When I was [more of] a kid, my favourite day of the year was 21st December. Not my birthday (too much attention), nor the last day of school term. Christmas was the magical highlight of the year, but I was conscious that it went past too quickly. Christmas Eve contained too much of it's own excitement, so it was always the 21st that I longed for. It was that pause before triumph, the final surveyance of a peak before your conquer it.
More recently (and probably due to the Toilet Roll Hypothesis), it's no longer December 21st. For some intuitive reason my favourite day of the year has become December 15th. My time horizon has lengthened, I'm content right now.
So it's entirely apt that I spent a deliriously restless night last night, with the forces of sleep battling the hushed tones of Radio 4 (LW). I'd be sparodically woken for updates, and slip into a half hour limbo between consciousness and the wafting Swan. At 119-1 the 3rd Test is paused poignantly, with Australia right on the verge of the required third victory that would seal the Ashes. Watching the highlight's this evening in a hermit's autonomy captured the anticipation of the 15th December, along with that unique sporting thrill of counting down the minutes until victory. You've now reached that point where you know you're about to win. The Champagne's on ice. There's no alternative scenario. It's inevitable. It's happening. Nothing can go wrong. Just wait, and anticipate: (the opposite of longing).
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