I’m getting married. In many regards, this is no particular surprise as Kate and I have been together for some time. In preparation, I’ve been listening to Nick Lowe’s ‘I Knew the Bride When She Used to Rock and Roll’ pretty much on a loop but, in spite of this, there’s still a very steep learning curve. Originally, I thought if I wrote some music and took the tuxedo out a couple of notches in deference to something I’ll simply describe as ‘personal growth’, the whole event would pretty much take care of itself. I now know that I was wrong. Dead wrong.
It’s often said that you can’t be good at everything. Frankly, I don’t see why not. As immature as it may sound, I have always longed to be a jack-of-all-trades and a master of every single one. It’s fallen out of fashion. Once, a person would indulge themselves with pursuits that were many as they were varied. In the event that you were able to achieve a reasonable level of proficiency in these various fields of endeavour, you might receive the ultimate badge of honour of being labelled a ‘Renaissance Man’.
As a child, I did not want to be a fireman or an astronaut. Occupations such as stuntman or cattle wrangler had no interest for me. Doctor, teacher or electrician: these meant nothing. All I wanted was to ride my bike better than anyone had ever ridden a bike before.
Buying a gift for a two year old should be easy. I’ve seen kids at that age entertained for hours by little more than a cardboard box or a wooden spoon. By that definition, a few bottle-tops and a roll of sticky tape should keep them occupied until well after Christmas. But where, I ask, is the fun in that?