I am, as we all know, the captain of my own ship. Sure, I was maybe a trifle immature and untested when I took on this command but I think I do okay for a (really very lazy) novice. However, I have the tendency to let my ship drift and allow the tides to take me where they will – which seems to be a whole lot of nowhere, I think I’m anchored (long chain, obviously) in a very sheltered harbour…and this is becoming a whole lot of boring. Also, the nautical theme is just killing me and, shortly, I shall have to speak like a normal person.
Anyway, I had this idea, which did not, ever, actually involve ships. I’m still having this idea and because I’m having the idea and because I mentioned it on Friday and because rather a lot of you had your curiosity piqued and because I said Monday and it is Monday then I’m going to just get on with it and tell you my [totally lame] idea and let you do/not do with it as you will.
Here’s the thing - next week marks the end of the first twenty-nine years of my life. I’m entering my thirtieth year and, curiously, at the end of that year when I do actually turn thirty [and don’t you just wish our counting system was a little less freaky?] I’m going to be totally freaked out because the numbers change over and that, somehow, is much scarier than the fact that at that stage I will have lived for thirty really quite dull years.
Yeah, birthdays, aging and all that fun stuff, just have a way of making you look at your life and go, ‘hey, what’s going on here and holy fuck will someone please tell me what to do next?’ This is kind of what I want you to do. As a birthday gift to me and as an exercise of your collectively marvellous imaginations/writing skills (see how I flatter you?), I want you to write me a script or a horoscope or whatever for the next year of my life. Predictions of what will happen, what you think should happen, what might happen, what you think I should do, what you think I can do, whatever, really, are all welcome. I leave it to your imaginations. I do ask, though, that you be reasonable – please don’t suggest that I marry a multi-billionaire named Fred unless you actually know one and can give me his number, because, you never know, I might actually choose to take you up on your advice/insane and criminal suggestions. I give you a time limit – until next Monday because chances are I’ll be off air for most of the two weeks after that – but no other limit. Make it as short or as long or as totally non-existent as you like. You can put it into comments or email me or write it out and post it to me if you know my name/where I live. I haven’t quite decided what to do after that but I suspect I will find a way to blog about it.
I feel a little bit Dale, only totally lame. I did warn you. Repeatedly. Well, go on then.