2012 was a pretty good year. There was this whole wedding thing that I got involved in but there was also a little sporting event that took over the country.
As a Brit I am proud to say we hosted the 2012 Olympics and you know what…we did a pretty good job of it. They may not have been the epic scale of Beijing or the exuberance of Sydney, but I think we can say that we put on a pretty good show when our it was our turn.
I was in China for the opening ceremony (a complete miscalculation on Olympic venues – I was only four years late), but the first thing then Future Mrs G said to me was “It will blow you British mind”, and she wasn’t far wrong.
I’m not keen on “feels” in my media, I’m looking to be entertained like a Roman emperor watching a gladiator fight for vengeance. So watching the latest (and first) play by Caroline C Chattaway which talks about how it feels to be an immigrant I should be a bit wary.
We all know the story of the Titanic, and although the sinking of the great liner features on the poster this isn’t about the night with the iceberg. Instead this play is about the kind of person who would have been on that fateful voyage, those who left their lives in Europe to start anew in America. Tempest Tossed is about the people who did arrive, and how the dream turned out.
I’m not arguing against a healthy lifestyle, I realize that for a long and good life a well balanced diet and plenty of exercise is essential. I know that sitting on my sofa eating chips or a juicy steal is not that good for my heart and waistline. What I have problems with is the way we are indoctrinated that fruit is good, bacon is bad.
Would you rather go crashing through the Pearly Gates at 60 at 100mph, living a life full of good food and drink and spending your time doing fun things, or at 80 after spending all your time jogging on a treadmill going nowhere and eating humus?
Life is a mess if you don’t try to impose a little order on it. It’s not possible to completely programme every little moment but it handy to have a set of rules.
The rules I have are not very complex, in fact most of them are copied from major religions or motivational posters, but they are the code that I try to live by (but like most rules they are there to be broken).
This is not an attempt to say that how I lead life makes me a good person, or that if you follow these rules it will make you a better person, I just think that they may be able to help.
So the rules, and none of them are going to reference Fight Club.
Nana G is over to visit from New York and it has reminded me that I have not yet provided my allegiance to any US Sports team. With the potential of being a future New Yorker I need to make a pick of which teams I am going to follow when I spend my life in front of ESPN.
I’m quite good at supporting non-local teams (after all I support AC Milan and the New Zealand All Blacks) so this shouldn’t be too much of an issue. However I do need to consider a few factors.
Can I support the really successful teams, will this make me a glory hunter? What if the team I choose has a deadly rivalry with the team of my new American family? Is the team known for being mean? Does the jersey look good?
While reorganising my Gmail inbox I had a curious email come through. It told me that I had had someone view my online profile at a dating site I’d been signed up to over two years ago.
At the time I had been single across two millennia, or to sound less dramatic a century or three decades. Admittedly there is a large degree of creative accounting in how I counted time.
It got me thinking to all the times I had gone on some dates, or had unrequited love, and reminded me of a long forgotten post that I had wrote before Mrs G became a “Future Mrs G”. In terms of close shaves the sequence of events that led to me being sleep-deprived could have taken a completely different path if all those potential futures had come this close to working out.
I am counting down the days, the second most exciting thing that is going to happen this week is my new fence is being installed on Friday. I’ve been without the boundary fence for over a year and it has been one of the jobs I need to get done to provide a space for the Feliciraptor to roam.
Once this is done then I have grand designs for the rest of the mud and gravel patch, and I’m glad that I have the Easter week off to find my wellies and spade out. I may not be feeling so pleased after a few days of digging and laying turf because this body was built for desks and spreadsheets not shovelling and lifting.