As I’ve alluded to before, grumpiness is the lot of a professional Yorkshireman. In a strange quirk of personality, we actually become MORE grumpy if there is nothing in our lives worth moaning about. In the same way that phobophobia is the fear of fear itself, grumpophia is the fear of happiness.Watch any Northern news channel and it will all become clear: “Lovely weather tomorrow for the whole region, warm and sunny and it’s REALLY DOING FOR MY VEGETABLES. Global Warming my arse, I blame Lancashire“.
So when you’re already metaphorically horizontal in the happiness stakes, it’s very hard to be knocked down. For us the night is always darkest – not just before dawn – but at the exact point preceding pitch black. But my Northern brethren must grump on without me this week for I am suffering from a feeling scarily close to contentment.
Firstly I found a fierce enjoyment in riding through a six mile puddle under which the road now lay.I’ll write up last nights bathing on a bike experience later, but to summarise it just rocked 100% being driven sideways by the storm and constantly battered by the rain. When the house eventually hoved into view, disappointment rather than relief was my strongest emotion. If it hadn’t been for some well earned beers warming by the fridge, I might have gone round again.
And then today, financially destitute after a “close eyes, squeeze cheeks, confirm flight order” experience, I found myself giggling. Giggling for God’s Sake – I’m going to have my whippet forcibly removed if THEY find out and that’s almost as painful as it sounds. Yes in a ‘fuck the planet, we’re going anyway‘ approach to life, I successfully navigated the Air New Zealand web site (specifically designed to STOP you buying anything unless you have the persistence of a double glazing salesman) and secured 4 tickets to Christchurch in February of next year.
A similar sentiment around our travel plans was the basis of my argument with the school. These are the people who are thrusting lifelong mental trauma on my children by exposing them to the ‘knarled walnut under a dodgy syrup” that is Paul Daniels. The Xmas pantomime is Peter Pan with”did you like that?” (No, get stuffed) and his botoxed missus are the main charactors. If Daniels is playing the boy who never grew up, then the authenticity of the the play is going to be seriously compromised.
Anyway my robust defense of our right to remove the children from School on the not unreasonable grounds that it saves about three grand was accepted with all the grace of a man given no choice. So, for the moment at least, I’ll ignore the idiocy of forcing the kids to spend 90 long minutes in the company of a one trick pony whose pony died long ago. But right now, I am enveloped in the warm fog of contentment.
I fully expect this almost transcendental state to endure right up until the point at which the credit card bill drops portentously through the letterbox. So let’s review the symptoms then; One Yorkshireman receiving a proper going over with nature’s fire hose, the subsequent rain will have completely bolloxed the trails for the next three months, two to three bikes’ worth of cash has been handed over via the worlds’ worst user interface, and in just 11 weeks, twenty four hours of economy traveling awaits with highlights such as US Customs and hyperactive kids.
And yet this strange aura of happiness fails to be spiked by the grumpy gene. I can only believe it must be the start of a serious mental illness 🙂