Something and Nothing
After a weekend filled with stress, arguments, standing on rugby pitch touchlines, school fundraisers, doing endless chores, and then being accused of doing nothing, it’s almost a relief that the world seems to have calmed down somewhat today.
Work is ramping up – the beginning of the marathon that will take me through Spring, Summer, and into Autumn has officially begun. I spent the majority of the day either in meetings, doing admininistration work, making changes to documents, and making changes in response to the endless meetings last week in Germany. I know I’m vague – no apologies for that.
I don’t seem to have achieved anything tonight, and quite worryingly this is turning into a pattern. From the moment I got in until about half an hour ago I faced an endless stream of chores, children asking for help with projects, adults asking for help with their computers, and repeated making of cups of tea and coffee for others. Of course in another ten minutes I’ll head out across the internet to find out what everybody else has been up to, and try not to compare my day against theirs – because mine will inevitably look pedestrian compared to theirs. This is where I start repeating the mantra ‘but most people only write their highlight reel – you’re the only lunatic you know that records EVERY DAMN THING’.
It’s true I suppose. Quite often I sit and write a post on the blog when I have nothing of note to share. A voice on my shoulder reminds me about the guiding principle of NaNoWriMo – that if you concentrate on quantity, now and again you’ll hit pay-dirt – the laws of probability almost guarantee it. I saw almost, because the laws of probability also predict that an infinite number of monkeys writing for an infinite length of time might NOT write a single sentence of Shakespeare – let alone his entire works.
On a side note, did you know there is very little proof that Shakespeare wrote any of his plays ? I have to admit I laughed, while visiting Stratford Upon Avon, when we sat in a cafe after looking around Shakespeare’s house – I occupied myself with reading the promotional leaflets we had picked up along the way, and happened to notice a telling sentence – that admitted the entire 'Shakespeare House’ is a fiction – it’s a modern building built in the style of buildings of the time. They don’t even know exactly where he lived, when he lived there, or who he really lived with – it’s all conjecture.
I’m old enough to be suitably cynical when faced with conspiracy theories. When I was younger I read countless books about UFOs – filled with code-words such as 'Project Red Book’, and 'KRLL’. Most of the stories don’t stand up to scrutiny.
Anyway. Time to make a cup of tea before turning in for the night.