Charles 11 once said an English summer is two fine days followed by a thunderstorm. I'm pretty much the same. After two glorious little days (qv), it came to a crushing halt this morning.
My wife and I went round to her dad's again to fix his upstairs landing light. After a long, irritable struggle, we gave up and yet again had recourse to seek the help of our old friend Rob. Peace be upon him. The thing is, my behaviour throughout was pretty reprehensible, and I am a bit ashamed. I was selfish, scathing of my wife's efforts though mine were no better. In short, I was an arse.
I am working o my memoirs right now, as followers are probably getting sick of being reminded. What I am trying to say is, as I review my life from the lofty hilltop that is today, I see a much calmer, well integrated and well, cooler guy who inhabited the eighties.
They say age brings wisdom. I fear it is not automatic. I am still struggling to "get over myself", if you follow, and the process gets harder, not easier, as time flows gently past.
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