As a Grumpy Man it's often quoted that we exist in a state of continuous miserableness. Now the shocking fact is that this is not strictly true my friends. Yeah, we have a resting bitch face to rival your most favourite reality TV show matriarch (or patriarch or non-binary-arch) but just because I look bored and angry doesn't actually mean I'm unhappy. The expression on my visage is actually not the best indicator of the underlying emotions. The eyes may well be the windows to the soul but my boat race ain't the accurate reflection of my inner state. It's a safer bet to simply accept that my face always looks like I've dropped my favourite ice cream onto a pile of shite. I probably haven't.
So why this preamble and the rather highfalutin title of this latest ramblings? Well, simply put, the past few months (OK - year) has been weirdly challenging for everyone and for us Grumpy Men its brought many more people into our actual physical proximity than is usual. I've previously bitched about the fact that everyones at home. Eating. Making Noise. Breathing. Now they've all decided to start getting all judgey about my facial expressions. Back off haters. It's just my face.
With not a lot happening really time has gone and done a weird thing to us all. The past 12 months has managed to have simultaneously flown by in the blink of an eye and also been interminably long. Take March for example, it usually just sticks around for its allocated thirty one days. This last one lasted for a hundred and fifty seven. At least.
2020 passed by as quickly as the fleeting mutual glance of admiration with the flirty fittie on the escalator whilst also hanging around like the dullard tax accountant neighbour at a house party who keeps trying to guess the brand name of the grout you've used for your kitchen tiles. (UniBond* anti-mould brilliant white in case you were wondering.) *other sealants are available.
The construct of time is a weird one when you think about it. I get the idea of "night" and "day" as its dark for an amount of time then light for the rest. Then dark again. Then light again. And so on. But it's not equally distributed is it? In the proper ancient times, did our ancestors hide away in their caves/mud huts/mammoth hide teepees and sleep more in what we now know as Winter and conversely stay up hunting and shagging and eating for longer in the Summer?
I'm definitely attuned to my Palaeolithic roots as the dark mornings with their enforced "get up o'clock" really do not agree with me. My genetics date back to the time before Time when if its dark, you stay safely inside and sleep, and when it's light, it's safe to come out and hunt. And believe you me, the 6.45 commuter journey is definitely a dangerous place to be. Much better to hang around a bit until the sun properly comes up and its actually daylight.
The generic concept of Time is best summed up in the period between Christmas Eve and New Years Day. This 7/8/9 day period is a compressed and intense example of the elasticity of Time as referenced in the title. Oh how we laugh when someone says (and they will - guaranteed) at some point a couple of days after Christmas Eve "Ooooo... what day is it? I've actually no idea! Is it Thursday? Sunday? Tuesday? Oooo... I'm so confused!" - and how we laugh! "Oh yes", we say, "I've no idea myself! Wait. Let's work it out. Well Mrs Browns Boys was on yesterday and it's the Michale McIntyre special tomorrow so it must be ... (counts on fingers and looks to the ceiling and mumbles to oneself).... "Thursday. Yes. It's Thursday! Now, who wants some cheese and matchmakers?"
Get. To. Fuck. Seriously.
Firstly if you measure the passing of your life by the public airing of unfunny, overexposed twatwankers then that is in itself sadAF and secondly just work it out. There's a well used and well documented way to find out what day it is.
Try it. It works.
(**spoiler alert**there are seven names and they run in exactly the same order every single seven times cycle. If it's the previous one yesterday then it's the next one today. And the one after that tomorrow)
And anyway, here we are again. Already into a new solar rotation and looking forward to twelve consecutive lunar cycles, comprising of - variously - twenty eight to thirty one global rotations. And already on the near horizon is a fucked up month or two of indeterminate length due to the restrictions being placed on daily life. I've grumpied about the virus before so won't re-hash all that ranting but whilst people are still susceptible to the worst of it and lives are being lost, it's the correct thing to do to shield those that need shielding and kinda keep our germ-spreading selves inside for a bit.
So I'll be sat in my oversized Dad Chair pondering about stuff and things. And, yeah, my face will likely look like the proverbial slapped arse but do me (and yourselves) a favour, don't keep asking me about it. I genuinely am OK and probably not actually pissed off about anything specific. It's just the shape of my face. If you want to blame anyone, blame my hunter/gatherer genetics that are now tethered and shackled, and being subjected to barely recognisable one-time soap opera "stars" falling over in ice skates or chowing down on cockroach omelettes.
There's likely to be some weirdness ahead for sure so embrace it, do what you can to mitigate your own ennui and most of all, in the words of the great philosopher Jerry Springer, take care of yourselves. And each other.
Ciao.
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