Grumpiness is a way of life

I used to be a terrible grump who would rant and rage against the 1,001 irritations of modern British life. And then one day I decided life was too short to be permanently enraged by everything and everyone. 

For grumpy me, the sound of other people’s music in public spaces was agony. I’d seethe at the outrageous selfishness of such people. My quiet walks through the park would be shattered by the BOOM-BOOM-BOOM blast of music from a passing cyclist. And I’d shout: ‘Thanks for sharing your terrible taste in music!’  

The new, cool me reacted differently. ‘These kind people simply want to share their music with me! How thoughtful!’ 

There was a time when the daily sight of three or four rental bikes sprawled on the pavement would lead grumpy me to a wave of exasperated sighs and disapproving tuts. But calm me said: ‘Don’t get cross, just pick up the bikes.’ 

And when grumpy me got a blast of vape smoke in the face from the selfish git standing right in the middle of the pavement, I’d retaliate with a sneery look and a sarcastic: ‘Thanks for that!’ The calm me thinks: ‘Chill! This is the nature of city life. Don’t make such a big deal out of it.’

Eventually, I became so calm that I could face dog poo on my front steps (I don’t have a dog) or a discarded mattress propped up against my railings without instant rage or one of my crazy inner rants about the moral decay of modern Britain. So calm and Zen had I become I could even sit and endure those repetitive phone hold messages assuring me that ‘my call would be answered soon’ for up to 15 minutes.