Cusp

– Another year over – New Year's Eve already. How time flies... Whatever happened to Christmas?
– I don't know. It sort of came and went. At least I think it did. I was a bit under the weather at the time. But I definitely remember something about a turkey.
– Perhaps it is not a bad thing for 2016 to come to an end. It's been an odd year – maybe not one of the happiest. Too many terrorist atrocities, too many celebrities passing away. Too many bizarre political twists and turns.
– We did quite well in the Olympics. And Leicester City won the league. It wasn't all doom and gloom.
– No, I suppose there were a few faint glimmers among the glowering clouds.
– And hopefully things will take a turn for the better next year. Perhaps we should all make a resolution never to mention Brexit or Donald Trump.
– If only it were that simple. I suspect they will continue to dominate the news in 2017, and for many years to come.
– But these things are out of our control. Sometimes it is not worth agonising over what we cannot hope to influence; rather, we should focus our efforts where we can have a positive impact. And if that is only in the realm of our own thoughts and feelings and actions, then that is enough: let us get ourselves in order, and maybe we can then better cope with the vagaries and injustices and turmoil that the outside world throws at us.
– You know, that is almost inspiring.
– I like to think so.
– Do you think it is time to break out the champagne?
– I'm not sure I bought any champagne.
– This is not sounding like the best start to 2017.
– You will thank me in the morning: you wouldn't want to welcome in the New Year with a hangover.
– I was looking forward to it.

Messiah

December already. December. Already.

Not sure where this year has gone. Is it four months since I last posted? What was I doing all that time? I went on holiday. For a week. In August. So other things must have happened too.

There has been a cloud hanging over the last four months. A cloud? Or a rainbow? I no longer know. I applied for a new job; was interviewed; was offered the job; accepted it, just about; was racked with doubt; resigned from my current job, just about; and here I am, in this disconcerting limbo of waiting for something to happen, waiting for the next wave of panic or the opening of the floodgates of relief.

Never an easy decision to make; not for me, at any rate. Comes down to choosing  between a more exciting, more rewarding new job versus comparative safety and security, tinged with dullness. Not an easy decision for someone as risk averse as I.

I want to get this out of the way, out of my head, so that I can focus on the rest of my life. On Christmas, at any rate, for the next few weeks. And then, everything else. The rest of my life.

I was listening to the Messiah in the car: one of my traditional ways to get into a Christmassy mood (along with listening to the whole cycle of Sibelius symphonies). It has worked its way under my skin. Took a long time to do so (I had sung it through with the choir without managing to really see the point of it), but now it seems so perfect. In a world where so little is.

Sempiternam

Apologies for not writing any posts recently. Sometimes it is difficult to summon up the enthusiasm, or I am tempted to give up and do something more exciting and rewarding instead. But then I can't think what else that might be.

And there is something else. As you may have noticed, if you have read some or all of the previous four hundred posts, I am not very good at writing anything particularly serious. I am the first to admit that the blog is not exactly rip-roaringly hilarious. But neither does it dwell on the sad or tragic or heart-breaking events of life. It is a problem I have always had: I am not one who will ever be able to write a misery memoir, as these things are called nowadays, or to unload the dark corners of my soul on to the unwitting general public. Instead, I try to write things which are moderately cheerful and uplifting. Whether this is to keep my readers entertained or to avoid my own unresolved internal conflicts, I don't know.

And that is the problem. Since the last post there has been a succession of events which have been sad and tragic and heart-breaking. From Nice on 14 July through to Munich last Friday and Rouen today, the world seems to be getting darker by the day.

I am listening, while I write this, to Fauré's Requiem, performed recently at the Proms. We seem to be in need of requiems.

Pie Jesu Domine, dona eis requiem sempiternam.

400

– Don't you sometimes wish there was less news?
– I suppose there has been rather a lot recently. They say a week is a long time in politics. The last three weeks seem like a lifetime, and have certainly been turbulent. Perhaps things will calm down now.
– There seems to be a new Prime Minister.
– Yes. These things happen. Prime Ministers come and go. Usually there's a bit more warning.
– It's all been so sudden. With surprise resignations and half-hearted leadership contests and stabbings in the back.
– There's never a dull moment in politics.
– I had always thought politics was nothing but dull moments.
– Maybe. But every now and again momentous events occur which throw all our lives into turmoil.
– Is this one of them?
– Probably.
 

Europe

Today is the 100th anniversary of the first day of the battle of the Somme. A sombre moment in our history. The descent of Europe into hell.

This time last week we were still coming to terms with the result of the EU referendum. For those of us voting for Remain, it was a difficult pill to swallow. Campaigns run on perpetuating fear and lies, dividing the country bitterly, perhaps irreparably. The risk of self-inflicted economic turmoil. The prospect of years of argument and negotiation to end up in a position worse than where we started from.

