J keeps telling me I should get a hobby.
She's either just come back from her latest exercise class or got her marks back from her Esperanto homework when she says this. She is a woman whose spare time is rarely spared. Before she decided to learn an internationalist language (which has an interesting leftist history, by the way), she was playing guitars (she has more than one). And what was it before that? Cooking, perhaps.
In short, she fills her time. In contrast, my time hangs around like a sullen teenager on the corner, surreptitiously smoking cigarettes, kicking stones and wondering what he's going to do with himself now the local youth club has shut down. Come to think of it, I'm wondering whether I ever had any hobbies. True, I did like building Airfix model kits of Second World War fighter planes once. But that was 40 years ago. So what does that leave?
The fact is it's been years since I went to see Stirling Albion play (1). I've played golf twice in my life (possibly something to do with the fact the first time I split my cousin's head open on the first tee and the second time I was just crap at it). I have no interest in cars, model railways, climbing Munros or visiting whisky distilleries. I don't even collect stamps.
I'm starting to wonder what I actually do in my life at all. Well, I read, I suppose. I try to catch up on the telly I've missed (2), buy magazines that pile up and I never get around to even browsing, listen to football on Five Live and go on YouTube to track down videos from obscure Scottish bands from the 1980s (3). But in terms of actually obsessing over something, anything - the answer is nada. Nowt. Nothing.
I'm starting to question if drinking tea and the odd visit to Cineworld even constitutes a life at all. I'm wondering if I should ask the doctor to check my pulse. At the same time I feel perfectly content in my little existence. But perhaps I'm fooling myself. Perhaps I should organise a little mid-life crisis to juice things up a bit, buy a motorbike or run away with a twentysomething blonde. The thing is I've always thought motorbikes are, well, a bit naff. And I'm not sure if I've got the looks or the income to attract a twentysomething of any hair colour. Where does that leave me? Thinking I should consider starting that stamp collection. I'll get around to it tomorrow. Maybe. Tea, anyone?
 If I tell you the chant at the time was "Super Johnny Brogan", a real Bino fan will be able to tell you how long ago it was.
 I still have one episode of Borgen to go. Don't tell me what happens.
 Anyone else remember the Fruits Of Passion? No? Just me, then.
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