Shortcuts
One of my worst habits when walking is to use shortcuts even when there is a perfectly serviceable path. I save perhaps 5 seconds each time and sometimes wonder if it is really worth it.
When I get home, I traipse dirt across the floors, so get nagged by the wife; my trousers are flecked with mud, meaning I have to clean them more often; and, I have the knowledge that if everyone used the shortcut the grass would turn into a bog. My only excuse — which isn’t even an excuse — is that I may have been a Roman in a previous life and can’t abide winding roads.
There are some benefits, though. To stop my shoes getting muddy, I bought a cheap and sturdy pair of Reeboks which allow me to have a pair of soft leather shoes waiting for me near the heater at work. The latter are so comfortable that they are more like slippers than shoes. I would never have known such pleasures without the shortcut.
One area in which I never take shortcuts is when I read books. Practices like speed-reading seem like a false economy. A few weeks after accusing poetry of being in a permanently vegetative state, I now find myself reading it on a daily basis. The real breakthrough came when Laura and I started reading out loud to each other. When you read out loud the words become substantial and the rhythm allows the thoughts and images to flourish in your mind. My current favourite is DH Lawrence, for his figs, his snap-dragons, and his denunciations of the bourgeoisie. Last week I saw Seven Ages of Love on Channel Four, a stylish presentation of Luke Wright‘s poems inspired by the stories of people in love, from teenagers to nonagenarians. It was the best thing I’ve seen on TV for ages.