By Charlie Charalambous
How do we define a good day or even a bad one? There are days that can change your life forever through illness, disaster, misfortune or extreme good luck. These types of happenings belong in a different category.
I’m more interested in your normal run-of-the-mill good or bad day. Most of us start our day just hoping to get through it without anything going badly wrong – like the car not starting, missing the bus or losing your phone.
Others are incorrigibly positive about every second they are alive and address every mishap as a step towards self-fulfilment. Some days are better than others while the rest seem to merge into one fuzzy memory. Sod’s law requires that everything goes wrong with the worst possible outcome, while Murphy’s law dictates that anything that can go wrong will go wrong (eventually).
Any of these two dicta can be applied to having a bad day or prove beyond reasonable doubt fate has kicked you in the teeth. We can all share memories of when things went totally belly-up but lived to tell the tale.
Contemplation on how our days begin and end, or, for that matter, how we judge them, was sparked by a Sunday that went seriously pear-shaped. I woke up to find I couldn’t move my left hand in any particular direction. I thought I must have slept on it and the pain would go away. It did not. I couldn’t raise my arm above shoulder height and any rotational movement was a killer.
I was reminded of Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis in which travelling salesman Gregor Samsa wakes up to find himself transformed into a giant cockroach. Imagine getting your head around that change of fortune. After getting used to having the use of only one arm, I decided to go for a drive but couldn’t find the keys.
It later transpired that my son had mistakenly taken the car keys with him to Ayia Napa for the entire weekend. Okay s*** happens but I consoled myself with the fact that at last I could relax and watch Chelsea play Arsenal in the community shield.
Wishful thinking. My TV went on the blink as did my set top box. Nice one. After making arrangements to watch the game elsewhere, I had to endure the Blues losing to Arsenal in a penalty shootout. Keeper Thibault Courtois tried to hit a Russian space station with his penalty and £65-million striker Alvaro Morata scuffed his shot ridiculously wide.
Arsenal celebrated like they had won the Word Cup and Chelsea fans were left wondering if Conte would morph into Mourinho during his last spell. Because the Diego Costa affair feels a lot like Jose’s gaffe against well-liked first team doctor Eva Carneiro. Have a good day.