This morning I fell asleep whilst reading. It’s the first time this has ever happened. I feel this could be the first of a series of firsts that will highlight how I’m now starting to get old.
Today I woke up in Clapham. Even though this has happened a few times since I left last November, last night was the first time that it was a planned stay over, and not the usual crashing on someone’s sofa after a night out kind of stay over. This morning I stood on platform 10 at Clapham Junction waiting for a train to take me into Waterloo, a routine that I had done every weekday for the two years I lived there. It felt strange doing it again. If you had asked me just after I quit my job and moved home whether I would be happy with myself if, in seven months time, I would be back at this station catching a train to go back into my old job, I probably would of said no, not at all. But strangely, I am. Even though I wanted to give it all up, I was incredibly fortunate to of lived in that/this part of London, and have the job that I had/have. I don’t see it as a step back, but more of a revisiting of better times. I’m not someone who finds themselves ever being content in a routine but things right now are pretty good. Come November I will be spending six months doing a full lap of this wonderful planet that we live on. It goes without saying that it’s something I’m incredibly excited to be doing, but knowing that the months leading up to it are being spent more productively than just counting down the days to my departure puts an all mighty smile on my face.
Playing squash after a week of watching non stop French Open is not good on the ankles, as it will subliminally make you integrate sliding into your game…
We have no idea of the national make up of this audience this evening, but could you imagine Federer playing an American at Flushing Meadows, or a Brit at Wimbledon, and getting this kind of reception. It’s the measure of the man, that he transcends national boundaries. He’s Roger Federer. Not Switzerland’s Roger Federer. He’s everyone’s Roger Federer.
From ITV’s coverage of Fed’s current fight back against Frenchman Gilles Simon at Roland Garros.
And no, he’s MY Roger Federer
In my view that man is severely mentally ill and has found a convenient conduit for his insanity, in this case the Quran. In the case of another mentally ill and desperate man, Mark Chapman, it was A Catcher In The Rye. This was the nominated text for his rationalisation of the murder of John Lennon. I’ve read that book and I’ve read some of the Quran and nothing in either of them has compelled me to do violence. Perhaps this is because I lack the other necessary ingredients for extreme anti social behaviour; mental illness and isolation; either economic, social or both.
When talking about my travelling trip, the part about us being in Cancun for Spring Break usually receives the following gender polarising responses:
Guys: That’s a great idea!! You two are a bunch of visionaries.
Girls: You perverts.
Can’t please everyone.
It can be hard keeping hold of a good mood when sitting next to a window in this weather. But then you remember you’re currently in the process of deciding which Thai island you want to spend Christmas on this year and all is quickly forgotten.