I watched Saving Private Ryan on Netflix last night. What a classic. An All-Star classic led by Tom Hanks, it is a film that has stood the test of time.
Certainly, it was ahead of its time in terms of cinematography.
I think I last watched it in 2002 when sufficient time had elapsed to render it child friendly in the Patterson household.
It is a meandering account of life during an actual war. A visceral, harrowing account of the horrors of trench warfare.
Can you imagine what that was like?
Personally speaking, no, not really. I am sat here…
Recently, I had lunch with the CEO of a company that had just been acquired. It was a real good news story.
George, the guy involved, is the most humble, down to earth, honest and conscientious man I have ever worked with.
Over lunch, he showed me his bank balance. He had picked up a couple of million quid in the exit, and boy, he had earned it.
I had been through the journey with him, as a Non-Exec. I had witnessed, first-hand, his diligence; the 20 hour days, life on the road staying in travel lodges, the monthly scramble…
Life is a bit rough right now, isn’t it? If you are reading this in the UK, then the claustrophobic embrace of lockdown is upon us. Again.
With vaccines being administered at a good rate of knots, that gives us hope, but nonetheless, life’s rich tapestry, of which we have become accustomed, continues to elude us.
There is the hope of an exit from this Covid half-life in March. Or, maybe Easter. It could be summer though. The deadline for the cessation of Covid related activities keeps slipping further and further away, and with it, the illusory mirage of hope.
I wish there some sort of interactive guessing capability available with Medium. I would love to hear the guesses.
Personally, my guess would be around 700, 000. Out of a UK population of roughly 67,000,000, that would just be just over 1%.
1 in every 100 people would be millionaires in the UK.
That feels about right, to me. I don’t know many millionaires, but I know lots of people. 1 in 100 would feel intuitively close to the mark.
My guess, however, would be extremely wrong. If it was a test, I would have failed. If it was University…
“If 2020 didn’t bring the hustle out of you, it ain’t in you”
Seldom do I find myself agreeing with Mr P. Diddy. I would not consider myself an aficionado of his music, nor a keen scholar of his literature. Never have I reference his philosophical musings in a University essay.
It is fair to say that P. (Peter? Philip? Patrick? Not sure) does not easily sit alongside great scholars such as Aristotle, Stephen Hawking or Oscar Wilde. His place in the pantheon of great intellects is far from assured.
I agree with him here, though.
This is real talk.
My God, I am excited to write this article.
I have been searching for a reason to complain about alcohol for a long, long time. Hating alcohol is about as unpopular as puppy genocide. If you say it out loud, people look at you funny. Whispers and rumours start; “that Patterson fella has gone a bit soft hasn’t he? Weirdo”.
Particularly in Ireland where I genuinely believe it would be easier to express Neo-Nazi political leanings or advocate for a King Herod style infanticide than it would be to be an out-of-the-closet teetotaller.
Today, on the feast of St. Stephen…
I don’t remember much of last Christmas, to be honest. That’s not to say it wasn’t memorable. I loved it and cherished every moment. it’s just that, after 32 years of familiar tradition, they tend to blur together a little.
We had turkey and pulled crackers, just like every other year.
It passed us by, just like every other year.
Christmas 2020 will live long in the memory. Yes, we are living in pandemic times, but also, we have two empty seats at the table. My Brother and my Nana. It’s the first year that we have not been together…
Life ain’t great right now. Another Covid sponsored lockdown looms large. Mr Grinch has won this Christmas, for sure.
It gets dark at 3 PM right now. It doesn’t get light until 9 am.
Light is good. We take it for granted. Those lazy summer evenings where options are limitless and plans are made in an instant, I yearn for them.
It gets slightly easier this week, though. Specifically on the 22nd of December every year. The winter solstice happens on the 21st.
You thought I meant Christmas day, when you began reading this, didn’t you? …
“There is nothing new under the sun”
That’s the kind of statement thrown around by middle-aged men halfway through their pint of stout. It’s an axiom — a self-evident truth.
Boiled down, it means that there is nothing new in this world. Nothing that is happening now, hasn’t happened before.
Now, if you want to get pernickety, you could argue that the Pharaohs weren’t catching up via Zoom and driverless chariots hadn’t really kicked off back then.
It has a broader meaning; human behaviours and ideas haven’t changed all that much over the years. Facebook is your alumni gathering of…
Pyramid schemes, Nigerian princes, timeshares and craft beer.
This is a list of industrial scams that I am acutely aware of.
Of that list, unsurprisingly, the most palatable and inoffensive is your local IPA.
It may not hurt quite as much as the fatal disappointment I suffered, aged 13, when realising that Prince Kwame of Lagos had not really bequeathed me the $400,000,000 he had promised in his kind email…but it is still a real annoyance.
There are many artisan industries that I could choose to aim at — but I have elected to aim fire at the craft breweries…