31 May 2013


You've probably heard these two sayings - "Today is the first day of the rest of your life" and "Live each day as if it's your last". Gloomily contemplating my mortality on Sunday afternoon, the penny finally dropped. "Yeah", I thought to myself, "life is short. You've got to make the most of every day!" So I resolved to give myself a kick up the arse, stop prevaricating, stop lazing about and change my life's gears from first to fifth. To live each day as if it were your last...

On Monday I was up at dawn. Instead of the customary bowl of muesli and a banana I had a full English breakfast. It was time for Shirley to get up. "Coo-ey!" I called up the stairs and she came down in her dressing gown. "What the hell's going on?" she said pointing at the dining table where her breakfast plate was waiting - scrambled eggs, bacon, mushrooms, sausages, grilled tomatoes and a round of wholemeal toast. I explained that I had decided to live each day as if it were my last and that I was getting an early train to London. "Well I hope you do the washing up before you go!"

An hour later, after paying £145 for a first class train ticket to London, I was rattling along through the Midlands towards our great metropolis when I noticed a familiar face. He was sitting just across the aisle from me. It was our local MP and the Deputy Prime Minister - The Right Honourable Nicholas Clegg. He was leafing through some parliamentary papers and looking very important. He certainly wasn't expecting the daunting shadow of Yorkshire Pudding to fall across his table. "Can I help you?" he whined. "You sir are a complete and utter twat!" I sneered before grabbing his attache case and proceeding to fling his papers all over the carriage. Clegg was dumbfounded and like a big girl's blouse called for the guard.

The guard was all for slinging me off the train at Leicester but I slipped him a twenty pound note and for the rest of the journey endured the congratulations of my fellow passengers. "I've always wanted to do that!" said one as Clegg cowered sheepishly in the corner casting furtive glances my way - like a well-beaten dog. 

At St Pancras I headed to the front of the taxi queue, pushing a couple of American tourists from Canton, Georgia out of the way before leaping in to the cab. "The Lyceum Theatre!" I instructed and soon we were weaving through the capital city's notorious traffic. I didn't have a ticket to see "The Lion King" so I headed for the stage door, brazenly flashing my Co-op Rewards Card at the security guard. I secured a seat in the front row of the stalls in spite of an old bejewelled biddy's protests and sat back to enjoy the show - an uplifting adventure that follows a fearless young lion cub called Simba as he learns about life on his journey to become King of the lions with memorable songs by Elton John and Tim Rice.

Afterwards I headed to "The Greenhouse" restaurant in Mayfair. "Have you got a reservation sir?" said this southern ponce at the door. "Have you got your own teeth?" I snarled, shoving him against the mahogany hat stand before claiming a corner table and enjoying a thoroughly delightful and exceedingly posh three course meal washed down with a litre of Moët & Chandon Dom Perignon White Gold.

Later, a  private speedboat sped me along the Thames towards Greenwich where we spun around and surged back towards Tower Bridge and the Houses of Parliament. It was an energising experience. Amazingly, I spotted Clegg again - on his way into the seat of government I couldn't help myself as I yelled, "Oi Clegg!". He turned. "You're still a twat!"

On the train back to Sheffield, I saw the pop singer Jarvis Cocker brazenly snorting a line of cocaine. His spectacles were clouded with the stuff - like flour in a bakery. "Want some?" he challenged and never having tried the stuff before I said yes. It was all I could do to stop myself from sneezing but in a few minutes I was on a different plane of being as Jarvis and I crafted the lyrics to a new hit album. "Tickets please!" said the guard interrupting our high jinx. "Tickets Please. Good name for the album!" I suggested.
At Sheffield Station I went into the Sheffield Tap and sampled each one of the eleven  traditional handpulled cask ales and then a busty young lady of the night called Leona asked if I wanted "business". Being a gentleman I will not detail what then happened in the disabled toilet just off platform one save to say that a dishevelled and dreamy-eyed Leona was heard afterwards mumbling, "You can't beat a good Yorkshire pudding!"

