Welcome to the attic of my mind. Mind the stairs, click the light on and have a rummage around my thoughts on writing, the art of everything second-hand, the natural world, music . . . just about everything. Probably not much about sport.
Sunday, 1 January 2012
The year walked in quietly in looking clean and soft; warm winds blowing from the West, and clouds shoving off to reveal long-awaited blue.
I had no hangover, but a strong sense of purpose, or possibly panic, mainly due to the huge washing pile that was engulfing the bathroom.
New years resolutions: No; except one, maybe. Smile more. I did this last year, and noticed that less people said, 'cheer up it might never happen.' Well, English people anyway. 'Soyez heureux, peut-être cela n'arrivera jamais?' There's probably a saying along the lines of: 'it could be worse, your fois gras might have gone off'.
Mark's N.Y.R is to fall less into the trap of procrastination. Good one, and he has been indeed filling any available nano second with composition. Less cake though. This is probably good, I have put back on three kilos in nine days.
Our lovely cousins spoilt us with huge boxes of Milk Tray, mince pies, Christmas cake, treacle pies . . Help. It was lovely however. Now back to severe austerity, cabbage, brown bread, and bizarrely a small crop of tiny new potatoes in the veg patch. I must digress from what ever I was rambling about before to express my amazement about this.
These plants sprang up from rogue potato bits left in the ground in the spring, survived a frost, and then went on to produce a crop, in Jan/Dec. Odd.
Anyway, back to the main subject which was? Flab. A strange thing, not quite sure where mine has gone back on. Perhaps a general spreading over the whole body? maybe I needed thickening up again, I was feeling extra cold in the UK.
The main purpose of the trip back to the drizzly rock was to see my mum in the home. We spent Christmas day there, enjoyed a three course lunch, and Mark played piano for the residents. They loved it. It was moving to see and hear one old lady singing along to everything. She knew every word.
This time I didn't have food poisening on the ferry back, but did lie down in my alloted bunk the whole time as the slightest trip to the loo made my internal balance system turn into a fairground ride called stagger'n'puke.
Road trip back was tiresome as most of the scenery was shrouded in slanting rain. We listened to the Czars, which is the most perfect accompaniment for driving through sodden, melancholic tracts of landscape.
Here is a small film of New Years Day with breakfast OUTSIDE, banjo playing, Christmas stuff waiting to be housed, and washing needing to be hung out.
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