Anchors of Sanity
Happiness is a direction, not a place. - Sidney J Harris
Every now and then I catch myself taking myself too seriously. I look in the mirror and see this serious guy looking back, a bit cranky, a bit of a cumudgeon. At these times I remind myself of things that keep me anchored in sanity. Things like….
Humour is the greatest gift, after devastating good looks obviously, and no matter what I learn I have never trumped the certain knowledge that the journey of development is a funny old road.
You will listen to many songs before concluding that the brass sections in Edwin Starr’s 25 Miles are as good as it gets. Feet don’t fail me now.
You can tell more about a man from his shoes than just about any other item of apparel; own a good pair of Oxford wing tips, brogues and penny loafers and no situation will ever confound you.
The 1960s were a golden era of popular culture.
All the concentrated darkness in the world cannot put out the light of a single candle.
Standing on one foot and juggling while singing is something that I can do but no machine we’ve been able to devise can do this.
The size of the Universe is humbling, its complexity is staggering and my place within it is the most profound thought process I can engage with.
Undoubtedly, lamb shank cooked tenderly with a jus of mint, creamy mashed potatoes and petit pois is a food of the gods. Washed down with a good Cabernet Sauvignon it becomes sublime.
Manhattan is physically breathtaking, London is the most culturally diverse city in the world and Paris is the most refined, despite the Parisians. Humans working at full stretch are capable of magnificent things.
William Shakespeare’s vocabulary and appreciation of the topography of the human condition.
Goethe’s intelligence and Leonardo’s all round brilliance.
Film Noir, we should all visit Rick’s Bar or its equivalent at least once in our lives.
Good conversation with companions along the way.