Say no to that Joe Wicks.

As he tries to get you to wibble and wobble around your lounge.

Like a child.

That’s had too much Sunny Delight.

Go hardcore instead.

Jesse Lingard.

Choose Jesse Lingard.

Spend 40 minutes with the Manchester United midfielder.

3 Rounds.

Of 4 sets.

Cardio.

Core.

Strength.

Plus a bonus round if you want that too.

Here.

Have a go.

I did it in 5 minutes.

Carrying a car.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/av/52480996.

This pausing.

It is probably the worst thing that has ever happened to us.

And the best.

Worst and Best.

This pausing is the worst thing that has ever happen to us.

Because friends and family will die before their time.

And this pausing is the best thing that has ever happened to us.

Simply because we are pausing.

And pausing is good.

Because pausing is time to reflect.

Refocus.

And renew

Pausing.

Inside this pausing.

I wanted to mention a little trend that I noticed.

A trend that has.

In the last 4 or 5 weeks.

Swung one way.

And then another.

I wanted to mention a little trend that I noticed.

Because I’d predict that it will continue to swing.

Back.

And forth.

And it is a trend around moaning.

Moaning. 

Before Covid-19 came along.

There was a lot of fucking moaning.

Sometimes it was moaning about something.

And sometimes it was moaning about nothing.

But either way.

There was a lot of fucking moaning.

Then a global pandemic kicked in.

And most moaning disappeared.

Because we had something to bring us together.

A shared purpose.

It was a horrible thing that brought us together, of course.

But Covid-19 brought about a great surge in togetherness.

Generosity.

And selflessness.

And I was quite proud of that.

The Pendulum. 

But the pendulum is.

I think.

Swinging back the other way again right now.

Moaning is once again on the increase.

And I get it.

Times are tricky.

But I just wanted to point out that there are better things to do than moan.

And most involve getting off your arse.

And being the change you want to see.

A Prediction.

You see.

I’d predict that the moaning will increase for the duration of the lockdown now.

Then it will pause again once a vaccine is found.

Because once again we will have a joint purpose.

It will be our joint purpose to get back out there.

It will be our joint purpose to look after the greater good individually and as a society once more.

It will be our joint purpose to hug and hug and hug those we have missed.

And to rebuild relationships.

It will be our joint purpose to invest in the shattered economy.

And it will be our joint purpose to cradle the most bruised and the most battered.

And that will all be good.

But after that surge.

I’d predict that the moaning will come back again.

In late 2021.

Or early 2022.

As we reemerge fully.

As the new normal embeds.

And as.

Amongst other things.

We look to blame.

And all I wanted to point out.

To myself as much as anyone else.

Is that there are always options to moaning.

Whether it is with external impetus.

Or whether it is without external impetus.

Because the impetus not to moan can come from me.

For me.

And from you.

For you.

Positivity.

I will choose positivity.

Because I will have such good reasons to do so.

The best reason being.

That I will be glad to have made it to the other side.

If indeed I do make it to the other side.

Because many people that I know now.

Or that I once knew

Will not have.

Positivity.

I think I’ll owe it to myself.

To you.

But most of all perhaps.

To them.

That Veruca Salt is a right spoilt shit.

Awful child.

She talks a lot of bollocks, actually.

But perhaps the silliest thing she ever said.

(And that reveals a lot about her).

Is this:

Snozzberries?

Who ever heard of a Snozzberry?

Snozzberries.

Willy Wonka’s reply to Veruca’s question.

Is excellent.

Here it is: https://www.50odd.co.uk/snozzberries/.

(There’s a 15 second video further down the page at 50odd.co.uk).

Invent. 

My advice to you.

And to me.

Is to invent what the fuck you want.

Snozzberries.

Gozzberries.

Anythingberries.

Because it’s your life.

So pack it with what you will.

Just remember this bit:

We are the music makers.

And we are the dreamers of dreams.

And you’ll be fine.

Ode. By Arthur O’Shaughnessy.

Here is Author O’Shaughnessy’s excellent poem.

In full.

We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams; —
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world’s great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire’s glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song’s measure
Can trample a kingdom down.

We, in the ages lying,
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself in our mirth;
And o’erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world’s worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.

A breath of our inspiration
Is the life of each generation;
A wondrous thing of our dreaming
Unearthly, impossible seeming —
The soldier, the king, and the peasant
Are working together in one,
Till our dream shall become their present,
And their work in the world be done.

They had no vision amazing
Of the goodly house they are raising;
They had no divine foreshowing
Of the land to which they are going:
But on one man’s soul it hath broken,
A light that doth not depart;
And his look, or a word he hath spoken,
Wrought flame in another man’s heart.

And therefore to-day is thrilling
With a past day’s late fulfilling;
And the multitudes are enlisted
In the faith that their fathers resisted,
And, scorning the dream of to-morrow,
Are bringing to pass, as they may,
In the world, for its joy or its sorrow,
The dream that was scorned yesterday.

But we, with our dreaming and singing,
Ceaseless and sorrowless we!
The glory about us clinging
Of the glorious futures we see,
Our souls with high music ringing:
O men! it must ever be
That we dwell, in our dreaming and singing,
A little apart from ye.

For we are afar with the dawning
And the suns that are not yet high,
And out of the infinite morning
Intrepid you hear us cry —
How, spite of your human scorning,
Once more God’s future draws nigh,
And already goes forth the warning
That ye of the past must die.

Great hail! we cry to the comers
From the dazzling unknown shore;
Bring us hither your sun and your summers;
And renew our world as of yore;
You shall teach us your song’s new numbers,
And things that we dreamed not before:
Yea, in spite of a dreamer who slumbers,
And a singer who sings no more.