Coincidence is a tricky matter.
I wrote words to that effect little over a week ago and true to form, it seems I tempted fate.
In this instance though, following in the winding wake of chance is no bad thing.
The seed of this humble piece began sprouting a while ago, when I started thinking about my renewed revere for The Great Pottery Throwdown.
I realise putting it that way makes me sound slightly (very) droll. But I’ve never professed to being ‘cool’ and certainly have no plans to embark on that hopeless quest now.
I wasn’t quite sure if the shoots would amount to anything until this week when I spoke to my Nan, only to discover that she too has become obsessed with the programme.
Words flowed at a rate of knots, with both of us sharing our deep appreciation for all the potters’ talents and the wish to give throwing a go ourselves.
It was then that I felt fortune had given me no other option but to share my budding seedling with the world.
Essentially, it’s blossomed into acknowledging the joy of the unexpected.
I’ve been making a habit of listening to Louis Theroux’s podcast, Grounded, where amongst many curiosities I learned that Frankie Boyle does yoga.
My housemates have been going through a phase of watching old series of The Great British Bake Off and the realisation struck me there too.
It was closely followed by the return of ‘the Throwdown’, which only served to reinforce all that I’d been gently considering.
I still remember the brief jarring I felt when I first watched Keith Brymer Jones cry, overcome by the elegance of a fellow potter’s work. In an instant, I came to ignore the inexplicable incongruity I’d experienced and my love for the show and all it encompassed reached new bounds.
Because ultimately, it doesn’t really matter if you’re interested in the craft or creations (although it helps). It’s simply life-affirming to see a group of unlikely friends being struck so intensely by a shared passion.
I realise that on the small screen we see a carefully curated assortment of individuals.
But that doesn’t change the fact that all these people, and many more besides, have been there all along, enjoying whatever it is that ignites their ardour. It’s just that for a few short weeks, someone’s momentarily turned a torch toward a handful of them.
Each time I encounter something like this it feels like a cotton soft reminder that we all have interior lives; that we should celebrate and remember all the bizarre quirks that unite us.
And it’s not that we all need to share identical quirks in order to relate to each other. It’s much more about appreciating that we are unanimously quirky.
In some respects, I think it would be quite something if we were all outlandishly proud of them.
But then again, it’s much more intriguing to maintain a little mystique.
Modernish 