Life... With No Breaks (A laugh-out-loud comedy memoir) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Nick Spalding
plays such an important part in this great undertaking we are in.
People say money rules the world, or love makes it go round, but I reckon what governs our lives more than anything else is that blasted ticking sound that marks off the minutes and seconds.
The clock is up there on the wall, working its malevolent magic. Putting time in a cage and locking you in there with it.
I’m a clock watcher.
One of those people who tends to look at his watch at least two or three times an hour to check how long I’ve got to a) keep working b) sit on this plane c) wait in this queue d) watch this terrible romantic comedy.
And I’m a stickler for having the right time on that watch as well.
There’s nothing worse than it running slow or fast. It cocks up my equilibrium completely.
There are people - I’m sure you know them - who say things like:
‘I always have my alarm clock running fast so I’ve got a bit of extra time in the morning!’
Utter bastards.
If you’re so insistent on having extra time in the morning, why not just set your alarm earlier ?
Invariably, these people are always late for everything anyway - which just goes to show, doesn’t it?
Our lives are beholden to the clock on the wall as it ticks off the seconds, minutes and hours.
We wake up to it, sleep to it, work to it and eat to it.
Hell, some of the time we even have sex or go to the toilet to it.
Most of the stress caused in the twenty first century is down to that horrible clock:
If you’re at work and have a deadline to meet.
If you’re going on a first date and have to be at that small, intimate bistro on the high street at seven thirty.
If you’re waiting in line to get a new tyre, knowing your lunch break has twenty minutes left and the queue in front looks like a forty minute wait.
You’re a complete slave to the clock and the ulcer it’s forming in your stomach lining.
But not to worry!
You’ll eventually reach a point where the clock ceases to have a huge impact on your life.
It's called retirement.
No longer will your days be controlled by Seiko, Timex or Tag Heuer.
You’ll still have lots to do with any luck - even if it’s only a shuffleboard tournament and a spot of light reminiscing - but it’ll be according to your own schedule.
It’s been said before but I’ll say it again:
How deeply ironic is it that the present given to people retiring from fifty years of work is usually a gold clock? At the time of life when the last thing you want to do is ever look at one of the bastards again.
Time flies when you’re having fun.
Why?
You’re not looking at the bloody clock all the time, that’s why!
You’ve got something occupying you that you’re actually enjoying - putting the clock completely out of your head. And when you’re not looking at it, the sneaky git goes round at break-neck speed, with no consideration for your feelings at all.
Three hours pass in what feels like three minutes…
On the opposite side of the fence, when you’re bored out of your tiny mind and would like nothing more than to spread your wings and fly away, the clock gets slower and slower. This is because you are looking at it.
Every five fucking minutes , it seems.
(Six thousand words in and we get the first use of the f-word - which is surprising, as I use it all the time. Anyone who says swearing is a sign of a small vocabulary needs kick in the head… a kick in the fucking head, that is.)
Can you sense my frustration with time keeping here? I’m sure you probably can.
I hate living according to a little round white face with numbers on and I’m sure if you think about it, you probably do too.
9.31 pm
6430 Words
See what I did there?
Here I am moaning about time governing our lives and that we’re all reliant on the clock - and I cheekily pop in a time-check to underline my point, contradicting myself in the process.
My English tutor always said I contradicted myself too
People say money rules the world, or love makes it go round, but I reckon what governs our lives more than anything else is that blasted ticking sound that marks off the minutes and seconds.
The clock is up there on the wall, working its malevolent magic. Putting time in a cage and locking you in there with it.
I’m a clock watcher.
One of those people who tends to look at his watch at least two or three times an hour to check how long I’ve got to a) keep working b) sit on this plane c) wait in this queue d) watch this terrible romantic comedy.
And I’m a stickler for having the right time on that watch as well.
There’s nothing worse than it running slow or fast. It cocks up my equilibrium completely.
There are people - I’m sure you know them - who say things like:
‘I always have my alarm clock running fast so I’ve got a bit of extra time in the morning!’
Utter bastards.
If you’re so insistent on having extra time in the morning, why not just set your alarm earlier ?
Invariably, these people are always late for everything anyway - which just goes to show, doesn’t it?
Our lives are beholden to the clock on the wall as it ticks off the seconds, minutes and hours.
We wake up to it, sleep to it, work to it and eat to it.
Hell, some of the time we even have sex or go to the toilet to it.
Most of the stress caused in the twenty first century is down to that horrible clock:
If you’re at work and have a deadline to meet.
If you’re going on a first date and have to be at that small, intimate bistro on the high street at seven thirty.
If you’re waiting in line to get a new tyre, knowing your lunch break has twenty minutes left and the queue in front looks like a forty minute wait.
You’re a complete slave to the clock and the ulcer it’s forming in your stomach lining.
But not to worry!
You’ll eventually reach a point where the clock ceases to have a huge impact on your life.
It's called retirement.
No longer will your days be controlled by Seiko, Timex or Tag Heuer.
You’ll still have lots to do with any luck - even if it’s only a shuffleboard tournament and a spot of light reminiscing - but it’ll be according to your own schedule.
It’s been said before but I’ll say it again:
How deeply ironic is it that the present given to people retiring from fifty years of work is usually a gold clock? At the time of life when the last thing you want to do is ever look at one of the bastards again.
Time flies when you’re having fun.
Why?
You’re not looking at the bloody clock all the time, that’s why!
You’ve got something occupying you that you’re actually enjoying - putting the clock completely out of your head. And when you’re not looking at it, the sneaky git goes round at break-neck speed, with no consideration for your feelings at all.
Three hours pass in what feels like three minutes…
On the opposite side of the fence, when you’re bored out of your tiny mind and would like nothing more than to spread your wings and fly away, the clock gets slower and slower. This is because you are looking at it.
Every five fucking minutes , it seems.
(Six thousand words in and we get the first use of the f-word - which is surprising, as I use it all the time. Anyone who says swearing is a sign of a small vocabulary needs kick in the head… a kick in the fucking head, that is.)
Can you sense my frustration with time keeping here? I’m sure you probably can.
I hate living according to a little round white face with numbers on and I’m sure if you think about it, you probably do too.
9.31 pm
6430 Words
See what I did there?
Here I am moaning about time governing our lives and that we’re all reliant on the clock - and I cheekily pop in a time-check to underline my point, contradicting myself in the process.
My English tutor always said I contradicted myself too
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