Today is the feast day of St David of Thessaloniki, or David the Dendrite. Possibly not a landmark saint’s day in anyone’s calendar, but I thought it worth commemorating him today. Not merely because I had nothing better, but because he had a certain something that spoke to me… There are parallels between him and Gregory the Great, but I admire St David all the more for actually having run away from his destiny. Gregory tried to do so, but was constantly brought back to it.

Apparently, David joined a monastery in his late teens, and spent much of his life there. He became well known for his wisdom and his study, and eventually, when the old abbot dies, whose name should pop up to replace him but that of David. “That’s it – Davie’s the man for us…” they all chorused, and trooped off to have him inaugurated as the new abbot.

However, our boy David had other ideas, and was, it seems, entirely opposed to the idea of being made abbot. So far, so like Gregory the Great, I hear you say. Yes, indeed. But at this point, the stories begin to divert. Here, David has a bright idea, and acts on it. “I know,” he says to himself, “I’ll go hide up an almond tree in the monastery.”

And indeed, this is what he did. He lived in that tree for the next three years, presumably throwing almonds at anyone who dared to come and ask him to be abbot again. Apparently, (although this is in the “who’d of thunk it” school of information) he was beset by hot weather in the summer, cold weather in the winter, and strong and troubling breezes. Or the seasons, as we call them nowadays.

Some days, I just want to do this. Sometimes, the thought of running off, and living out the rest of my life up a tree, or in a little corbelled cell on a cliff, or on the top of a pillar in St Andrews Square, is incredibly tempting. Throwing nuts at passers by, until they stop coming. giving up, in order to just focus on the universe. Live out the rest of my days (not many of those, with my vertigo) just contemplating the infinite.

In the same box of hidden desires is the idea to just jack it all in and become a monk. A life focussed on anything but the self. Our little tree-dwelling monk is like a idealised dream. Sure, there would be weather to worry about. But what’s weather. Just a load of randomised fronts and pressures coming in from the North Sea. Easy to understand. Far easier than people, any day.

And if I could, I could grow a big long beard, and dangle it over the side like a bellrope. Live on rainwater and nuts. Sit there, and carve poetic epics into the bark of the tree. Epics that nobody would ever see, until they came up to cart me away. It’s an immensely satisfying image. An image of disappearance.

If ever you can’t find me, check up an almond tree. I’ll probably be sitting there contemplating the infinite. And if I throw almonds at you, it’ll mean I’m not ready to come down yet. Just leave me up there, and bring food. Sooner or later, I’ll get tired of it all, and come down.