something in the (rain) water

I knew there was a reason I lived in Ballymoney. I’ve been searching for a rationale for a long time. I moved from the much larger and busier Ballymena when I was two weeks old. People don’t do that for no reason – I must just have forgotten what it was.

I was wandering around town yesterday and tripped up on camera crews every time I turned a corner. It was tres tres exciting. Well, exciting in a not-much-else-every-happens kind of a way. What had dragged the news crews up the M2 from Belfast? Well I found out when I watched the news yesterday evening and it turns out Ballymoney finally has something to crow about:

People live longer in Ballymoney than anywhere else on the island, it has been revealed.
The Co Antrim town boasts the highest life expectancy in both Northern Ireland and the Republic at just over 78 years for men and 82 for women.

Yes, according to the Ireland and Northern Ireland's Population Health Observatory (INIsPHO) we in Ballymoney last longer than the rest of youse. The fact that I have never heard of the INIsPHO doesn’t diminish the significance of their declaration. It is surely reason enough for everyone of importance to sell their Malone Road Mansions in Belfast and move into two bedroom bungalows in Ballymoney. Meanwhile I will take advantage of the crashing house prices to move the other way – I’m willing to risk it.

Why do people live longer here – well I have many theories; none of which are particularly complimentary. People in Ballymoney are well known for living the clean life – some may say the boring life. Despite plenty of pubs and people to crawl out of them, Ballymoney is right at the top of what could be described as Bible belt Northern Ireland. Teetotalism is the new black. Clean living leads to long living.

But my own personal favourite theory is that we are so laid back up here that we lose track of time. I wouldn’t say the pace of life is slower up here – no, actually I would – its much slower. And that is why we live longer. We have every intention of getting round to dying – really - we’ll get round to it eventually.

Will you be much longer?

"That's two hours of your life you won't get back." I think if I were ever interviewed in one of those 5 minutes, quickie interviews and I was asked what phrase I use too often this is what I'd reply. I use it when I've managed to persuade friends or family to sit through one of my am-dram performances. I use it when I've just sat through Newcastle United succumbing to another humiliating defeat. I use it when I’ve had to teach a particularly boring topic and I know some of the pupils are losing the will to live – I know teachers are supposed to make everything new and exciting and fill their pupils with zeal and enthusiasm for everything they teach. But realistically there are topics out there that we can’t enthuse ourselves about, and if we’re not excited how are we expected to excite others? Of course we do our best but sometimes, just sometimes, we fail to fill our pupils with the fever that we normally do – I use it because I feel bad that I have either persuaded someone else, or persuaded myself to waste a chunk of their life doing something when they would really have been a lot happier and feel more constructive doing something less boring instead.

A lot of our allotted time in this life is seen as wasted. You’ll find no end of statistics online showing that we spend two weeks kissing, four years doing housework, twenty-four years sleeping, six months sitting on the toilet… I could go on but I only have so long to spend on the internet – I need to catch up on my nine months spent in traffic jams.

Last night, as I was about to fall asleep, I heard a new statistic. Apparently British men spend, on average, a year of their lives waiting for their wives and girlfriends. This time, apparently, includes twenty-two weeks waiting outside the changing rooms while their partner tries on clothes. Apparently six out of ten men say it drives them mad that they spend over a week waiting in their car to pick up their girlfriend, who is currently spending that week walking around telling everyone individually that they “must catch up again soon.” One of those six men will, it appears, leave their partner for this very reason. How appropriate it is that they begin married life by keeping the groom waiting at the altar while they take an extra drive round the block.

I got to thinking about how I don’t currently have anyone to wait on. I started to wonder what I should be spending that year doing. I could learn a new language, finish the screenplay I started in 2002, watch the complete back catalogue of Scrubs… the world is my oyster.

Then the bad part happened. I started to think of all the times I’d kept people waiting. Including the plays, the (incredibly few) boring lessons, and the football matches, I have wasted an awful lot of people’s time. On top of that I have a habit of being late. I generally turn up twenty minutes later than I had previously arranged. I like to think that people who know me take this into account when they make the arrangement and spend the extra twenty minutes constructively; but what if they don’t?

So I apologise. To everyone I’ve kept waiting, I’m sorry for the valuable years of your life you spent at Train Stations, Airports, Coffee Shops; I’m sorry for all the plays you sat through for my five minute cameos; I’m sorry I forced you to sit through James Cameron films just so I could talk about how bad they were; I’m sorry I made you read through this blog to the very end. That’s five minutes of your life you won’t get back.