So Bob Holness has gone to the great Gold Run in the sky (and not a Hot Spot) – though people may have observed that little quip ended up on TB first rather than here. Shame, one of those people who never seemed to be acerbic, patronising or smug (which for a gameshow host is very impressive). I feel the urge to go and buy (another) set from eBay or somewhere and add it to the board game night repertoire.

It’s funny how upon hearing about the death or loss of something you enjoyed in childhood makes you feel that bit older. Like another layer has been peeled away and casually discarded. There’s an episode of Roseanne where Roseanne and Jackie are talking about ageing as their mother is considering moving into a retirement community and Roseanne poses the question “How old do you feel?” Jackie pauses for a second and then says “ Thirty….twelve on a good day, eight…”

I completely empathise; there are some days I feel like a complete fraud, a sheep in wolf’s clothing that has no right being an adult. I think about Eddie Monsoon from Ab Fab who says “Sometimes I just want to be back at home in my room with my posters and my tapes” and that’s how it seems for me – an existence where I wasn’t responsible for anything other than decent grades and occasionally pushing a hoover over the carpet. Is this what it means to be mature, to hearken frequently back to the days of youth rather than just getting on with the rest of your life? Maybe this is why so many people act irresponsibly and immaturely as they don’t want to acknowledge the fact that they are growing up.

Philosophy is best left to the hard core drinkers who have nothing to say to each other at the end of an evening. The rest of us can get on with it. Speaking of just getting on with it and philosophising, I was psycho-analysed by Mr Chandler last night. After a heavy drinking session (five pints, the big Jessie), I was on the “couch” as I received an unsolicited therapy session. Having dealt a few of these out in my time (admittedly with some sort of prompting), I wasn’t going to completely dismiss it out of hand but as it became clear he’d gotten the very short end of a very long stick, it took a lot of self-control not to fall into the trap of responding.

In the end, I just kept quiet, said that he was wrong and declined to elaborate further, not least because my private life is my business. Then he stated that he was not 25 but rather 22. Great, another “truth-dodger” in my midst who can’t tell the truth about the most basic of details. I seem to collect them. Again, there’s telling a few porkies for the sake of storytelling, exaggerating for effect but changing the fundamental details is just wrong. Again – WHY?

You know, it’s been some time since I did any writing (and I am NOT including history month in that statement) or went to Costa on a Sunday and just hung out – I think the last time was when I met up with Gareth. That’ll have to change. However, there’s nothing I have the burning urge to commit to paper/a laptop screen other than the blog entries of the day. It’s hard to envisage how professional writers keep on going when they’ve written about the same subject time and time again. Then again, quality of work suffers and they become bloated alcoholics.

A long-overdue catch up lunch with Mr R was most enjoyable today though one hour was not enough time. I’m sure he’d kill me for saying so but he’s beefing up so clearly married life agrees with him despite what he might say. It’s always good to keep with old friends, acquaintances etc though the London factor always twists things. I did more of the talking but realised that was because I wasn’t asking so that reversed at the end of the sesh. I really need to practice more. And the M&S platter seemed to go down well; not bad for £5 (although paying full whack for it would have killed me).

There was a conversation in the office earlier today which touched on New Year resolutions. This isn’t something I feel like subscribing to this year as the only goal I want to achieve/enjoy is March 2nd’s Debt Free Day. I need to check with the bank whether I get my refund on unclaimed Loan Payment Protection then or in April as it’d be really handy for Paris. And then I have to have a party of some sort. Or just for my birthday….oh the choices.

Alas I’ve reached the end of this particular creative span. Coffee houses might have sprang forth and spurred on the intellectual boom at the end of the 17th/beginning of the 18th century but then they didn’t have to contend with Maxwell House instant coffee (and I only bought a jar of that because Nescafe was too damned expensive in Sainsbury’s). It’s not the same…