Hydrology

December. The Year of the Bag.

I don't know what that means, but it's how my brain decided to open this post. My brain can be a trial sometimes. But when he's happy and behaving himself, when he's busy with his crayons or gamma-Aminobutyric acids, you just look at his little brain-face smile, and it makes it all worth it.

It's strange to have finished NaNoWriMo. I feel as though a huge weight has been lifted off me. There are several other huge weights, waiting (weighting) to take its place, but that's for Tomorrow Me to think about. For now, I am relieved at no longer having any kind of word-count pressure. I could end this blog post right now, and no-one would be able to say anything against me.

But I won't end it now. There's too much to tell you about.

I went to London for a stand-up gig on Saturday. We took the Oxford Tube coach, and were stuck in traffic for a long time. Luckily, Lucy and I are always about three hours early for every event, so it didn't cause to much rambunction.

What? 'Rambunction' isn't a word, Mr Spellcheck? I think you'll find that it is. I don't even need to make sure I'm correct. I am correct.

The gig was at a very nice pub in Clerkenwell. We had food beforehand. I had a brie and caramelised onion sandwich for some reason. I don't know why I mention it here. I suppose I thought it might lead me into an interesting diversion. Perhaps the diversion would be a hilarious sideways look at the process of caramelisation. I might wonder when it was invented. I might imagine caramelising various unlikely things, like Gargamel or camels or caramel. It would be hilarious.

Likewise, brie might have led me to a discussion of the actress Alison Brie. