Here we go again… 2013!

So here we are…with the usual drunken fanfare and the inevitable hangover having subsided, slap bang in 2013.

Once again, the usual deluded resolutions are wearing thin (yes, I’m drinking a glass of wine and smoking as I type, even though it’s a week night – oops) and the glance-back nostalgia is wearing off, leaving the realisation that, as has ever, another year has dropped off the calendar.

I’m feeling pretty positive.

Now the difference this year is that the positivity isn’t sprung from a hope, it’s born out of a resignation. A happy resignation that, wherever I try to be, I will always be myself. And I don’t mean that in a happy hippie, bullshit sort of way.

I just mean that at 16 I thought I should be doing something ‘better’, and at 20 I felt out of my depth doing the ‘better’ thing I aimed for, and at 25 I had big plan for a fancy career in this or that (hadn’t quite decided) and… I just mean that now I’m quite happy being a bit of  juxtaposition between what I was and still am, and what I thought I wanted to be.

I have realised that you can be six of one and half a dozen of the other. I have realised that the fancy city stuff I wanted to leave the country to do will always be something I lovingly mock myself for, because a lot of it is ridiculous (fucking about on Twitter all day? With a wrist rest?* – Seriously). But the operative word is lovingly. And that’s new. Additionally, whatever that part of me thinks, I really enjoy my job, and I enjoy doing it well.

Basically, I could descend into a self- indulgent over analysis, and being in marketing now, I could even make it sound fittingly meaningful, but this is my blog, so I’m not going to.

Rather than explain myself in a wordy, well put together heart-string pulling, emotion inducing justification, I will sum up my 2013 revelation, moment of clarity, whatever you want to call it, in a small and short anecdote. I shall entitle this blandly as; ‘My lovely Saturday with Dave’.

We built a rabbit run. And a new door for the hutch. (If you have read this blog before, you will know I have a pet rabbit called Mischief, and once again, yes, I am a grown up).

I have forever wanted to have a ‘proper’ job. And now I do. I get to write, which I love. I get to work sensible hours. I get my opinions asked in earnest. There’s no innuendo. People don’t expect me to flirt with them or clean toilets. I get to wear nice clothes without getting them covered in ale when changing barrels while some racist arse demands to know “Are Muslims are allowed to work behind a bar”. (I am not Muslim, I am half Caribbean, but if you’re serving casually racist drunks, this doesn’t really factor in – foreign is foreign after all).

However, last Saturday, I put on a football shirt (for comfort, nothing else) bought a crate of Stella, and went to Bishopston Hardware (who I would very much recommend if you are doing DIY – very friendly and reasonably priced. N.B., this link is to their postal address, it’s one of those old school shops with no website) to buy wood and chicken wire to make Mischief a run for the spring – and a new door as the crafty little bugger had eaten through the wood, and managed to escape into next doors veg patch.

They were less than impressed.

Me and Dave spent the day sawing, drilling, making smutty and inappropriate jokes and getting quite tipsy (whilst wielding power tools and shooting at each other with a staple gun – health and safety!!) and I realised I missed it.

As much as I wanted a city job, (and as I said, I now have one I love) and as much as I hated the bar work, and living in the country, I realised you can’t just swap one for the other.

You are always you.

I’ve grown up working with men and being a little crass. And I love that now I don’t have to. But that doesn’t mean that on occasion, I don’t want to.

I love and get irritated by both sides of the coin in equal measure.

And – shock horror – I think that’s all right. It’s so easy in your twenties to mistake having a career goal with actually and irrevocably putting yourself in a box.

So chill the fuck out you marketing wannabes in the wonderful outfits. That’s the kind of thinking that leads to a mid-life crisis, too many gins, an affair and a divorce/breakdown by 40.

You are who you always were. And that isn’t at all bad.

So in conclusion, the rabbit run looks ace. I’m very impressed with mine and Dave’s efforts. I enjoyed it because it was a break from the norm, and a nod to what I am familiar with. But you need the knowledge of, and the comparison between each experience to make either enjoyable. And so to 2013. Realise who you actually are, then think about what you actually want.

I don’t mean the you in your head with the immaculate hair and amazing outfits. We both know come February the ten minutes in bed will seem much more appealing than super straight hair. And no one notices that your earrings match your skirt anyway.

And if they do I would advise you speak to someone else immediately.  Those people are clearly wankers.

Happy New Year!

*I need the wrist rest. RSI is a real thing. It hurts!

Lovely picture courtesy of The Gatehouse.



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