Pen In Hand

I have tried to analyse myself and why I do the things, I do. When I was a kid I wanted to be a policeman, though I had the height, I wasn’t that smart, so as that idea went out the window and no new ideas came along, I decided to become a nobody for what else could I be. I was no good at English, nor any good at maths, I couldn’t even roller skate as I kept falling down. Everything I tried to do I failed miserably, so why did I take up writing, it doesn’t make sense at all. English was my worst subject, so why would I want to write I can’t think of any reason for it. Then came the advent of the Beatles and everyone wanted to be in a group. I couldn’t sing and I couldn’t play an instrument of any sort, but Paul and John wrote songs, and Paul had the same birthday as me. Could it have been an omen? I co-oped a friend into writing a song with the immortal words that if they can do it, why can’t we. He agreed and millionaires we were both going to be. He gave up after our second attempt, but for some reason I carried on. Now forty-five years later I am still trying to figure it out why I would want to take pen in hand. I guess it is something I’ll never understand. 20 September 2008