Sometimes it’s easy to write 7 Reasons. You set aside a quiet couple of hours and the thoughts and words flow as if they were being dictated to you by some sort of eloquent, inspired and kindly spirit. Sometimes, on the other hand, it’s nigh on impossible. Today, has been one of those days. Here are seven reasons why.
1. Because I Began With Confidence. I Had Many Things To Do. Today, I needed to: Put a third coat of paint on a bedroom; clear all the decorating detritus from that bedroom; hoover and mop that bedroom; put all the furniture back in that bedroom; write a 7 Reasons post, visit Sainsbury’s and bathe a twelve week old child. Well, there seems like a lot there, I thought, but if I work hard and well it will all fit in.
2. Because The Best Laid Plans Often Go Awry. 10am: Having read the papers, played with my son, consumed two cups of coffee and a banana and done various bits of 7 Reasons admin over the previous two hours, I was ready to write. It was at that moment my visiting mother-in-law announced that she had a migraine. Bugger, I thought. That’s the free childcare out of the window. I spent two hours trying to write and was constantly interrupted. We went through more nappies and tantrums in those two hours than one would expect to go through in a year. Some of the tantrums weren’t even mine. The twenty minutes of writing I managed to get done in those two hours wasn’t even any good. I decided to bin it and start again.
3. Because It Turns Out That A Change Isn’t As Good As A Rest. I decided that as it was such a nice day, I would take the laptop outside and write in the garden. This was a great idea. I sat under a parasol and began to write. Then, a baby cried and I got to play a new game: Whose Baby? Was it my baby? Was it one of next door’s babies? Was it the baby from two doors down? Was it a nomadic passing baby? Eventually the crying stopped so if it was my baby then my wife was dealing with it and I didn’t have to. Then all of a sudden, a bee appeared. But this was no average bee, this was Beezilla: A veritable beehemoth* of a creature that angrily buzzed its way through the garden as if drawn inexorably to me. With an audible thud it landed on the table. I considered calling for help, but realised that it would be too long in coming. I made a run for it. I watched the bee from the utility room window for half an hour or so as it relaxed next to my laptop on the table. This wasn’t getting me anywhere.
4. Because When One Door Opens, Another Gets Rung By Parcelforce. As suddenly as it had arrived, the bee departed. It was 1pm. There was still time to write. I returned to the garden. I wrote for five minutes; swiftly, sharply, with rapidity and alacrity, then I heard the sound of my neighbours’ door opening. He strode out into the garden and seated himself on the other side of the wall that my back was to. We were no more than three feet away from each other. Oh no, I thought, as I had some inkling of what was about to happen. And sure enough, he began to play his mandolin. Now I love music, and I love writing. But I can tell you that being three feet away from the former is not conducive to the latter. I struggled on nonetheless, writing manfully but badly. Then my mother-in-law appeared. “Marc“, she said quite correctly, “there’s someone at the door and I can’t open it“. Annoyed at the interruption but glad of the opportunity to escape the cacophony I went through the house and opened the front door. It was a delivery driver. “Can you take in a parcel for next door?” he enquired, “They’re not in“. I seethed for a moment, I briefly considered ParcelForceicide, I also considered bellowing “They are in! He’s playing the fucking mandolin in the garden and can’t hear the door. Feel free to smash it down and kill him to death!” but I realised that might make me look somewhat unhinged so I took in the parcel. I also decided to abandon writing.
5. Because A Change Still Isn’t As Good As A Rest. If I couldn’t write then I could at least get some of the other stuff out of the way. I went upstairs and put the third coat of paint on the bedroom walls and ceiling. It’s a large room and I loathe painting but it went well. Eventually I completed the task and, having washed all the paint from my hands, my hair, my eye and my left nostril I headed back to the room with the hoover. “You can’t use that,” my wife said, “Mum’s gone back to bed“. I couldn’t go to Sainsbury’s, I was still wearing my decorating clothes. I couldn’t bathe the baby, it wasn’t time. Then I had a novel idea. I would eat something. I ate, then I paced, growing steadily more furious at the delay. Eventually after about an hour I decided to return to writing. Five minutes later, my mother-in-law surfaced. I was purposefully typing away in the dining room and as she passed she said, “You’re always on that computer“. I distinctly remember thinking that were I a cat-kicker, at that moment, I would surely have kicked a cat. Even if I had to go a long way to find one.
6. Because Like Sands Through The Hourglass, So Was This Day Of My Life. I returned to the room to clean it up. I hoovered, I mopped and then I changed. “Right, I’m off to Sainsbury’s” I announced. “But we have to bathe the baby“, my wife objected. “Fine, let’s do that now then”, I said tersely. “But it’s not time”, she replied. I seethed, “It’s now or not at all”. We agreed that we would bathe him right then. I turned on the tap to draw his bath at the same moment as the washing machine started up in the utility room, stealing all of the hot water. Drip…drip…drip, I angrily watched the bath fill drop by drop by drop by endless bloody drop. After what seemed an age, and probably was, the bath was ready. We bathed the baby. That was fun. I went to Sainsbury’s and returned. It was half past seven. All I had to do now was put the furniture back into the thoroughly clean and immaculately decorated bedroom and write 7 Reasons.
7. Because Just When You Think You’ve Got It Licked, It Bites You In The Posterior. I worked hard. I shifted a wardrobe, a bed, a dressing table and many smaller items around the upper floor of my house with furious resolve. I toiled and I sweated and I lugged things round and pushed endless heavy things through tiny spaces until I was exhausted. Right, I thought (it was 8:37pm), I’ll do one final thing before I sit down to write, I’ll put the Venetian blind back up. I reattached the blind to its long established fixings and began to raise it, to better let the fresh air flow through the open window and dissipate the paint smell. Then this happened.
Half of the newly painted wall came away depositing plaster, cement and brick all over the immaculate floor, the newly polished dressing table and in my (just refilled) glass of sparkling water. I believe that I may have announced my displeasure at this turn of events to the entire town of York. In Anglo-Saxon. I may have foamed at the mouth. I may have punched what remained of the wall. Right, time to write 7 Reasons then.
I Sat Down. So, what does an angry humourist with a sore hand that has just abjectly lost his sense of humour write about? Oh, this apparently.
*I’m actually proud of that.
