Today Grasshopper is 2. The enthusiasm with which I celebrate the passing of another Grasshopper year is in stark contrast to what happens on my my own birthday when I am always a misery. Self-pity descends, the annual Bridget Jonesian life inventory is taken and for another year, I fall short. Last year, anticipating the above Abi decided to come and see me in London. Unfortunately, due to the relationship between Abi's mental state and cataclysmic events [AE: See 'My Sister, London & The Pathetic Fallacy'] the resulting visit was 2 days of carnage culminating in my car being destroyed in the middle of the night by a truck. The first we knew of this was the cops waking us up at 2am and asking if they could come in. Abi, having gained all her knowledge of police procedure from the telly assumed that they had sent a lady police officer in order to soften the news that our entire family had been wiped out.
The statistics indicating the likelihood of a business to fail and leave its founders homeless, mentally unstable and unemployable (are you even allowed to issue yourself your own P45?) are intimidating. Last year's figures state that the changes of Grassy succeesing are marginally slimmer than the chance of:
1: Abi and I getting struck by lightening on different days.
2: A camel passing through the eye of a needle.
When Googling for these stats I found an online survey which asks questions like 'What market segment verticals are you targeting for?' It calculates the percentage chance of a business succeeding and ours came out at 8% but I didn't understand all of the questions so it wasn't really fair. So here we are, 2 years on, defying the odds and happy that we haven't had to get real jobs. Abi, no doubt, will be celebrating with a bag of winegums but I'll have to think of something else as I'm not allowed them (because they make my face swell up).