THE MUSIC MAKER
Tired? Fed up? Aching in the places that you used to play? (To paraphrase Leonard Cohen). Could readily strangle your mother-in-law with the horrible socks she got you for Christmas? Congratulations - you're living a proper life.
Sitting by a swimming pool? Skin a queer sort of orange colour? Drinking cocktails in Vietnam? Going on an inner journey? Commiserations - you're wasting everybody's time.
The other day I got an unsolicited email that, remarkably, wasn't offering cheap Viagra; nor was it from Angie in Cameroon wanting to get to know me better. I didn't open it, of course, but its title was something like 'Intensive Chakra Realignment Weekend Retreat'. Had I been of a mind to investigate further, no doubt I'd have been able to take advantage of a spectacular early bird offer of only six million euros including nut cutlet breakfast baguette. Sadly, I had more important things to do - like drinking beer. On my way to the pub, I did think about the email though, struggling to imagine how anyone would sign up for such a thing.
Chakras are those energy points in our bodies (seven I think) which some religions say govern our natural equilibrium and wellbeing. It's said they should be balanced and clear and aligned if we are to live a fulfilled and fulfilling life. Actually, I'd say quite the opposite is true. By the time we snuff it our chakras should ideally resemble a fat rugby player's ears - battered, bruised and barely recognisable to the naked eye. If you were ever unfortunate enough to depart this mortal coil in perfect balance and harmony, I should think St Peter would be well within in his rights to ask you what the hell you'd been doing for the last three score years and ten, although he might not frame the question exactly in those terms.
Surely, anyone worth their salt should be involved in a daily struggle involving work, relationships, families and catching devastating snatches of Despacito emanating from the car windows of callow youths who look like a day's graft would kill them. By contrast you could very well choose to sit in a barrel for the rest of your life searching for inner peace like that philosopher whose name I can never remember did, but we have a word for that kind of thing; it begins with 'n' and ends in 'arcissism'. I blame Madonna, proclaiming as she did that the world was her playground or some such tosh. (I also blame her for a merciless butchering of American Pie but that's a whole column in itself).
Tired? Fed up? Chakras shot to hell? Well done. Carry on.