It's that time of year again to buy each other things we don't need. You can probably tell already I'm not in the Christmas spirit quite yet. I've done all my present buying and now just need to think of gifts I would like. I say need because it seems to be a requirement. And they need to be gifts that can be purchased; apparently it's no good asking for my health. God I'm such a Scrooge this year.
It's also that time of year we reflect on the previous twelve months. I know that's because it's the end of the calendar year but it seems like a silly time to do this given everything else that's going on. Why not do it in June? Everyone is happier in the summer so you're more likely to look positively on the last year. Or why not do it immediately after something good has happened? That way you can always say the year has ended well. And in fact, why reflect on the past at all? As Alice said, "I can't go back to yesterday because I was a different person then." (That's Alice in Wonderland rather than Alice from uni but I'm sure she has equally profound thoughts. Admittedly her's are probably about boobs and fashion and stuff rather than philosophy.)
I've not a lot to say about 2016 really, it's been a bit rubbish I guess; promised lots but delivered little. Personally I had the bone marrow transplant and haven't seen too much improvement. Globally there is political turmoil and ongoing war and suffering. Happy Christmas indeed.
But Christmas is also the time to be thankful for how lucky we are. Most of us spend the day in safety, peace and happiness with some of the people we love most and that makes us more fortunate than so many in this world. The day might not always be perfect but I suppose it's better to have my sister's boyfriend sat at the table with us then Jihadi John. Even if he is a United fan. (He's also a very nice bloke but I do like to wind them up.)
And the end of one year means the coming of another. I already like the sound of 2017 because it's a prime number and the maths geek in me has a thing from prime numbers of late. (Not a thing as in, "I'd love to go to bed with the number 23." It's more of a fondness of their uniqueness; I can relate to that because I'm certainly a one off and I quite like me despite what you're all probably thinking.)
I've set myself some goals for 2017. You may recall the last goal I set was to walk a mile by the end of the year. Well that hasn't happened and according to superstitious people bad luck comes in threes so my first two targets for 2017 may be doomed to failure already. I'm not superstitious though so they will at least be things I'd like to achieve. Here is the list:
1. Be able to fly.
2. Set a world record for balancing things on my head.
3. Be either tremor free or if not at least able to control the tremors.
4. Begin a job which I enjoy and feel as though I am of use doing.
5. Be happy.
All that's left for me to do is wish you all a very Merry Christmas. The title of this blog is from I Believe in Father Christmas by Greg Lake. I chose this because he died recently and it's a brilliant song but I wish you all more than just a clear road in 2017; I wish you one filled with opportunity and joy. I also wish to thank you all for reading this blog. It's been a great help to me writing these often seemingly nonsense posts; my mood can transform over the course of a few paragraphs as I remind myself how utterly hilarious and absolutely amazing I am. And how sarcastic.
Be merry, stay safe and with much love, Patrick.
Tuesday, 13 December 2016
Monday, 5 December 2016
You'll never live like common people. You'll never do what common people do.
The other day I heard Greg James (Radio 1 DJ) say something along the lines of, "the point of life is to find someone as weird as you are." That got me thinking considerably more than it probably should have done.
He's right, isn't he? We're all a bit weird; there are normal traits in a person but there is no such thing as a normal person. Most of us aren't so weird that we are completely unique in our peculiarities and so in many respects the objective of life is to surround ourselves with people who share our weirdness. (Or can at least tolerate it.) We want to be with people who are similar; and we think of them as "common people". It's everyone else who is strange.
To be happy I think you have to embrace most of your own peculiarities. I'm weird in lots of ways. I eat most of my food cold; mackerel risotto from the fridge is one of my favourites. I'm a 25-year-old man and I think Taylor Swift is one of the great musical artists of our time. (If any North East based readers share my passion and would like to see the next best thing then I know a bloke called Adam; he covers a few things but specialises as a Taylor Swift tribute act.) I've never been very good 'on the pull' because I'm overly sarcastic and just assume that a girl will know I fancy her if I insult her a little. Most girls don't. (It balances precariously between 'pretending not to like each other flirting' and bullying.) I'm going to stop now because you're probably beginning to think I'm even odder than you already did.
