"...time is an illusion, lunchtime doubly so."
Douglas Adams

Finite words from the classic comedy Sci-Fi novel, the Hitch Hikers Guide To The Galaxy, that certainly holds the essence to my existence in a round about way.
Accept my humble grain of salt in the greater sand of the Cosmos, time is sparse and hence an illusion to me. 24 hours seems like 24 minutes in my time-space continuum, as one day disappears into another with the accelerated speed of a descending meteor heading for a crash course with the earth. No time to catch my breath from dawn 'til dusk as I ask myself that question again and again - "Where's the fucking time gone ?!" It's not that I want to sound hassled by my predicament, but purely irritated by the lack of hours to complete all the things I want to do in any given day. Frankly there are only so many hours that you avoid sleep until the dark circles cite you on public display. So what eh? It doesn't matter to you about my lack of time, it's my problem but I just can't sit back I have to be active.
I am also very happy to shatter your punk rock illusions of staying in bed, rising at twelve and passing the day to the sounds of the suburbs. I'm awoken by my clock at half past seven to go to work - and let me force your loathing on me some more - I enjoy my job… SHOCK, HORROR, I'm not humming "Take This Job And Shove It" all day. I'm happily humming jolly little ditties from my memory banks of top happy-go-lucky punk. Do you hate me yet ?! Good, because I'm not manipulated by a boss as I work in a Flat Management Structure (A collective ie. No Boss!) and I like working the 7+ hours a day. I lust for life at work and at home and the more hours I can constructively use the better. I'm a time eater hungry for life and I devour seconds for breakfast, minutes for tea and the hours are snaffled up hungrily in between.
The biggest problem I have is trying to do everything I want to in each day, so I end up hitting the sack in the very early hours of the morning just in time to start my cycle over again. I happily admit to being a complete workaholic and I love churning through stuff - HH mail, reviews, columns, new shit, columns for other people, interviews as well as my normal work load for my job. It's not that I wish to complain as I have a certain hunger for "doing things" and as a result I do hit burn out from time to time when I need to get more than 4 or 5 hours each night. Soon to be less with the advent of Baby Happy's appearance on the scene. In fact while on the subject, all those cleaver people who have now renamed us Nappy House - ha bloody ha - you sarcastic bastards. You wait until we allow Baby Happy to sign your letters (Go figure?) !!! Then who's going to be laughing ????
So in closing this final column as a non-parent I will join you all in the next, albeit probably late, issue of Happy House. So until then take care and wait for my rambles about match sticks, eyelids and baby poo in the all new punk rock dad role of Rick Happy…