Wednesday, 21 January 2009
no#1 In an Infinite Series of Admissions of Failure of Manhood (not that manhood)
This Week: Cars.
I know some are red, some are other colours. I know a cello has to go in the front seat, and that all cab drivers like to talk, even when you're wearing headphones.
I know young men like fast cars, and that some people find Jeremy Clarkson amusing. I only find his ridiculous first name funny.
I know that when the Grand Prix is on I have no idea what is going on, or why anyone cares. It's about as much of a sport as ice dance.
I know I would like to pass my test and own a car so I can go fishing more often. I would not have a red one. Nor would I invite Jeremy Clarkson.
I feel not knowing anything about cars does not make me less of a man. Just a less mobile man.
I like travelling by bus. Ones with beds and kitchens and lounges in. Where no one snores.
I can but dream.
Next week: DIY, and how many singer-songwriters does it take to change a lightbulb?