Thanksgiving

It is, they tell me, Black Friday today. Indeed, they won't let me forget it, with every email arriving in my inbox blaring out some unbelievable never-to-be-repeated price-slashing offer or other. I guess it would be a good day to buy all my Christmas presents, not to mention every item of clothing or household appliance or heartfelt gift that I might need over the coming twelve months. But I gave it a miss. There seemed better things to do than spend all day trying to get online at the websites of my favourite stores, or fighting through the crowds at the local pound shop.

I suppose this all started, as with much else, in the Americas, when they had nothing better to do on the day after Thanksgiving. Much as our January sales were the start of a barely controlled shopping frenzy once we had managed to recover from Christmas lunch. But then the sales moved to Boxing Day, and then Christmas Eve, and year by year earlier and earlier. Where will it end? Will every day be a sales day apart from one or two days a year when the price is horrendous? Rather like when I was looking to buy the kitchen.

Leak

The weather seems particularly dismal at the moment: cold and wet and grey, with barely enough hours of daylight to make it worthwhile getting out of bed in the morning. And it's a long walk into work from where I park the car – not miles, I mean, else I would drive a bit closer, but a good 10 minutes' walk, which is about as close as the double yellow lines let you park – so that I end up soaked and miserable when it's raining hard. My feet have been suffering more than they deserve, but then I realised that there was quite a large hole in the sole of my shoe which was letting in water.

I am not looking for sympathy here: perhaps I do tend to hold on to items of clothing longer than is decent, but that is more to do with a reluctance to go out shopping rather than my wallowing in abject poverty. But if you feel the need to make a contribution, please do. Though preferably not by sending actual pairs of shoes, as I did manage to nip out the other weekend and buy a pair. Black. And, as far as I can tell, water-tight.

Anthem

There's a storm brewing outside. Apparently, it's called Barney, as we have now taken to naming storms along the lines of the Americans naming hurricanes. I don't know where the name Barney has come from. It's not one I would have chosen myself. A bit too casual, low-key. You need something that commands a bit more respect: Boris, perhaps, or Brunhilde. It would be embarrassing to have your fence blown down by a Barney.

I was watching the England v France game this evening, in what must have been a difficult experience for players and spectators alike. Certainly, it was deeply emotional to watch, to hear the massed singing of the Marseillaise, the respectful observation of the minute's silence. A symbol of solidarity, of defiance.

We take for granted the values that define a liberal, democratic society. But these values can seem so fragile at times, so vulnerable to attack by those bent on destroying civilised society, who want to fuel division and conflict. At times like this, it seems there is no obvious route forward to repair these rifts: that is what causes the despair.

Paris

Pie Jesu Domine
Dona eis requiem. 

Beans

– You seem to be taking a long time to get over the jet lag.
– I think I must be particularly sensitive.
– Not what I would have expected, but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt.
– It is quite a shock to the system: the dramatic changes in time zones, the loss of a night's sleep, the in-flight meals.
– All those little bags of pretzels really take it out of you.
– And the conference schedule was fairly punishing, with hardly a break from endless lectures and poster sessions. I've never been a fan of working breakfasts.
– Goodness no. Breakfasts are a time to gently re-establish contact with the world, not make small talk with senior management over a Danish pastry. But I suppose Americans are very keen on that sort of thing.
– They do tend to be generally more enthusiastic about everything.
– Extraordinary. But how was it over there? Boston, they say, is an exciting place to visit.
– Yes. I believe so. Not that I saw much of it. The convention centre was pleasant enough. Quite a large auditorium. Not the most comfortable seating.
– Was that it?
– I did get out one day – had a little wander around the historical sights. They seem quite keen on history. The Boston Tea Party, the War of Independence, all that sort of thing. Almost seem to resent the British.
– Well, time is a great healer.
– Is that so?
– I think so. But I would still keep a low profile if I were you.