I’ve been reflecting on my last post and wondering if it does not contain a good proportion of conceit. Here I am comparing myself to Don Draper, for God’s sake. There I go carrying on about being ‘the best’. God spare me. The intention is true, but reality hardly measures up.

I can see it, and feel a mild regret that I’ve gone and splashed it all over the interwebs – but, still… I’m forgiving of some conceits.I think I write a lot about how I’m only human. I’m not making excuses. I’m fully aware of being flawed. I doubt there are anything people have said of me I’m not aware of myself. In my book to be human is a virtue. I don’t know if I’d choose to be infallible if given the chance, It seems too perfect, and so too boring. And perhaps ‘being human’ is my get out clause. I make mistakes, I get things wrong, I carry on like a two bob watch – but I do no harm.

The best of people are generous, I think. Generous of heart and spirit. Honesty is a virtue, but it can be unreasonably raw sometimes. It makes sense to forgive the small peccadilloes of those we love. Why confess that a loved one’s dancing is not nearly as elegant as they suppose? Let them believe. Why admit that their arse does look big in that? If we can forgive it in others, we should be able to forgive it in ourselves.

The other thing I realised is that all this stuff the likes of Mad Men generates ends up here, if I’ve got the energy, and nowhere else. For all the friends I have there is no-one close I can turn to relate the stuff stirred up in me and expect them to understand. The only person remotely is Whisky – with whom I have a fractured relationship, and he’s far away regardless. He would understand because he is torn too. We’re very different in ways, and very similar in others. The basis of our friendship has been this understanding I think, this striving to fill a hole. I’m stronger and more stable than him, but we look in each others eyes, nod a head, and be understood. I’m sure he would know all this Mad Men stuff.


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