Around that same pub table I described last week we also discussed the merits of being boring. All agreed that I was very boring indeed, true friends in other words, but that the advantages of being boring were there for all to see. As is often the case with discussions in pubs, I cannot precisely remember how this conversation came about, but it may have been to do with stability and family harmony. Whatever, though I am actually 40 now, I have been 40 since I was 20 if you see what I mean, and that has a lot going for it.
My mate Richard, whilst perhaps not meeting the same ‘boring’ baseline, an area where I truly set the bar, agreed he too was a pretty level-headed kind of guy and that he liked that. Neither of us will ever set the world on fire, neither of us will ever go on to achieve great things that are talked about for generations to come. And we’re both absolutely fine with that. Steady as she goes.
So what is good about being dull? Well, I am unlikely to ever spring any surprises on anybody, especially my family who know me best. Mrs L generally knows what I am thinking before I do, or what I am about to do. She catches me “tasting” in-progess cooking before I have even reached for the spoon for instance. My children have this talent too – this is good. Being predictable means that expectations are generally always met. Having a firm footing in an unexciting home life (by which I mean no fits, no screaming, no emotional angst) means that my kids are level-headed, sensible and nice individuals, who at this stage we feel will develop into level-headed and sensible teenagers, hormones not withstanding. This may have been the gist of the original conversation, but at this stage we can’t see where the “I hate you I wish I’d never been born!” is going to come from. Perhaps being boring also brings with it massive amounts of parental naivety? Time will tell.
And of course I like birds. There's a boring badge right there. One of the best you can get in my opinion, my head full of useless avian facts, latin binomials, calls and songs, and a mental archive full of what rare birds I've seen where. I've been known to wear green, and I even have a camo hat (kind of). Not forgetting my ground-breaking musical tastes....
And no, no migrants yet since you ask.