Ever knew you were definitely going to regret doing something but you still ploughed straight ahead and did it anyway? Well, you’ll be pleased to know there’s now a word to describe how that feels.
I have a back catalogue of “pregrets” so long it makes The Beatles play list look like they were one hit wonders.
Those drunken words – just one more bottle of Prosecco please – in a late night dive of a bar springs ominously to my mind. Even before popping the cork I can feel the room beginning to spin around and around. Or, how about a two course lunch menu at Fenchurch Sky Garden which promptly extends to three and a calorific pudding doggy bag. Not to mention the ubiquitous heart attack inducing kebab stop thrown in on the night bus on the way home. Way before that I’m already thinking, Geez, where’d I put the Alka Seltzer? Plink, plink, fizz…
Plaid fashion disasters with wide lapels and tight new shoes never worn fill my closet to a near hinge busting point. Not to mention ill judged Summer belly flops into cold shallow waters and a mullet hair cut which made me look like a dead ringer for Billy Ray Cyrus. I hope you’re getting the picture because the prosecution is almost ready to rest it’s regretful case.
You’ll be glad to hear the good news that I’ve few, if any, regrets about ever having sex. However there was that one time when Guido and I tried to have a threesome with a blow up crocodile. I bounced off horizontally half way through and ended up with a bruised coccyx. That really hurt.
Some people I know have all the appearance of sailing through life and never looking backwards because as far as they’re concerned the only way is forward. They know where they’re going. Onward and upwards and to hell with the consequences. They make their Que Sera Sera choices and what will be will be. And I really admire that. But I’ve just never been a – Je ne regrettte rien – kind of a guy. I worry. But then inexplicably do whatever I was worrying about possibly regretting. Then I worry about worrying in the first place. I called Guido up on the phone once and told him I was worried that he was worrying that I was worried about me worrying. I had to repeat that four times before he knew what on earth I was going on about. I actually began to wonder myself.
Last night in bed I told Guido I was worrying about worrying about regrets I knew I was going to regret.
“Are you talking about pregrets?” he asked me. “Because if you are you really need to snap out of it.”
I lay silently still next to him and tried to get snapping. I pulled up the blanket then instantly regretted it because I was worried my exposed feet would probably start getting very cold.
“Why don’t you try thinking of things from a different point of view,” said Guido. “Let me put it this way – I’d much rather regret the things I’ve done, than the things I’ve not done.”
I told Guido I couldn’t possibly have put any of that better myself. Then I asked him to pass the inflatable crocodile and start pumping.