In a business sense of course; because who in their fully functional, unaffected by experience,
vibrant mind would not love it? Good will to all (non-gender specific) humans, family gatherings, gifts, cards, bank holidays, excellent food (unless at mum’s house), chestnuts roasting by the open ‘gas safe’ appliance, synthetic tree shapes daubed in erm… things. Yes ultimately time off from your busy, busy world and ready to regenerate back to post Auld Lang Syne Hogmanay in January fully refreshed; what could possibly go wrong?
Hard to comprehend for all you people who know me but I went to school in the 70’s! Not in my 70’s although this is feasibly and unequivocally doable according to the Edinburgh News… ‘An Edinburgh man (Dr David Dick) who is believed to be one of Scotland's oldest graduates has received his PhD at the age of 84’. The poetic descriptors of his achievement do not however mention when he started his studies so it may not be the exceptional accomplishment the strap line indicates. Just jesting Dr Dick.
If you eavesdrop the conversations (when they do occasionally utter recognisable English words) my offspring would have you believe that the 1970’s was just after World War 2! Honestly it wasn’t, although in the grand scheme of global development it is merely a speck of time. I have carried out some PhD research and made Christmas comparisons between decade 1970 and decade 2013 based on the Gregorian calendar since the previous one was hijacked by the Romans who, because it was their turn to be in charge of the world, decided in the name of god(s), to add two more months to the year, it was however, only officially adopted in 1582 by Pope Gregory. Therefore:-
Calculating what should have been;
his eminence owes me 2 x months per year x 431 years = 862 months: 862/12 = 71.83
years, thus the current year should be 1942.
PhD done easy and I’m only 51 Dr Dick.
Further to this extensive study I have discovered that in my Christmas schooldays
one huge difference between then and now; Candy Crush Saga did not exist. Recourse to similar strategic challenges was
to be found at the Wednesday afternoon chess club mostly populated by pupils
who didn’t want to be involved in a fascist version of ‘British Bulldog’ thinly
veiled as PE, usually played in sub-zero temperatures and always victor ludorum
Andrew Kent 6ft and shaving at the age of 10.
Subsequently
(in my own mind) I became quite proficient at the ancient art (of chess) but
sadly lost touch with it when I got into my full time sensible life and
career. Recently I took up the game
again and lacking time, and or willing opponents, I now ironically find myself
contesting with a computer on my smart phone. Said computer has a built in programme
recognising its adversary’s weakness and adjusts accordingly which leaves one
in the catch 22 world of constant improvement whilst never quite winning!
And this is why this scenario is exactly like Christmas because on
January 1st 1989 (Gregorian 1921), I saw one of my old colleagues (Sergeant
Barry Fitzgerald) filling in his diary with shift patterns for the coming
year. ‘What are you doing Barry?’ I enquired. ‘Writing nights, earlys, lates, nights,
earlys, lates, nights, earlys, lates, scratch, scratch, scratch; year after
year after year I do this’ he replied and then added, ‘and do you know what
Paul, it got me thinking; my life is like a board game only I always seem to be
playing against someone who is slightly better than me!’
Just realised that less months
in each year equals more years, dammit, this PhD could take me until I’m 97.
I love marmite.
My wife hates it.
Checkmate.
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