The Missing Element.

The late night posts have all come and gone without being committed to print. None of them quite caught my imagination sufficiently. There’s one left, so I suppose I might as well throw it down for the sake of not going to bed on an empty blog.

I’m cursed with an impulsive nature. Nothing big, by and large, just little things like coming downstairs at five o’clock in the morning and sending an e-mail because there’s something I have to say and I don’t believe in waiting until tomorrow. Or driving a hundred miles to the coast on a whim because I’ve had a sudden yen to see the moon over the sea. Or leaving the office in the middle of a job and finding a phone box so I can call somebody, just because I want to hear the sound of her voice and that’s a damn sight more important than the stupid job!

Little things, but people don’t like it. It breaks the rhythm, and people like the security of rhythms and regular behaviour.

In all my life I’ve never been involved with anybody who was half as impulsive as I am. In all my life I’ve never been involved with anybody who understood that the way to a Romantic’s heart is not through his stomach, but through the simple expedient of making a madly impulsive gesture. And in all my life I’ve never heard a knock on my door in the early hours and opened it to find the right person standing there with the words ‘I had to see you. It wouldn’t wait.’ And now I’ve got to this point in my life, it isn’t going to happen.

So nobody’s life is perfect, is it?

Night.