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The other day my daughter fixed me with a cold stare and told me that I was going to be the next member of our family to die. It seemed more like a prediction than a threat (though I feel she is strong enough to take me down).
Hopefully she has just inherited her father's obsession with death and not her father's ability to predict the future (in the forms of Spurs' results, gun sprees in America and dates of the second lockdown). Even though I don't believe in the supernatural I am easily spooked (see my ghost blog of recent days).
Today at breakfast I felt a bit of a weird feeling in my left shoulder. Oh, that's not good, I thought to myself. I looked at my warlock daughter to see if she was smiling wickedly and contentedly to herself, but she was just making ketchup into a funny face on her plate.
I don't think she actually wants me to die, or really understands what death means, but I knew that I was not keen to leave her, or the other people around this breakfast table behind. The little one wouldn't even really remember me at all if I went now and that wouldn't be fair because he's the only one who actually likes me a bit.
You assume you have a certain amount of time left (even when like me you're constantly predicting your own demise) and as I walked the dog and my shoulder still hurt I thought about the possibility that this was my last day here. It's nice to know that I cared more about the people that I left behind than my own erasure from the continuing story of humanity, but I wasn't ready to go.
Equally I wasn't going to go to the doctor because I was sure this would turn out to be arm indigestion or something and I'd look silly in front of a stranger. And I'd rather be dead than experience that.
Over the course of the day I realised that the pain was only happening when I was using the muscles of my left arm and so self-diagnosed that I had just sprained something in my shoulder. Probably by sleeping on it.
Being 53 means living with a background of mild pain at all times. And my back is complaining at the moment and my joints like to send a little firework of pain up to remind me of the times when they operated without complaint.
I am making what must be the fourth effort of the year to get back into a healthier lifestyle though. I have to stay around long enough so that my kids feel sad that I am gone.
One day the emergency will be real rather than imagined. I'd like 20 more years though please.
More snooker tonight
So of course second lockdown means that my November live gigs are either postponed or going to be online only. The Ally Pally one is the main casualty and Robin Askwith and I both agree that his one will be better with an audience, so you'll have to wait for that one. The good news is though that I will be doing a remote chat with Father Ted co-creator Arthur Mathews on November 11th.
And another lockdown should just mean more crazy content from me - maybe more stone clearing and maybe another snooker tournament. And who knows what other shit I will come up with this time. It has to rival Twitch of Fun.
Your chance to own the FIRST EVER signed copy of The Problem With Men (currently the only signed copy - apart from one I did afterwards for my mum and dad). All the money goes to @RefugeCharity
BID NOW
As I write it's at £255 which is over £200 more than I was expecting.
The 200 copies of the book with the signed bookplate and badge at
gofasterstripe.com sold out in double quick time, so we are going to do another 200 (though they might take a little longer to get to you).
Direct Link here.
