venta

Well, here we all are again, then.

Just about.

I think it's fair to say that this year [*] has not quite gone to plan. I mean, we're nowhere near 2020 levels of off-the-rails, but it's all been a bit disorganised.

( Seasonal Shambles )

[*] OK, so I was about to say "we've put the decorations up, we've got the fire in, but my Dad has not yet offered me a pint". Which is basically an outrage, excepting the fact that we've only just finished the bottle of wine from dinner. Anyway, I'd got the laptop out and got as far as the asterisk when Dad bestirred from under his newspaper and proffered a beer.

I've now got a nice pint of Boondoggle, and Dad's got an Evil Elf and, due to a mild and unspecified mishap, the kitchen rug has had a pint of Two Hoots.

Cheers all around.

Aye up, gang. It's Christmas.

Which has rather snuck up on me this year. I mean, I understand calendars. I knew it was December. I had a shopping trip planned with a friend. Various pre-Christmas things were organised.

Then the niggling-kinda-cold I had turned out (on Dec 12th) to be Covid. I wasn't especially ill - nasty cough, but otherwise nothing really worth mentioning - but felt that I ought to confine myself to barracks until I tested negative again. And I cancelled my shopping trip and a bunch of other plans, and I missed my work Christmas party. And it sort of took out a week or so and now here we are.

The harbingers of Christmas have had to shuffle into line pretty quickly. However, we've made it up to my parents' house, there are some presents, they're wrapped, Dad and I have had a couple of pints, and we've got the fire in. The tree is decorated (although admittedly one of the things it is decorated with is a banana, because my Dad handed me it while I was reaching for a bauble, apparently in the mistaken belief I would somehow crack and put it back in the fruitbowl. Honestly, it's like he's never met me). I've made up the pigs in blankets, and we've listened to some carols, and even managed to scrounge some offcuts of holly from the garden centre on the way into town.

We watched The Boy, The Mole, The Horse and The Fox on the BBC, and it was just delightful. Messages are bouncing back and forth on various WhatsApp groups (one of which has just deployed the phrase "roastness per unit potato"). I've read up to the Christmas Eve section of The Dark is Rising (I haven't yet tried out the BBC radio drama, but BeckyA tells me it's good).

Everything feels, on the surface, like it's back to normal.

It kind of is. For me.

I'm also very aware that for a disproportionate number of my family and friends, recent months have sucked in a horrible variety of ways. Bad news has been rolling in with alarming frequency, mostly where there is very little I can do to help. My nice, cosy Christmas feels a bit too much like bragging.

But for those of you who find tradition comforting: we're still here, and we're still doing it. I hope you're doing things that make you happy. Stay warm, stay safe, be merry.

Hey. It's been a while. But it's Christmas, which is a time for traditions. So here we are.

Last year, there was a brief hiatus in the annual visitation to my family home. This year we're back for a Completely Normal Christmas. Definitely Normal. ChrisC and I have piled up the motorway[*], singing along to the Christmas compilation albums he made, and to the festive quick-fire found from Pappy's. We've collected the order from the butcher and I've made up the pigs in blankets and the stuffing for tomorrow; we've put the tree and the decorations up; we've got a fire going. Things are in their usual places. Dad and I have a pint each.

All sounding normal, no?

Sadly, some unexpected companions accompanied us this year. One is a sort of scientific angel, which sits on my shoulder. It says things like "you've been very careful in the run up to Christmas" and "you're doing daily lateral flow tests", and "all your relatives, however elderly and unwell, are extremely vaccinated (as are you)".

On the other shoulder, sits Little Devil Doubt. Little Devil Doubt likes to keep reminding me that I've come from London, where infection rates are currently through the roof. And that many of my friends who are also sensible, careful people have contracted Covid just the same. "Are you sure," it says, "that that little sniffle you have is just because you helped ChrisC's parents move a load of dusty boxes out of storage? Are you sure it's just an allergy? Do you maybe have a slight sore throat, too? You're still sneezing. You've been into shops this week. Can you trust lateral flow tests? Isn't your throat feeling a bit sore? Don't forget that Rach had Covid for a few days before she tested positive. And G caught Covid at a party where everyone had tested negative beforehand. And T had what he thought was a cold, tested negative twice, and infected three other people with Covid... Are you sure you don't have a sore throat?"

Little Devil Doubt is, of course, particularly fond of saying things like this to me in the middle of the night when I'm trying to sleep. I'm not a fan but, sadly, LDD appears to have a rather louder and more insistent voice than Science Angel.