The events of the last week haven't helped to reassure us: David Cameron stepping down to leave to his successor the nightmare of sorting out the UK's role in the world; a leadership contest descending into farce as the contenders gleefully stab each other in the back; the opposition falling into disarray; nobody coming out with any realistic plans of what to do next.

Perhaps not quite the darkest hour in this country's history, but hardly one to be proud of.

Referendum

– Well. Here we are. The polls have closed. Nothing to do now but wait.
– It's nearly time for bed.
– How can you think about sleeping on such a historic night? The future of the UK is on a knife-edge. A fundamental change to the way in which this country will be governed, most likely for the rest of our lifetimes. In the short term, a potentially devastating blow to our already shaky economy.
– What time will the result be out?
– Goodness knows. The early hours of the morning will see the first slew of declarations. But the final result will probably take till tomorrow morning.
– I'm not sure I can face sitting up all night. What is there to do?
– We can watch the engaging political discussion on the all-night news broadcasts.
– But they have no results to discuss at the moment.
– I don't see why that should be a problem. Politicians are never short of strongly held opinions, and seldom need to be asked twice to express them.
– The opinion polls have been worryingly variable.
– Yes. They have never settled over all these months. Always 50-50, plus or minus a few percent. Presumably that reflects the typical noise of any opinion poll.
– Makes you realise how difficult it is to predict these things.
– Precedent always helps. Maybe they'll learn something from this referendum to help them with the next one.
– I'm not sure I can face another referendum if this is what they are like. You feel it has opened up deep rifts among the voters, has fuelled some serious animosity.
– I fear there is an element of opening up a Pandora's box: resentment and bitterness are unlikely to vanish overnight whichever way the vote goes. If we decide on Leave, there will be many years of political wrangling and economic turmoil until our exit from the EU is finalised. If Remain comes out on top, we then have to make a success of repairing our relationship with the EU, as waves of Eurosceptism sweep over the rest of Europe. And who knows what the fall-out will be in terms of the Prime Minister's reputation and the cohesion of the Conservative party? Will we stumble towards an early General Election?
– Not much to look forward to, really.
– No, not much.

Whales

– Things are getting tense. Unbearably tense.
– Indeed. What things in particular?
– Well, everything, really. The EU referendum is only a few days away – the future of this country is hanging precariously in the balance.
– Of course. It is worrying to think of what might happen. I have to say I am very much in the Remain camp: it is difficult to see how leaving can have anything other than a negative impact on the economy. Not to mention that the spokesmen for the Leave campaign are among my least favourite politicians. Which is saying something.
– And on top of all that, Euro2016 has been painful to watch.
– But it is always painful supporting England. It is never an easy ride. No matter how well we play, the ball never wants to go into the back of the net. You almost see a parallel with being a member of the EU: there is a lot of anguish for what seems to be very little gain. But it's all about playing a part in something bigger than ourselves: believing in the positive side of taking part: not wanting to become isolated, peripheral.
– Or I suppose I could try supporting Wales. They seem to be doing well at the moment.
– I always knew they would.

Pretzel

It has been dismal outdoors these last few days: from drizzle to full-blooded shower to merciless deluge, all in the space of a few minutes. The long light evenings are being lost beneath leaden skies, compelling some of us to take shelter indoors and reluctantly watch the football.

I was briefly in the US last week. Not an easy thing to do, it taking so long to get there (though having said that, it has taken me almost as long to drive to the south coast in the summer holidays). But two and a bit days is plenty of time to see all there is to see, provided you get yourself organised and don't dawdle. After all, how much is there to do in Philadelphia? Unfortunately, I did not get to find out. It was one of those visits where you go from airport to hotel (in the middle of nowhere) to research site (down the road from the middle of nowhere) back to hotel back to research site back (through heavy traffic) to airport. But there were some nice dinners along the way to soften the disappointment.

On a sad note, there has been another appalling mass shooting, this time in Orlando. These events occur now with depressing regularity. Political commentary in the US and back here in the UK seems stuck on issues of immigration, fuelling blinkered nationalist views which are unlikely to make the world a safer place.

Capital

– And how was London?
– London? Hot. Blisteringly hot. And somehow full of people.
– I suppose that's the big city for you.
– I am not used to all that noise and bustle. And trains that go into the ground.
– I think they're meant to. It's nothing to worry about.
– Even so, it takes you by surprise. I am not sure I rate as a seasoned traveller.
– Maybe because you never travel anywhere.
– I suppose I am fairly content where I am.
– That's not what you said the other day.
– Well, yes, sometimes it gets a bit dull, staring at the same four walls day after day. And I guess the vast metropolis is a useful antidote. But I'd like to think that somewhere there was a happy medium.
– Perhaps you could open a window occasionally.
– Perhaps.

