CREATURE of habit, that’s what I am.
There’s something comforting about knowing you have a routine.
It’s safe knowing what comes next.
And yet, sometimes wouldn’t it be fun to throw off those shackles and live life a bit more dangerously?
Not train-surfing-at-midnight dangerous, that’s just plain dumb. I mean instead of eating my sensible salad or soup at lunchtime, I stroll online and book a ticket to New York.
Instead of always wearing black, I break out in crimson or cyan, not navy and grey.
Rather than sensible porridge for breakfast I feast on anchovy on toast?
While I’d like to think to myself as a free spirit, flexible in attitude and probably the kind of gal who rides a bright retro bicycle with a basket containing a baguette, a bouquet of wildflowers and small happy dog, in reality I’m an adherent to a different routine.
And if I had a retro bicycle, etc, I’d find my dog had eaten the damn baguette and shredded the flowers before we even got home.
But routines also have their benefits.
When you wake up in the morning and the newspapers and broadcast media shriek disaster, war, takeovers, death and damn politicians embezzling instead of doing their job, knowing you can make coffee the way you like it is such a comfort.
Going outside rain and shine to feed the feather riot who always run expectantly towards me as though I carry platters of caviar rather than small bucket of pellets, is so enjoyable it’s a pleasure rather than a chore.
I love riding my bike to work and waving to the lollipop ladies and bus drivers on route who always smile back.
Perhaps we should celebrate our routines with the occasional shake-up.
Just enough to shake those shackles.
