Just about anything goes

We all eventually succumb to the ‘sense’ that the world isn’t fair – after which life becomes largely a matter of how we cope with the knowledge … and the effects.

I came to the realisation quite early. I was five or six years old at the time and taking part in my local village primary school sports day on a grass sports ground featuring a pronounced slope.

Everything – the weather, the occasion with parents and families picnicking, the cream tea afterwards and the fun to be had – was perfect – except one single item.

This was the last event of all, the boys’ race down the hill just before the prize-giving.

I wasn’t the biggest boy in the school, but I was convinced I’d win the event because I knew I could run pretty fast and anyway nobody was more determined than me.

However, about fifteen yards down what was (with hindsight) a track of no more than fifty in total, probably because of the slope, I over-reached my stride and slipped to the ground.

Regaining my feet, I tried my very best but ended up coming third. I was distraught – so much so that the teacher ordered a re-run.

This was my ‘redemption’ moment.

At the “off” I gave the re-run my all … and came third again, behind the same two boys who had come first and second in the first race!

Afterwards, despite putting the bravest face I could upon the outcome, I knew I had just learned the harshest lesson of all. It just hadn’t been my day – and it probably wasn’t going to be “my life” either.

Yesterday, just before lunchtime, She Who Must Be Obeyed and I travelled from the south coast to London intent upon nothing more that a couple of hours’ rest before travelling into the West End, having a pre-show bite to eat and then attending the evening performance of the classic Cole Porter musical Anything Goes at the Barbican.

Our troubles began upon our arrival at base camp where I discovered my son – who lives abroad – in residence but in need of a set of jump-leads because the battery in his car – not unnaturally – had “died” having been sitting in the road for seven months without moving.

As I don’t drive, my better half had first to drive him to the nearest Halfords store to acquire said item of equipment and then we had to assist with his (successful) attempt to get the battery working.

As a result we no longer had time to go for our intended pre-show meal.

Next I called my local taxi service to book a car to convey us to the Barbican. The driver arrived 20 minutes late – and at our destination didn’t know where the theatre was (nor did we!) – which meant that we finally entered its hallowed halls with seven minutes to “curtain up” … and still the task of locating the ticket office to collect our tickets.

As it happens, upon reaching our seats in the stalls five minutes after the advertised start-time, we thankfully we had another four minutes to relax before the lights went down.

For afterwards I had booked another taxi to return us to our overnight accommodation. Said item arrived thirty five minutes – and four calls from me to the taxi firm – late.

Overall a bit of a disaster really.

Mind you – at least we enjoyed the show – great escapist entertainment.

And, when you think about it, you’ve got to be thankful for such small mercies.

Plus, of course, there’s the other point – because that’s the way life is – that (usually) there’s always someone worse off than yourself!