I’m in France. I’m at the shack. I’m writing five books. I’m going to publish them all myself over five weeks. I’m going to become a self-publishing sensation. (Keep hope alive.) But in the meantime, I keep getting distracted. A few days ago, for example, I started tidying at around 11am – organising rather than tidying; the living room, the kitchen, the shed – and suddenly it was 7pm and all I’d had to eat were two slices of toast. So I stopped organising and started cooking.

I took a long time over the meal, reducing the sauce slowly. Meanwhile, I started a fire outside, put on some music and took out a table and chair. I had enough wine left in my box for one single glass, so while the spaghetti was cooking, I poured it and took it to the table. Everything was perfect.

When the food was finally ready, I dished it up and made my way outside. Just as I was leaving the kitchen, however, my fork began to slide off the plate. Foolishly I made an attempt to stop it, which was when this happened.


I heard the wet splash and felt the plate become light before I’d really realised what had happened. ‘Did that really happen?’ I wondered, although only briefly, because the evidence was overwhelming. Then, wishing that someone else had been there to see it, but accepting that there wasn’t, I took a photo.

Then, very calmly, I grabbed most of the spaghetti, plopped it back on the plate, took it through to the kitchen and put it back in the pan. (Thankfully, I’d made enough sauce for a second plate.) Then I set about cleaning up the mess, starting with the wall.

Then I started laughing.

I laughed quite a bit. Not hysterically – not even remotely like a madman; just the right amount.

Then I threw the unsalvageable remains onto the fire, and took the second batch outside in the pan, just to be sure.

While I was eating, I realised that in the past – at pretty much any point in the past – there is every chance that, having done the same thing, I would have flown into something of a rage.

I then realised that – on the whole – I am fairly intensely happy. It’s true that I am growing increasingly tired of solitude, but that’s OK.

Life is good.

I caught the fork by the way.


About the Author

I am Karl Webster. I wrote these words. If you liked them, you'll be overjoyed to know that there are plenty more where they came from. So you should definitely sign up to my newsletter if you haven't already.

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