High Resolution

It is not only another year, but another decade, brought on in a fit of full moon – blue moon – madness, and soaring over us with snow, frost, deep set ice, thin skating ice, blue fingers, red fingers, shortages of cheap heaters and value paracetamol.

And what do we resolve to do?

For myself, fly this landmass for another, a hotter, a place where there are deep dreams of petty crimes and wide open spaces and shivering heat which induces fat tongued hallucinations.

Swim. Submerge weekly, in the manner of a cat surprised by the smooth sides of a bath and its fullness, and aim to gain, if not a phenomenally athletic physique, then at least a sense of well being. All forecasts point instead to a head cold and aching muscles, but I have my business-like school issue swimsuit (purchased circa 2000, thank you speedo and your eternal elastic) and my determination.

Write. No more lover excuses, coursework excuses. Pen to paper to keys to scrap bin and repeat ad nauseam. If I am no good, and cannot exorcise it with practice, then I this will, at the least, be the year I find out.

Be as kind as I can, as often as I can.

Forgive more.

Buy a decent grater.

Dance.

Festive Cheer Abounding

You know there is a sense of festivity in the air when a cancelled holiday to La Gomera (cheers, Globespan), turns into a fairy-tale wonderland of eight inches of snow in rural Perthshire. Disgusting amateur photobinge to follow.

But first, I regularly go past a shop – Lord alone knows what it sells, it has frosted windows and is calledFairytails. Yes, yes seriously:Fairytails. I have already floated the idea that they dock deformed fairies, and perhaps other mythical creatures, relieving them of unslightly growths that they could do without. But who knows.

It is next to ‘Colleen’s Rapid Salon’, a hairdresser which trades on the one factor which probably counts least when choosing the venue for your next hair cut.

‘Can I do it well? Bugger that, lady, I can do it fast.’

See? Thought not. That fifteen second haircut is going to cost you six months of social interaction, and a small fortune in millinery.

Edinburgh has risen to the occasion of Christmas rather magnificently, although there will be classes held by the council in the new year to stop the cyclists killing themselves by cycling into the new tram tracks in front of oncoming traffic. Big win, council, big win, Ruin Edinburgh with trams, and kill people who are actually doing something important to reduce emissions. Genius.

Just before the snow.

It is icy and benumbing in this part of the world and I have caned myself on multiple occasions just trying to move around.

For now, adieu. I have a Swede arriving in the morning, and one likes to be fresh-faced for such events.

On Other Things

I had forgotten that you could hear people in the loo from through my bedroom wall.

Sometimes I get that mood.

That awful, angry, nobody will ever want to employ me/I have wasted my life thus far restless energy which will not leave but which is not powerful enough to overcome the overwhelming and paralysing ‘applyforjobs/flatinlondon/phd?/travel?/praygodIdonotenduplivingathome’ fear

Fuck it.

There are other, powerful, wonderful things in the world:

and some things which help you revel in your anger, and remember that the power you carry in your fingertips and hips and mind is sufficient:

It is feeling cold, under-exercised, and unsexy. Potently poor combination, but one which is so very, very easily combat-able:

Remembrance of beautiful things.

Anticipation of things to come

Knowing the world has places you can escape to.

And knowing you have escaped to some of them already.