Creeping habits

I’m in a very good mood today. Woke up, opened the curtains, and quickly shut them again at the subtle request of my darling wife (AARRGHHH SHUT THE FUCKING CURTAINS!!). Once she got up I opened them again and marveled at the morning sky. Not a cloud in sight, a brushing of frost across every surface, and the sun creeping up over the horizon, fiery orange blending to pale blue. Gorgeous.

I love mornings like these. Crisp and cold, fresh and dry. Lovely. My wife likes them too, once she gets rid of the babbling idiot who, in the short journey to the station, points out every little joy of a crisp winter’s morning.

My mood was further enhanced by the acquisition of my new laptop at work. Sitting on my desk waiting for me, all shiny and widescreen-y.

Which is just as well as I’d had to endure the fawning, pawing couple opposite me on the train who seemed oblivious to the fact that they were on a train full of hacked-off thirty somethings on their way to another day at the grindstone. Nauseous is not even close when it comes to describing them. Well him more than her to be fair. She seemed at least aware that the three people sitting opposite were all holding their papers a little higher than is normal. HE was a sap. Fawning over her, kissing her neck, cuddling into her, talking in a silly voice, the whole shebang.

Now I’ve done that, I still do that but in the privacy of my own home (and with the understanding that ‘experience’ brings, namely that it is leading somewhere, or at least I hope it does.. and I’m not undervaluing snuggling, I realise full well the bonus points you can score with a little ‘no pressure for sex’ snuggling. See us men aren’t ALL daft… where was I?).

Oh yes. When did I get old? I’m 30. I’ve know Louise for half my life, so I guess that’s part of it. We’ve done the whole ‘holding hands, snogging at every opportunity’ bit. We got over it when we were 17 (not the greatest way to impress when you are sitting in the pub with your mates….). We both enjoy sitting in, watching a movie, a bottle of wine, or visiting friends, sitting in, chatting. Or dinner, wine, chatting.

When did I turn into my Dad? Just curious really as I can’t pinpoint it, it’s such a creeping process, slowly your mannerisms alter, your opinions are moulded and you realise that you clear your throat the same way he does, have the same tastes, and generally realise that a lot of the things he does, you have inherited.

I could do a lot worse (although I could do without the waking at 4 am every morning, something where I’m hoping inheriting my Mum’s sleeping habits will come in to play).

My name is Gordon, and I’m a 40-something, 30-something. I quite like that.

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Long time blogger, Father of Jack, geek of many things, random photographer and writer of nonsense.

Doing my best to find a balance.

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