When I was young I was ready and eager to follow the advice given by Terence, the Roman poet, a long, long time ago: “I am a man,” he wrote, “and therefore anything that any man does should interest me.” Then life stretched infinitely before me and it seemed there would be time for everything: time to visit every land and sail every sea, time to try every sport, time to read every book, time to love all the girls, to investigate all the mysteries, time indeed to check out the entire universe.
But gradually it becomes very clear that the time available is not infinite and one has to begin to pick and choose. For a start ambitions contract. It would have been nice to have won Wimbledon or hit a century at Lords, but one has had to put that aside until some future incarnation. A long time ago – when I discovered the attractions of living impurely – I had to give up all thought of being Pope or even a scarlet-capped Cardinal. Long ago when the West Indies Federation collapsed, I gave up all political ambition.
Gradually the available options for glory reduce and one makes do with the small triumphs and copes with the run-of-the-mill disasters of everyday living. It is now too late to become a distinguished brain surgeon or launch a great career in the law or academia or seek to be