Some, I hope premature, final thoughts

At Craven Cottage for the Villa game, the very modest activity of walking from our taxi to the stadium left me flushed, breathless and near to collapse – to the alarm of my companions. I made it home safely and have booked an appointment with my GP this week. I shall ask for a referral to a cardiologist, as my symptoms suggest congested arteries. I hope some tests will clarify the problem so action can be taken to avert worse.

My reaction, when I thought I might be dying, was interesting. I felt serene and unafraid. The self-pity that has poisoned me of late vanished as a quick survey of my life led to the conclusion that – overall – it’s been pretty great. I had a happy upbringing in a loving and supportive family. I was of a generation that could roam freely in childhood and learn to be free and self-reliant. I was blessed with useful gifts, enjoyed my schooldays and was the first in my family to go to university where I studied an interesting subject. I also developed useful dark skills, while getting some nasty stuff out of my system, as I dabbled in student politics. 

I have loved and been loved. I have two wonderful daughters of whom I am enormously proud. I had an entertaining professional career, which took me to interesting places and presented me with challenges well-suited to my skills. I had a fair degree of success, both in terms of being useful and of my own material gain. I made excellent friends. After the sad premature death of Mr P the First, I retired early, engaged in new interests and made even more friends. I realised my childhood dream of owning a Ferrari and drove over 100,000 miles in her all over Europe and America. I had ten happy years with Mrs P the Second and, though it didn’t end as I’d have hoped, we remain friends after the only fully-amicable divorce of which I’ve ever heard.

I never wanted fame and lack the obsessive personality to be super-rich. My grandad told me as a boy that “we’re only here for a look around” and mine has been a good look. What more is there for mortal man to hope for?

If I am wrong about the non-existence of God, I reflected, my conscience is clear enough to face Him with optimism, given that forgiveness is said to be His defining characteristic. No life is free of error or regret, but I have little to be ashamed of, much to be proud of and I had a lot of fun. If it was the end of my story, I thought to myself as I sat, drained, in Fulham’s Riverside Stand, it has been a good one.

I hope to hold onto this new-found serenity. It seems a little stupid now that it required such a moment to bring me to it. Fingers crossed, I can carry it forward for a few more interesting years. If not, please don’t cry for me, gentle readers. Thank you for your attention and for the exchanges we’ve had in the comments. If this is goodbye, then please remember my old grandad’s words and have a good look around!