Look, I know optimism and happiness is not cool.
Let me digress. One day, many moons ago, Warwick at Greville was dealing with a customer who didn’t like Paul McCartney. I’ll paraphrase, but our anti-McCartney-ist, let’s call him John…well John just thought Macca was a bit of a lightweight. He’s pop waste. Especially Wings. Where’s the balls? Where’s the passion? Compared to Lennon’s best solo work, which came roaring like fire from the stomach and the heart, Macca was a wet blanket.
To which Warwick responded: It’s not his fault he lived a blessed life.
Which is true. He did. He was the victim of divorce, sure, but he took it in his stride. He was in a great band, made millions, laughed his way through it, married early, very little baggage and didn’t find religion. Would you want him to write and sing something like ‘Mother’? No. So he has his detractors but he’s happier than the lot of us. Yes, it means he churns out mundane work sometimes, but the guy’s blessed, what do you expect?
So I haven’t made McCartney’s millions, but I’m feeling pretty blessed. I sat today in Kensington Gardens, drinking a coffee and thinking about Peter Pan (it’s set in that park). And thinking, for the first time ever, that things have turned out kind of all right for me overall. And any time anyone has ever said to me “You’ll be fine”, I’ve always brushed off, but they are right.
Again, let me digress. I remember something Judie said…”It’s not like you’re whole life is going to fall apart because you haven’t booked a hostel for one night. Like, I lost everything in my life and then I died because I didn’t book a hostel for one night.”
Anyway that’s a long ramble into what I want to say, which is I’ve had a good life. I really have.
I met someone today who knew someone I used to know. Who passed away, and who I miss dearly. I mumbled and stumbled my way through the conversation. And yeah, there are down times. Things go wrong. But I feel like I’ve made so many right moves. Like every job I’ve left there has been mixed feelings, but it always ends up that I left at the right time. I’ve made more right choices then wrong choices. Even when I’ve been off course, something there knocks me back on it.
So I followed my heart out of Australia. Then followed it Spain, which led me to London, which is exactly where I need to be right now. I feel like it’s coming together, and the future is bright. And I look back, and I have no complaints. And few regrets.
I don’t know what you think of Wings. It could be the self indulgent ramble of someone happier than you. A boring tirade that is without heart, fire or balls. Four colours, no edges. That’s fine. Whatever makes you happy, I guess. But it’s not my fault.
(it’s late, I ramble. I prefer McCartney over Lennon. Superman over Batman. Brandon over Dylan.)