The Perfect Day

Last weekend I went out for dinner with a friend. We were sat in Brixton village, eating Brazilian cuisine, and drinking wine, when the subject of fond memories came up. An expansive topic admittedly, but one which sparked a wave of conversation. We talked about the times when we’d felt happiest, why that might have been, and then delved into times when both of us were, for lack of better phrase, not so happy either. We even discussed politics and religion in relation to our own wellbeing, both subjects contentious to say the least, but at this juncture the wine was flowing and the risky subject did not seem to matter. Then, much later on, just when the topic of happiness seemed to have run its course, I asked my friend what was her best day ever. She thought for a moment, before declining to answer on the basis the question was too tricky. She then proceeded to ask me the same thing.

I think most people would find it hard to recall just one day, where they felt happier than they ever have before, and I am no exception. Despite the fact I raised the question I hadn’t really ever given it much thought.

Not deterred by the wine and the hindrance it had placed upon my cognitive function I proceeded to rattle my booze hazed brain for an answer. Could I pick just one day? A day above every other day where I felt the best. A day I’ll never forget. One perfect day. It’s a hard thing to do, but I implore you to try as I did. Why? Simple, because the day you come up with may surprise you. It certainly did me. 

There have been many very good days.  In fact I look back on things like, my best friend’s wedding, or the day I got Masters exam results, or even the time I got offered a job after being unemployed for two months. Those were very good days. However, good, or even great is not the best. Take my best friend’s wedding. It was a fantastic full-on experience, jam packed with brilliant friends, great food, loads of booze, and a lot of love. However, I had to give a speech, and that really scared me. As such it’s hard not to look back and remember the terror I felt on that day. I do however sincerely hope it was the best day of my friend and his now wife, lives. After all that was what it was really about. As for my exam results, the day really only started after I opened that tiny envelope, and following that I think I became quite sick. Okay, okay there were at least five or six excellent hours in between where I felt awesome as I tucked into pint and shot after pint and shot, but it still ended in disaster and as such cannot possibly qualify for “Perfect Day” status.

Next up there’s getting a new job after being unemployed for a long period of time. This event followed on from me frivolously sacking off a perfectly good job with nothing to go to afterwards. Understandably, the relief when someone finally took me on was incredible. The joy of that day was inevitably replaced very quickly with dread. Dread because of the realisation that I now had a job and as such would have to go to work again. So, that day cannot be my best day.

How about running a marathon? No way. That day was too painful. The day of my first kiss? Not even close - really bad breath and banging foreheads saw that that little beauty didn’t even make the top five. My parents’ twenty fifth wedding anniversary came close. Dinner at the Savoy and a nice bar crawl around London. This was vetoed because, as the name of the event suggests, it was my parents’ twenty fifth wedding anniversary, and really nothing to do with me. Despite that small fact I did make an excellent third wheel for a day. 

So what’s left? I’ve had personally very important days, but perfect’s a hard nut to crack. Just when I thought I’d have to concede that the question was just too open and difficult an answer struck me. My perfect day was, not an extraordinary day, it was just an ordinary day. A day I’d often talked about cheerfully, where a mixture of something special and yet something commonplace happened. Let me explain fully.

At this point I should issue an apology to anyone reading this who doesn’t follow football, because this next section requires a little bit of background knowledge. Start off by googling “FA cup final 2006”, then click on wiki link. Within the first paragraph wikipedia will tell you in no uncertain terms that this is often regarded as the best final of all time. It was definitely the best final I’ve ever witnessed. It was meant to be a final that I watched in a pub with a group of mates, but as it happened I didn’t quite make it there.

Maybe some background is important at this point. Something to set the scene. In 2006 I had just graduated. I had also fallen in love for the first time. I know university is meant to be the time where you meet people who challenge you romantically, but I waited until my last month of a four year course before that really happened to me. The weather was unbelievably hot, I owned my own car and the beach was about twenty minutes away. Moreover, I lived near all my close friends at the time, and none of us at that point had gotten jobs, so were breezing care-free head-first into the summer. Unsurprisingly, I spent a lot of the time sun bathing, drinking and shagging. It was what Frank Sinatra would have probably referred to as a very good year. 

So, back to the pub, or not as it was. I was meant to meet my mates about half an hour before kick off. However, the night before I’d had a few beverages with the above mentioned girl and as such ended up staying at hers. The morning was a perfect hangover morning. Firstly there wasn’t a hangover, well not a hangover as I understand them now - as a thirty something. Then there was the girl. As i said, for the first time in my life I was in love and that morning consisted of an absence of hangover, along with hugs, sex and tea in bed. The world outside was quiet and peaceful, the sun was shining and inside her room, it felt like I could have been anywhere. Admittedly I wasn’t anywhere particularly spectacular, I was in Plymouth, but that’s not of any relevance. With kick off fast approaching and my friends beckoning it became evident that I’d have to leave the room and the girl in order to fulfil my football watching ambitions. Truth be told, I really didn’t want to leave said girls bedroom, let alone her house. At some point, as I was mulling this conundrum around in my brain, a voice suggested, as if reading my mind, that I didn’t need leave, but instead I could watch the football from the comforts of the bedroom. Additionally, I was also informed that if we (despite my memory being slightly hazy I still believe the ‘we’ word actually being used) were going to watch the football in bed, we’d better get some food as well. And this is how I ended up laid in bed naked, with my first love eating KFC, for what turned out to be one of the best football matches I’ve ever witnessed. The game was played to one hundred and twenty minutes and was a real cliff hanger all the way through. Penalties decided the result, but as a fan of neither of the teams sporting colours that day the final score was quite unimportant. The rest of the day mostly involved more snoozing, and a little more “intimate time”, before we emerged from her bedroom and headed to a nearby pub for a friends gig. We met my other friends, the ones I’d meant to see earlier. They didn’t even give me a hard time about missing that afternoons drinking. They were far too happy from the spectacle they’d seen and the drinks they’d drank.

When I look back nothing particularly unusual happened that day. I ate rubbish food, I watched an annual football event and I spent my day with someone special.  Then I listened to some music and had a few beers. That was my perfect day. Potentially what helped to made it more memorable was, that for the six months before, all I’d heard from lecturers, friends and family was how the University years would be the best of my life. My best day wasn’t at university, it was actually just after. I was unemployed, broke, but in love and happy. Waiting for, what grown ups often condescendingly call, “real life” to start. Since that day, I’ve traveled a lot more. I’ve met other women, made other friends, and thankfully, gained employment. However, with so much emphasis from books, television, radio and the internet telling people to get up, get out and make great things happen, I find it comforting to remember that good, and indeed very good things also happen when you are idle as well.

Until the next time....