A Hint of Mustard

SNOW PIG!

I'm running out of ways to begin blog posts. So I just wrote "SNOW PIG!". Seriously. Just look.

I think it's because Lucy and I were watching Frozen Planet and there was a strange snow formation in Antarctica. It looked like a snow pig, but I don't think it could have been. Snow pigs only live in the Northern Hemisphere. Everybody knows that.

It's December. This used to be my favourite month, because it contains both my birthday and Christmas, and I was a shallow child.

But now I'm less shallow. Actually, that's probably not true. I'm probably just shallow in a different way. Or just jaded. Jaded and shallow. Like a scummy puddle.

I'm indifferent about my birthday. Next year I'll be 30, which might make me freak out. And I've begun to actively dislike Christmas. You always become the thing you hate the most. As a child, I hated my future self.

So it's all just early darkness and novelty reindeer socks. December is no longer my favourite month.

On the other hand... December is my favourite month!

Think of all the great stuff! The joy of giving! Eating a hot mince pie on a frosty evening, listening to carol singers, politely declining a cup of mulled wine but enjoying the smell!

Everything is fantastic. Also, I'm really looking forward to the Christmas specials of TV programmes I don't enjoy watching. None of the programmes I like are going to do a Christmas special. But that's mostly because I only watch Fundamentalist Islam TV.

This year's festive line up on FITV looks a bit bleak. It's just [FUNDAMENTALIST ISLAM CLICHÉ 1], [FUNDAMENTALIST ISLAM CLICHÉ 2] and [FUNDAMENTALIST ISLAM CLICHÉ 4].

(The third cliché is too offensive to joke about)

That was an interesting dead-end alley down which to journey. But it's time to move on. 

***

Mood

Saints have just lost, so I should be angry. But West Ham lost, so I'm not too angry. It's Saturday, so I'm not too angry. No-one close to me has died recently, so I'm not too angry. Poverty and starvation exist, so I should be angry. I forgot to order orange juice in our grocery delivery, so I should be angry. I'm wearing trousers, so I should be angry. I'm really good looking, so I'm not too angry.

All in all: I'm fine.

Listening to

This is a nice wintery song. Hmm. My spellcheck doesn't like wintery. It likes wintry. And it doesn't like spellcheck. It likes spell check. My spellcheck is an idiot.

This song threatens to be really boring several times, but then just about rescues itself. I think that's a strength in a song. You don't want to be unequivocally good. Where's the fun in that?

Actually, maybe it is boring.

I was listening to this yesterday. It's much less boring:

Reading

Comics. Yes, I'm a grown man. Yes, I'm reading comics. You can't argue with a bit of Mark Waid's new Daredevil series.

Just try.

Watching

I've been watching the clock tick by as I try to think of what I've been watching. It's the clock on my computer, so it's probably not actually ticking. But it is a representation of passing time in the form of pixel-shapes.

Anyway, I'm watching that. I've also watched my contemporaries pass me by. Through a long lens. They look great.

Flaying

I haven't been flaying anyone. I don't know where you heard that. I haven't been staking out my contemporaries with a long lens, breaking into their houses and removing their skin. Where did you get that idea? It's a serious allegation. Why did you bring it up?

I haven't been doing that. And I resent you suggesting it.

Eating

I had sausage and tomato sandwich today. With mayonnaise. Mayonnaise with a hint of mustard.

That's not enough for me. I don't want people to beat around the mustard bush. I want mustard to be stated clearly and plainly, all over my tongue.

Drinking

Coffee. Delicious coffee. Black as the blood of Jeremy Kyle, but not as riddled with evil. It just has a hint of evil.

***

Sensational!

I've just patted myself on the back. Good work. I certainly did type some words'n'things.

I don't know if this is quite enough for a blog post, so here's some bonus content:

Faster and faster she ran, past the opticians, past the newsagent, past the coffee shop, past the police station, past the charity shop, until finally her legs gave way, and she crumpled in a heap outside Greggs.

Inside the shop, a kindly gentleman bit into his sausage roll. 

Outside the shop, Betty was crying with happiness.

Inside the sausage roll, trouble was afoot.