Musings from the Clubhouse
On Sunday morning, I found myself sitting in the clubhouse at Branston Golf & Country Club, waiting for Adam to finish in the gym. I ordered a black coffee for myself and a Strawberry Delight smoothie for Adam, and I pondered whether or not to have some breakfast, knowing it would probably depend on whether Adam had anything. Well, you just look fat if you eat on your own, don’t you?
I did a push workout that morning, followed by fifteen minutes in the sauna, where I made some small talk with a gentleman in his mid 50s. Those of you who know me well will know that I despise small talk, so I’m quite proud of myself for putting the effort in. He was telling me all about his medical problems (how he had quit smoking since being diagnosed with COPD) and his council house (how they’d paid to have the garden done to make it look less common). It left me wondering whether all small talk feels this intimate, or if it is just sauna etiquette that I am not privy to. As it turned out, we discovered during our medical problems discussion that we both have dangerously high cholesterol, so at least we managed to find some common ground. Nonetheless, I don’t think I’ll be making small talk in the sauna again any time soon.
Sometimes, as I’m sure most of us do, I get a bit down about life, but as I sat there, drinking coffee, looking out on to the beautiful (albeit slightly flooded) golf course, waiting for a good friend of mine to join me and reflecting on my weird sauna conversation, I couldn’t help but feel quite content with life. Isn’t that nice?
The Art of Being Sensible (Sometimes)
I spent the day with my darling Mother earlier this week, since we had some errands to run and some shopping to do. You may remember from a previous blog entry that I have decided to blame my Mother for my somewhat questionable spending habits, so allow me to provide you with further evidence. After a spot of clothes shopping, we popped into the bookies, as we so often do, for a cheeky go on the slots. Ladbrokes was the purveyor of choice this time, and we both duly inserted £10 into our respective machines. I will cut a long story short – I walked out with a £10 loss, whilst Hayley walked out with a £50 profit.
As we were walking back to the car, Babs offered to take me out for dinner. I thought about it, and suggested the Riverside (a favourite of ours), before remembering that a few hours prior, we’d been to Bookers Wholesale and bought a five kilogram box of chicken breasts, specifically to try and encourage us to cook more at home. I therefore retracted my suggestion and offered to cook a stir fry back at Talbot Manor. “Ah yes, I suppose that would be the sensible option” was the response I received – proof, if you needed it, that I can even be the sensible one sometimes.
Laughter Through the Lens of Time
Sometimes, for no apparent reason, I will scroll back through my camera roll to a random period of time gone by and just look through the pictures and videos I took. Many of you will know that my mental health struggles have been both persistent and prolific, but when I look back now, I feel both happy and sad. I feel happy because almost every single image I see and video I watch involves laughter and good times with both friends I still hold dear and friends that I have sadly drifted apart from, but I feel sad too, because I wasn’t in a place back then where I could truly appreciate how lucky and blessed I was to be surrounded by such joy. Thankfully, with my new found mental wellness, happiness is the emotion that wins out, because despite all the struggles, I know I’ve still had such a wonderful life, and it fills me with excitement that I still have so much more to come.
Anyway, allow me to give you a specific example. Whenever I go on holiday with my good friend Tom Brooks, I make a list of memorable quotes from our time together. When I was scrolling through my memories earlier today, I came across my list from Tenerife in early 2019. I will include a few favourites below;
“Vodka martini please, stirred not handjobbed”
“All the burgers come with a salad garnish? You can fuck that off”
“I’d never call you fat you hippo”
We were in Tenerife for one week. There are one hundred and eight quotes on that list. Those three are, quite literally, the only three I feel comfortable publishing on my blog, because the rest are both incredibly distasteful and would likely open me up to criminal prosecution. It’s creating memories like that, dear reader, that make life worth living.
