at all.

Breathe. Get paper bag. Breathe into bag. Breathe.

Some of us watched a man speak to the press after spending 17 years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit and felt utterly sick at the fact he served an extra ten years for refusing to admit to the crime he didn’t commit. Then some of us laughed (totally without mirth) at the fact he may well have ‘bed and board’ deducted from whatever paltry money he is given as an ‘ooops’ for this indescribably awful miscarriage of justice.

Some of us may have taken a moment and reigned in a sackful of first world problems/worries/regrets/fears/angst and literally said: ‘nothing has ever happened to me even remotely as bad as being incarcerated for almost two decades because the legal system failed'.

Some of us felt the exhaustion of 8 hours and 17 British Rail minutes getting from Prestatyn to Greater Manchester, via delivering children home, evaporate when they recalled the grinning 12 year old at the door, saying ‘Thanks Dad, I had a great time.’

Some of us realised time ticks by very quickly and every second is precious, even those on trains and in stations and on doorsteps.

Some of us watched an American claim he had irrefutable proof of aliens and spacecraft. Except he didn’t have any evidence, irrefutable or otherwise, except he pinkie-promised he really did, except he wasn’t going to share that evidence in front of the cameras, because, like, that would be too easy and actually giving proof would spoil all the never-ending fun for the tin hat wearers.

Some of us wondered what aliens would make of us if they did arrive. Some of us wondered if humankind would actually need to hire the best inter-galactic make-over PR company before welcoming visitors from across the galaxy – otherwise they might see us as a lost cause and decide their criteria for finding ‘intelligent’ life had not been met on Earth, and off they’d woosh.

Some of us sat back and wondered what the point of social media is and wasn’t it maybe better when we had fish tanks on our FB pages and people could gift us stuff for it, or they could join our mafia gang and do whatever mafia funsters do instead of thinking they have the answer to EVERY SINGLE DAMN THING!

And breathe. Open window. Breathe. Stick head out window. Breathe.

Some of us wondered, no doubt, considering the hour, whether the lower-shelf wine we used to drink in the old days, might do tonight because it’s in the supermarket fridge already, rather than having to wait for a better, medium priced bottle of escapism to chill. Then realising that the higher the levels of existential angst, the lower the quality of the grape we’ll accept on the road to chilling the f*ck out.

Breathe. Sip. Breathe. Sip. Sip. Hic. Sip. Breathe.

Some of us skipped dinner and went for ‘chickpea & paprika, baked veggie chips’ because they meant not leaving the house when knackered from travel. Some of us reckoned those ‘chips’ probably were, as stated, ‘perfect for dipping’ but without having dip to test the claim, wondered whether the headline might not have been more honest if it said ‘not great without dip’. Some of us lived and learned.

Some of us may have considered whether there wasn’t also something to be learnt from the choices made by monastic types, to leave all the mess of living over ‘there’ for a little while and, I don’t know, tend turnips or something, whilst wearing perfect and distinct versions of male pattern baldness as a sort of club membership badge.

Some of us thought, as they often do, that the following was still the very best piece of advice that anyone ever gave to anyone ever.

And some of us are exceptionally grateful that the person who said that truth (not Rumi, or Shakespeare as many believe) is coming over to drink low shelf wine and partake in the lesser spoke portion of mindfulness called ‘talking shite and laughing’. If the world can just hang on in there for a couple of days, I have no doubt it will be put to rights good and proper.

What a couple of weeks…

Well, I haven’t time to tell you about my last two weeks but the rest of you, whoever you are, have been very busy with all of the above, so well done. Have a glass of low grade wine yourself and maybe a dipless chip or two – you’ve deserved it.

Oh, and breathe, please breathe, it’s terribly underrated.