It occurs to me, while drinking honey and lemon tea and waiting for my stomach to settle enough to go to bed, that I put a rather large amount of faith in academic study. Which strikes me as odd, because having undertaken a reasonable portion of it, I've never quite found that it's prepared me for anything other than more academic study. After all, while I did enjoy my MA, it didn't exactly prepare me for what I actually do for a living now in any substantial manner. In fact, all things considered, all having it really shows is that I can apply myself, for a sustained duration of time, with a rather single-minded focus. Which is a useful enough skill, but certainly isn't nearly enough to rely on alone to get me ahead. I know that various courses aren't the be all and end all of accomplishment but somehow it's taken this long for that thought to finally move from unconscious to concious acknowledgement. It hasn't quite sunk in yet but it will and that alone is certain to make a considerable difference moving forward.
This is the first weekend in three weeks that I've had to myself. No dinners, no impromptu BBQs, no poor planning that means I've doing a 2 hour round trip to the same location both days. It's perfect. Granted, this also means a weekend to spend with my dishes and laundry, instead of having dinner conversations where one party offers to obtain industry grade food knives for another party, or I end up feeling like the Will Graham to the host's Hannibal Lecter, but I definitely need the rest. I should, in fact, have this weekend and next to myself, to get my home in order and sort myself out for my annual transatlantic trip, especially since this might actually be my last trip for a year or two. Though I'm probably compensating for that with three holidays this year in total. Still, to go back to the Hannibal analogy, it's nice to have a weekend away from trying to convince Abigail that, no really, we need to speak to this Freddie Lounds character first before anything else happens, and that Dr Lecter and I most certainly are not bring Miss Lounds back any cigarettes from our weekend away in Tuscany this year. Though, in my defence, I didn't actually know that chianti came from Tuscany before we booked that one.
At some point today I'm certain that I had some valid points to make about how my location and occupation is shaping the face that I present to the world. That said, I've just had a dinner that consisted of scrambled eggs made with double cream, fried brioche and bacon, so I'm currently re-evaluating my dietary choice instead. Suffice to say, everything that I wanted to say, can probably be summed up as the aspiration to this.
Having done a round trip of 250 miles today, granted, across some beautiful countryside, there may have been a touch of hysteria in my bursting out laughing at seeing a Lotus, an Aston and an MX2 racing up the M42 this evening. I'm fairly sure that laugher wasn't the response that all that engine revving was meant to inspire.
12 year old Cardhu single malt reminds me why I'm not the greatest fan of Speyside scotch. It's very distinctly weighty and a little bit acerbic, though, granted, I'm not taking my time over it this evening. Having made the quick trip to the local Tesco, in the nearest town, I'd decided that I was going to spend the coupon I'd picked up last week, so was apt to pick up a single malt of some variety, along with the roasting pan I'd been after for a while. At the checkout the cashier, evidently making conversation, asked if the Cardhu was a special present for someone, to which I responded that no, I'd just had a bad day at work. Though, considering my locale, and what I was wearing, I'm sure I could be any variety of country living type who'd at least have had the good sense to lock up the ratting guns before I hit the scotch.