I’ve mentioned Mark Twain before, admitting that my admiration for him is derived not from a comprehensive reading of his works, but from arbitrary quotations spotted in other people’s email signatures.
Here’s the latest one:
A bank is a place where they lend you an umbrella in fair weather and ask for it back when it begins to rain.
I like that.
Money is something I think about too much. When I was a kid — and I was a kid until 7½ years ago — I worried about money because I didn’t have any. Now that things are a little less fraught, I worry about how best to deploy the bit I have. It’s one of the few problems that’s solved — or never exists in the first place — by having children. Money is sucked up by a combination of their demands and your guilt. That’s how it appears to this spectator.
I often wish I had kids. But there again, I know plenty of parents who often wish they had money.
As far as finances go, I assume nothing anymore. I’ve experienced two redundancies so far, and there’s just the faintest whiff of another in the air. But frankly, the more I’m threatened, the less I care.
On the running front, I’m still feeling positive and renewed, even if I’ve not been out as much as I’d planned to be. Last week I managed two pleasant four-milers, and one evening I got home early enough to treat the fresh air to the pleasures of my push bike.
The weekend passed, untroubled by physical exertion. The emotions had a thorough workout however, as I made a rare visit to Loftus Road to acknowledge some of my boyhood heroes (see previous entry). More another time. I’m still throbbing.
