by Ross Sharp

When you leave high school, you need to put a little thought into where your talents and interests in life lie and what you’d really like to do with them.

Otherwise, you may find yourself sitting at a desk in a concrete box thirty years later with a 25,000 row spreadsheet in front of you, still twelve years from retirement, and wondering where the fuck it all went wrong.

For what once may have seemed an easy prize to grab in our uncaring and callow youth, an uncomplicated series of simple games, will gradually, over years, reveal itself as nothing more than a faded, gaudy bauble, a tin-foil cup studded with cracked plastic rubies abandoned in a muddy tributary choked with gape-mouthed carp.

And that’s when you find yourself thinking, “How the fuck did I wind up doing this shit for a living? ”

Which is my final thought for 2012.

And I expect it will be my first for 2013. Merry Christmas.

I guess.

On a lighter  note, that guy there? Was born 97 years ago today. And no-one, no-one, will ever come close to him.