And so, and with my 50th birthday trundling over the horizon, I have decided to set some sort of disciplined tasks for myself. New year, new me. Etcetera.

One is to write every day. First thoughts, or stuff that just enters my head. And considering I am still being given a kicking by Jet-Lag, there’s no better time to do this than first thing in the morning before everyone else gets up. Or even when they do get-up.

Have tried blogging and journals before and have had zero self-discipline, at least not to the level required to extend beyond the end of all my other New Year’s resolutions. Occasionally I will post on a football forum, chirping away about whatever game I attended that day, all to get little thumbs-up from a group of like-minded geeks and nerds. Same with pretty much anything I try – all excited and enthused at the beginning, then can’t be bothered shortly afterwards. My cupboards are a potted history of failed self-improvement hobbies.

However. This year, brought to you by the numbers five and zero, seems different. I am now at an age where I am starting to get whatsapp messages from friends with “did you see so-and-so died? Massive heart attack”, and then followed by the person’s age, which now are starting with the same number as mine. And it’s honestly terrifying. I have an eight year old daughter, and I look at what legacy I can leave to her should I drop down dead in the morning, and “liking football and music” doesn’t seem like an awful lot to hang her fondest memories on.

I’m not looking to suddenly become a 49-year-old overnight sensation, but I’d just like to leave her something, anything where she could look back and go “yeah, that was my dad” with a semblance of pride. Not that I consider myself a bad dad, on the contrary I think I can definitely file myself under “alright”. I am bang average at pretty much everything, including parenting and husbanding. And that, for me, is enough. I won’t win Dad Of The Year, but I also won’t have songs written about my level of evil and being an awful dad.

Additionally, I can’t really do anything. I have no skills of note. I only learned to ride a bicycle in the last four years (and then only because my company offered to buy me a bike, forcing my hand slightly). I can’t play an instrument, I can’t drive a car, I have very little physical attributes. I am an ok writer of emails, and I can make people laugh, but that doesn’t pay any bills (yes, I DO know that books exist and I could write one, but that requires effort and discipline, and….you can see where I am going here).

So. Chapter one, page one, here we are. I have zero doubt in my mind I will keep this going through January and then likely drop off entirely. But we’ll see how it goes.