Bedding

– Another Bank Holiday weekend. It hardly seems a month since the last one.
– They certainly come thick and fast at this time of year. At least they give you a chance to enjoy the spring sunshine and do some jobs around the house.
– Those seem somehow mutually exclusive.
– Do they?
– I think if you were pottering around the house, putting up shelves and sanding down the woodwork or whatever, you wouldn't see much of the spring sunshine.
– Well, you could potter around the garden. This is the time of year to plant out your bedding plants and introduce a spot of colour.
– I did manage to get hold of some plants today. I was just wondering what to do with them.
– You could try planting them.
– I always find it a good idea not to rush into these things, but to take the time to plan out where everything should go.
– I thought you didn't have that much garden to work with.
– It is certainly compact. But that is even more of a reason to get the design right.
– I thought it consisted mainly of pots.
– But there are quite a lot of pots.
– At least, if you don't like the layout, you could always move them around. That's the beauty of pots.
– If only it were that simple.
– It is that simple.
– Nothing is ever that simple.

Final

It's that time of year when things come to a dramatic end, leaving some exalting in victory, others despondent in defeat. I'm thinking in particular of the football season, which has just reached the unexpected conclusion of Leicester City topping the Premier League. And not to forget Man Utd winning the FA Cup, which was also not the surest of bets given their recent run of form. All in all it has been a peculiar season, with the usual favourites falling inexplicably below par. Leicester's achievement has prompted frenzied celebrations throughout the land, inspired by the belief that even the humblest and most downtrodden of underdogs can sometimes scale the loftiest pinnacles of success.

Perhaps these things are mere flukes: a perfect storm of fairly random events, as some teams seize all the chances that come their way while others stumble at every hurdle (providing you can stumble at a hurdle, as opposed to charging through it, knocking it for six; it's hard to keep these metaphors going sometimes). Still, we can take inspiration from these one-off sporting successes, and reflect that unexpected minor miracles may one day happen to us, too. We live in hope. At least that's better than living in despair.

Euro

– It is particularly sobering, don't you think, to watch this year's Eurovision Song Contest.
– It's not that bad. At least, no worse than usual.
– That's not quite what I meant.
– In fact, the staging is quite impressive. If it helps, you can turn the volume down and I'll be happy just watching the lighting effects.
– I was thinking more about how Europe is currently facing one of the most serious crises in its history.
– It is just a song contest. Of sorts.
– Again, I was referring to the broader political context. The appalling refugee problem, putting at risk the fundamental concept of the free movement of people, as countries begin to close down their borders to.asylum seekers fleeing from war-torn Syria. The faltering economies of many European countries, with enforced austerity prompting the rise of extremist political parties. Britain's own impending referendum on whether to turn our back on the European Union and hurl ourselves into the uncharted waters of life outside the Single Market.
– I suppose when you put it like that, things do look rather bleak. I am sure it will all turn out alright in the end. Common sense usually prevails. Usually.
– The polls for the EU referendum are still stubbornly neck and neck.
– They ought to bring out some big names to speak out for the Remain campaign. All these politicians tend to produce a negative effect on the voters.
– Do you have any suggestions?
– Perhaps instead of all these dreary political broadcasts they should just show snippets of Eurovision. Let people see the positive side of being in the EU.
– You might be on to something there. It can't do any worse.

Scorch

– It seems cooler outside.
– If you say so.
– It's been wearing, this unrelenting heat. It would be good if it eased off just a little.
– You're never happy. The other week you were complaining about the downpours and hailstorms.
– Quite. It was the start of May and the weather was like the middle of winter. Now a few days later we are sweltering in a tropical heatwave.
– And is that a problem?
– I rather like my seasons to fade gradually one to the next, with a bit of warning, if at all possible, rather than be plunged suddenly from one extreme to another.
– It makes life a little more exciting.
– I had only just put away my late winter/early spring coat in favour of my late spring jacket when after a couple of days I had go through my wardrobe to dig out my mid-summer jacket. And who knows what I will need tomorrow? It may well see the return of the duffel coat.
– It is always nice to have an excuse to wear a duffel coat.
– And what about the impact it has on the local flora and fauna? The daffodils were being flattened by golfball-sized hailstones last week. The swallows will not know whether they are meant to be coming or going.
– Do we get many swallows around here?
– I was trying to generalise. I just meant migrating birds in general. Not swallows in particular. They were just the first migrating bird that came to mind.
– I am sure they will work out what they are meant to be doing. When they catch sight of your duffel coat they will know it's time to fly south.

