Tag Archives: sports car

Day 127

I failed to win last night’s lottery draw and forgot to buy a ticket for tonight. As a result I am £2.50 poorer than I would have been if I hadn’t bothered at all. Normally I don’t bother, but the thought of winning £160,000,000 tempted me into buying a ticket.

This means that plans to live in an air-conditioned bubble and exist renewable energy will have to be put on hold.

It’s strange how plans change. If I’d won the lottery when I was 24, sports cars, wine, women and song would have featured heavily in my plans. If I’d won at 44 my plans would have centred round Julia and the kids. Now, at 64, I appear to have changed into a slightly demented hermit. The funny thing is that I’m happy with the idea and am starting to see where Elon Musk gets his ideas from.

I’m not even sure if I’d want to leave work if I won the lottery. It’s not like it’s unpleasant being a coin dealer, and I don’t have much else to do. Since Covid and the rise in fuel prices caused by the war in Ukraine I don’t want to go out as much so if it wasn’t for work life would be very dull. I don’t even do my own shopping these days.

I’m not sure there’s much we really need. I doubt I’ll be allowed to build an air-conditioned bubble so I’ll probably just buy a bungalow with solar panels. It’s not quite so much fun as a sports car but sometimes you have to face facts – we have to save the earth, and with my knees I really don’t see a sports car as a realistic option these days.

A Card Carrying Poet

I joined The Poetry Society last week.

It’s my version of a mid-life crisis. I didn’t buy a motor cycle or a sports car when I hit mid-life crisis time, and I avoided the leather trouser and ponytail look, so I decided it was acceptable. To be fair, it wasn’t a logical decision – it was all based on practicality.

With my bad knee and generous proportions I’m not going to fit into a sports car or (more importantly) get out of one. Same goes for leather trousers.

I no longer have the follicular fortitude for a ponytail, so that was out, and it only left the motor cycle. Harley-Davidson do a very reasonable finance plan, which is tailored to the needs of a middle-aged men who wants to demonstrate both machismo and economy.

Julia looked at me resignedly, as she does.

Married men will know that look.

After a few years I finally found the ideal thing to demonstrate my bohemian credentials with economy, and avoid people pointing at me in the street. Membership of the Poetry Society is available from £22 a year. Well, basic membership is. Full membership is £37. Well, almost. That’s actually the concessionary price. It cost me £43 in the end.

£22 to £43 in one swift movement. And they say poets have no regard for business. Ha!

When it arrived there was a healthy clunk from the package, containing a magazine the size of a book and a load of papers. I’ve not looked yet as, in my experience, such stuff is hardly ever worth reading. I’ll read the Poetry Review later.

Meanwhile I’m fascinated by the membership card. Yes, a credit card sized card for my wallet. You wonder how Wordsworth and Byron managed without a card and a laptop.

With that now safely tucked away between my TESCO card and my RSPB card I can finally begin being “mad, bad and dangerous to know”.