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It’s late and I’m tired. I ought to go to sleep. Yet this is one of those peculiar moments in life when the last thing I want to do is go to sleep. Instead I have this itch to write, an itch I’ve been feeling all day, incessantly tingling in my fingers.

I have a quandary though. I don’t believe that anything today is really worth writing about. Don’t get me wrong, its been an awesome day, and one that I have enjoyed from start to finish  in all of its very different aspects. But none of it outstanding, none of it that has the tinge of being a life altering or life defining moment.

It might help to briefly set out what I did do. The Jessup regional rounds. I only saw 1.5 rounds instead of 2 because I had to leave early. It was interesting, well argued and the HKU side, with which I have a slight involvement did pretty well. They didn’t win, but that’s not what it’s about.

I enjoyed watching the moots, and especially Andrew Bruce SC’s rather strong questioning from a very pragmatic approach to the problem, which otherwise you can loose in all the legalism.  The problem this year is one that can benefit from a robust common sense approach – because the robust common sense approach does make it look a bit stupid.

I had to dash off early because me and some friends were going to watch the 1:30pm Top Gear Live show. Which is a live show based on the infamous BBC show Top Gear. This was the highlight of my day: a 2007 Ferrari F1 car, a Ferrari F40 and a Bugatti Veyron all on the same day. As I mentioned to Raj – it was an extravaganza of super car porn.

The show itself – the “Live” part was okay, an 8/10. It was pretty awesome to see Jeremy Clarkson and Richard Hammond in person. The Stig was there – but used in a rather token manner that doesn’t really befit the raw savagery one would expect from a tame racing driver.

This evening, been sitting parked in front of the TV watching Chelsea v Aston Villa and Arsenal v Sunderland. Not the best games I’ve ever seen, not really the worst either.

I have a question though – why do Arsenal keep lumping the ball in to the box when not one of their players seems to be able to run into the box at the right time or able to head a ball in a direction that is remotely close to the goal? You’d think they’d have figured it out given how many times they wasted crosses into the box.  I could understand it if Adebayor was playing – he happens to be tall and strong which make crosses more viable, but without him it just seems to suggest that Arsenal are rather rigid and unthinking about their own team set up. Answers on a postcard or in my comments section below please.

Do you appreciate my quandary? I’m not sure why any of the above is relevant, or interesting, or even why I have this compelling urge to write. I don’t have anything to write about at all – there’s no events, no interesting tangents to life, nothing thought provoking. There’s just the banality of enjoying what I’m doing – and who really gives a damn about that.

I have this theory you see, that all great art, all great writing, all great poetry, all great painting, comes from tragedy. You can’t be a great artist if you live a normal life, own a house in the suburbs, work a desk job 9-6 5 days a week, and have 2.1 children.

I guess this blog post does have a point. All of my blogging comes from conflict or confusion. It’s my own vehicle of self discovery. Either I am articulating two sides to help me resolve an internal conflict, or I am articulating a way that my world view failed, and has had to be reworked. That’s what’s previously driven my urge to write.

Now, at this moment there is no conflict and no aspect of me that I’m examining with fresh eyes. The traditional drivers of writing are absent. And yet I cannot absent myself of the urge to write. I wonder what that means?

What the hell I’m meant to write about when I have nothing to say?