Back home in the suburbs, Shirley was just going up to bed when I put my key in the lock. 

"Well, did you live today as if it was your last?" she asked.

"I guess so," I surmised.

"And what about tomorrow? Will you be living that as if it's your last as well?"

"Nah! I'm knackered. I think I'll just do a bit of gardening. Living each day as if it's your last is bloody expensive and exhausting! Night night love!"


And we kissed.

Dear reader...if it was your last day, how would you live it?


  1. Hilarious! As for your question, I will have to think about that...

  2. What would Auntie Bessie say Pud?

    Call me a cynic (you'd be right)...
    then you woke up, to find the banana had gone oft, there was no milk in house for the sawdust settlings of the muesli cowering in the bottom of the box.

    Dream on!


  3. I'm with Jennyta Sir YP ~ hilarious!

    Indeed something to ponder over the weekend.

  4. Oops! I interrupt my reading after the first paragraph to ask you if you didn't mean to say procrastinating instead of prevaricating???

  5. This comment has been removed by the author.

  6. Now that I've finished the post, I see that you did indeed mean prevaricating....

  7. I'm assuming I'd only have one day's notice. I would begin my last day the same as I do when I'm leaving on any extended trip, by making a list to leave for my son, Bob. It would remind him of all the animals, what they eat, where their food is stored, and if there were any problems to be aware of. On the kitchen counter I would leave the small pile of unpaid bills and top it with my bank card. In the afternoon I'd sit in the garden with a hose in my hand, watering flowers. I'd spend my last evening in my favorite overstuffed chair, sitting sideways with my feet flopped over the edge, two cats on my lap while I played Solitaire on my iPhone and listened to Paul Togioka's Hawaiian slack string guitar.

  8. What a nice read. I followed you from Hilltophomesteader, my friend.
    I would live my last day taking a good look at my son;'s face to remember every line and maybe do some knitting, spinning, sewing, quilting, making more socks on my antique circular sock machine, sewing on my treadle and putting my hands in the dirt.

  9. JENNY Glad I made you chuckle. I will wait expectantly for your "as if it were your last day" ideas.
    LETTICE LEAF Lay off the gin Lettice. It's nice to have a snifter but not at eleven in the morning madam!
    CAROL CUNNINGHAM Would your last day be in Cairns?
    RHYMES WITH... It could easily have been "procrastinating". How would you live as if each day was your last? Go to Mansfield?
    JAN BLAWAT And there's me thinking you'd paint Sacaramento red and party like it was 1999! You are just too darn sensible!
    N.MARIA How do you do ma'am. Nice to have you dropping by my blog and considering so thoughtfully your "live each day as if it were your last" philosophy. Please post me the socks before you go!

  10. You can't beat a good Yorkshire pudding?! But how do you produce the batter?

  11. I've had chance to sleep and dream about your question as to what I would I would do if I knew this day would be my last. My unconscious has spoken, but I'm not sure I would have to time to make the necessary arrangements since they involve David Cameron and a giant root vegetable.

    Besides, it wouldn't be becoming to waste my last hours on earth on such a spiteful act as asking our PM to bend down and take what's coming to him no matter how much satisfaction that might give both me and a grateful nation.

  12. You should have said "Ee bah gum" to the Southern ponce to rub in the fact that he was being humiliated by a genuine bull-arsed Yorkshireman. I would have just eaten a lot of fruit and farted like thunder.

  13. I've thought about your question and I think it would be easy to weave a yarn of what I'd do if today were my last if I didn't really believe it was. If I KNEW it was my last day, no doubt it'd be a different story. Hmm. I'll think some more....and maybe pray for ya'll ;-)


Mr Pudding welcomes all genuine comments - even those with which he disagrees. However, puerile or abusive comments from anonymous contributors will continue to be given the short shrift they deserve. Any spam comments that get through Google/Blogger defences will also be quickly deleted.

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