I know what makes me happy. The whistle of the Red Kites in the tree behind my house. Fenway Park, Boston, on a warm, June evening as the Red Sox snatch victory from the yawning jaws of defeat. A glass of Amarone. The Hand & Flowers Pub in Marlow. A tiny hotel in Kerry, Ireland, with it's lake and Magic Mountain. A pint of Tribute Ale in the Custom House, Padstow. All of these things, and a handful more, make me very happy. The thing that makes me happiest though, is music. Live music. Especially when I can share it with the person who makes me happiest, my wife. The other night, at the beautiful Union Chapel in London, we saw one of our very favourite bands, Dawes, from Los Angeles. Part-way through the gig there was a power-cut. After a few moments of confusion the band went off and came back with an acoustic guitar. Taylor, his brother Griffin and keyboard player, Tay Strathairn sat on the edge of the stage and sang, the delicate sound reaching up into the church roof for amplification. So, I count myself very lucky that I know what makes me happy. Not everyone does. They waste their short lives looking for something just out of reach, something that will make them happier than they think they are. When actually, quite often, it is right there, in front of them. They just can't see it. They just don't hear it.
Three nervous Americans sitting on the stage of a London Chapel and singing because it makes them happy made me and my wife very, very happy indeed.