1995 dawned in a similar fashion to 1994. I was on a professional trajectory to nowhere. I was on rotating 3 month temporary contracts that encouraged you to keep your head down but did little for morale. I wasn’t a special needs case or anything, everybody else was on the same deal. The work was interesting but had little to do with engineering. This, in the long run, would be a good thing but I didn’t see that as I sat in my office listening to the ramblings of the deranged.
One thing you’ll realise as you get older is it is the same people, the world over, who access public services. They exist on the margins and they suck up heaps of resources through their lifestyle. I suppose if we gave them more toys when they were kids they’d be happier in the long run, and it would be cheaper.
My work (if you could call it that) was hampered by a boss who suffered from bouts of manic behaviour. Now, I know your health is you wealth and all that stuff and I know that ‘it’s good to talk’ and I know that mental health is a serious subject but when your boss is raving mad and nobody around you is doing anything about it (not his wife, not his boss, not his friends) it is at times hillarious but generally it is a pain in the tits. (I wonder is Mohammed Karzai’s helper thinging the same thing?).
My Citroen super car was a heap of shit. I was spending whole pay packets on getting it serviced and it was depreciating like a stone. I was experiencing negative equity and not enjoying it. It did teach me a lesson about autos very early on – never, ever, buy a car, a motorbike or a petrol powered dildo unless you can either sell it again or are willing to chuck the keys over your shoulder and walk away from it.
In 1995 I was making an effort to mitigate the fun of supping guinness by taking up swimming. This was probably the one virtue in my life at this stage and it stopped me from turning into a complete blob. Only 10 years later did I realise that you don’t get slim and svelt until you start pounding the streets in a pair of runners.
The holidays in 1995 were a 2 week stint in Aya Napa in Cypress. Now, if I had been a trained killer without a girlfriend and a love of swedish amazons (I did like swedish amazons but wasn’t getting much of a chance to express my love) I’d have loved the place. As I was a book loving, fine food eating, girlfriend having, peace lover I was completely out of place. I have never gone back. It might have changed but life is too short to check it out again.
I remember coming home from that holiday to find my rented house had been burgled. That was not a fun thing to have to come to. What was the worst thing about it? Was it the fact that my father’s watch was stolen? Was it the fact that my VCR and TV were gone? Was it the fact that the front door was smashed in? No. It was none of them.
It was the fact that my porn stash was strewn all over the floor of my bedroom.
And my mother had seen it.
And had tidied it up.
And never mentioned it to me again.
Great mum, I have.
Still Tom Waits. All of it.