But it won’t do. What else does life have to offer the more mature and discerning person but the opportunity to spout trivial nonsense on a blog? Not much, I can tell you. So, a trivial blog post will have to be attempted.
How about the little contrast I came across in Ashbourne today? OK. Sit up straight and no talking while I’m talking.
It being a warm and pleasant day, I was sitting in the car park outside Homebase with my driver’s door wide open and my legs swung out. There was some nice Irish music playing on the car stereo, courtesy of Boys in the Lane, and I was eating my lunch. It was about as close to idyllic as I ever get these days. Suddenly, this car comes through a vacant space in the row behind and into the space next to mine, thereby forcing me to half close my door to avoid the possibility of having it removed altogether. I tell you, there must have been fifty empty spaces on that car park, so why does he have to choose the one next to me? What is his freggin’ problem?! Here we go again, you see? No respect for personal space. The driver was a man in his late fifties or early sixties, and he got well scowled at.
Move on half an hour…
I took my walking shoes into the Ashbourne cobblers to get them heeled. The older men who work in that shop always give you the standard line:
‘Be ready Tuesday.’
But the young guy who’s there on Wednesday – I’d say he’s probably in his late teens – is a bit more versatile.
‘When do you want to pick them up?’
‘I’ll be in Ashbourne again next week.’
‘I can do them today if you like.’
‘Don’t see why not.’
And so he did, which means I don’t have to spend a week tramping the lanes in wellies even if the weather is dry. Good, eh?
And that, children, is why I don’t entirely subscribe to the These Kids Today! school of thought.
Right then, you can put your exercise books away now and listen to one of Mr Beazley’s favourite songs, aptly suggested by my earlier reference to a darker shade of pale.
It’s all about the Titanic, apparently. Or so they say. And while I’m on the subject of the Titanic…
You know I give a lot of credence to the concept of reincarnation, right? Well, one of my most chilling fears suggests the possibility that I might have been one of the unlucky 1500 who boarded the infamous ship in Liverpool (or was it Southampton?) but never made it to New York, except in Ghostbusters. I’m sure this doesn’t explain my near-manic desire to go to New York now, but it might explain why I like Ghostbusters so much.