Wake Up

Kobe Bryant, American basketball superstar, is sat across the table from me. Idly sipping his drink and holding a dog eared cardboard folder in one hand. The folder contains details of his financial situation which, for some reason, I am trying to get him to tell me about. Perhaps I want to feel envious. He starts speaking, and the thick Jamaican accent gives my subconscious the tip off it needed to realise I’m dreaming.

In the background, a coffee machine is beginning to make that rushing, roaring sound that means someone is about to get their caffeine hit. Only it doesn’t tail off. It gets louder, and louder, and louder, until it’s drowning out everything else. The sound fills my ears and starts to make me feel uncomfortable.

I’m no longer paying any attention to Jamaican Kobe Bryant. Which is very rude of me, even if he is only a figment of my imagination.

The noise keeps on getting louder, and then I’m awake. The noise continues. It’s outside the house. The world is ending or something. My brain isn’t fully engaged, so rational thought isn’t on the agenda just yet. I stumble to the window and throw open the curtains, letting in the light of a beautiful summer morning, completely forgetting I am wearing nothing but my pants. The street is full of people looking up. Higher than my window, thankfully.

Then, I experience a real life, very Bristolian version of the opening scene of Star Wars. Instead of an Imperial Cruiser passing overhead is a hot air balloon, basket full of people dangling perilously beneath it, surveying the world below them, having a bloody good time by the looks of it.

Balloon. As seen from my bedroom window this morning.

 I found the whole thing very exciting. A massive balloon (actually, there were five or six) flew directly over my house and woke me up and I was excited. It was a treat. It was a great start to the day. I rushed to take a picture and discovered that my dexterity when half asleep has significant room for improvement. I hung around a little longer at home in the hope that some more were on their way. It set me up for the day in a way that an alarm clock could never hope to match.

It was particularly welcome because I’ve not been feeling my usual bright and breezy self recently. It was just a small thing but it reminded me of how much a small thing can have a big impact on how you feel. It allowed me to abandon my usual cynicism and misanthropy for a moment and to feel good about what wonderful things the future may hold for Cam.

While the feeling lasted my mind went on a joyous randonnée through the myriad of experiences I hope that Cam, Mrs L and I will share. I pictured the wonder I hope to see on his face the first time he sees something which really captures his imagination. We’re a little way from there yet; it is only in the past few days he has started to reach out for his Freddy Firefly.

Today’s wake up was a rare good one. I’ll be holding onto the memory of it for as long as I can.

I hope you’re having a good day, and that your wake up call this morning was a good one. Thanks for reading.

Career

When I was little, I wanted to be a Dalek. No joke.



Dream Job



I used to wander around the playground at my infant school during lunch times, my cagoule’s hood pulled tight around my face, exterminating fellow pupils.

Surprisingly, I was mostly alone in this pursuit.

If I wasn’t being Doctor Who’s most awesome enemy I would be pretending to be a plane. Arms out for wings, air forced through pursed lips for convincing facsimile of a Spitfire’s Merlin engine, interspersed with the staccato “ack ack ack ack” of my machine guns.

Needless to say, twenty-five years on, I am neither a Dalek or a plane. If I was the former you’d be dead by now, and if I was the latter I wouldn’t be able to talk. Or type.

All of which means, I suppose, that I am not one of the 15% of children who (according to BBC Breakfast) manage to end up being what they wanted to be when they were young.

Not exactly a surprising figure though, is it? They were asking eight year old kids. Even the most forward thinking eight year old isn’t likely to say “well, I’ve considered my options carefully. Given my relative academic strengths, and with due consideration to work life balance, plus of course the need for financial security, that ideally I’d like to become an actuary”.

Predictably, there were a few who wanted to be professional footballers (actually, they didn’t specify professional, that’s me putting words in their mouths) and some more who wanted to be singers (well done Simon Cowell, the youth are yours now). There were a fair number of proto-police officers (who, I bet, actually want to be Daleks, but think the dome shaped helmet of the police is the closest they can get).

No-one wanted to be a lawyer. Or a banker. Or a salesperson. Or work in a shop.

Back in the studio, the presenters wondered, were we perhaps allowing our children to be too optimistic in their goals? Should we be stopping their wild flights of fancy (No, junior, don’t be ridiculous, you’ll never be a police officer, now go to your room and reconsider your aspirations) and promoting a more realistic aim?

Not in my opinion.

If someone had told the five year old me that I couldn’t be a Dalek, once I’d finished trying REALLY HARD to exterminate them, I’d have probably been rendered unspeakably melancholy by suggestions of sensible roles. In reality, even now, I look at most job descriptions and pine for those days of care free ignorance about the need to make money.

Job hunting is a long way off for Cam, thankfully. I already know that I want him to be clever. I hope he is. The genetic building blocks ought to be there. I did okay at school, and probably could have done better if I’d been a bit more motivated. Mrs L excelled at school and university.

Ideally, he’ll have inherited the best attributes from each of us. That would probably put him in a pretty good starting position.

I don’t want him to grow up thinking in wholly realistic terms. I want him to aim high, to be something fantastic, something enjoyable which also brings in enough cash. I want him to do better than I have (I’ve helped him out here by not being terribly successful). I want him to be awesome, and I want to do everything I can to help him. I want him to be the best he can be.

More than anything, I want him to be happy.

If he could work out how to turn a human into a Dalek along the way, that would be great.

*does Dalek voice* EXTERMINATE!