After a domestic disaster, these are a few of my favourite things...
COLUMNIST
WITHIN the space of a few minutes this week I endured something of a domestic apocalypse.
There I was, quietly editing a radio programme at the computer, when I heard a noise from out the back (garden is too grandiose a term for my patch of patio). The washing-line had snapped, depositing a line full of wet clothes on the decking.
I went to fetch the laundry basket from the bathroom and when I opened the airing cupboard a mouse escaped from a hole in the skirting therein.
The squeal I let out as it ran over my foot was echoed by the thud of a letter on the doormat.
The tell-tale South Wales Police logo just visible through the envelope window suggested this was not going to be good news. Yup. Just when I thought my morning couldn’t get any worse, the postie had delivered a speeding ticket.
The only consolation was, as everyone knows, These Things Come In Threes. There could surely be no fourth disaster on the home front.
But while I was Googling “humane mouse traps”, I felt suddenly overwhelmed by the problematic minutiae of life. It’s not the big things that floor you – survival instinct kicks in for the serious stuff – it’s the accumulation of little things that can knock you off beam. Just ask Napoleon, for the want of a nail and all that.
But I resolved not to let this triplewhammy of catastrophe ruin a sunny day. Little things that go wrong can be countered by little things that go right.
And something had happened the previous week to revive my faith in the healing powers of simple pleasures. Huw Edwards was on the 10 O’Clock News introducing a tribute package to the late Michael Bond, creator of that beloved bear, Paddington. A clip of Paddington performing Singing in the Rain was used in the archive that followed.
Rivalled only in nostalgic childhood recollection by the soothing yawn of Bagpuss, this delicious little song-and-dance routine was so spectacularly heart-warming I just had to spread the love.
So I tweeted: “Paddington Bear performing Singing in the Rain is one of the greatest joys known to humankind.”
Leonora Thomson, MD of Welsh National Opera, replied: “You have just added to my Things That Cheer Me Up List – thank you!”
It was then I remembered I had compiled such a list myself for use in times of mild emotional peril.
Psychobabbly types tell us to use “affirmations” or Zen Habits, or list three things we’re grateful for at the end of every day. But this can take us too far into the realms of beatific schmaltz for my liking.
I prefer the more robust approach to happiness generation that was favoured by JB Priestley more than 60 years ago in his tome entitled
Delight. H e penned it at a time when there wasn’t much to be cheerful about.
Britain was still feeling battered by the war, rationing was in place and the economy was on its knees. Priestley’s personal life wasn’t looking too rosy either – his marriage was unravelling.
But in a bid to boost morale, the self-confessed malcontent wrote 114 little essays on the simple delights of life – from frying sausages outdoors, dancing, and walking in a pine wood to the creation of the perfect gin and tonic.
Being a fan of the therapeutic qualities of prolonged soaking myself, I particularly like Priestley’s championing of Lying In The Bath, Smoking A Pipe.
“Long after people have caught the 8.20am and opened the morning mail, I am lying in my hot bath, smoking a pipe. I am not even soaping and scrubbing, but simply lying there, like a pink porpoise, puffing away,” he writes. “In a neighbouring room, thrown on the floor, are the morning papers, clamouring for every man and woman to save the
country. And there I am, lost in steam and the vaguest dreams.”
The 60th anniversary of Priestley’s book was marked with the Modern Delight anthology, which invited 80 celebrities to name their secret pleasures. They ranged from Harry Hill’s love of tormenting telemarketers to Roy Hattersley’s joy in grooming his dog at bed-time.
Everyone’s list would probably combine such universal delights as waking up and realising you don’t actually have to get up that morning to rather more idiosyncratic personal treats. (Incidentally, on the subject of the latter be careful when Googling Simple Pleasures – the first thing that comes up is a website for sex toys, though, granted, they may cheer some people up.)
So here’s my list of 30 Things That Cheer Me Up...
1. Rediscovering an ancient rugby match on an archive sports channel. Just when you thought there was nothing on telly up pops an obscure Five Nations game featuring the heroes of your youth clad in voluminous Cotton Traders jerseys. Ditto an old episode of Inspector Morse, though not The Remorseful Dead. I got engrossed in this the other day before remembering it was the one where Morse actually dies. Cried all afternoon.
2. Stroking a cat’s belly. Just make sure you choose a moggy who responds with ecstatic pneumatic purring and does the Big Stretch, rather than a furious feline who balls up and attempts to bite your hand off.
3. White chocolate. From Green & Black’s to Milky Bar Buttons, I’m not fussy.
4. Celebrity Schadenfreude. Yes, it’s mean. Yes, it’s bitchy. But sometimes there is no greater fun than laughing at a Hollywood A-lister’s wrinkly knees or rogue stretchmark.
5. Taking a bargain to the till and discovering it’s been reduced even further. Feel that consumer endorphin rush.
6. New stationery. All of life’s problems can be solved with the purchase of a pretty concertina file.
7. Small children. Particularly if they belong to other people and you can hand them back.
8. Stepping off a plane into allenveloping warmth.
9. A seven-letter word on a triple word score in Scrabble that includes a “Q”.
10. Playing the piano at a party and remem- bering every verse of American Pie despite advanced drunkenness.
11. Quenching raging thirst with a 3am pint of Coke from the fridge which you believe will prevent a monumental hangover.
12. A Good Hair Day – unless it’s on the morning of your hairdresser’s appointment.
13. A generous acknowledgement from a fellow driver when you have performed an act of motoring selflessness.
14. Winning at Twickenham.
15. Discovering an author you have just got to like has written lots more novels.
16. Finding the perfect pair of jeans. (Still haven’t achieved denim nirvana, sadly.) 17. The pop of the first Prosecco cork.
18. The pop of the third Prosecco cork.
19. The sound of rain on the roof of a caravan.
20. Finding a drivethrough double car-parking space so you’re facing out without having to reverse.
21. Starting a box set, realising it’s going to be brilliant and seeing there are 24 more episodes to enjoy.
22. The moment the screen goes wider in the cinema just before the start of a film.
23. Unearthing a purse full of euros just before you go on holiday.
24. The calming process of making a cup of tea before an overwhelming day.
25. An empty email in-box.
26. The first glass of rosé on holiday.
27. Getting a kind letter from a Western Mail reader.
28. Getting a kind online comment from a Western Mail reader.
29. Buying a pair of shoes that look great but are also REALLY comfy.
30. Someone telling me a lovely story about my late mother that I’ve never heard before. There, I feel better about laundry collapse, rodent invasion and an imminent three points on the driving licence already...