It seems like a very long time since I did anything you might describe as fun. I do
sometimes think I would like to have fun again, but having fun always seems to
involve being with other people and engaging in activities prescribed as ‘fun’
by the culture to which most people belong. You know, things like partying and
scuba diving and racing cars and playing charades in the drawing room. I know
the last one is a bit old fashioned, but that’s my problem. It’s a little
difficult for me to remember what fun is as usually perceived. The things I get
pleasure from these days are passive things like hearing a robin sing, or
watching a frolicsome dog with a wagging tail, or quietly observing a young
parent diligently attending to the needs of a young child. Not exactly
fun, are they?
So where do I go and what do I do to have fun? I really have
no idea. Tonight’s Miss Marple story involved a bunch of people with a
connected history taking a coach tour by invitation to unravel a mystery and
bring a guilty party to book. I think I could find that fun, but such things
don’t happen in real life. And besides, if I took a coach tour with a group of
strangers, one or more of them might want to befriend me. Think how awful that
would be.
Better stick to writing a blog, I suppose. If only I could
find something to say that is worth saying. Recounting a time when I had fun
would fit the bill, but I’ve already done all those. If the nice people in the
NHS can mend my left leg, maybe I’ll give the matter serious consideration.
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