If I were to take a quick straw poll of average humans on an average day in Averageville (Popn: Lots) asking how they thought their lives could be improved I’m willing to bet (don’t quote me, I don’t have a lot of spare cash right now) an above average number would claim that the addition of stuff (or indeed, things) would be the way to go.
And they’d be wrong.
Poor, sweet, hypothetical fools.
Today marked the end of my fourth week in a new job. People change jobs all the time of course, but for me, smack in the middle of my forties and with no experience of life with another employer on the African continent it was quite a scary leap.
It’s the best decision I’ve made in a very long time.
Wrote this quite a while ago. Like the idea but not sure I like what I’ve written.
Please have at it with sticks.
I push the button and wait for the chaos. Two shapes dart past the frosted glass of the front door. The gate buzzes, releases and swings open. I have just enough time to close it and turn around before I’m enveloped in a three way maelstrom of children and dog.
I fend off the dog with one hand, low five my son with the other and shuffle forward bearing the weight of a three year old blonde haired limpet on my right leg. She slides off me just before the steps.
“Yucch Daddy! Why are you all sweaty?” Her nose wrinkles.
“I’ve been running my love, that’s what happens.”
She gives me a serious look and then starts laughing. “StinkEEE Daddy!” She runs inside yelling and giggling.
As the more observant amongst you may have deduced from my recent lack of output, I’ve been lacking storytelling inspiration for a little while.
The more cruel / honest amongst you might suggest that the most recent output that preceded said lack of output was also lacking storytelling inspiration but that’s just being mean / honest.
Personally the fact that I’ve already used lack and derivatives thereof approaching half a dozen times already tells it own story (The Lost Chronicles of King Lack and the Amulet of Paucity available in all good imaginary bookshops as well as some rubbish ones).
So you know how I always keep moaning about the fact that I spend too much time running and then I’m tired and can’t come up with story ideas and have nothing to write down and than spiral into a red-wine fueled misery-machine?
Well I’ve solved it.
I’ve put together another blog called The Write Runner.
…and I would jog five hundred more
Just to be the man who jogged a thousand miles for no particular reason whatsoever and then kicked off your new year by blathering on about it*
*last line requires work and possible kickbacks to The Proclaimers
Sitting in front of the Mac eating biscuits and drinking tea in an effort to bleed out the excesses of New Year’s Eve seems like the perfect time to review my year of running.
At this point a normal, upbeat person would insert a line like And What A Year It Was! I shall spare you such vomit-inducing positivity but I will go so far as to say, It Wasn’t Bad.
Forgive me father (and indeed mother) for I have waffled. It’s been eight years, six months and one week since my first blog post and despite my best intentions I have used foul and blasphemous language on several occasions…
Eight and a half years, that’s a fuckload of time!
…furthermore I have rarely had much of any substance to say and have mostly relied on word prompts, tricks and a bunch of other stuff to get by.
Sad but true…but it perhaps needs a little more context and explanation around why it matters.
It’s comforting to know that in an ever-changing world some things remain the same…
After several weeks of abstinence the lure of THREE winning stories in the weekly adhoc-fiction 150 word prompt competition was too much for me to avoid.
The prompt was calm, the inspiration, my local running routes.
The resultant failure of Chasing The Sky to entice the voting public was inevitable and strangely joyous…
No, not the one at the top. This one.
Need a clue?
“We’re only going away for two nights.”
“I know. And we need to eat, and the kids need to eat, and they need to be entertained, and it might be cold in the evenings and…”
“OK. OK. I get it. I’m just saying we ‘re only going away for two nights.”
“And I’m just saying…never mind. Did you pack his little pup for bedtime?”
“Yes. And a spare toy. And her toys.”
“Helmets for their bikes?”
“Yes. And a soccer ball. And a frisbee. And a golf club and some balls. And a cricket set.”
“Did you organise the drinks?”
It’s been a pretty lousy writing week but a pretty excellent running one.
After four years of trying I finally cracked the 16 minute barrier for the weekly time trial at the club. Did I say cracked? I meant smashed. By the power of GPS I can confirm that the 4km mark was crossed in 15m37s. Sure, in the grand scheme of things Mo Farah probably doesn’t even get out of bed that slowly, but for an old Welsh guy like me, that’s quick.
More importantly, I’ve managed to get the pre-long-run checklist down to a manageable half an hour.