Cold

Now it is winter. The temperature has fallen. A few degrees, but it makes all the difference when the few degrees are below zero.

The house is cold. It is even colder outside, though not by much. The cat has taken to sleeping by the radiator. The radiator is off, but she is trying to make a point.

The laptop is still no happier. I've given up trying to fix it. It may require specialist treatment. Or I could try thinly veiled threats.

Crash

This is getting difficult. I am having problems with the computer. It is not keen on booting up. Eventually I get in, and last night decided to have a go at reinstalling everything. But it went wrong again this morning. And although I am now in (after another system restore), I am not confident whether this is permanent, or the briefest of brief respites. But such is the problem of being so reliant on technology: you feel somewhat helpless when it goes wrong. Especially when it is the sort of technology that doesn't respond well to being thumped.

I have another laptop for emergencies, but it is pretty ancient. The wireless thing doesn't work. Neither do the letters A and S. You can cope for quite a while without the letters A and S; in fact, it becomes something of a challenge to see how far you can go. But eventually you run out of synonyms. And patience.

Tombola

It's been a busy few days. Though not busy with anything particularly exciting. There was a trip to the dentist, for example. Dentists are okay, I suppose, in their own way: they provide a useful service to the public. Gone are the days of string and doorknobs, thankfully. (Hard to imagine how you can actually tie a piece of string around a tooth, unless folk were particularly gappy in earlier times.) I don't particularly dread the visit to the dentist; but then, nor do I look forward to it. It is just one of those things that you have to put up with. Like buying new tyres for the car. Or de-worming the cat. It must be quite demoralising to be a dentist sometimes, and to think that the public perception of your professional career is on a par with de-worming the cat. Talking of which, I actually did try to de-worm the cat this weekend. I had bought some tablets that were larger than the usual ones, and tried my usual ploy of hiding one in the cat food. Cat spotted it instantly. She is too clever for her own good. She is able to recognise the flea treatment on sight, too. I just need to keep one step ahead of her. Somehow.

It is a month till Christmas. I have been to a couple of Christmas markets already, but then they do tend to spring up all over the place nowadays. They are useful for instilling a little of the Yuletide spirit, even if it is only November. But this didn't stop the local church hosting their Christmas Fair yesterday. You would have thought that the Church would be a little stricter on these matters, and would only hold Christmas Fairs a day or two before the big event. But no, commercialism is seeping into every aspect of our public life. On the plus side, I did win a bottle. Some sort of drink. Bottles won at these events are rarely worth drinking. They tend to be things not on sale in shops, but only available for distribution via church fair tombolas. It is an unusual marketing strategy, but uncannily lucrative.

Bond

Sometimes you just feel you need a holiday. It's been a long time since the sweltering days of summer. It's even longer till next summer. And somehow I have accumulated four weeks of holiday at work, which have to be taken before next April. Next April sounds a long way off, but it can be hard to drum up the enthusiasm for a fortnight's holiday in a cold and bleak February, particularly when you can't afford to go anywhere not cold and not bleak. So I will begin by taking tomorrow off. It is Friday, after all. I could take off every Friday for the next five months, now that I come to think of it. Or perhaps just take off the whole of  December. That way I might just about get the Christmas shopping done on time.

I got round to seeing the latest James Bond last weekend. At the cinema, I mean. It's quite an achievement for me to make it to the cinema: my social life is generally so brimming with activity that I miss the few films that I want to see. But there are always some for which I make the effort to rearrange my hectic schedule. (Which usually just means doing a larger supermarket shop the day before.) Clearly, I can identify, to some extent, with the character of James Bond: moody, mysterious, living life on a knife edge. That's me, to a tee. Maybe not so much the knife edge, perhaps: I probably veer towards a more placid lifestyle, to tell the truth. And I'm not really one for fast cars; especially not with ejector seats. They are an accident waiting to happen.

Harumble

It will be a relief to you, if you were at all concerned by the previous post, that nothing unpleasant has happened. I was beginning to worry about the cat: whether her inscrutable nature was a flimsy disguise for some sort of hidden agenda, perhaps something along the lines of world domination, starting with my house. But I am still here, which is good. I am always a little uneasy with leaving Cat alone in the house during the day; you never know whether she will work out how to change the locks; and, to add insult to injury, turn up the central heating to full, and leave the television on all day, and empty the contents of the fridge. But either I have completely misjudged her, or she hasn't got the hang of the remote control yet.

It's worth mentioning the return of Bleak Expectations to Radio 4: a heart-warming Victorian costume drama, which, being on the radio, probably doesn't bother with the costumes. But at least it has a hero by the name of Pip, and evil villains by the bucketful. The following definition may be helpful:

Harumble. An exclamation of delight, to be used in place of words like Huzzah and Hoorah, but not in place of words like cauliflower or mattress.

Anniversary

This is not easy: writing a post on the laptop, with Cat sprawled over my knees. Despite being far from spindly, my knees were not designed to support a cat and a laptop simultaneously. In addition, she seems disturbed by my typing: either by the noise (which is barely audible, to tell the truth, unless her hearing is particularly sensitive) or by the lack of attention I am giving her (tapping away at an inanimate lump of plastic instead of providing her with reassuring pats) or, by some feline intuition beyond human understanding, she is deeply embarrassed by what I am writing about her. To prove the point, she has sloped off now, and refuses to talk to me.