It is not, to be honest, the most restful approach to Christmas. But I am well aware that many people are having much worse Christmases, for all kinds of reasons. If some 3am panic is the worst that happens to me, I will have nothing to complain about.

Of course, an un-looked for benefit of travelling to the far north is that the chemists here actually have lateral flow tests in stock. I picked some up, which means we can now test profligately instead of worrying that we might run out. And I was here to explicate the now-slightly-bureaucratic process for acquiring same to my Dad.

I've spoken to my parents' very-vulnerable neighbour on the phone, rather than popping round. I've run some errands for my also-quite-unwell uncle (including posting a card... at least... I think I posted a card... I left his house with it, and wound up back at my parents' without it... but I have absolutely zero memory of putting it in a postbox... surely I posted it...). I've bumped into random neighbours and said 'hi' (including a hilarious pelican crossing experience where three people crossed from each side, and each one stopped briefly for a chat with the person coming towards them in the opposite direction).

Tomorrow, there's going to be a certain amount of driving people around, and generally trying to make sure everyone's OK. Due to a Covid-related care-mixup, my mum will be running a carefully-edited Christmas dinner round to the aforementioned vulnerable neighbour. But tomorrow, there will also be good cheer, company, a fire and, of course, pigs in blankets. We'll be OK.

Take care everyone. I hope you're warm, and safe, and that everyone you care about is healthy. Have a good day tomorrow.

[*] Ish. Owing to shocking traffic, we came up the A1 instead of the M1, which is only (M) for some of the way.

Oh, I forgot. Additional...

Christmas content! I have a very short Christmas story that was published a few days ago, you can read it on the Gray Sisters website if you're interested. Be warned, though... it was written and submitted some months ago, when I didn't know that a bleak and miserable Christmas story was literally the last thing anyone would want.

I've also created a set of puzzles, after the manner of Puzzled Pint puzzles. They're intended to be mostly quite easy (someone with no Puzzled Pint experience polished them all off in the space of an afternoon, with only a couple of hints). If anyone would like them to take them for a spin, leave me a comment and I'll send you the PDF! (Or drop me a mail if you think I won't have your address - my domain is blacktreacle dot com and anything sensible will reach me.)

( Headline thoughts from lockdown )

On the plus side: if nothing else, the current news cycle means at least a small section of children will instinctively understand second derivatives when they meet them in year 8 maths. (Year 8? I have no idea. I'm guessing wildly.)

Hey, LJ. I've been neglecting you dreadfully of late. But Christmas is a time of traditions, and so here we are.

( We must have our traditions )

But for now, Dad is fetching me a(nother) beer and all is well with the world. If you're celebrating Christmas, have a good'un.

I am not sure where my time has been going of late. One place it absolutely hasn't been going is on me reading or updating LJ. As mentioned a few times, I use this place as my online memory and means of resolving future arguments about what we did at festivals, which means I have some catching up to do.

This year, ChrisC and I ventured up to Camden for Camden Rocks - the successor to the multi-venue Camden Crawl. Yes, Camden Rocks was at the beginning of June. Yes, I am very behind with my writing up, do be quiet.

Mutant Monster, The Men Who Will Not Be Blamed For Nothing, Brand New Friend, (Albany), (Bang Bang Romeo), Projector, Sick Love, (Pet Needs), Rascalton, Desperate Journalist, Frank Turner

( Saturday )

Rews, Eliza & the Bear, Shvpes, A, Janus Stark, Toffees, St Agnes, The Last Internationale, Ash, The Wonderstuff

( Sunday )

Hullo, internet. I have a question.

Has anyone ever owned/lived with/significantly interacted with an ottoman bed? By which I mean a bed where the whole mattress part lifts up to reveal storage space underneath. They look like this, and are currently being referred to in our household as "crocodile beds".

We are considering getting one, as they look like a good way to get maxium under-bed storage. I'm guessing we'd want to use it for long-term, rarely-accessed storage rather than (for example) spare bedding which one would want to get at regularly. But are they one of those things that looks like a good idea, but turn out to be a pain in the arse? Do the hydraulic mechanisms break after a couple of years, leaving you with the job of manually hauling a mattress about?

Any advice, commentary, or idle anecdotes about crocodiles welcome.

Aye up. It's festival season already...

( Wales Goes Pop! )

( Tomorrow's Ghosts )