Today is the twenty-fifth of March, a day that marks the Glorious Revolution of Treacle Mine road. This marked a day when nothing changed, and this can be looked at as a day where nothing really changed. On the Glorious Twenty-Fifth, we wear the lilac, to remind ourselves of those few who died pointlessly in an accidental revolution. The twenty-fifth acts as a reminder to temper idealism with practicality.

“Truth, Justice, Freedom, Reasonably Priced Love, and a hard boiled egg.”

It acts sometimes as a tether to tie down my chasing after the possible. A little warning against the over-indulgence in such chasing. A tip of the hat to the fact that alongside the big and beautiful concepts, you need normality. You need the manageable goals as well as the impossible dreams.

IT’s all very well chasing after the sun and the stars, but unless you have something that is accessible – a reachable goal as well – ultimately, all that remains is demoralisation. I know I’m idealistic. I know I focus on the impossible, the unattainable, that which is beyond my own reach. And sometimes I succeed. But I also have my possible goals. The things that I can reach. The easily measurable milestones.

Each day, I get up an hour earlier than I need to, so I can write this blog. Admittedly, that’s sometimes a little like cleaning a chimney. I end up with a lot of black stuff plastered over the screen, and I’m worried about showcasing the results to my friends. I write out the sleepy-dust at the back of my mind, so that I can start the day without the grot and grime that builds up. This is that grot and grime. As part of my daily ablutions, I rid myself of this build-up of words at the back of my skull. Then, for added extra weirdness, I polish the product of my ablutions, and put it on display. IT’s a sobering thought. What you are reading now is the daily equivalent of the product made by a man who carves sculptures from his own earwax. Take that as you will.

I can measure a success in getting up to do this. On an eight o’clock start, this means getting up at half past three in the morning. But still I try. An attainable goal, to tie in with all my impossible dreams. These little model milestones – words written, things done, places visited – temper the impossible. The little successes feed the process of the big ones, and keep me ticking forward. Because, sometimes, you don’t have to do the job that’s in front of you, but you do it anyway. Sometimes, you can’t find Truth, Justice, and Freedom. Sometimes even Reasonably Priced Love is out of your pay bracket. But you can probably manage a hard boiled egg. Set goals, set dreams, move forward and never stop moving, but remember that you need to be able to see yourself moving. Otherwise that most precious of treasures, which is hope, evaporates like the dew in the morning. And all you’re left with the the hard boiled egg.