I almost lost it all the other day.
It was the height of Summer. The temperature was moderate. Not cold enough to put on a jumper, but not warm enough to stop complaining. It was fire weather. Weather that goes great with a fire. But this isn’t Glasgow, we can’t just whip up a fire in five minutes. We needed cans of deodorant and a can-do attitude. You know what, we had both. So, three-five short hours later, the garden was full of light, it’s inhabitants hands were toasty, and spirits were high. We did it. We made fire. A real fire’s fire. But there was a problem. We needed to go to the pub, and we had no intention of turning our hard-earned fire to ash.
We didn’t know what to do. Putting it out was completely out of the question. We didn’t spend half the night making something just to destroy it. We took it to the floor. The group was heavily in favour of just bringing the fire with us. But after careful consideration, we concluded that you’re not allowed to bring fires to the pub. Not at that sort of time, anyway. Our other idea was to just leave it to itself and hope for the best. Unfortunately, it was determined that we couldn’t trust the fire to stay at home alone and not get out of hand.
I then remembered that there was a successful Firesitters (Babysitters for Fires) Club based near our house. I’d never used them myself but a good three or four people have personally recommended them to me.
I decided to give them a call so I made my way inside to grab my phone when it happened. The worst thing that can happen to a person my age: I stubbed my toe hard on the door frame. The pain was indescribable. Somehow, every nerve ending in my body had been carved open. I felt like my body and brain had temporarily entered a new form of existence to deal with the agony.
When I’ve experienced great pain in the past, my first instinct would, of course, be to take a swing at something. Or yell at an inanimate object. This time, though, this was something else.
My first thought this time was; life is precious. We are not here forever.
That’s when it hit me, I need to make a bucket list. I’m a young man. There’s so much I’m yet to see and accomplish in my life.
Anyway, here’s my list!
I’ve graded each one on the traditional five buckets scale. One bucket is not so good. Five buckets are of the highest quality.
I used the standard judging criteria whilst grading the buckets. I wasn’t so much judging them against each other, but judging each bucket against the parameters of the idealized version of its kind.
The buckets are graded on the five archetypal categories: Showmanship, pizazz, poise, sex appeal, and durability.