Already this year, on several occasions, I've thought:
Oh Lord, I can't do this thing again. Not for another year.
I don't mean any of the big things like kids, wife, job, real ale, jazz. I'm deliriously happy with all that stuff.
Yes, deliriously so.
It's the little things. The nugacious little distractions that can't help but repeat themselves. The little devils in the detail.
But I can't tell you what they are. It's probably your fault.
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