Introspective

I’m sitting at in front of a my flat screen monitor, head buried deep in pencil squiggles, crossings out and Excel formulas. Square eyes set in hours ago and everyone else left the office at home time. “What the hell am I doing still here?” I ruminate to myself. With that I’m running for the 20.54, a potentially mythical bus which the various timetables disagree on the existence of. It arrives, albeit a different route number. My demons always start with a bus journey like this…

Home and tired, half a pizza pings in the microwave and I’m just in time to crack open a Saltaire Cascade as Dimbleby open up the Beeb’s election proceedings. It seems like a lifetime ago since I was in the polling station before work. Sarah’s gone to bed, I’m staring straight through the TV as the country peers in on itself from little boxes and social networks.

Cascade is all lemon flavour eco-friendly washing up liquid and digestive biscuits. It disappears before Sunderland’s first ballot boxes are returned and a second beer follows quickly. The Kernel Brewery Centennial Pale Ale wows me. It’s the refreshing tonic I need, it’s Um Bongo aroma cuts through my zombie-like state. Ribena, oats, not too bitter: it’s perfect.

Little do I know it but control of the evening has long since slipped away. It was always heading this way but as always, I didn’t realise until much later. Lack of sustenance and a fragile state of mind soon lead to self-reflection, self-doubt and self-pity.

The pale ale is gone all too quick. By the end the first few seats are announced and a huge Tory swing looks likely. I’m pondering on my vote, on the country’s votes, mulling over the issues that really matter. I ponder over work, over the numbers still swirling in my head. 95% of what I’ve done won’t get used during tomorrow mornings meeting. C’est la vie!

The evaluation that began on the bus journey continues, and Moor JJJ IPA is an enthusiastic catalyst to soul searching. What am I doing sat drinking alone, how will this help me in the morning? I sniff the pungent liquid in the glass, simply to justify the drinking of it (and not admit I’m drinking to get away from the world). I jot down some token phrases – ‘fruit pudding’, ‘peaches’, ‘robust alcohol’ and even ‘aniseed’. ‘This is no IPA’ I add. Just like my job isn’t real marketing… Like my blog isn’t real writing… Like the Lib Dems popularity won’t translate to real votes…

In a flurry I scribble lots of things down. A book idea, a vision for a greener earth, a world without borders, a few illegible words on the beer I’m drinking, a song lyric that will never be put to music… The country are musing on their future, beer bloggers are looking inwards in order to start writing outside their comfort zones, I feel at a crossroads in many different aspects of my life and something is compelling me to make a change, or a difference, or a stand.

It all feels pretty insignificant. My grand designs are a fallacy. It’s hard to accept that you simply aren’t prepared to make the sacrifice needed. There’s a certain irony as MPs who’ve decided to do just that are rounded upon on the television. Democracy at it’s best and worst.

What can a man do but open a Thornbridge Halcyon and settle for life’s simple pleasures. As I do everything feels better and for the first time in 48 hours I feel relaxed. My attentions turn away from my inner sanctum, away from utopian dreams. I knock a big swig of beer back (passionfruit, pineapple, dashes of peaches and strawberries, Halcyon is an Innocent Smoothie on acid). I daydream of promotion celebrations on Saturday and smile under the weight of a happy memory. A Lib Dem seat comes in. I slump into the sofa content and let my brain turn off.

Waking up with the lights on and TV blaring at 5.05am that euphoric feeling wore off a bit. Especially as I looked at the grim blue constituency scene overlaid on the familiar map of the UK. It’s weird how all those weary, slightly inebriated thoughts disappeared too, only to come flooding back in the shower a day later. Sometimes you can look too deep, and sometimes not look inwards enough. Sometimes you just need a beer to see the wood not just the trees.