There’s something monumentally anticlimactic about flipping the calendar over on to a New Year.
I mean yes, it actually is a new year. But it’s also just a mere 24 hours since you last woke up.
So you haven’t really Rip van Winkled your way through twelve months. Just six hours (if you have dogs that’s about all the sleep they’re going to let you get).
And on that topic…
Today is 2nd January 2020 and it is Robyn’s birthday, One year old – which is very difficult to believe, because none of us (humans) can remember a time when Robyn hasn’t been with us.
28th February 2019 was the day she came to live here.
We love her to bits.
And she us.
And there actually was.
It’s been a busy day. Not mentile back-to-back stuff, but busy.
I cleared the back patio of brambles (which was a major undertaking).
Then I don’t know what I did.
Then we went in to Nottingham to see some things.
Then, back home, I reassembled the previously flooded light fitting, wired it up and got it back into the ceiling mount.
And it all worked, as prophesied by Young Masher.
Then I went down to the stables and rode my pony*.
And now this blogging malarky.
Mind you, before 9am Sam had run over six miles, so I don’t know why I’m so knackered.
*not an actual pony
Early Saturday we took a train down to that London.
We arrived in St Pancras International where a small selection of ordinary punters amazed and astounded us as they sat at the public pianos and showed what they could do.
My favourite was the young guy who played a variation of the first movement of Mike Oldfield’s Tubular Bells.
Then we took a tube to Hyde Park Corner where we joined up with a big bunch of like-minded people on what was a lovely sunny afternoon.
We stood about for a bit. Then moved onto some parkland where we sat down and I most definitely did not fall asleep,
After a while that was an age and also not an age, we (eventually) walked from the foot of Park Lane to Whitehall.
When we’d finished with all that we walked to Covent Garden where, amongst the trendy eateries and hipster drinkeries we found a proper pub.
A pint of cider shandy, half a pint of cider, a small dry white wine, and a diet coke which cost the wallet-robbing amount of…
Have a word with yourself London. That’s bonkersly mad.
It was the most overtly political day of my life, and that day was all the better because there were four of us, marching as a family.
Here are just a few photos (but between us, we took dozens):
What kind of a weekend did you have?
Hi, thank you for dropping by.
We are currently away, enduring the hardship of 41c in the sub-Sahara.
We are putting on brave faces against the unrelenting bar service, awesome food, and top flight customer care.
Enduring this for a week is going to be tough, but we’re determined to give this our very best shot.
Back to the UK next weekend.
Meanwhile, we’ll do our best to cope with everything this place has to offer.
In a stunning return to the form of October last year, my back decided to mess me about.
The fact that this coincided with me going out and buying a soopah-doopah hybrid (road- and mountain-) bike is, I’m sure, entirely erm coincidental.
Especially as I haven’t even got the SDHB home yet; it’s still nestling at the store.
And on that basis I can’t even blame taking up cycling as the cause of the aforementioned back issue.
The weather has been a bit pants, hasn’t it?
And for that reason none of the motorbikes have been out of the garage for months.
But, like all good people of a technical inclination, I have got a small geekage project running on the side.
I’ve been playing with the project of geek, but only now and then, and usually for just 15 minutes a session; it has a very steep learning curve and I’m on the edge of my technical comfort zone.
However, it’s safe to say that I’m attempting to get to grips with something that makes working with SharePoint and/or OneDrive look (and feel) like child’s play.
I noticed that some digital vandal has defaced Boris’ Wikipedia page.
I only attach a screenshot of the offending piece as a matter of record, and to help Inspector Knacker of The Yard in the pursuit of his enquiries.
There are few (and getting fewer) simple pleasures in life these days.
This clipping, from an Isle of Man newspaper, featuring a letter from a regular I’m Sorry I Haven’t A Clue contributor made my sleep-interupted night a happier place.
So I thought I’d share the ISIHAC love.
Backs are amazing when you think about them.
Firm and inflexible, yet pliable and bendy.
Strong and supportive, yet yielding.
Connected to almost every part of the body, and if you add in the spinal cord and central nervous system components, your back is the hub of everything that you do.
I’ve been awake for two hours.
Awake because of back pain.
I have done ‘something’ to my back. No idea what.
It just isn’t working like it should.
I’m not whingeing.
I have a golden opportunity to catch up with my latest rewatching of The West Wing.
And I can tuck in to some serious reading.
So what’s not to like?
Getting in to the bathroom, for a start.
It’ll pass soon. The back thing, not the wanting to go to the toilet thing.
And look at the exercise my bladder is getting.
That’s got to be positive too, yes?
Man, it’s been a hectic week.
But it seems to have been a hectic week every week, for the last few months.
At work, we talk about how much we are doing, and tight timescales, and yet we talk about our appetite to do so much more.
If only we could expand time, space, and our capacity to enable us to deliver more in.
Don’t get me wrong.
I love that there is so much to do.
But today, in contrast with the pace of my professional life, I am doing pretty much of nothing.
Oh, I’ve been out, given Sam a lift in to West Bridgford.
Picked up a prescription from the chemist in the next village.
I even went back to West Bridgford to pick Sam up.
But that’s the most productive I’ve been all day.
And now it’s 18.45, and we’re in bed.
About to watch a film.
And I feel not at all guilty about such a self indulgent day.
Right now Sam is 37,000 feet over Iran.
And I’m in bed, half watching an episode of The Man In The High Castle.
There’s just me in the house.
Well, me and two cats and two cattens (as the two Tweeny felines have been categorised).
But not one of the felines has deigned to join me.
Oh sure, they were all over me a few hours ago when it was feeding time.
But since then?
They have been asleep in front of the log fire.
They have hooned about the house, acting out a series of Tom and Jerry cartoons.
They have bothered the heck out of me, and tried to steal my tea (yeah, as if, kitties, as if).
But have they come up to bed with me?
Have they allowed themselves to make the too big and too empty bed feel more comfortable?
Have they hell.
When I come back in my next life, I’m going to be a dog.