It's that time of year again

Spring is just around the corner, the grass is getting greener, baby lambs take their first steps in the world, and I'm getting ready to move yet again.

*Sigh*

Well, it has to be done, so no point in moaning about it. And although I detest packing, clearing out my stuff and unpacking at the new place, I'm actually quite looking forward to it.

However, Lady Luck has interrupted my life again, making sure things aren't easy or straightforward. You see, the house I was going to move into was sitting on a radiation hotspot. How's that for luck?

There's a lovely part of Fife, with lovely houses, lovely views, lovely gardens, lovely cars, lovely people, lovely dogs, and a large amount of lovely radium in the sea and on the lovely beach. It seems that the site of decommissioning a large number of fighter planes has been turned into a lovely (again, I know) residential area, and I can't really say I'm against that. All's fine and good, no?

No.

Back then (and I presume now as well when nobody's looking) decommissioning something (anything) meant setting it on fire and throwing it in the nearest sea/lake/river. In the case of fighter planes, that back in the day had instruments coated with radium to glow in the dark, this lead to substantial amount of burnt (i.e. unaffected) radium being dumped in the nearby bay, and then forgotten. And then some decades down the road, a random radiation levels check shows that the area is contaminated. Great.

As always, a big survey took place and, quite predictably when considering the area was prime estate location by then, showed that everything was A-OK. Provided you didn't visit the beach too often. Or grow vegetables in your garden, which might have had a few tonnes of soil removed to reduce the radiation levels. Or hold on to rocks you collected. You get the picture; even if overall the doctors say it's ok, would you trust in that? Would you knowingly live in an area running the risk that some years down the road a new report might come out that says "oops, actually, you're fucked"?

Well, I didn't. I found a new house, one that's not sitting on the outskirts of Milpitas (those of you that get it, well done, you've wasted your life watching crappy films at least as much as I have).

It is in Kirkcaldy though, and I know there are people that would prefer growing a third leg that glows in the dark to that. Oh well.

I'll let you know how it goes. Until then, don't walk your dog in Dalgety bay. Or Aberdeen. Or Torness. Or...

27

It's strange that the two people that contacted me today (by phone/text, somehow Facebook/email just aren't the same. Sign of growing old? Note here that I am talking about people that I see something like once-twice a year. Does it make any difference? Not really) about my birthday both commented on the lack of updates on my blog. At least I found it strange, I suppose it's quite normal actually, since this is one of the ways that old friends keep in touch with me. I should apologise to everyone for being so bad at keeping in touch, but honestly it's not personal, I really am really bad at keeping in touch. So is there really a connection between me becoming 27 today (or completing the 27th year of my life, to be precise) and posting after all this time?

You guessed it, sort of.

I think it's a good time to think about a few things and, since in this blog I just think aloud, maybe to see what you, oh loyal reader, think about my thoughts. Think, think, think. I feel I should also add that I am completely sober at this point, braking from the noble tradition of drunken retrospections.

Anyway, I've always thought that if a djinni was ever to magically (or not) appear in front of me and ask me for three wishes, I'd know what to ask for two of them. I'd ask to never die, and I'd ask to always be aged 27-30 years old. Not sure about the third one, should I release the djinni from its lamp, or simply hold on to it as a last resort? Anyway, this means that I am now entering what I've always thought of as a "golden age" for myself, the age of miracles. Why now?

Well, it kind of makes sense (from a wishful point of you, I suppose) that ideally your personal peak should correspond to your physical peak, between being too young and still growing and being old and decaying (I'll agree with anyone wanting to expand this time period up to maybe 33 years old, but no lower than a year or so). It should also coincide with a point in your life where you've completed any training/education/early stages of work and are now moving towards better things. A time when you've laid the foundations of what you'll become and can decide who you want to become - or the other way around, I don't mind. It's also the golden age projected en masse by Hollywood, sports, musicians etc. It is da bomb; should be. Is it?

Again, it kind of is. No wait, am I being too hasty about this? What if you become a great writer when you're 60? A wonder-kid in violin when you're 13? Well, even though I'm sure you'll enjoy it, I think that it's a bit marginal, in terms of having the energy or maturity accordingly to fully enjoy and appreciate your success. Let us not forget that most wonderkids ended up miserable, and most old success stories didn't end up so well either. By the way, I'm not sure if I should bother supporting all this with actual facts; after all, it is my birthday, I'm gonna write as if it's my birthday, I'm gonna comment as if it's my birthday, and you know I don't give a damn if it's my birthday (amen!). So anyway I'm right on this, ok?

The magic age zone then. What does it feel being in the zone?

Good, actually. No complaints here. It helps that I've never had specific goals along the lines of "by the time I'm 28 I should have kissed a camel and ride a motorcycle naked across Turkmenistan", but in general I think it's all good. Sure, everyday life has its problems, work has its ups and downs, but come on, it is pretty good. Maybe not fantastically amazingly incredibly like-totally-wow-dude great (ah, to be riding naked through Turkmenistan...), but it's good. Rock on.

Is the grass greener on the other side?

Of course it is. You could always have more money, more friends, better weather, less problems, whatever. But I think that at this point you are aware that you're in a way sitting on the fence between two green fields, and that looking to the other side doesn't mean your side is bad. Things could be better, things could be worse, but hopefully you know what you've done in the past to improve things, so off you go.

(I've just realised that my way of thinking is so typical of a well-fed, well-taken care of western brat that cannot really complain about life, since in comparison to what is happening to the world around him, he's aaaaaalright. Hey, that's who I am, tough).

Am I going somewhere with this? Ah, yes.


I'm 27 years old, and I'm ok.

How are you today?