8478/21397
If my maths is correct then I was supposed to buy my wife 262144 Ferrero Rocher today. I made a promise to her on our first Valentine's Day in 2008 that I would give her Ferrero Rochers every year so she could fulfil her ambition to build a Ferrero Rocher pyramid. I gave her 2 Ferrero Rocher in 2009 and then in 2010, rather than giving her 3 Ferrero Rocher to represent our 3rd Valentine's Day, I gave her four, setting the precedent that the Ferrero Rochers would double every year.
I did keep this up for a surprisingly long time, but to be fair Catie didn't keep up her end of the bargain, because she ate the ones I gave her, rather than saving them up to build the pyramid. The chocolates were symbolic. I usually get her at least one, but she doesn't even like them that much, so often I have bought a better present.
Today, I forgot it was Valentine's Day all together. Which makes my initial promise seem like so many words that have just crumbled into dust. I had meant to pick her something up yesterday during a dash into town, but the Post Office queue was longer than I'd hoped and I had to pick up some new specs and I didn't want to be late for my first rehearsal and until she handed me a Valentine's card this morning, I had forgotten.
She took it well, but must have been regretting listening to the lies of that smooth talking 40 year old man eighteen years ago.
Now she's trapped. There's no way out. Ha ha ha. Oh wait, she can make me leave and take half my stuff. Shit. Well played Catie, well played.
We were driving to Phoebe's birthday party and had to stop off to get some serviettes on the way and I cleverly used this as an opportunity to buy a box of Ferrero Rocher (there were only about 20 in there, so over a quarter of a million short on my promise). It was notable that this box of Ferrero Rocher was so expensive and precious that it had a security tag on it. Sainsburys know the lengths to wish romantic people will go to fulfil a promise made in those heady older days that failed to take into account the unforgiving nature of exponential mathematics.
Phoebe's 11th birthday party was great. She had wanted to go Go-Karting, after going to a party where they played laser tag in the same building as the go-karting track. When you first met someone when they were a baby and one second old, it's very strange indeed to see them driving a tiny car around at speed. It's sort of impressive, hilarious and terrifying all at once. Ernie was also out there of course, at just 8 years old, pulling poses as he drove past us and then having to control the vehicle as it wobbled a bit.
I think I would have been too scared to do this at 11 and sadly much older, but only one of the invited girls decided they didn't want to do it. It did look pretty scary to be fair to her and everyone was driving cautiously and crashing into barriers to begin with. But very quickly they all got the hang of it and were screeching round corners and zooming along. At one point Phoebe lost concentration and collided with the tyres at the side at some speed, but these karts are very well designed and even Ernie wasn't able to flip one and Phoebe was soon back on her way.
Now, as a 58-year-old I think I'd like to have a go at this kind of stuff, but I have only got to this ripe old age through excessive caution and avoiding any activity that has even a modicum of danger. Like Bryan Johnson the translucent, immortal billionaire, I have lived long in terms of life, but not in terms of experience. I am glad that my kids have not inherited my wussyness. You can only fully live if you risk death. As Ally observed this week on Newsround, immortality is overrated and life has no meaning if you don't flirt with death.
The team behind this endeavour were impressive and tuned in and the chances of anything going wrong were minimal, so this was thrill-seeking fun without any real danger. Phoebe admitted she'd been terrified to start with, but she'd conquered those fears and all the participants were buzzing when they'd finished.
This kind of thing wasn't really available to kids in Cheddar in the 70s and 80s (
though there is karting in Cheddar now) and we risked proper injury and losing fingers, by going ice skating.
Though that involved going to Bristol, which I found scary enough on its own at the time. And as a teenager I had a dream where I was stabbed on the escalator going up to ice rink and was convinced that it was a premonition of the future, which I think further increased my determination to stay at home, as my friends got bolder about going into the city to see gigs.
The premonition has not yet come true, but that's not to say it won't happen at some point. It will be ironic if I am ninety years old when it happens and I could happily have lived my life without fear after all. Premonitions love playing this irony shit with you. You can't defeat them. As you'll see when this is the way that I go.
So as long as I never to to Bristol I'll be fine right? Don't you believe it, fate will find some way to move that escalator somewhere else, like maybe an escalator museum that I visit in 2057. I am done for.
Try not to live your life in fear of what might happen guys. Life is for living.
Though no point in taking unnecessary risks either though. You only get one crack at this and then it's the endless void of nothing.
Man, they make it tough to navigate this thing don't they?
I may be afraid to live, but I'm not afraid to improvise 45 minutes of comedy a week with puppets.
