Blessings

The juggernaut of time

They say, “a week is a long time in politics”.

And I’m sure that that pith quote, attributed to Harold Wilson during the sterling crisis of 1964, is apposite to so many areas of our life.

But this is inverse and/or antithetical to where I find myself, where time is disappearing beneath my feet at breakneck speed.

“then I was a young man a thousand years old,
and now I am an old man waiting to be born.” — Charles Bukowski

What’s odd, though, is I always wanted to be old; or to grow up, so that for once in my life I’d be taken seriously.

And now?

I’m not sure.

It’s all so heavy — and replete with repetition.
And it’s not how I thought I’d feel.

If there’s a genesis to this post, it’s my late father-in-law, Brian Perring — a Totnesian through and through.

He was a big man, and I don’t just mean his physical size.

He had a presence but was also very down-to-earth.

I first met him when I was 21; he was 53.

He died aged 83, and I was then nearly the same age as when he first met me.

However, what really arrested my attention was thinking about turning 60 next year. I tried to place myself in his position when he was that age, and then it hit me: look how quickly those 23 years disappeared before he was dead! In that time, he lost his wife, had multiple spinal and knee-replacement operations, remarried, developed a massive house in Morleigh, ran a wedding car business and eventually succumbed to heart failure, and the latter period was also during Covid.

As is my way, my so-called “mind” started to work overtime about my kids’ age if I make it to 83; what I might do with those 23 odd years?; what will happen when I hit State retirement?; and on, and on it went.

I did eventually shake myself free from this spiral of “what ifs”, but I’d be lying if I wasn’t seized by a sudden sense of loss, despair and grief for how little I’ve done in my life, save moribund, dull and joyless work — and all (of course) of my making.

It sounds so depressing — and it is.

But I’m fine, now.

Well, at least, I’m fine in the sense that there’s a sense of an “aliveness”, knowing that life is to be treasured, for as long as I’m still here.

Then again . . . I can’t help but try to resurrect all the ancestors — the ancients of days — who I’m sure would have birthed the same or similar thoughts bearing on the time left to them, and the speed with which life slipped through their fingers.

And I’d wonder what they’d say to me . . . ?

---

Two days, only

As of 19 February 2026 (the date is etched on my soul), I’ll cease working in private practice (law) and be left with a small in-house job, working two days per week. I’ve tried to find another job — not in law — but despite casting my net across a plethora of roles, I’ve had zero interest.

I don’t get it.

Well . . ., I do actually: I’m too old; I’ve had too many jobs; and my CV looks like I’m a die-hard lawyer.

I’m not going to sweat it.

If I see something interesting (I did see this little role for my wife and I looking after a retreat centre), I’ll apply, but I’m in no desperate hurry to find another job.

What will I do with myself?

Erm . . . well, a few jobs around the house. Writing. Reading poetry and books that I’ve not gotten around to. Long walks on my own. Praying. Staring at trees. Talking to myself or being deathly silent. I jest of course, but only marginally.

The thing is, despite the money equation, I’ve no appetite for work but then again, I’m not retiring, which feels like a retreat, instead of a rebirth or whatever I’m aiming to achieve — nothing really.

I will keep you posted but one thing I’m not going to do is doomscroll. In fact, I’ve taken all my social media apps off my phone and if I do look at my phone, save WhatsApp, I’ll likely use my Kindle app to keep reading; it’s the Desert Fathers at the moment.

---

John Butler

I’ve been seized again by John’s work.

At the moment, I’m listening to him read his book, Mystic Approaches. If there was ever someone who I’d ascribe the label mystic, it’s John. And I think we could all learn from his life.

If you want to get started, here is the first part of an interview with Iain McNay, which now has a few million views.

---

Poetry

I will go live. Promise. I want to read Keats, Eliot, Milton, Eliot (I repeat myself) and Bukowski — and that’s for starters.

I’ve been remiss with my audio sharing but every time I post something on Substack I get a few people unsubscribe. I don’t blame them. Who wants to ruin their day with my warblings?

---

Walking

I’ve been sick, not deadly sick, for about six weeks. I’m coming out the other side but my fitness is shot to pieces. I’ve taken a few pictures (below) but I’m waiting on my new digital camera so that I can try to mix things up. I want to go out on the saunter and find a few brutalist buildings. I’ve got my eye on one in Cornwall and Somerset. If you follow my Notes, you’ll see my daily or as oft possible shares.

---

Reading

I’m reading Paul Kingsnorth’s book, “Against the Machine”. I’m taking my time; it’s a good old romp through the ages of our cultural malaise and a whole heap more. After that, I’m not sure what I want to read. I’ve an A.N. Wilson book on Jesus that I want to finish and there’s a biography of Milton that I want to start. Truth is (I need to stop saying this . . .), I’ve no appetite for a lot of the books I previously bought, which seem now more finger-wagging than spiritual sustenance. I suspect I’ll end up reading John Butler’s books, and one I’ve started on Kindle on the Desert Fathers.

---

Substack

First of all, a big thank you to all my new subscribers. It means the world to me, and I take nothing for granted in these always-on, social media days, where your attention is constantly being parsed as you deal with and cope with so many different things.

Having been on Substack for a while, I can see that it’s become the writing home for many people and probably ranks as a proper online community. I hope to engage more with it (and you) but I’ll need to get through the next few weeks where I’ll still be on call in two legal gigs. Thereafter, I will carve out some dedicated time but I’m not going to flood the place with too much content, as I think it’s easy to be seduced into believing that more is better, and I don’t think that’s the case.

I’ve still not worked out my praxis or my modus operandi. At the moment, I’m sharing a quote a day on Notes, the odd picture, which is light dependent, a poem and then, of course, my longer weekly piece — this one — on a Sunday. I do try to “like” and “Restack” as many of your pieces as I can, but if it ever gets too much, please say.

I’m sure I’m not the only person to remember #FF on Twitter. I don’t see it anymore on “X” but I’m thinking if there might be something I can do to shine a light on those people on Substack who I believe are worth following and throwing a few £/$ in their direction. We’ll see. I don’t want to commit to something I can’t sustain.

If there is anyone out there who believes I can improve my offering, don’t be shy in coming forward, but all I’d say is that if I can get to 500 followers, that would be a major achievement. At the moment, I have 172 subscribers.

---

Where next?

I know I need to get better in the creative department but it’s an uphill struggle. There are simply too many people now all doing the same or similar things. I can feel me wanting to go deep into silence and that will militate against too much sharing online. I’ll keep working no doubt but even if that ends, which might happen, I’ve got plenty of things to keep me entertained.

Anyhow, thanks for reading or stopping by.

All my love,
Julian