George

– Remarkable to think it's 400 years since the death of Shakespeare.
– It was last Saturday.
– I know. I thought being a few days out on top of 400 years was neither here nor there. An insignificant error. To have said it has been 400 years and 5 days since his death might have sounded a little pedantic.
– And yet accurate.
– And they say it was his birthday, too.
– So they say. But are they sure? I think the historical record is lacking.
– You seem a little obsessed with detail.
– I find it is always best to stick to the facts.
– You'll be telling me next that you don't believe in St George, whose feast day was also on Saturday.
– Well, there probably was a saint named George at some point.
– With a dragon?
– Perhaps I have more difficulty with the dragon. Sometimes things are exaggerated in legends.
– You mean the dragon might have actually been something more down to earth? So perhaps he saved the princess from, say, a large dog?
– Large dogs can be quite threatening.
– It's just that slaying a large dog, especially with a lance, doesn't sound all that impressive. A bit cowardly, in fact. The dog wouldn't stand much of a chance.
– Sometimes it's best not to dig too deep into these things. On the plus side, perhaps there really was a dragon.
– Do you really think so?
– No. 

Ninety

I have been trying to get outdoors in the evenings, seeing it has been warm and summery these past few days. It has not been easy. There seems to be a lot of traffic around nowadays, none of it moving particularly quickly, which gets in the way as I try to get home from work and drags out what would normally be an irritatingly long drive into a frustratingly irritating one. And every evening it seems there is something I need to get from the supermarket, causing a further delay, it being physically impossible to manage to buy a week's shopping all in one go. And every evening I have to spend an age cooking dinner and clearing up afterwards, despite it being deliberately as simple as I can make it short of living off nothing but toast, with the actual eating taking only an unrewarding minute or two at most. I suppose this last duty is not essential, the cooking and eating of dinner, I mean, and I could just go for raw bread if I wanted to save the effort of switching on the toaster, but after a difficult day at work and commuting back and forth, you need something to lift the spirits. Luckily there is chocolate left from Easter, which also helps.

None of which has any bearing on today being the Queen's ninetieth birthday, becoming the oldest as well as the longest serving British monarch, a symbol of constancy in a rapidly changing world. It has been interesting, and perhaps a little unsettling, to see news footage of the Royal Family through the generations, to see the next line of monarchs, Charles, William, George: a family tree stretching long into the future; beyond my future.

Potato

Spring, they keep telling me, has arrived. But to date the weather has been worryingly variable, with the occasionally sunny spell being harried by sullen downpours. I have planted a couple of flowers in zinc pots in the front garden (violets I think they were meant to be) to try to add a splash or two of colour. They are doing well, given the vagaries of the climate. And I scattered something or other over the lawn in a futile attempt to fend off the luxuriant carpet of moss that has sprung up and chased off all hope of grass. But gardening has never been one of my strengths. To pit your wits against the forces of nature has always seemed a somewhat pointless task.

At least the evenings are getting steadily brighter. I ought to be outside, making more of them. But it is one of those times of the year when there seems to be a lot of football on the television, as the Premier League and FA Cup and Champions League and Europa League all reach their final stages. It is all too easy to settle down on the sofa and watch a game or two rather than, say, nip outside for a quick triathlon. I can get the ironing done, but not much else. So even if I end up as an overweight couch potato, at least my shirts will look smart.

Baskerville

It may not rank amongst the greatest of personal achievements, but it is with at least a modicum of pride that I can announce I have finally completed reading the entire collection of Sherlock Holmes stories, all fifty-six of them, plus the four novels. Admittedly, it would have been a more impressive feat had I managed it in the course of, say, a weekend instead of a large number of years (I can't remember how many exactly: more than five, less than ten, I think), but I have never been one for rushing voraciously through great works of literature, and hence polishing off one volume every year or so seemed like a sensible rate. It is best not to get too obsessive about this kind of thing.

I am not sure what I have learnt. Admittedly, I am in awe of Holmes's powers of deduction, but I doubt I could ever put them into practice myself. I cannot see myself making a success of being a consulting detective: I don't have a network of shady contacts in the criminal underworld (as far as I know) to help me, or even a large dressing-up box to furnish a variety of cunning disguises. And I do tend to keep well away from potential sources of conflict and peril. But, just in case, I should make sure I'm up to speed on identifying local mud samples. You never know when it may turn out useful.

"Exactly, Watson. Pathetic and futile. But is not all life pathetic and futile? Is not his story a microcosm of the whole? We reach. We grasp. And what is left in our hands at the end? A shadow. Or worse than a shadow – misery."

Paint

– Back to work tomorrow. Holidays never seem to last very long, compared to the months of backbreaking toil in between.
– You work in an office.
– And?
– It's hardly backbreaking.
– It can get uncomfortable sitting down all day.
– Try standing. Get one of those desks where you have to stand. Basically, a desk with long legs. Or just shove a couple of bricks under the one you've got.
– You're not being very sympathetic. As I was saying, holidays never seem to last very long.
– You didn't seem to do much with it. Barely left the house.
– It was raining quite a lot last week. And, anyway, I was painting the bathroom. That's why I was in most days.
– The bathroom doesn't look any different.
– Granted it's a similar pale blue, but I think you will find it's a shade lighter. And besides, you can't see the cracks any more.
– I thought the cracks added character. And ventilation.
– I was never that attached to them.

