Yesterday would have been my dad’s 77th birthday. He made it about 7 months into his 69th, not quite three score and ten but not that far off. I have very little time for grief, it’s such a selfish emotion.. me, me fucking me. The only thing that pissed me off was that he missed the the FA cup final the year after, when we got that fucking banner ripped down. He missed the goal against QPR and the faces of the rags at Sunderland. My regrets are for him, not for me.
If you find yourself in the middle of the road, dying, after being run over by a bus, and thinking “I wish I had gone on that holiday, or bought that car, or asked her to marry me” and you had the means to to do those things, then fuck you. Life is short, we have our time to make it as wonderful as we can, then we’re gone for good. If you haven’t done that, then you need to change your thinking.