It has become a tradition of GofaDM that I write a post to commemorate another successful transit around our local, large-scale fusion reactor. Admittedly, the planet and its orbital dynamics did most of the work – my own warping of local spacetime has failed to grow in the manner oft associated with middle age – but I did fail to expire despite the provision of some strong incentives by our political leaders.
I am, once again, staring 30 in the face: always a difficult birthday, especially when viewed through the prism of base 18. Thanks to some overindulgence on the hand-balancing floor (and wall) yesterday, I currently feel all of my years and a whole load more besides. I don’t think my mattress is being as supportive of my desire for greater thoracic mobility as it could be. I have braved the damp to try some physical ‘hair of the dog’ which seems to be working rather better than its ethanol-based, and more traditional, counterpart.
To celebrate this arbitrary milestone on the long trudge to the grave, I shall be (broadly) acting exactly as normal (normal for me, you understand: I am not promising any effort to simulate normality as viewed from any wider context). I have fitted in a little work and some hand balancing this morning, have an excursion to see my accountant this afternoon (don’t let anyone tell you that life is boring once you pass fifty) and will be having supper in Belgium (and Blues) before taking in two pieces of new theatre and a gig this evening. I will admit that alcohol may pass my lips at some point before midnight…
I also have a little regression testing of (N)YTMG to enjoy this afternoon as we (meaning my more talented partner) make the bold move from ReactJS to the more progressive VueJS. This has introduced me to the glorious concept of the transpiler: Transpilers, Coders in Disguise! Now there’s a TV series that could get the kids back into coding…
The title, in addition to providing a handy metaphor, has some broader relevance. I find that when it comes to TV shows, once I’ve started I can usually make it through a couple of series (maybe a little further) before I feel it is time to call it a day. Most film series I can’t help feeling should stop after one: to the extent that I rarely go to see the sequel of anything I enjoyed for fear that it will damage my feelings for its parent.
There are days (many of them) when I feel that my life (or its author) has not so much ‘jumped the shark’ as pole-vaulted over a whole frenzied shiver of the creatures accompanied by a full orchestra and firework spectacular. I sometimes wonder if our ancestors had the right idea (or had it forced upon them) and lived fast, or at least with a modest degree of urgency, and clocked-off relatively early for a well- (or ill-)deserved rest. I did find myself in conversation yesterday state that I was intending to give up breathing for Lent. Tt takes up so much time and uses a lot of concentration when I’m trying to perform more complex physical manoeuvres which could be better applied elsewhere: could I just take a pill at mealtimes instead? Still, despite the species apparent pell-mell race towards regions infernal using only a surprisingly polluting handcart, I find that I am still having an awful lot of fun with this whole living nonsense – so perhaps I’ll stick around for another season or two, though perhaps I should look at hiring new writers…
Besides, until the sale of the flat in Cambridge is complete, I’m not sure I have the budget to hire a suitably skilled assassin to take me out (Paddy McGuinness will not be invited). I suppose there is a chance that my mortal coil will be shuffled off by dear old COVID-19, which would be irritating as I continue to view it as a jumped-up head cold with delusions of grandeur. If I’m going to be taken down by a virus I want something more impressive and with a much better name: if I’m not at least bleeding from the eyes, I’m not going…
Anyway, the two pints of West Coast IPA in the fridge won’t drink themselves (or they better not!), so I should stop speculating on the timing and method of my exit strategy and have a bite (and sup) of lunch.
Finally, let me declare this extended birthday weekend officially open! Feel free to cut any ribbons you have to hand…
Glimpses of a disturbed mind 