Not, I suspect, that any of you are overly concerned, I do apologise for not subjecting you to much of my mind-dump (what an inelegant but apposite term) of late. As the world spins more and more crazily on its ethical axis, The Overgraduate (aka Big Fat Pig) finds himself moved counter-intuitively towards a sane acceptance of the terms of his existence. This may disappoint a majority of the audience (such as it is) but I must say it is a comforting position in which to find oneself.
But why this hitherto uncharacteristic ease of mind, whose major symptom is to neglect the bile-filled pages of this blog? Well, that's what is strange. The things that really get the Pig's goat are still out there, bold and brazen as ever. A Conservative government stocked high with mediocrities. An Opposition led by a second-rate lawyer who saw no shame in riding shotgun on the Corbyn express. Donald Trump still holding court. The menace of inflation still stalking us, most people seemingly too young to remember just how destructive it can be. Crap weather (no, that was a joke). The filthy rich (and I mean by this, the genuinely filthy). Virtue-signalling as a substitute for public policy. All of these are still extant. And yet the Pig is content.
I have come to an acceptance that I cannot put these things right. I reserve the the right to rail against them again in the future but just for now I am sustained by a conviction that it is time to tend my own garden. I am hopefully approaching a watershed in my life - finally putting academic study aside in favour of a less burdensome (to this second-rate mind) but useful curiosity. That junction in my time-line is part of it, but more salient is a a quasi-beatific mood that has settled on me. My family are healthy and happy. I am proud of them. I am flattered by a long and happy marriage. The Precious Jag is running smoothly. The Precious Petrol-Mower cuts satisfyingly (tending my garden - see what I did there with my earlier metaphor?). I have been firmly stoic about a hamstring/glute injury which has kept me from running and have rediscovered the joys of riding the Precious Bike. My golf is stuck in a manageable decline that is more than compensated for by the company I keep on the golf course.
So nothing very earth-shattering but, in sum, health-giving. All of this passed through my mind last week as we said earthly farewells to my brother-in-law. We were not close, indeed he had long-since escaped Birmningham to a new life in the unglamorous environs of Weston-Super- Mare. He was brought home for his funeral, organised with typical care and attention by the Groupie. He was only fifty-nine when he passed. Yet his funeral (and all its catholic fripperies) turned itself into a respectful but joyous celebration of his cheery life. He had, by quirk and misadventure (something to which he was prone) attached himself to a new family in Weston. They clearly loved him and the mystery of faith helped to salve the grief of all at a young death. I struggle on a daily basis with my religion but you do have to grant that a good funeral goes a long way.
As I wrote that last paragraph, the sun came out. So that is enough. I cannot always promise to be so cheerful but for now it is a nice feeling.
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