Achilles & Aristotle

The 3 Big Questions in Life

There are only three questions that really matter in life… So said Britain’s oldest man on his 109th birthday.

They are:

1) Where did I come from?
2) Who am I?
3) Where am I going?

He died yesterday at 110. One short of the classic superstitious cricket score 111 aka ‘Nelson‘ when unlucky things are believed to happen. A pretty good innings though.

He said he knew the answer to 1) and 2) but not yet to 3). I’d be ok on 1). And pretty good on 2) too. But 3) is always the undiscovered continent until you get there.

Children, Life, Odysseus

Sat in the car
Ferrying daughter,
A thought came to mind
So tell her I oughta…
“For the first time in eight years
I’ve had enough sleep.”
“Why’s that Dad?”
“Cos you’ve stopped waking us up!”
“In that case it’s nearly nine years.”
“Actually.”

It’s true. Yesterday morning at 11am, I found myself bright, alert, jolly and thoroughly well rested – for the first time in about nine years.

My daughter has decided she can entertain herself, when she tumbles out of bed at 6.45am sharp every day and no longer needs a parent until 9ish.

So no early morning ‘meerkat’ staring alertly into my sleep filled eyes demanding company. Wow! After a holiday week of lie ins, I felt truly great.

It wasn’t to last. The eve of my return to the coalface of work today and who should arrive at 5.45am – why it’s the Boy Wonder. Ho hum.

Achilles, Life, Odysseus, Poetry, Work, Writing

Dearth of Verse

A dearth of verse
Makes me wonder
Whether my inner life
Is playing second fiddle
To putting myself on the stage

I’m living in interesting times
And putting my shoulder to the wheel
Leaving precious little time
For introspection
Or verse

But I’m bottling up less
Speaking up and plainly
Maybe that’s why verse has subsided
Perhaps some inner tension
Has subsided too

Poets die younger
Performers live longer
To my surprise
I’m currently happier performing
Than turning terse into verse.

Children, Life

Don’t count your Christmases

A chill thought swam into my head as I lay flat and fat in my Christmas bed. Reflecting on eating my bodyweight in festive fayre, a sepia memory came unbidden of Christmas past.

I found myself transported to my own grandparents’ living room transfixed by the annual treat of their fancy striped frosted tumblers coming out of the sideboard. Time for shandies and lemonade and lime.

I remembered my Grandad’s big glasses and big smile and felt a pang of sadness that they’re no longer with us. And then came an urgent calculation of how many more Christmas Days until my daughter leaves home and then turns her back on family Christmas…

This brought the anxious recognition there are a very finite number of Christmases left for me. Ouch – my chest tightened and breath shortened at the very thought.

Christmas is in many ways ‘the most wonderful time of the year’. Despite the excess of preparing, spending, eating and travelling a Great British Christmas has a lot going for it – if you let yourself go a bit.

The kids love it, everyone is that bit more friendly and the rituals and routines are reassuring: a family walk, some fizz, the steaming crescendo of Christmas lunch; then washing up and putting away. It’s all good.

However much hard work goes in – and after our Christmas spread it took me nearly four hours to slowly but surely wash-up and tidy up – they are the most reliably memorable days of young and middle aged lives.

I’ve sometimes rather endured Christmas. But these days I try harder to enjoy them. Every Christmas counts.

Children, Life

Family Bundle

Returning wet, tired and cold from pouring rain and the demands of work, cheerful – if poorly – children have been a joy to come home to.

So poorly in fact, they’ve been super hot, red-faced and unusually placid. And piling into bed, with one either side, for a bedtime book has been a particular delight this week. No bickering, no fidgeting, just two big cuddly hot water bottles with mops of hair.

We call it a ‘family bundle’. And when you’re in the middle, it feels like all is good in the world. Simple pleasures. They warm the heart on a cold winter’s night.