My family gathered last night for another season of Strictly.
Most years I don’t even join them in the room;
Last night I balanced on the settee, albeit with my laptop for comfort and half and half sat through contestants spiralling onto the screen amidst glitz and glamour.
Well, the inevitable happened; after ten or fifteen minutes of showbiz, I retreated to reading Stephen King’s latest book, The Outsider. (If anyone has read this, please don’t tell me what happens!)
Have I failed my family? Society?
What the heck is wrong with me?
I know my mum, if she were still here, would have been watching, my dad too. It is hypnotic candyfloss. Yet, I preferred the confines of my Kindle.
An easy out would be to blame genetics, but, as I say, both my parents would likely have been there.
The only explanation is my twisted experience and perception, all of my own making.
No one to blame but myself.