On the roads in India they say you need three things, “good brakes, good horn and good luck”. Hurtling along narrow mountain passes as we wound our way up into the Himalayas, I found out first hand, this couldn’t be closer to the truth. Busses, taxis and the occasional horse drawn cart all fled past at an astronomical rate, clinging to the mountain edge and hooting around blind corners to let on comers know they’re using both sides of the road. They’re real courteous up here you know.

Being “lucky” implies that we have no control over the fortuitous events in our lives. You’re either lucky or you’re not. Kapish.

What does it mean to “be lucky’? When I was young it meant a number or a colour or a charm I’d licked clean from a 20c sherbet packet. Now that I’m a bit older (but none the wiser) it’s what I use to try explain inexplicable events of good fortune where the outcome surely wouldn’t have been possible without a shake of the ole rabbit’s severed foot.

It’s how we label people we perceive as living more successful or fulfilled lives than our own; “oh so and so got lucky.”People don’t reach success by being lucky, they reach it with fearlessly outstretched hands as they balance on a tower of grit, hard work and determination which they’ve built themselves brick by brick from the bottom up.