Egg

– There seems to be some chocolate left.
– Yes. Most of it, in fact. I've been very self-controlled.
– I thought the point was to recklessly abandon all self-control after the austerity of Lent.
– I know, and maybe I would have when I was younger, but nowadays I can't seem to summon up much enthusiasm.
– Reckless abandon tends to work better when you can show some enthusiasm.
– You see, I can't help thinking of all the health benefits resulting from the weeks of self-denial.
– I can't say I've noticed.
– You don't think I look more – svelte?
– I'm not entirely sure what svelte looks like.
– Besides, I tend to feel ill if I eat too much chocolate in one go.
– That must be a terrible burden for you.
– There were stories in the news about people turning up at A&E departments complaining of stomach pains brought on by over-indulgence.
– When I over-indulge I can rarely summon up enough energy to get off the sofa, let alone make my way to hospital.
– I think the point was that it was a waste of medical staff's time for a trivial ailment. Especially one due to gluttony!
– I suppose it's not always easy to know when to stop. That's why I never bought you an Easter egg.
– I noticed.
– I was only thinking of your health. I hope you appreciate it.

Hour

Easter Monday. I feel worn out, although seemingly for no particular reason, having had a fairly uneventful weekend. Perhaps it is a consequence of the initial rushing around stocking the fridge with enough food to keep me going while the shops are shut (which nowadays amounts to a couple of hours at most over the whole weekend, but seeing there was a chance my offspring would appear for a meal or two, it seemed justified to invest in a substantial quantity of emergency supplies). Or perhaps it was the hours spent each day in a cold and draughty church furnished with notably unforgiving wooden pews. Either way, I have been left feeling listless and lethargic, or at least marginally more so than usual.

At least today I managed to get out for a moderately energetic walk, having been pinned indoors yesterday by unpredictable gales and showers which swept across the heavens all day long as Storm Katie wreaked havoc around the country. (Again, they really need to find more intimidating names for these storms, but no matter.) Yesterday started badly by my not realising that the clocks had gone forward overnight, or, to be more accurate, everyone's clocks apart from my own. That rather threw into disarray all my plans for the day. Even granted that I didn't have all that many plans (mainly ones around when to put the lamb in the oven), it took me a while to recover from the generally uneasy feeling that I had lost something important (i.e., an hour of my life) without any prior warning. Of course, the Sunday newspaper politely inquired whether I had remembered to put my clocks forward, but by then it was too late. They ought to advertise these things more widely the day before. To tell the truth, it did appear on the calendar on my phone and the one hanging on the dining-room wall, but you don't necessarily look at these every day. Not at all the small print, at any rate.

Hope

Spring is officially here, though the weather still cannot quite make up its mind. The daffodils and crocuses are out in droves, with an occasional sprinkling of cherry blossom. But you cannot help feeling they are all at risk from a sudden cold snap. A bit of sunshine over the Bank Holiday weekend would be welcome.

The long weeks of Lent are almost over, the sombre events of Holy Week still to come. The next few days will be an opportunity to pause, take a moment out of the noise and bustle of everyday life, and reflect on the meaning of the Easter season. Perhaps to make a few more resolutions to replace those that have slipped away. To try to live better. To believe in a happier future.

And yet... And yet... Another terrorist outrage, this time in Brussels. It is difficult to comprehend the depth of hatred that could justify and execute such horrors. We easily forget how thin, how fragile, is the veneer of civilisation. We easily lose hope.

Daffodil

– Nice to see the daffodils out.
– I thought it was meant to be snowing.
– Well, it was, last week. But things seem changeable at the moment. Hence the daffodils.
– It's not really very convenient.
– That's nature for you. Always does what you least expect.
– It doesn't help with planning my wardrobe. One day it's warm spring sunshine, and the next we go back to wintry blasts.
– I circumvent that problem by simply wearing the same clothes all year round.
– That must get uncomfortable.
– Well, only for nine months or so in the year. But the discomfort is offset by not having to worry about what to put on in the mornings.

Slush

– Spring is here at last. Only a few weeks till Easter.
– I notice the snow has almost melted.
– There wasn't much snow.
– There was enough. And what there was was cold and wet.
– You must expect a bit of snow sometimes. Even in spring.
– I rather expect sunshine and daffodils and little baby bunnies bouncing around the meadows.
– Well, I am sure all those things will arrive in due course. But Easter is a little earlier than usual.
– Hence the snow?
– You should look on the bright side. This could be your last sight of snow till next winter.
– It's what I was hoping for.
– It looks very pretty, especially when you see it carpeting the hills.
– You could say the same for daffodils and baby bunnies.
– They will arrive eventually.
– Will they? The daffodils are smothered under a layer of permafrost by now. And as for the bunnies, they will have migrated south for a bit of warmth.
– I'm not sure rabbits migrate.
– Believe me, when it's this cold, they migrate.

