#oneaday, Day 307: Wait. Terry Wait. Overwait. Call The Wait-er.

How much time do you think you waste every year waiting for things to happen? Whether it's waiting for the phone to ring, the response to an email, the answer to a question, an alarm to go off, someone to call you into their office or for your delicious improvised curry sauce to thicken, chances are you spend a good proportion of your time waiting for things to happen or for other people to do things.

Just think how much more we could all get done without all this waiting. Consider how long it takes someone from any Government agency to write back to you, drawing out what is usually an unpleasant process (why else would you be writing to an arm of the Government, were it not to complain about something?) even longer than necessary. Perhaps your question was a simple one that can be answered with one word—the words "yes" and "no" were invented for exactly this situation—but no. More often than not you'll receive a letter back informing you that they're "unable to action your correspondence" or, in English, "not able to reply to your letter" and demanding further details that you've already given them at least fifteen times.

This sort of thing is annoying and, in this age of instant communication, bordering on inexcusable. Who writes letters any more, anyway, for starters? Wake up and smell the electronics.

The trouble with taking this attitude, though, is that it starts to filter into other parts of your life. You find yourself wondering why the text message you sent thirty seconds ago hasn't been replied to yet, without thinking that the recipient may just have better things to do than respond to a message that simply says "COCK! PISS! PARTRIDGE!" because they might, in fact, have a job to do. You forget the context of a reply on Twitter because someone replied to something you posted four hours ago. And in the meantime, you sit staring at your computer screen, iPhone or, in the worst possible scenarios, your wall or ceiling. Because you might get that response you need in the next thirty seconds/minute/half an hour/hour/day and you couldn't possibly do anything useful in the meantime. But of course you can't send another message following it up because that's pushy and rude and you don't want to look like an asshole.

Well, bollocks to it. We need an inversion of this situation, where "important" things get resolved quickly rather than are "endeavoured to be responded to within 72 hours", and where it's okay for your friends, family and/or that hottie you texted to be quiet for a few seconds/minutes/hours/days at a time. Because let's face it, staring at a wall is marginally less productive than staring at a toaster waiting for it to pop.

Because at least if you stare at a toaster, you end up with some delicious toast. What's your wall ever going to give you?

#oneaday, Day 104: Silence is...

I've been back home visiting my folks for the past couple of days. They read this, so don't be expecting any uncomplimentary remarks, not that I'd do that anyway!

It's been quite some time since I've been home. Even longer since my brother and I were both here. Since he was in the country this weekend, I took the opportunity to catch up with my whole family at once. My immediate family, anyway.

It's always odd coming back to your childhood stomping grounds. There's always something different to how you remember it, whether it's a new housing development that never used to be there, the fact that your childhood home now has double-glazed windows (despite past insistences that would never happen) or the cars across the road being a different colour. Changes are always particularly striking when you've been away for a while.

The biggest change since I grew up here is probably the silence. I don't know if it's the fact the cat is no longer with us, the fact that the aforementioned double-glazing keeps the noise out quite well or simply that there's not been any music on the stereo while I've been here. But I've become so accustomed to living in a relatively noisy environment – living in a city centre, enjoying activities that make noise – that the silence here is strange. It feels like something's missing, like it should be filled with something,

But silence doesn't have to be filled. There's no need for noise all the time. Perhaps John Cage was on to something when he composed 4'33".

Funny where your mind wanders in the silence of the dead of night.

An Open Goodbye

The blogosphere is undoubtedly chock-full of posts like the one I'm about to make but that doesn't make any of them less meaningful to the people involved. While the words that the writer commits to "paper" (for want of a better word) may mean nothing to casual readers or people just "passing through", the writer themself can feel better simply by the act of getting them out in the open. Yes, it is completely and utterly self-indulgent, but that's what I feel as I begin to write this, and I hope you, the reader, will understand that. Normal service will resume shortly and I'll get back to enthusing about games, using bad words and ranting about the state of the country. But for now, this.

Yesterday I received the sad news that our family's cat, who lived with my parents, died after being run over. The full meaning of these words didn't really hit me until late in the evening, and more so today when I found myself unable to face even contemplating speaking to anyone else for a good proportion of the day. I'd like to take a moment to share a few thoughts and memories in the absence of a "funeral". Some may wonder at the amount of attention being given to "just a cat", but if you think that, you've probably never owned a beloved family pet and lost them. A family pet who is loved as much as Kitty was is absolutely a member of the family, and never "just a pet".

There have been two cats in my life. The first, Penny, was, according to my parents, my nursemaid when I was very young. If I was ill, she'd sit outside my bedroom door "on guard". If I cried, she'd come and "tell" my folks. She was part of the family, right down to sitting at the table to have Christmas dinner with us – because if there was one thing she loved, it was human food.

Penny died of old age one night about eleven years ago. She knew it was going to happen. She sat down in front of our heating vent in the hallway of our house and stayed there for the evening. We said goodnight to her and went to bed, leaving her some water and food where she was. When we came down in the morning, she had passed away quietly. We said our goodbyes and buried her in the garden beneath a cat statue, where she sleeps now.

The house was quiet for a while without a cat. Very quickly, our family decided that we didn't want to be without a cat – it was just too quiet after so many years of having Penny – so we took a ride up to the local animal sanctuary to meet the candidates.

Kitty (who already knew her name, so there was no hope of ever changing that!) was a tiny little thing who was very nervous when we met her. She was cute and friendly, despite her nerves, however, so we chose her and took her home. It took time for her to come out of her shell – for the longest time, she was afraid even to go outside. Apparently, her previous home had had dogs who had terrorised the poor thing into submission. As time went on, however, she grew more confident and also grew physically from the tiny cat we had picked up from Wood Green animal shelter into a rather larger one!

She was a very friendly cat. She made an effort to make people like her – even self-professed "cat-haters". She would simply jump in their lap when they came to visit, sit there and purr until even they admitted that she wasn't that bad, after all. She would also jump in your lap for a cuddle at the most inopportune times – having dinner, attempting to write an email, reading a book… If you were in a chair and you had a lap, you were fair game.

It's a fair bet that wherever she is now (I have it on good authority that while all dogs go to heaven, all cats go to Valhalla) she's jumping in the lap of someone, rolling over and purring contentedly. I can just see her lying in a Valkyrie's lap with a big silly grin on her face.

And so this post is to say a very public goodbye to Kitty Davison. You will be missed sorely by all who knew you and loved you, and I hope Penny takes good care of you.

Rest in peace.