Being Boring

I've nothing much to write about. Things have been quite boring lately. I could write about my health, but that's a constant and depressing annoyance that I do my best to ignore. I could tell you about my current favourite TV programmes, but that really would be scraping the barrel (though since you asked, Under the Dome and The Wrong Mans). So, today I was thinking how nothing exciting is happening, but actually I'm quite happy for the moment watching TV and knitting and reading, and not doing very much of note. Then serendipitiously, over at Wartime Housewife I came across this poem. I have read it before, but had forgotten; it sums things up for me quite perfectly.

Being Boring - by Wendy Cope

If you ask me 'What's new?', I have nothing to say
Except that the garden is growing.
I had a slight cold but it's better today.
I'm content with the way things are going.
Yes, he is the same as he usually is,
Still eating and sleeping and snoring.
I get on with my work. He gets on with his.
I know this is all very boring.

There was drama enough in my turbulent past:
Tears and passion - I've used up a tankful.
No news is good news, and long may it last.
If nothing much happens, I'm thankful.
A happier cabbage you never did see,
My vegetable spirits are soaring.
If you're after excitement, steer well clear of me.
I want to go on being boring.

I don't go to parties. Well, what are they for,
If you don't need to find a new lover?
You drink and you listen and drink a bit more
And you take the next day to recover.
Someone to stay home with was all my desire
And, now that I've found a safe mooring,
I've just one ambition in life: I aspire
To go on and on being boring.