The joy of self-deception

Hurrah! It's New Year! My favourite time of year. I get to drink champagne and kid myself that I can do better. Cheers!

So in recent years I have experimented with Non-Resolution Resolutions. I have been all about "goal setting" and such. Last year, you may recollect, I decided that it could all be wrapped up in the simple mission statement: Get My Shit Together. Well, there's really only one word for my progress on that front.

But I'm a lady and I don't use words like that.

Taking kadekraan's advice, therefore, for 2008 I am subdividing my main goal ("Get My Shit Together") into smaller goals. ("Get My Shit Together Just a Little Bit", "Get My Shit Together a Bit More", "Get My Shit Together I Really Mean It This Time" and so on. Thanks for that, k. Very helpful.) As it happens, the result looks surprisingly like traditional resolutions: Get Healthy. Manage Stress. Do More Stuff.

Manage Stress and Get Healthy are quite closely interlinked; really I'd be hard pressed to say where one ends and the other begins, especially as I have vowed to never again make any stupid commitments like "get skinny". Instead, I have a selection of Noble Principles I shall be experimenting with, which I believe have the potential to Make Me Well, and also Happy. For instance:

Breakfast. It might not be the enemy after all.
Consider the possibility of actually consuming all the produce that arrives in your weekly organic box, rather than simply photographing it for supposedly humorous blogging purposes.*
Toast with humus: not actually bad for you, but not recommended for every meal.

I have my doubts about all of the above, but we'll give this whole Breakfast and Vitamins thing a fair chance.

Happy new arbitrary calendar demarcation! Huzzah!

_____
* We had the world's longest parsnip this week. Glad you were spared?

Organisation, lack thereof

This is my desk at the start of a standard week. It don't look like much, but you can at least see the surface.
This is my desk at the end of the week.


The theory goes that by spending more time working at home, and less going to an office, I'll be able to keep things closer to picture A, with all the implicit productivity that entails. (Since every piece of crud on the table in picture B represents Something Not Yet Done.)

What are the chances?

Christmas lights are rubbish

Seen behind the Royal Festival Hall, a couple of weeks ago. Around the corner:


It's not terribly easy to see, but those are all coloured plastic bottles. Clever!

And then there is this:


This space is normally used for public sculpture of some sort - recently, a collection of fountains, all of which were human forms spewing water from somewhere unpleasantly anatomical. So presumably these bits and pieces are being used in the making of a new exhibit, but then again they could actually be the latest exhibit. I honestly have no idea.

Anybody remember the story, a few years ago, of some German janitors working in an art museum, who had to be sent on an "art appreciation" course after accidentally throwing away one of the installations (a pile of rubbish on the floor)? The best bit of that story was the comment I heard from, er, I forget: "If a pile of rubbish is a valid piece of art, then clearing it away is a valid piece of art criticism."

The Giant Swede of Doom

Not celeriac this time, but an actual swede. An actual mutant giant swede of doom.


I posed it with a lemon, for scale, and a rather oddly shaped pear, for humour. But the pear's weird potato shape doesn't come across at all, and it sort of detracts from the giantness of the swede. So just mentally erase that pear, okay? It is a GIANT SWEDE. It is as big as my head. Well, my head's quite big, but probably as big as Beloved's head. It is, in any case, HUGE.

And yet still counts as only one vegetable. We're getting good value from our organic box. Oh yes.

Hello world! I love everybody!

Happy Christmas! Happy Boxing Day! Happy almost New Year! Ummm... happy! Happy happy! Woo yay!

Apparently spending two days at home, with the computer switched off and just one's Beloved for company, with a large quantity of fattening food and assorted alcohol* and a large pile of DVDs (Lord of the Rings for preference), can do wonders for the stress levels.

Yay Christmas! Can I have another one just like it?

_____
* Meet the Brother William: equal parts pear liqueur, Frangelico and Southern Comfort, served in a martini glass with a cherry and topped up with Peartiser. Don't say I never give you anything.

I think I accidentally swallowed a manatee*

The Scrivener reports: Yes, it is possible to eat three Christmas dinners within 40 hours.

Some survival tips:

1. Breakfast is not your friend.
2. Coke is.
3. You will only be able to face Christmas pudding once, and better make that time the first dinner. At later events, you will be starting to see the point of trifle.
4. If one or more of the events takes place in a restaurant, and if you dawdle enough over your food, the waiters might offer to clear your plate (or even your drinks) before you've quite finished. This is possibly the only occasion when you'll be really happy for them to do so.
5. If you've drunk (more than) enough, you may find yourself happily indulging in seconds, the alcohol having blunted your senses sufficiently that you are not aware of just how uncomfortable your gut is becoming. Beware! The booze will wear off long before the stuffed feeling.
6. The above notwithstanding, there is never anything wrong with another glass of gluhwein. Possibly the spices aid digestion. Or something.
7. You may find sleepiness overwhelming you at some point, as your body attempts to digest the large sea mammal in your gut. It helps to take out your knitting (though possibly not in a restaurant). Hand movement keeps you at least partly awake. Yet another reason to take up knitting.