Leap

– Do you realise this is for the first leap year since I started this blog?
– I guess they don't come round very often. Rather like Olympic Games or World Cups. Perhaps we should celebrate the extra day we've got? Do something special?
– I suppose it's not really an extra day as such. It's more just making up for the quarter day or so that goes missing every year, which is otherwise awkward to keep track of. So really you're losing a bit of time in most years, and then jumping head to catch up in a leap year.
– It all seems a bit ad hoc.
– And then there are leap seconds.
– I'm not sure I care so much about them. They sort of get lost in the general inaccuracy of my various watches and clocks. They tend to be out by a few minutes at the best of times, so a second here or there is not such a big deal. And you can't do much in an extra second, whereas a day every four years is quite significant. You can do a lot in a day, especially if you remember to get up early.
– By the way, did you get proposed to today?
– No. Should I have?
– I think it happens on leap days. Ladies propose to men, especially those who don't seem to be taking the hint the rest of the year.
– Well, I've managed to get through the day unscathed.
– There is still time.
– Not if I switch off my phone.

Pitch

It has been a long time since I last went to a football match. It's one of the things I never get round to doing, not to mention the difficulty of getting a ticket at Premiership games, where you can't just turn up and expect to buy one on the day. But by an unexpected turn of events last Thursday evening, I found myself watching Manchester United host the mighty Danish team of Midtjylland at Old Trafford. For whatever reason, whether the Europa League is not all that popular, especially when the fans expect better things of United, and are feeling particularly frustrated by their current run of form, there were many empty seats, and my son and I did indeed manage to get in.

It was quite an experience, despite the bitter cold, and lack of food (only because I couldn't be bothered fighting through the crowds for the sake of a hot pie). The roar of the crowd, the excitement on the pitch, the goals thundering into the back of the net. The chips on the way home.

Hoarse

I am still not convinced I am over my cold, the one that arrived a couple of weeks ago. The initial tsunami of symptoms came and went fairly promptly, but left me with lingering congestion and a feeble cough and a flaky voice. I am not looking for sympathy, knowing my readership well enough to realise how unlikely that they would shed a tear let alone invest in a bunch of flowers, but rather trying to explain why everything has been a little subdued these past few weeks.

The absence of a voice was a novel experience for me. Not that I do that much talking at the best of times, but it has its uses, particularly when asking for things in shops, or answering telephones. There is only so far you can go with mime, especially on the phone. The voice has made a slow recovery, these past two weeks. At the moment it seems mostly there apart from the high notes, the sort that don't come up in normal conversation but are pretty useful when singing Brahms's German Requiem, which the choir are rehearsing at the moment. To compensate, I have access to a couple of extra bass notes, which would be more useful if I could persuade the rest of the choir to transpose the piece down a few tones.

I have tried putting my head over a steaming bowl at times. It is soothing, in its own way, but I'm not convinced it has helped my cough or vocal cords, although possibly my complexion may have improved. You always need to look for silver linings.

Heart

– There don't seem to be many cards?
– No, none this time, I'm afraid.
– Well, I guess that's how things sometimes go. Nothing to worry about.
– No, of course not.
– I mean, it is a pretty meaningless sort of celebration, when you come to think about it. Never sure whether there is any historical basis to it at all, or whether it's really just an excuse for rampant commercialisation.
– Of course.
– You see shops stuffed full of flowers and chocolates, heart-shaped merchandise of every sort, all in ghastly glowing shades of red. You start to wonder whether, even if you were in a relationship, you would do your best to steer away from all this shallow, exploitative, marketing frenzy, and try and have a more sincere, more meaningful celebration instead.
– That would be nice...
– Because, if you think about it, the heart is hardly the seat of your emotions, anyway. Perhaps we should celebrate St Valentine's Day with images of – brains.
– Brains?
– As the actual source of all your emotions.
– Brains look a bit – icky.
– Well, I suppose hearts do too, in their natural state. Perhaps we need stylised images of brains, like we have for hearts.
– ... What would a stylised brain look like?
– I don't exactly know. A bit walnut-like, perhaps. And on the pink side.
– You wonder why it's never caught on.

Lemon

– It's not really the same, is it?
– Sorry?
– Pancakes without lemon juice. It's not really the same.
– Well, these things happen. When one has been severely ill all week, and indeed still feeling far from being one hundred per cent, the shopping unfortunately gets a little fragmentary. On the plus side, there are plenty of eggs. But unfortunately no lemon juice.
– What happened to the yellow squeezy thing in the fridge?
– The one that had been there since last Shrove Tuesday? It walked out of its own accord and hurled itself into the bin, in a selfless act to spare us a bout of acute food poisoning. But there are plenty of other things in the cupboard you can have with pancakes. Jam, they say, works well.
– I don't know. Sometimes you just want lemon juice.
– There are some satsumas in the fruit bowl, as an alternative citrus.
– They are the wrong colour.
– I believe the classic Crêpe Suzette involves oranges. You could pretend that these humble British pancakes were actually stylish French crêpes. And we could empty a bottle of something inflammable over the top to flambé them.
– I suppose it would at least hide the fact that they are burnt to begin with.

