Sunday 23rd April, 2017                 2200

This may sound like an odd entry but bear with me and think about it.

I uprooted, left absolutely everything behind seven years ago - family, friends, pets and the vast majority of my worldly goods. I had shedloads of books I had collected over the years and chose those I needed to retain. The others I gave away. Probably £2,000 worth.

Certainly a huge wrench (and if truth be known the worst was abandoning my cats to someone else’s care) but one I cannot in all honesty say I regret although there have of course been occasions where I rued the day!

Laying in bed last night after having looked at my Dalvey voyager travelling alarm (which I bought a new battery for not long ago) and realising it was three hours slow, I got pissed off.

Nothing lasts these days, does it?

Whilst waiting to nod off I started trying to think of exactly what I had still in my possession that had attained any great age.

Ok, my birth certificate which is a tad younger than me. Then what? My seaman’s discharge book from when I was seventeen and my Nories Tables which I have clung onto for dear life. What else? Well had I not been burgled in Luton it would have been my sextant but in fact the next oldest thing is my Cartier watch commissioned for Ferrari which I won in a sales competition. Stephen Boler (check him out on Wikipedia) was proud of saying he was a friend of Enzo, hence we had the chance to win one and I did. That was in 1987.

Remove photos from the equation and that’s the sum total apart from my Grandfather’s watch. Something worth nothing and with one of those expanding metal straps that trap arm hair and which I will never ever wear. Maybe I am weird but I could not wear anything that belonged to anyone else, especially if they are dead.

So really, these days nothing lasts.

Today was a day where I never opened the door at all. Didn’t need beer or jing ko or hong jo. Thought about going out for a curry and then decided I was too lazy so had bacon, egg and mash instead. I can only hope that if I actually make retirement that I become less lazy as I have so much more to experience.

I looked at Facebook earlier and noticed posts about St George’s Day.

Memories then flooded back.

There have been three occasions in my life where despite my best intentions I have cheated death. And believe me when I say that one of my siblings actually thought I had tried committing suicide when I mentioned this in my eulogy for Mum! You don’t get to choose family sadly.

The first was an accident aboard ship in 1982 on the Longest Day and boy, was it ever! I call that my second birthday. The second time was, yes, St George’s Day six years ago. Long term readers will recall my brush with death and my stay in a Chinese hospital - one from which I have not yet and probably never will, recover.

The third was of course on Chinese New Year’s Day two years ago when I fractured both a foot and my pelvis and found myself sliding around a roundabout with cars thankfully avoiding me.

I am absolutely certain that the hammering my body has had from these and other incidents will shorten my allotted lifespan but do you know what? I don’t care. I watched Billy Connolly the other night talking about people who live healthily and live longer. He said the thing was (and he is right!) that the extra year you get for being good is not chasing skirt and having a great time, it’s in the old folk’s home getting your arse wiped by a nurse.