Bestselling author Ursula Bloom had a life that was every bit as interesting as those of her fictional heroines. She wrote over 500 books (her first when she was only 7 years old), a feat which earned her a place in the Guinness Book of World Records. She also wrote short stories, and radio and stage plays. Ursula was chief crime reporter for a national newspaper at a time when few women worked as Fleet Street journalists, and was also the agony aunt for a weekly magazine, and beauty editor for Woman’s Own! Her books are now being reissued in paperback, and published as ebooks for the first time, starting with her witty holiday romance “Wonder Cruise” and her autobiography about life on the home front during World War I “Youth at the Gate.” Learn more about her at www.ursulabloom.com
The Importance of Fun by Ursula Bloom
Half the people in this world have not got the faintest idea of how to enjoy themselves when it comes to it. You’ve seen it. I’ve seen it. They stand about in a detached and rather miserable way, they look on, itching to join in, yet can’t bring themselves to the initial necessity of doing so. Shyness is one cause. Self-consciousness is another. They want to be happy, and they can’t be happy. They stop, they look and they listen, and that is just about as far as it gets!
You do it too, I know I do. And the maddeningly irritating thing is that the other person (usually it is the one person we dislike most of all) always seems to get the major amount of fun and you are the one left out in the cold.
Take the holiday for example.
Everybody else goes away and returns brown and beaming (usually they have had the one wonderful fortnight for weather in the whole year). When you ask them how they got on, they tell you in an ecstatic voice that “it was marvellous, quite utterly marvellous.” They make it sound to be true. I don’t know where you get these marvellous times, because my holidays are always so completely ordinary that I could weep for myself. Generally I have spent a lot of money on the worst week of the year for weather, in a place I find—too late—that I detest, and I want to go home.
This is a non-exaggerated description of my personal holiday. I can rely on the good old English weather to let me down with a wump. It doesn’t only pour, it blows! It blows like fury, and if I am staying at the seaside I cannot get near the beach, with the healthful ozone and all the rest of it.
Then there is the party.
‘‘Oh, we had a marvellous time! ’’ Did you indeed ? I could count the number of marvellous parties I have been to on one hand, and for that I have suffered a mob of indescribably awful parties, haven’t you? I have stood about till the old feet felt like a couple of flat-irons with extra weights to them hung on the end of my unfortunate legs. I have propped up a little glass with some filthy-tasting mixture in it, whilst people blew smoke into my smarting eyes and down my throat and told me maddeningly that they were having one big hell of a good time. How? I wouldn’t know. Why? I wouldn’t know the answer to that one either.
We all need fun!
I do think that it is a crying need for human nature to enjoy itself. Fun is a tonic, and it gives you that delicious feeling of elation which will carry you through anticipatory yesterday and into memorising tomorrow. Half the fun you get out of entertainment comes from what you are prepared to contribute to that entertainment yourself, although it may not seem like that. Fun is something that takes a lifetime to understand, to approach from the proper angle, and to treat in the proper way.
Your life lies largely with yourself. Go out and meet your fun and you will find it, lots of it. Be a real friend. The kind that is reliable, amiable and does not fall back upon that objectionable remark ‘‘I told you so.’’ Get out and about more. Never do a thing because you always have. Break that habit.
Then you’ll get fun.
That’s what we all want really, though some of us are too shy to say so.