Sniffle

Apologies for lacking a bit more lustre than usual, but I am in the middle of a cold. The first this winter, so I shouldn't complain, although to tell the truth I have been sorely tempted to spend all day sunk in the deepest recesses of the sofa, moaning quietly to anyone who will listen, why me?

Luckily I am on my own, apart from the cat. I suppose ideally you would have a loving soul mate close to hand, compassionately mopping your brow whenever it looked particularly fevered, or making large quantities of chicken broth from scratch, rather than just popping something into the microwave. Being short of soul mates at the moment, any visitors would probably expect me to run around making chicken broth for them, and to do the washing up afterwards to boot, so in some ways it is a blessing to be an outcast from polite society. Added to which the cat has fortunately been sound asleep all afternoon, instead of insisting on being fed every five minutes or wanting to sit on top of me in such a way as to make it impossible to reach a handkerchief when the need is urgent, which is what usually happens when she's awake.

Without getting too primal, it is always surprising how your body manages to spend hour after hour, the whole day long, coughing and sneezing and spluttering and moaning why me? I mean, under normal circumstances, the odd sneeze or cough is plenty to get rid of  what ever provocation your airways have encountered. But in a cold, it's as if literally gallons of fluid have appeared from nowhere, all wanting to do a hasty exit via your nose. I am sorely tempted to go and weigh myself in the bathroom to see whether I have managed to exceed this year's resolution to shed a few excess stone by means of a mere 24 hours of sneezing.

I've not been eating much today. Or at least not much sensible. I tend to veer towards lots of hot drinks, which is possibly where the excess fluid comes from, accompanied by lots of biscuits. I think the sugar is a vital ingredient to aid recovery. Possibly they contain a few vitamins too, though I am not so confident on this point. Perhaps I am thinking of something else. I did also try some port and stilton a little while ago, which seemed to help. I would recommend it over the chicken broth, at any rate.

Napoléon

– Not many episodes left.
– Sorry?
– War & Peace. The television adaptation. It's almost over.
– Of course.
– I've been quite swept away by it all. The sumptuous palaces, the bloody battles, the broken hearts. The Russianness of it all.
– It is certainly very Russian. You should try reading the book.
– It seems a long book.
– It is a long book.
– Whereas the television series is only six hours.
– I think it would take you longer to read the book.
– It seems quite a commitment.
– Well, yes. But then it is a pinnacle of Western literature.
– Many of the great novels seem a little on the wordy side.
– I suppose they are. David Copperfield,  Les Misérables, Don Quixote, Moby-Dick.  Enough to keep you going for a few weeks at least.
– Perhaps something to take on the summer holiday.
– Depending on your luggage allowance.
– I could just put them on one of those electronic reader devices.
– I think that's cheating. It's not the same if you're not lugging around half a ton of paperbacks. Besides, what's the point if no one can see what you're reading?

Think

I was watching a programme about the brain: how it works, how it perceives reality, what reality is. That sort of thing. And I was reading a book by Oliver Sacks: how our perception of the world, our behaviour and beliefs, can be warped by physical insults and injuries to our brains. How anything that could go wrong with our perception probably does go wrong at sometime or other to someone or other, and a bizarrely perturbed reality is the result.

These are deep and occasionally disturbing concepts. We knit together a model of reality in our heads which appears to be an accurate, self-consistent description of how the world around us really is, but is still just a model, a story constructed inside our thoughts. Our most brilliant ideas and most heartfelt emotions are just the result of  myriad electrochemical signals firing across an enormously well-connected neural network that appears limitless in its ability and yet frequently turns out to be confounded or misled or just plain sluggish.

I speak from experience: I seem, in my mildly advancing years, to be taking longer to recall names. Of people, rather than objects. You know they are in there, somewhere. But they don't leap out at you as they once did. Instead you have to go scrabbling around after them, like burrowing through a mound of papers in search of the credit card bill that requires payment. You begin to make notes of this and that, just in case.

The scariest and somehow most hopeful thought is that all these facts and ideas and memories are all somehow still locked away in there. They haven't been forgotten and thrown away with the rubbish. They are just waiting to be unlocked.

