Patrick Leigh-Pemberton: the times when things are exceptional

There are times in life when things are exceptional. Simply awesome. These feelings can last for months or for milliseconds, and can be caused by something you see, someone you meet, or somewhere you discover. Over my weekend, a lot of these boxes were ticked. I am not really certain where to begin, but I have an idea that, in fact, the best place to start is the middle. (Weird that no one wrote a song about this.) I was driving through the Wiltshire Downs, (I am assuming they are downs, I have told at least 4 people this story already, and no one corrected me when I said that, which means that they at least sound real), with dust over the hills (caused by I don’t know what), catching the rays of the low sun. Out of this looming luminescence, the spire of Salisbury Cathedral stood straight up, straining to reach the sky. Yes, this poetical writing is a bit much. I apologise, but it doesn’t seem right to describe the view accurately when I could rather use the description to suggest what it was that it made me feel. Also, don’t worry, I know it sounds like I am about to go off on an “England, my England” rant. I’m not. If you can imagine the effect that six hours driving that day had on me, six hours of that feeling about the scenery, then you can probably imagine how wonderful I felt at the destination, when surrounded by old and new friends celebrating.

Now, normally, when I then drive back to St Andrews, my mood plummets. Not because of anything approaching a dislike of this place, I hold this town to be one of the best locations in Britain, but rather because of whatever it is I am leaving. Driving back to St Andrews is always a sign of the end of another holiday or treat trip. But this weekend, this didn’t happen. This week, it has failed to happen. I haven’t stopped being distressingly merry. Insufferably smugly happy. More so than usual. People moan about the weather, and I just sail past, grinning inanely at something. I DON’T KNOW WHY.

I mean, you guys are pretty great but I wouldn’t put it down to the fact that I am back around you again. The town’s pretty cool, and the turn of autumn and winter is her time, but it isn’t her either. It most certainly isn’t the weather. It isn’t the library, or my work. But for some strange reason, I am quite happy. I mean, I have always taken solace in the luxuries that I enjoy, my mobility, my youth, my (few) abilities, but it isn’t even the usual inflated sense of self worth. It is not like I feel myself wandering around in an air of my own excellence, but rather that I am beginning to perceive everything as if it has one of those airs of its own. And it is really beginning to bug me. I miss being cynical over a cup of coffee and a rolly, and I can’t even find the bitterness to make sarcastic remarks about people’s shoes anymore.

This was the case until about twenty minutes ago. I was so happy I thought I was immune. I went on the Daily Mail website. Not Femail, the real one. The one where they talk politics. I wasn’t immune. I now hate everything. And pretty much everyone. I can return to cynicism and bitterness. So there, that is the point of the article. A How To Guide: “rediscover the darker side of yourself, if you become stuck in a cycle of positivity that refuses to spit you out”.