There are moments in life when inspiration arrives like a lightning bolt. And then there are moments when it arrives because you nearly face-planted while walking the dog.
Guess which category this week falls into?
I had been wandering around the park trying to think of something to write for this column. Nothing. My brain was emptier than the salad stations at Crown's Epicurean.
Then, as if the universe decided to intervene, I approached some steps leading up from the oval.
Now normally, like a sensible bloke with knees that occasionally sound like microwave popcorn, I take the lowest step. The low-risk route. The "I've done enough showing off in my life" route.
But not this day. No siree. I can recall thinking to myself in the past, "why do you keep avoiding the big step, you wimp? You can do it".
So this day I looked at the higher step and thought: "I've still got it."
Those, historically, are the four words most likely to end with someone in an ambulance.
Anyway, up I went. Or at least that was the plan. What actually happened was my sandshoe, clearly defective and in no way connected to my balance or age, slipped on the edge of the step and suddenly gravity took over.
Now, here's the surprising thing. The body remembers. Because in that split second, somewhere deep inside my subconscious, my junior judo training kicked in. Instantly. Like a sleeper agent activated after 40 years.
Before I knew it, I had executed what I believe is called an "ukemi": a judo breakfall. These days, the kids probably call it a parkour roll. I knew my brown belt ranking would come in handy some day.
One moment I was tumbling headfirst towards disaster, the next I was rolling gracefully across the concrete like an ageing Jason Bourne, before springing back to my feet with the athleticism of a slightly chubby Nadia Comaneci.
Honestly, if there had been scorecards, I reckon I would have had at least one 10.
The important thing is I avoided the face plant, which is super lucky. Given I work on television, further damage could have pushed me from HD to podcasting.
Even luckier: nobody saw it. At least I don't think they did.
Although I suspect sometime this week the local soccer club committee may review their CCTV footage and circulate it as a workplace safety warning: "As a famous coach once said, please know your limitations when entering the facility. Also, avoid whatever Barra was attempting."
In my defence, the concrete did appear a bit uneven. It briefly made me wonder whether I should contact a lawyer about possible compensation for pain and suffering.
Relax, I'm joking. Mostly because I once knew someone who actually was seriously injured by a dog at the park. An enthusiastic Labrador cannoned sideways into her knee and she ended up needing reconstructive surgery. Her lawyer encouraged her to sue the dog owner, but she never did.
Mind you, if you have ever wondered why dog owners stand around parks in wide-legged stances resembling sumo wrestlers while the dogs are all chasing each other . . . well, now you know. We're bracing for impact. Golden Retrievers travelling at full speed are essentially furry missiles.
Anyway, my little tumble did get me thinking. Falls are becoming a very "boomer" problem.
At 22, you fall off a skateboard and laugh. At 52, you trip stepping off a curb and immediately wonder whether you should update your will.
The other mistake, and I strongly advise against this, is googling: "I just had an unexpected fall. What could it mean?"
Within minutes the internet will have you convinced you have a neurological disorder, a vitamin deficiency, early onset something-or-other and approximately six months to live.
But there is probably a lesson in all this. Maybe we do need more balance work as we get older. Tai chi. Yoga. Pilates. All good ways to keep the old man out, a phrase you have heard me say many times before.
One day you're fearless. The next you're carefully lowering yourself into a comfy chair while making involuntary sound effects.
Boomer problems, I have realised, often come from this strange collision between the world we grew up in and the one we now live in. We're the generation forever caught between analogue and digital.
We own paper notebooks but also have apps reminding us about appointments we somehow still manage to forget.
We send our kids alarming texts saying "Call me immediately!!!" only for the emergency to be a question about whether they like coriander.
We treat Alexa like an unreliable house guest. We keep empty iPhone boxes "just in case". In fact, we hoard most things — you just never know when you might need them. It's an actual statistical fact that in many cases, the day after you clean out the garage, you will need something you just threw out.
And despite all the modern technology, many of us still prefer a proper wristwatch, handwritten shopping lists and to sign-off our texts "From, Dad".
Navigating with Google Maps is hilarious too. Here's me trying to give my kids driving directions: "Take a right when you get past where PMH used to be, then it's down near where the Subiaco Markets was before 2015."
Which perhaps explains why we sometimes fall over. We're still trying to keep our balance in a world moving faster than we are.
But in good news, as confirmed by one miraculous judo roll, I can officially confirm: I've still got it. Well, sort of.