Patisserie

– The kitchen seems whiter than usual.
– Yes, sorry about that. I was doing some cooking. Baking, in fact.
– Baking? Bread or cake?
– Here it is.
– Indeed... Bread or cake?
– It's a Victoria Sandwich.
– Of course. I see it now.
– I was thinking it must be the first one I have ever made.
– Well, for a first attempt...
– The recipe said it was fool-proof.
– Yes. You always have to watch our for recipes which say that. It has turned out – interestingly.
– You know how sponges are meant to be light and fluffy? I was thinking that perhaps it hadn't risen as much as I was expecting.
– They are probably tricky things to get right.
– I think the flour had been sitting in the cupboard for a while.
– Yes. That is always something to watch out for. So they tell me.

Chill

– Perhaps not as cold today.
– Sorry?
– I said perhaps it is not as cold today.
– It's just that I couldn't hear you for my teeth chattering.
– In fact, it's positively mild at the moment.
– Perhaps you have just acclimatised and are now insensitive to the cold. As to so much else.
– I turned the central heating up a good two degrees.
– Quite. I must have caught a chill at the weekend.
– That was a bracing walk, wasn't it?
– It's a pity it didn't actually snow. Biting cold winds numbing you from head to toe are all very well, but it's not a patch on getting buried in snow. The few flakes that came down were almost an insult. Do your worst, you wanted to shout at the elements. I dare you to throw all you've got at me.
– Really? I thought you looked frozen as it was.
– Nonsense: I normally have a slightly blue complexion. I was all for a dip in the canal, if only I had brought something to break the ice.
– There wasn't that much ice. The ducks were paddling about quite happily.
– They don't know any better. I suspect they are quite well insulated. It's as if I were to walk along wrapped up in my duvet.
– I thought you were.

Heroes

I fixed the cat flap this afternoon. It had been ripped off last night, torn from its hinges as easily as a damp slice of bread. I have no idea how this happened, what kind of creature did this. All I know is that my cat manfully fought off the intruder, and somehow emerged unscathed. At least physically: who knows what deep trauma she has suffered psychologically but does not possess the words to express. At least she is not off her food; so it can't have been that big a trauma.

On an unrelated note, the passing of David Bowie this week brought back memories of when I was an impressionable youth in the early seventies, with an older sister who bought the albums when they first came out. Space Oddity made a big impression on me. I think at that age I particularly appreciated songs about astronauts.

Force

The house is looking a little emptier now. Though not too empty, as I've still not taken the decorations up into the loft, but left them in a neat pile of boxes at the bottom of the stairs as a final reminder of the recent festivities. Perhaps everything is a little drab, now that the walls are no longer festooned with dazzlingly bright tinselly garlands, nor twinkling faery lights sellotaped around the window frame. It all underlines the generalised dullness associated with this time of the year, when the best you can do is shuffle around the January sales under grey leaden skies, looking for a bargain in the sock department.

But there are some innocent pleasures to be had in this sombre period. I went to see the latest Star Wars last weekend. Usually I only venture out to the cinema to see films starring hobbits or James Bond, so the arrival of the next trilogy in the Star Wars saga will fill a useful gap in my cultural life. It was touching to see again the original cast of Episode IV, though it does make you wonder how well you yourself have aged over the last 35 or so years. Sadly, not as well as Harrison Ford.

Epiphany

– I thought you were taking down the Christmas decorations today?
– I made a start – look, the tree is gone.
– It's over there, in the corner. You've just moved it.
– And removed the baubles. There were a lot of baubles, you know. And tinsel. It all takes time. I did as much as was humanly possible.
– If you say so. Of course, they do say that you risk incurring a lifetime of bad luck if you leave the tree up beyond Twelfth Night.
– They do? Does it count if you take off the baubles and move it into the corner?
– I don't know. Do you want to take that risk?
– Good point... Of course, members of the Eastern churches don't celebrate Christmas till tomorrow.
– And?
– That gives me another two weeks.

New

– A New Year! A new beginning!
– It is the third of January. Not quite the beginning, but a few days in.
– I know, but things have been hectic recently. And three days represents less than 1% of the year, which is well within experimental error. In terms of the spirit of the thing, this is still the beginning.
– If you say so.
– Because, if anything, rash and unrealistic resolutions have probably faltered by now anyway, so it is the ideal time to make some new ones.
– Mine haven't faltered.
– That's good to hear. Dogged perseverance is a noble virtue.
– Mainly because I never made any.
– How did you not make any? Everyone makes resolutions.
– Do they? It all seemed a little futile.
– That's why I was saying how useful it is to begin again – to put aside these understandable, if somewhat feeble, doubts and to look to improving all the glaring deficiencies in your character.
– Thank you. And what are these glaring deficiencies?
– It's not for me to say. But if it's of any help, I happen to have a list.
– You've been writing lists of my faults?
– That comes across as quite negative, you know. Think of them as opportunities.
– You've been writing lists of my opportunities to correct my faults?
– You see, that sounds much more positive.
– It appears to be quite a long list.
– I was trying to prioritise the more noticeable ones.
– And is this particular list before or after prioritisation?
– After, I'm afraid.