Like a broken record.
Three decades on, and yet there is nothing to show for.
A large canvas spread across the sand, blank and clean with only the fondest of memories to draw upon.
There may have been plenty of blood, sweat and tears, and double, double toil and trouble; but even with an acute sense of timing and a quick dash of luck, it still may not be enough.
Reality is hardly a game where you simply match candies of the same colour, freely buy vowels and sell consonants, and casually pick up gold coins left behind in a village tavern – and then expect words of victory to flash across the screen before breezing through to the next level, as though it were one of life’s many privileges.
Nothing stops for man and time, but I find myself increasingly longing for the good old days when I could stop and smell the roses, and not have to keep up with the Joneses.