Or rather, I need to talk. To you, to anyone.
You see, my life has taken a bit of a turn. For nearly thirty years, I pretty much pleased myself. I ate what I liked, drank what I liked, and smoked like... well, like it was going out of fashion. For nearly thirty years I sat on my fat arse and watched television - for instance, the Ryder Cup (which happens to be on this weekend) from start to finish, with a beer in one hand and a sausage in the other.
And I loved it. By God, I loved it. Well-meaning Patchouli-Smoking Hippies will tell you that you should live your life without regrets. Well, I did. Hand on heart, I can honestly say that I regretted nothing - except, occasionally, not having bought enough beer to get me through the weekend.
Then I met a girl. Actually, I met the girl. At least, she'd better be the girl - we married getting on for eight (? - Note to self: check this) years ago now and we've got two (? - Note to self: check this) kids together, so if she's not the girl there are going to be an awful lot of disappointed people around here. Let's call her STonk.
Although she's never been much of a drinker, when we met she smoked (the same brand of cigarettes as me - so romantic), and subsisted on a diet of Ferrero Rocher and Balisto. She was as happy as I was to spend an entire weekend on the sofa, interrupted only by Pizza delivery boys, and occasional angina attacks. Quite simply, it was a match made in heaven.
Was. This year, I'm not watching the Ryder Cup from start to finish with a beer in one hand and a sausage in the other. Indeed, I've checked in with it for a couple of minutes here and there but no more than that. Now, the fact that I'm the father of two young children clearly has some bearing on that situation, but it's by no means the whole story. There are other reasons, too. And that's what I need to talk about.
