Life's too short

The New Year.

I always start out with the best of intentions.

I usually have a few Resolutions which involve a pledge to give up chocolate, take more exercise, read more books and learn something new like a language or a skill with bricklaying being a particular favourite. Within a couple of days, whilst wistfully eating my way through the leftovers of a Cadbury selection box, lounging about on the settee, shunning the activity of turning a page, not even being lucid enough to put together a meaningful sentence to anyone and looking out of the window at that tumbled down wall , I realise that I have failed miserably, well not even miserably because that implies that I had some attempt to uphold my promises in the first place.

The start of a New Year also brings about a frame of mind and opportunity to review your life and hopefully put into practice those lessons learned from hard knocks and bitter experiences that have loomed up in life's broad pageant to date.

This year of 2018 will mark my 55th birthday, yes, that's right, it is the new 35, and what an opportunity to combine this momentus landmark with something magnanimous.

To this end I am thinking about handing out forgiveness, for what I have long since regarded as misdemeanours against me, to the perpetrators whether they have been individuals, groups, companies or the world at large.

Life is far too short to carry around thoughts of retribution for petty issues and my sanity, blood pressure and overall stress levels would benefit significantly from letting these things just evaporate in an all enveloping sense of forgiveness.

In thinking through this intention I have realised how much it is in my nature to hold a grudge on the most silly and stupid things which could, in the most part, not even be seen as a transgression or even a minor personal slight.

On a year to year basis however the magnitude of these issues has grown out of all proportion and that I have just come to appreciate this , only now, is a very sorry state of affairs indeed. I may actually have shortened my life expectancy by carrying around these poisoned and festering thoughts of absolutely no consequence whatsoever in the greater scheme of things.

I have attempted to place this roster of forgiveness in some sort of ascending date order;

Whoever burnt down the Co-Operative Store in Abingdon, Bucks in 1968. It was our local shop and sold the best 'pick and mix' in my world as at 5 years old.

Class 2d at Westgarth County Primary, Bury St Edmunds for protecting the identity of someone who walked off with my collection, my prized collection of Dinky, Matchbox and Hotwheels cars on the occasion of a 'bring yours toys to school day' in or around 1971.

My Gran, for her thinking but not actually saying that I killed her Jack Russell dog in revenge for her seeing off my pet cat. I was not to know that the building site where I took Ruff for a walk on that fateful day in 1975 was covered with rat poison.

The Corporate Banking Department at Lloyds Bank for their terrible attitude to, and treatment of my Father in or around 1978. He was a Good Person and Bank Manager in that order.

Paul Weller, Rick Buckler and Bruce Foxton, collectively The Jam, for their denial in 1980 of being Mods when that was the last thing that faithful fans and followers wanted to hear especially after buying all their records and wearing their Dad's suit and winkle picker shoes to local disco's.

A group of youths in Fallowfield, Manchester who in 1981 gave me my first sensation of a punch in the face when I refused them a handful of chips in the street.

Three girlfriends who over the period of 1981 to 1985 dumped me which can be a devastating feeling to a young lad.

Leeds United. No explanation required for anyone who likes and appreciates football as a beautiful game.

Ford Motor Company. Producers of my first company car, a 1.6 Diesel Fiesta, in which I scared myself when it failed to reach 50mph in third gear in attempting to overtake a slow moving lorry on the by-pass in 1986.

Sardines, fresh ones on which I blame my appendicitus at the age of 46.

The percentage of the UK population who voted to leave the EU*

Forgiven and forgotten. I feel better already

*still watching this one.Life's