Jurassic Park*

“No-one ever says, on their deathbed, that they wish they’d spent more time at the office”.  This quote from a nun or priest in a hospice has stayed with me.  

“Am going to be that person who says ‘I wish I’d spent more time at the office,’ aren’t I?” I say to Mum.

“Probably,” Mum says.

So, I try to go to my Office whenever I can.

Along these lines, I’ll wager that no-one ever says on their deathbed “I wish I’d gone for fewer walks in the sunshine.”  So, in this spirit, I walk back to the gym this afternoon.  The whole Richard-III-burial-extravaganza will be going on all evening after all.

And am glad that bothered.  See these people:

1.  Two blackbirds

2.  Four pigeons

3.  Two thrushes

4.  A great tit

5.  A magpie on a fence

6.  An overweight border collie 

There are yellow daffodils and purple crocuses and clouds of white cherry blossom.  And all this in the scrubby patch of grass between the council tower blocks and the road.  It seems that the wildlife doesn’t notice or mind the lack of aesthetic appeal of the green space.  As Jeff Goldblum says in the first, great, Jurassic Park: “Life finds a way.”  There’s as almost as large a variety of bird species here in town as out in the green belt where my parentals live.

Need to make it back to my park to see the dinosaurs soon.  And then, soon enough, the new Jurassic World will be on our screens. 12th June 2015 is given as the release date on IMDB.  Hurry up June!

A cavalry procession on the television, some riders clad in mediaeval armour.  The burial event is underway.  The sound is off at the gym so I can’t tell you who the riders are.  

“The thing is,” I say to MadFatRunner on the phone earlier today “I sort-of miss the dating.”

“Why’s that?” She says.

“Well, sometimes I feel like dressing up and going out and meeting new chaps, new people even,” I say. “And I don’t want the sort of interaction I’ll have to have with my friends. You know: talking about my illness or their careers or husbands or children or…”

“Well when you put it like that it makes sense,” she says.  “I imagine that meeting strange men would be more stressful than going out with your friends and…”

“It’s not really,” I say.  “Because I get to dress up and there’s male attention and, you know, asking some random banker about his childhood growing up in Copenhagen or wherever is just more interesting than listening to a friend’s problem with their bullying colleague for the fifth time.”

“Ah OK,” she says.  

Anyway: need to get back before dark and spend some quality time with Richard III.   There’s the coffin being pulled down the street on a horse-drawn hearse.

Happy Sunday everyone!

*1990.  Michael Crichton.  Science fiction novel in which dinosaurs are brought back to life.  Adapted by Steven Spielberg into a great film in 1993.


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