I'll never be angry again.

A big part of me has always wanted to be a monk. They impress me. Tibetan monks especially. They are my monk of choice. Unless I’m in a street fight then I go Shoalin. Give me a 14 year old Shaolin with a bit of bamboo in his hands and I give you a safe passage home. It’s the Tibetan monks though, they’re just so calm and gracious. Some of these guys have been imprisoned, tortured, given all kinds of burns, most of them Chinese, and upon release what do the monks feel towards their captors? Compassion, love and hope. Hope that their angry little Chinese buddies will change. It’s commendable and I look up to it. I’d kill to learn that kind of compassion.

If I burn my hot cross bun I lose my shit. I’ll throw tea towels, I’ll yell, I’ll kick the bottom of a cupboard whilst lashing at the universe with a wooden spoon. A psychologist may be reading this thinking, ‘well that isn’t about the hot cross bun. That behaviour involves something far deeper than the hot-cross bun.’ Well my overly paid and rarely useful friend, I’m here to tell you, that behaviour is all about the hot-cross bun. More precisely it’s about the sultanas within the hot-cross bun. Can those things retain heat or what?! You try and save your burning hot-cross bun and your heroism costs you a scolded index finger and a decent spell under the cold tap. We’re all spending thousands of pounds on insulation but I’m telling you people, put three sultanas up there, four minutes in the microwave and you’re good for winter.

Would a monk think of that?  Doubt it.

Winter’s the problem though isn’t it? Santa has left the building, the decorations are down and we’re all two dull days away from yelling at the innocent. When’s the next festive escape? Easter, which isn’t for months and as mentioned, comes with it’s own set of issues. If I were a monk three months living under a grey blanket would be a breeze. It’s level one monk. Well I’m taking a leaf out of their book. They may not be getting full value from their sultanas but their ability to not get phased is the new cool and for once in my life I don’t want to miss out. I only heard about Nirvana when Kurt Cobain shot himself in the head. Not this time cool gang. I’m here. I know where you live. I’ve made plenty of grand statements in my time and a lot of people think I’m full of shit, and they are right, but mark my words. I will become the calmest person in my county. I will become the full monk. And if not, I will dance nude across the farms of Bedfordshire punching cows in the face.