Some peculiarities, although undesirable, must be accepted. I think MS falls into this category. It's a visible, restrictive and at times depressing sort of weirdness but is it really any stranger than people who are left handed? Or people who actually enjoy drinking real ale? And it's certainly a lot less strange than the average Geordie. I just have to accept that I have MS; it is something I have but it is not who I am. (In some ways it is the opposite of 'a massive dick'; that is something I do not have but many people would (I think jokingly) say I am.
I was talking to a lady on Saturday night (Kelly. More of a lass than a lady to be honest.) and she said often it is defects that make something, or someone, great. She was talking about it in the context of horses and I was a bit drunk so didn't really understand. Apparently Red Rum had a bigger pair of lungs than the average horse and that's why he was so great. I think she was probably implying that even with MS I'm amazing. (And probably that she fancied me a bit too.) We cleared up the fact that a good bum is more important than boobs so I wasn't really bothered how big Red Rum's lungs were any way. (And he is a he. And he's dead. And he was a horse!)
Action points from this post:
1. Embrace your weirdness.
2. Listen to Common People by Pulp; it's amazing.
3. Be conscious of the fact that I am not in any way attracted to horses. (Although I've probably pulled a couple of girls with a slight resemblance to a horse; they tend to be less offended by my flirtatious insults and just appreciate the attention.)
He's right, isn't he? We're all a bit weird; there are normal traits in a person but there is no such thing as a normal person. Most of us aren't so weird that we are completely unique in our peculiarities and so in many respects the objective of life is to surround ourselves with people who share our weirdness. (Or can at least tolerate it.) We want to be with people who are similar; and we think of them as "common people". It's everyone else who is strange.
To be happy I think you have to embrace most of your own peculiarities. I'm weird in lots of ways. I eat most of my food cold; mackerel risotto from the fridge is one of my favourites. I'm a 25-year-old man and I think Taylor Swift is one of the great musical artists of our time. (If any North East based readers share my passion and would like to see the next best thing then I know a bloke called Adam; he covers a few things but specialises as a Taylor Swift tribute act.) I've never been very good 'on the pull' because I'm overly sarcastic and just assume that a girl will know I fancy her if I insult her a little. Most girls don't. (It balances precariously between 'pretending not to like each other flirting' and bullying.) I'm going to stop now because you're probably beginning to think I'm even odder than you already did.
Some peculiarities, although undesirable, must be accepted. I think MS falls into this category. It's a visible, restrictive and at times depressing sort of weirdness but is it really any stranger than people who are left handed? Or people who actually enjoy drinking real ale? And it's certainly a lot less strange than the average Geordie. I just have to accept that I have MS; it is something I have but it is not who I am. (In some ways it is the opposite of 'a massive dick'; that is something I do not have but many people would (I think jokingly) say I am.
I was talking to a lady on Saturday night (Kelly. More of a lass than a lady to be honest.) and she said often it is defects that make something, or someone, great. She was talking about it in the context of horses and I was a bit drunk so didn't really understand. Apparently Red Rum had a bigger pair of lungs than the average horse and that's why he was so great. I think she was probably implying that even with MS I'm amazing. (And probably that she fancied me a bit too.) We cleared up the fact that a good bum is more important than boobs so I wasn't really bothered how big Red Rum's lungs were any way. (And he is a he. And he's dead. And he was a horse!)
Action points from this post:
1. Embrace your weirdness.
2. Listen to Common People by Pulp; it's amazing.
3. Be conscious of the fact that I am not in any way attracted to horses. (Although I've probably pulled a couple of girls with a slight resemblance to a horse; they tend to be less offended by my flirtatious insults and just appreciate the attention.)
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