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Defining moments

So I was reading an article about how golly gosh Lee Evans is appearing in proper theatre rather than just that Norman Wisdom thing he does that the proles like and goodness me he's actually quite good even though he lives in Essex (Evan's being marvellous is no news to those of us who've seen the little known British film Funny Bones, I won't go on about its wonderfulness but you really ought to see it, should you get the chance). And whilst I snorted at the notion of his ability coming as a surprise to anyone (he's done Becket for god's sake) I got to thinking about the little ways we define ourselves.

Ever since I was a small child I wanted to be a writer. Well, actually I wanted to be a footballer but due to my staggering physical ineptitude from a very young age I was fully cognisant that this wasn't going to happen, being last picked every single lunchtime will soon drive those dreams of Wembley right out of your head. For a brief period in my teens I thought being a musician was definitely the way forward, again the grim realisation of a complete lack of ability kiboshed that (though I do still occasionally hack at a guitar when I'm sure everyone's out of the house. I look forward to embarrassing my kids with off key renditions of Smells Like Teen Spirit in about twenty-five years time. You know, when they bring their prospective spouses round for tea). I was always pretty convinced that I'd end up as a writer, and I am, of sorts. Even the lecturing I do isn't a complete surprise.

That I might end up as a chef never occurred to me once; that I might wind up being a businessman is an idea the absurdity of which would have had me hooting with derisive laughter. Then again, the idea that I might have been married in my twenties would probably have elicited a similar response. But still, turns for the odd, one and all. Lee Evans would be proud.

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