_____
* In an incident entirely unrelated to sexual favours of the aquatic sort.

Feelin' festive

So it would appear to be Christmas, complete with magical, mythical mist and frost. I've been to see Matthew Bourne's Nutcracker!, I've been ice skating at Kew, and I've kicked off the Christmas dinners (three in two days) with a very enjoyable affair indeed at Pippa's tonight.* I've been given perfume and a polar bear, I've wrapped the few presents I'm giving,** I have posted almost the last of the knitterly rush orders (with two more tomorrow).


We don't have a tree (sacrilege!), but we do have spangly red tulips, which is surely at least as good?


We have stocked up on festive food... possibly more than we are capable of eating this year. I'll get back to you on that. We have also decided on our plan of action for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day (it involves Lord of the Rings, all of it,*** and pyjamas, and resolutely unplugged computers).

Everything is looking pretty good.

It's just a shame that the heating's broken again.

_____
* Parties with fun people are even more fun with more fun people. It's so great having Vivaldifan in London.
** Or possibly, I have inveigled Beloved into wrapping them for me.
*** Apart from the extras. That's just crazy.

Tis the season

2007 in first lines; or, the Mundane Meme.

January:
Anna Little Red Boat, investigative journalist extraordinaire, started quite the conversation while I was away.

February:
Alive, yes, Anything interesting to tell you, no.

March:
I have led such a protected, not to say wilfully deluded, life.

April:
Everybody knows Italy already — even if you've never been anywhere further than your neighbourhood pizzeria.

May:
But clearly a mismatch.

June:
The problem with lolcats is that, well, they're generally not so much lol.

July:
Two and a half weeks of visit later, matricide has been averted.

August:
Blah blahblah blahblah.

September:
Vivaldifan has just arrived from SA to start his new life here in Londonville.

October:
Holiday disasters (little ones):
Forgetting my work permit and changing my ticket.

November:
He did it again.

December:
Which of the following statements about my past week is/are untrue?

Conclusion:
Today I ate a cheese sandwich.

And should give you something at least as seasonal, and far more entertaining.

Overheard

Unusually, I really enjoy hearing people talk loudly in public places. You know, when someone's having a high-volume run-down of last night's escapades on a mobile on the bus, and everyone rolls their eyes and looks huffy... well, I just sit there and grin. It's the joy of eavesdropping, without the guilt. (Come on. You can't help hearing!) It's like that Guardian Weekend column, the tiny plays about Britain. (Which, if the letters column is anything to go by, isn't liked by anyone but me either... but I love it. So much story crammed into so few words.)

Anyway, eavesdropping on public transport isn't, I have to admit, terribly rewarding. Most of the conversations are very like each other. But then there are the others.

[EXT. A station platform, mid-afternoon. A small group is hailed by a passing man who recognises them. Small talk ensues; it becomes apparent that they are all train company staff, who haven't worked together for a while. The usual catch-up: who's retired, who's moved away... personal news of any kind is pretty much lacking. Eventually the newcomer gets tired of generalities and makes an abrupt bid for attention.]

A: So my wife died two years ago.
B: ...I'm, er, sorry to hear that.
A: But I married again this February.
C: Ah... congratulations?
A: Oh, you know, you think you're going to be alone for the rest of your life, but... She was my daughter-in-law.
All: ...
A: Yes, my son was beating her up. She came to me for support.
All: ...
A: Yes in-deed.
B: Uh... gosh. Well.
A: Ho yes.
D: Well... um... how old is she?
A: [chortles] A fair bit younger than me, I tell you that much!
D: Thirty-something?
A: That's right. [pause] And French!
C: Gosh... And, er, I guess you don't see much of your son now?
A: Oh no, he comes round, we're all right.
C: Oh.
A: The rest of the family won't speak to me though.
B: Ah... that's your stepkids, is it?
A: Yup. They're not going to get the house any more. So they're fed up.
C: Ah...
B: Well, there's our train I think...

On greed

When I left SA, I offloaded most of my worldly goods. This included a large number of books, many of which I'd never quite gotten round to reading, and some yarn, and even a bunch of fabric and sewing supplies. Which is sort of funny, since I hate sewing. So I came to the UK fairly unburdened with possessions, and while I did (and do) suffer the occasional twinge of regret for something I once had and loved (or, um, thought I might love if I ever got round to reading it), by and large I liked this state of affairs.

This state of affairs has changed.

