Luck

Not having any of it. Or in actual fact, having lots of it, but all of it bad. Firstly, my Ibizan trip was wrenched apart by a spine which made the unilateral decision to lead a battle against the forces of gravity. Instead of enjoying the relaxing atmosphere of hippies and sunshine I hobbled about like a broken weather vane flapping in a gale. Still, if the main purpose of the holiday was crushed under karma's stilleto, the secondary purpose, to drink sangria all day and eat inordinate amounts of seafood, was a runaway success. So it wasn’t in such a bad frame of mind that I inched my way back up my stairs at home. And the puddle of water which I spied in the middle of the floor didn’t instantly make me panic. In fact, in a leisurely manner did I decide to follow the still water back not from the bathroom where I had assumed some water had spilt the week before but towards the washing machine where I could see a lot more water had poured out, soaking the floor boards and (it later transpired) fusing the downstairs neighbour’s lights.

After I’d established that even this was not a terrible situation (at least not for me who didn’t have to cook with a torch) and that there was nothing much we could do except wait for it to dry out I turned on my TV and after a while it did what it had been threatening to do for some months, pop and transform the rich tapestry of modern culture into a momentary white glimmer and then a funereal black nothingness.

Bad luck is hanging over me like my own personal cloud. Luckily, however, with my worldview pitched exactly at this level, I am in my element. Pessimism is a much under-rated characteristic and rarely pays many dividends. Just occasionally, though, when the world does turn around and wipe its arse with you, you can sit back (lie down awkwardly in my case) and allow yourself a small grin for being proved right.