There is much in life that is unfair. Childhood is spent largely fighting that which serves to trip us up or catch us out, and generally getting in the way doing things we enjoy. Getting older doesn't improve ones outlook, except adulthood demands that we rise above using those words. That's unfair! But the emotions of the great unjust still stir from time to time, insisting we put our toys down and rejoin the dining table of reality. A deep feeling of utter childish resentment.
Wanting to scream your objection, offer legitimate and compelling counter argument, trying desperately to negotiate extra playtime, only to realise that there are forces far greater than you that can't be reasoned with. Instead of unfair, we harrumph. A harrumph isn't taking it on the chin or winding your neck in, and certainly not a mature reflection of the facts presented. A harrumph is a barely audible huff of breath, a stealthy silent alternative to stamping your foot.
It's a pathetic attempt at having the last word in the face of defeat. I emitted a harrumph last week on reading an email from RunClub, instructing us to start wearing our vizzies again on training nights as its getting dark at night now. Unbelievable! I read it with the disbelief of a child who's been told to come in for tea, or get to bed. How can it be true? How is summer so nearly over and dark nights are here? We're having too much fun to stop now. But time has been called. It is what it is. It's not fair!
And while we're on the subject of childish behaviour, things on the Richard Whitehead Runs Britain trip have taken a turn for the worse.
There is much in life that is unfair. Childhood is spent largely fighting that which serves to trip us up or catch us out, and generally getting in the way doing things we enjoy. Getting older doesn't improve ones outlook, except adulthood demands that we rise above using those words. That's unfair! But the emotions of the great unjust still stir from time to time, insisting we put our toys down and rejoin the dining table of reality. A deep feeling of utter childish resentment.
Wanting to scream your objection, offer legitimate and compelling counter argument, trying desperately to negotiate extra playtime, only to realise that there are forces far greater than you that can't be reasoned with. Instead of unfair, we harrumph. A harrumph isn't taking it on the chin or winding your neck in, and certainly not a mature reflection of the facts presented. A harrumph is a barely audible huff of breath, a stealthy silent alternative to stamping your foot.
It's a pathetic attempt at having the last word in the face of defeat. I emitted a harrumph last week on reading an email from RunClub, instructing us to start wearing our vizzies again on training nights as its getting dark at night now. Unbelievable! I read it with the disbelief of a child who's been told to come in for tea, or get to bed. How can it be true? How is summer so nearly over and dark nights are here? We're having too much fun to stop now. But time has been called. It is what it is. It's not fair!
And while we're on the subject of childish behaviour, things on the Richard Whitehead Runs Britain trip have taken a turn for the worse. 