By now, I have acquired Some Books. I have in fact acquired enough books that I keep having to buy new bookcases. I have two shelves packed quite tight with books that I have not yet gotten round to reading. Some of these books were picked up almost at random for free, from work, which is sort of better (hey, no one else wanted them...) and sort of worse (I didn't need them, I wouldn't have bought them, yet I felt the need to take them home?). I have run out of space on my CD shelf quite a while ago. I have acquired enough yarn to keep me knitting for five to six years, I estimate, and that's after having offloaded a large quantity of it a couple of years ago. (I'm resisting the fabric, though, you'll be delighted to hear.)

I've written elsewhere about my ambivalence on the whole yarn stash issue, and let me just say very clearly that I do NOT feel bad about acquiring beautiful things that inspire me to make beautiful things. My yarn brings me joy, as do my books. Most of my stash at the moment is hand-dyed, so each purchase is a little connection between me and someone who is making a living by working with fibre, and I love that, I love that I am helping someone to support themselves with their hobby. I don't feel that anything I buy is redirecting needed resources away from people in need; resources don't really work like that. (Do I think, "hey, shall I give to charity or buy this yarn? Mmmm... yarn wins!" No. I do both.) I don't believe that acquiring "frivolous" things is a bad idea, necessarily, and for that matter I don't see my knitting habit as remotely frivolous. It's a creative pursuit, it fulfils me in ways I'm frankly embarrassed to talk about, it's really important to me. (Stop laughing, you at the back.) And I'm glad to have a stash of gorgeous materials at hand to inspire me. And I'm glad to have a collection of books that I love. And so on.

But it must be admitted... I do have enough. More than enough. And as much as I keep seeing more wonderful things out there that trigger my base acquisitive instincts... I don't need them. It's debatable how much I want them, given my fondness for decluttering.

So I'm posting this for two reasons. (Well, three; one of them is that it's 5am and I can't sleep. Possibly at 5pm this wouldn't seem such a hot topic.)

One, to remind myself in detail that I Have Enough. It's a good thing to remember.

And two, to add my voice to the growing multitude of gift-opter-outers. I love you all. I love giving gifts. But right now... I'm in a slightly financially tenuous position. I don't have time to go shopping. And I'm seriously lacking in the general sense of wanting to circulate more Stuff. I don't need or want anything; I can't think of anything that you need or want (that I'm in a position to give, anyway). I'd really like to celebrate the festive season with great company, a filthy amount of food, and as little Stuff as possible. And then when your birthday comes around, or when I see something that tells me it should be yours, I shall take great delight in giving you - or even making you - something special.

But the random gift exchange right now? I'm not feeling it. Let's not.

...

It occurs to me that all of this could sound pretty damn insulting to my friends. Like: "hey, I don't want anything, so clearly you don't either. And anyway I just can't be bothered to make the time to choose you a gift, because I'm, like, sooo busy and important." I hope you know that it's not like that. Right?

Oh dear ... I wonder if I'm going to come back and delete this in the morning. Or wish I had.

...

Edit: Well, extemp commented before I had a chance to delete, so that was that decision taken care of. But in light of, um, umbrage taken (quite reasonably and nicely) elsewhere, I'd like to clarify/amend as follows:

I love getting gifts. And if you have something you'd really like to give me, I will be sincerely delighted to receive it. It's also entirely possible that I'll give one or two gifts myself, out of sheer spontaneous wossname. (The likelihood of this happening to you is directly proportional to your interest in knitting.) But I am not planning to give gifts, nor expecting to receive any. I really don't want to come over all Scrooge, because I love the whole gifting tradition. It's just all a bit complicated right now, and I was hoping to simplify. Not sure I achieved that.

In fact now I think I just sound a bit greedy. (Oh, I'll take all right...)

Gosh. This whole clarification/amendment thing could go on for some time.

Edit 2: I take it back (partly): I really do want a Kissmoose present. I want for someone to crack my dvd player for me. So that I can get the later Gilmore Girls seasons on DVD and FINALLY know what happens after Rory drops out of Yale.

True or false?

Which of the following statements about my past week is/are untrue? Now with added answers!!

A. Met my long lost cousin, given up for adoption at birth, who is now working on the next Bond movie. Answer: true. He made contact with the family a few years ago, but this was the first time I'd met him. He's cool. And looks like his mom.
B. Acquired knitting yarn made entirely from milk. Answer: true. It's rather nice. Soft. I'll be selling it soon.
C. Went to view a house for rent which turned out to be at least twice as big as we were expecting.
Answer: astonishingly, true. Right number of rooms, but they're enormous rooms. And an enormous garden.
D. Graced review of The Golden Compass with the sparklingly apposite headline "Narnia's polar opposite". Answer: false. Because the reviewer completely failed to see the striking differences between CS Lewis and Philip Pullman. To be fair, I believe the film has rather played down the atheist angle...
E. Rediscovered the ability of alcohol, when taken in excess, to mimic the effects of caffeine, prompting random wee-hours blogging. Answer: true, obviously.

Yes, it's a bit of a cheat making the one false answer the thing that you'd think was too boring to lie about.