You vs The Fat Cats
Having one of those days? Is every day one of those days? Do you sometimes wonder what happened to the days that aren’t one of those ones? Did you use up the other kind when you were a kid, maybe? Or was someone else accidentally allocated yours? Some rich fat cat in a private jet cashing in easy day after easy day while you stumble to the finish line at midnight at the end of “one of those days”, passing out face-first on a pile of washing you haven’t managed to fold yet, some of which presses into your face in such a way that when you startle awake again you have a plaid cheek. The rich fat cat does not have a plaid cheek. The rich fat cat owes you.
There are, however, some things that exist, even on those days, that nobody - not the rich fat cats, not anybody - can take away from you. Here is a list of some of those things. This is a Public Service Announcement.
There have been moments in your life when you have been sitting on the beach and you have maybe had your knees up and you’ve been looking down at the sand because you have been listening to somebody else speak and also it’s super sunny so looking down is easier and you have been playing in the sand with your hands. Swishing it around into little patterns, maybe digging a bit and then smoothing it out. People’s voices sound somehow louder and also further away. There are waves in the distance and someone is yelling something about a ball, and everything you’re thinking and doing is slow and you don’t have to be anywhere. The chances of a human being born at all are tiny. The chance of you being the combination of cells you are is preposterously unlikely. How lucky are you to have had even one of those moments in your life? Ludicrously lucky. And it’s just sitting there, on your hard drive, helping to make you who you are.
If you have never done any of these things: great. A new experience awaits. Try it this summer. Preferably often.
Waterfalls exist. So do pineapples.
That thing where you see a new side of someone you love, like your work friend singing in the local production of Little Shop of Horrors, or your brother being looked up to by the people he works with as though he isn’t just a kid in anchor pyjamas watching Disney on the couch. That feeling is strangely dislocating in that you feel slightly left out but also burn with pride.
Sitting somewhere where your legs dangle. Preferably while eating an ice cream.
Big tough blokes quietly being nice to cats. Will also take small dogs. Extra points for quiet talking.
People reading the same books as you on public transport are literally thinking the exact same things in the exact same order. People are kind of amazing.
There a misconception that small talk is without value because it is shallow and insincere. I nevertheless put it to you that small talk is instinctual, positive, hopeful, and based on a firm belief in the ability of people to cooperate. It’s one of those rare genres of human behaviour where, barring occasional awkwardness or cruelty, it’s difficult not to think we’re kind of cute how we can’t help talking to each other. If you’re feeling stuck: go to the shops. Don’t buy anything, just bump into people. You’ll be part of something, in a small, quite dorky way, before you know it.
The calming down of the water in downpipes after a big rainstorm is such a lovely sound. Nature, cleaning up after itself.
The lovely moments of human intimacy that are not romantic but are nevertheless small declarations of love. I remember realising somebody was a friend when she reached forward mid-sentence, pinched my arm ever so slightly, and said “ant”, flicking her hand over her shoulder. You can’t help smiling when those ones happen.
Life is full of little things that no rich fat cats can take away from you. Find yours. They’re worth holding onto. This has been a Public Service Announcement.
This column appeared in The Big Issue, which you should support whenever you can.