A poor substitute

I'm finding my subscription to the premier English-Language weekly newspaper a poor substitute for actual intellectual vigour. I decided to shell out £50 quid to ease my un-ease at not doing my MSc after reading through some old essays. True, I'm more aware of world issues than I ever was from scanning the BBC website but its hard work to find the time in a week to read a whole edition before the next one falls through my letterbox!

You know when...

...in a private moment you lose yourself in thought and you either come up with something so brilliant or so hilarious you make a mental note not to forget it and to revisit it later? well i had one of those on Saturday but now I still can't remember where I went with it.

I was sitting with two friends in a sea facing cafe/bar in Langland Bay after a hard day battling Poseidon with surfboards over at Llangenith. At one point we were convinced we were going to die, and all three of us got pulled and held under at some point. But anyway we'd battled though the surf and through some home-made burgers (not home-made by us, but its just occurred to me if they're home-made who lives in that cafe?) and arrived at coffee.



The coffee arrived delivered by a guy of about our age and a girl of seventeen at most, mine had what appeared to be a heart in the froth leading to some banter along the lines of "that guy must fancy you, look at that" before we noticed one of the others had some sort of milky residue that looked a bit more suspicious "he might fancy me but looks like he went a step further with yours...". This very mature banter lead to 'wouldn't it be great if you could write a phone number in the froth on coffee...'



Then boom. My sidetrack started but I can't remember what it was or where it went. I hoped writing this would bring it back but no. If it comes back I'll update this post.

"I've seen all on offer and I'm not impressed at all"

After strolling to the toilet at a service station and being unable to help myself singing along to Style Council's "Shout to the Top", I've been unable to get said song out of my head. In fact its quite apt for the thoughts that have been plaguing me the last few days.

I've been back down to my university town to see the boys I used to play football with, and of course Freshers week. Its four years since I started university. Four years. I feel pangs of regret when I think about it, although this seems to be my standard emotion as I'm always trying to do too much and worrying I've missed out. I had a great time at university, met some fantastic people : some who are sure to be friends for life and others I forgot mere weeks later, and grew exponentially as I was thrust into a foreign city at 18.




I miss it terribly but I'm glad I left when I did, it had lost its sheen and its excitement - the lifestyle not the city. Although I'd love to be a naive 18 year-old and do it all again. But it has got me thinking : are my best years behind me?

Nearly all my best anecdotes come from those three years, I can literally lose hours reminiscing as the narrative in my head (I pity anyone that thought Zach Braff came up with that idea as it means they haven't got one) tells of my and my friends finest hours. Am I gonna have any stories that good again? Basically most of what I have to talk about now is work. Say I get my dream job, I'll still only have work and material possessions to talk about.

What makes living away from home at university so special is that you're living for the moment. Okay the entire reason you're there is an expensive and long-term human capital investment, but you barely remember that as your degree is a mild inconvenience that fills the time between doing anything and everything with your mates. Whereas these days my primary motivators are career progression or money.


I guess what I'm trying to say, in the words of Ray Davies, "Where have all the good times gone?" and will they ever be back? Right now its a struggle to see why I'm doing anything.