A Notable Weakness.

I’m the world’s worse softie, you know. I am. I played rugby for twenty years, stood firm over matters of principle, defended the weak against the strong on occasion, took on bigger men than me, did my duty in the face of seemingly imminent death, fought long battles with bigots and bureaucrats, was prey to outbursts of destructive rage, and generally treated others as I would wish to be treated myself. And yet I’m the world’s worse softie.

I’ve cried over a piece of music, cried over the death of a dog, cried over a suffering child, and cried with joy over somebody’s aspiration made manifest. Oddly, I’ve shed more tears of joy than tears of sorrow, especially my own.

Why am I saying this and should I post it? Who would want to know and how will they react. Should I care? Part of me feels ashamed and part of me wants to let it out and damn the consequences.

It’s that time of night and I’ve just been listening to Kate Rusby singing Let the Cold Wind Blow. I’ll post it and damn the consequences.