It is a year to the day (almost) since Cat arrived. She had little choice in the matter. Perhaps that is not strictly true: I suspect she used her whiskery wiles to influence us when we first met her at the animal rescue centre. Perhaps all the time that we thought we were methodically assessing each cat in an objective and highly scientific matter, she was actually working her way into our affections by means of purring amicably and wiping her nose on my leg. Perhaps she chose us, rather than the other way round. That makes me feel a little uneasy, but ties in with other things that have happened since; for example, her habit of gradually taking over the whole house rather than be content with the cat basket in a corner of the living room; almost as if there were a masterplan that was being implemented, so slowly as to be imperceptible. And, for that matter, where is she right now? What is she plotting?

Leaf

Not quite sure whether this still counts as autumn, or whether it's slipped into winter. These things are presumably difficult to clarify at the best of times. At the moment, there are not many leaves left on the trees. The evenings draw in early. The little yellow light thing on the dashboard warns me that there is a risk of ice on the roads. I've started wearing my winter coat (at least, when outdoors). The year seems to be drifting towards its end.

Trees, leaves, etc.

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."  

            Mr H.D. Thoreau, Massachusetts

Medicine

- But it must be exciting to go to a conference? Cutting-edge stuff from eminent professors, and all that. Unforeseen announcements of ground-breaking research that send ripples through the audience. And are reported in the national press. You know the sort of thing. Doctors discover cure for apathy. World saved. Of course, I'm simplifying somewhat.
- Yes. It's not always quite like that, you know.
- Of course. I realise these things are not every day occurrences. Maybe not even every other day. But still, occasionally, every now and then. Cure for ingratitude and lack of sense of humour. Combined. That would be useful.
- I'm not sure you quite appreciate how science progresses. Or the type of conditions for which drugs are discovered.
- That surely is the crux of the problem facing the pharmaceutical industry today. They are not targeting the ailments that really concern people. Such as extreme competitiveness, congenital inability to read between the lines, and morbid punctuality. Those remedies would sell. At any rate, I would buy a few, and give them to people I know. As presents, but with the aim of improving the imperfections in their personalities.
- That's very thoughtful of you.

Stout

- Another Monday. Back to work after a weekend of inertia. Difficult to believe that a week ago I was many thousands of miles away, basking under foreign skies.
- Dublin, wasn't it?
- Yes.
- Only a couple of hundred miles away; at best. And I thought it wasn't basking weather.
- It was dry, mostly. With occasional sunny spells. But I take your point. I was just trying to add a little exotic colour. All the same, a fine city.
- Did you get to see the sights?
- I saw a lot of posters; and sat through many lectures; but not much else. Such is the burden of having to attend a conference. Otherwise a few aimless strolls around the streets of Dublin. Mostly looking for something to eat. I mean in a restaurant. Not just on the street.
- Of course.
- But sometimes it's nice to get away. Visit somewhere new. It is abroad, after all. So similar to home, and yet somehow so different. Road signs; currency; post boxes: all different.
- It helps if road signs are different. They are not so useful when they are all identical. Especially those offering directions.
- Yes. And the cuisine, too. Particularly the beer.
- It is always advisable to sample the local cuisine.

Dream

We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams.

So the concert went well. Better than that: almost sublime at times, which doesn't always happen. Not because of my singing: it was sublime despite my singing. Hopefully I was lost amid the other members of the choir for most of the time. And drowned out by the orchestra for the rest.

It can be a moving experience to be part of a choir. All those weeks of rehearsal, building up to a single unique performance. Getting more and more deeply involved in the notes, till they echo around your head in the middle of the night and when you first get up in the morning and for much of the rest of the day. Overcoming the technical challenges, painstakingly picking your way through obscure chords and tangled cross-rhythms. Feeling the nuances of the music, the shifts in emotion, so that it begins to take shape as a performance. And then, despite the stress of having to face an audience, you can lose yourself in the music and let it carry you away.

Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.

Parkin

- Hard to believe it's November already.
- Yes...
- It's as if we are careering helplessly towards the close of the year.
- I suppose so.
- I don't know where the time goes. What happened to autumn? Gone before you realised it was here.
- Mmm...
- And soon enough, it'll be the mad rush of buying presents, and stocking up the fridge, and –
- Good grief. This happens every year. It's only November. There is still an age till Christmas, if only you would step back and consider it calmly.
- But they've been selling decorations and stuffing and wrapping paper and mince pies for months already. And I haven't bought a thing yet. There will be nothing left at this rate.
- Nonsense. You are being led astray by the hyperactive marketing ploys of the major retailers. They are determined to start the Christmas season earlier each year in order to extract as much money from you as they can. It is all so unnecessary. You should stand firm, and not even think about Christmas till December arrives. One afternoon of strolling calmly around the shops, and all your preparations will be done.
- But –
- But nothing. You should relish the joys of the present day rather than worry over the distant future. Try to look forward to the unique charms that November has to offer. The sombre feast days of All Saints and All Souls. The delights of eating treacle toffee and parkin while watching some dubious celebration of effigy burning on Guy Fawkes Night.
- Of course. You're right. Now that you mention it, it's only a couple of weeks till the German Christmas Markets open in Manchester.