good byes, redundancy, a long holiday and some philosophy

The past few weeks have been a manic hurdle and in between it all I realised I had used a crashed laptop and what ever else as an excuse not to write about my race in Paris, my move, that drink, that training, quitting my job, having coffee, finding a good restaurant, packing and unpacking, and the running test and brake wires snapping on my way to town, that meal I cooked or the buns that turned rock hard, my long holiday and the novelty of floating around aimlessly.

I have been too busy to living and enjoying life to sit down and write about it.  And hence, this blog has been made redundant.

When I started typing my little messages, 274 entries ago, I enjoyed what I was doing. Writing was a pleasure – a permission to take a break from study and work. Now, it has become a laborious task. Despite sounding harsh, the truth is that beyond grandkids nobody will really remember, know or care about our lives and us. (Except if you find the cure and prevention for cancer, HIV/AIDS and paedophilia,  which would then ensure that generations to come would have to learn your name) Hence, why waste time doing something that you no longer enjoy? I can’t see any reason to do so and hence I wont.

So this now is goodbye.

By the way, I caught  a few…dreams that is.

Somebody once told me that she felt like she was going through the motions of life without really living. And to my horror, I knew what she meant by that.

So, if anybody asks where I am…you can tell them I’ve gone hunting…

passport saga

My flatmate was abandoning me for the weekend and leaving for a lovely weekend in Paris. Still on Friday night she had not packed her bags but this was not a great cause of concern as Paris is a wonderful place for shopping (or so they say) and hence if something was left behind it could easily be replaced.

In theory.

Early early on Saturday morning I heard her move in the apartment but as I had now reason to get up I turned around and continued dreaming.

At 7AM my phone rang.

She was at the train station, her eurostar was leaving in less than 30minutes and she had no passport.

I found the important document from her bedside. There was only one thing I could do.

I pulled a jacket over my pyjamas, ran downstairs to the minicab and asked for a lift to the station. Half asleep I arrived in front of St Pancreas, paid the driver who kindly said he would wait for me, declined the offer as knew that the meter would be running the whole time and sprinted inside to find my flatmate.

Nowhere to be seen. Because I did not have my glasses on.

Luckily in no time she appeared in front of me, with her bags and I could give her back her precious travel document.

Clearly pleased with my effort she thanked me and ran towards the security check and the passport control and the train that was already boarding and left me standing in the middle of the station in my pyjamas.

I stood there for a short while wondering what my next move would be.

Eventually I walked to a café, got a latte and started making my way back…to bed.

east end

Last night we were walking back home from the cinema, talking about the film and the feelings it had created in us.

Passing through a quiet street I thought I heard a knock.

We stopped to listen.

Knock knock.

It was coming from inside. Behind a closed door.

“Hello?”

More knocking. We tried to push the door open but it did not move. A hand came through the letterbox.

My flatmate peeked through the little hole on the door, where the hand was sticking out and a female voice asked her to help.

“Open the door, please”

Pushing was no use so she requested the trapped lady to move away from the door.

A hard kick and the door swung open.

The trapped knocker was sitting on the corridor floor undoubtedly grateful for our help.

We wished her good night and continued our journey home.

“Must say I have never kicked a door in before.”

First time for everything. I guess.

off road

I had my first ever off road race on Saturday. And it certainly was not the last one.

My alarm went off in the early hours of the morning, but somehow gobbling down a bowl of porridge took us a fair bit longer than expected and we finally arrived to the coastal Devon location after the official registration time had already closed. Luckily this did not prevent us from taking part.

The list of equipment that we were supposed to carry would have been sufficient for a polar expedition but unfortunately the organisers were adamant when it came to safety procedures. Hence I had shopped for an emergency foil blanket, which only barely fitted into one of my pockets. I was not willing to carry a back bag for such a short distance.

It was a glorious day – sunny and warm. In the middle of February.

We took off.

Already in the first kilometre there was a stream, which was too wide to jump over. Serious test for my new cortex shoes. Wicked.

Mud.

Rocky uphill.

Rocky downhill.

Flat, up, down, through mud, down, up, through another stream, over a fence, back in the forest, along the gorge, against the wind, my, more mud, even more mud, and another fence….

Already at an early stage I had passed all my female competitors but struggled taking over the men. Idiots. Wouldn’t let me past.

Last downhill and I was struggling. Steep, steep fall. And up again.

I crossed the finishing line more than 10minutes before the second lady and on the 12th place in the whole race. I was gutted. I still had steam in me so should have pushed it into men’s top 10. How much better would that sound.

We had to dash off before the prize ceremony but was made aware that the prize involved money. Wicked. I had just been paid to do something I have no problems paying to do. Fantastic.

For the rest of the day I was raving. Ecstatic.

Running had just been taken to a completely different level. Unlike on the road, every step was an achievement and a task of its own. And the scenery.

Why road race? Why indeed? When you could be playing in the mud and having fun.
And the next one is….must investigate.

when fun is free

My job is hardly exciting. I mean it is interesting and I certainly stay up to date on current world events, but exciting would still not be the word I would use to describe my daily tasks. Especially as the current crisis is turning into something possibly worse than the Great Depression I would even dare to argue that my job is sometimes rather monotonous. Numbers, even inflation keep going down and down and down.

Surely they should have hit the bottom by now?

Well they haven’t and hence I have had to develop alternative methods to keep myself amused in the office.

My latest one is sport terminology. I pick one country and one sport and turn the economy of that country into that sport. Formula 1 is a good one. A good sport that is, and so is football. Then in my analysis I make sure is describe economic events as if they were a game.

It is quite challenging.

Sometimes I run out of games. Well there are lots of games to choose from but I can hardly justify using time in the office on learning the rules and terms of a sport I don’t know.

Then I use saying. I pick a saying I want to use and make sure it fits the analysis.

Today’s one was “stuck between the rock and a hard place”.

I have sometimes pondered if the people reading my articles ever notice my little game and if they do, what they think.

I wonder.

At any rate, when one currency claims its nth pole position I rally.

But I am overly concerned whether the central bank will be able to parry the investors’ attack.
Maybe tomorrow is golf’s turn.