After a holiday that more than served its purpose of both relaxing me and getting my brain back into a work-related place, I arrived back in a rainy England this evening.
It actually felt good to be home. Who cares about the rain. Apparently rain has some positive functions. But I don't know what they are. You'd have to ask a scientist whether he and his sciii-ennce can answer that one. I think one of the fucntions is to allow poor people to have baths. If they collect enough of it in a bucket (or in their cupped hands if they are too poor to afford a bucket). But I am sure there are others. And that they are equally important as that one. I don't mind getting my expensive hand made suits slightly damp, as long as it's helping the poor. Then I know I'm doing my bit.
Despite the rain, I like my country and my home town. It would be a shame if Osama Bin Laden got his way and wiped it from the face of the planet. Perhaps using some kind of laser ray that harnesses the power of the Sun. Not that I want to put ideas into his head. He seems pretty good at being nasty on his own.
When I get angry and feel like hurting someone I stop and count to 10 and generally after that the feeling has subsided. Maybe no-one has ever told Osama about this. It's worth a try.
Of course having a laser run that harnesses the power of the Sun in order to destroy a major city usually also involves some kind of counting. But usually down from 10 rather than up, which I don't think works so well.
Maybe it would though. We don't know, because James Bond always stops the count down at around 3. If he allowed the evil super villain to carry things on to zero he would have had time to think about what he was doing and relent.
You know, "10,9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1.... actually now I've counted to ten, albeit backwards, I don't feel so cross about everything. Let's just harness the power of the Sun to grow some really nice tomatoes."
You never know. I think it's worth trying. It would be cheaper than all this bombing all the countries that we don't really like the leaders of.
The taxi driver who brought me home was a friendly and funny little old man, which reminded me that the Italians don't have a monopoly on that breed. We inevitably got talking about the fine England rugby victory and he told me that he'd been at Wembley for the 1966 football world cup. And that he'd been driving a taxi even then 37 years ago, so he must have been getting on a bit.
He laughed and told me that he could hardly remember anything about it. Not even the winning goal. So it seems forgetfulness is part of the human condition.
Still, it must have been amazing to be there. Shame he can't remember how amazing.
Nowadays he just does the airport run, picks up two or three fares and then goes home. Not a bad life. He also enjoys watching football on TV, even the Nationwide League round up (he knew today's York City score when I asked him, which I was very impressed about) and has a tape of the 66 world cup in colour which he watches every now and again. Possibly with an eerie sense of deja vu.
I don't really like football or rugby, but keep up with the main facts enough to be able to talk to taxi drivers about it. It's better than talking to them about immigration issues or why George Michael could still like men's hairy arses when he's got so much money.
But this old fella was a pleasure to converse with. But maybe because I hadn't had a proper conversation with anyone (other than the petulant porter) for the last ten days.
My house was still here. At least for the short term.
Count to ten Osama. Either way will do fine. You might see things differently.
Or get your photo taken at the Trevi fountain or talk to an old man who witnessed an historic event, but can't remember anything about it. That's cheer you up.
Oh and if you're going to get a train from Naples and a bloke tries to help you to your carriage, just be insistent that you don't want his assistance. Otherwise he might piss you off and undo all the good work that I've just set in motion.
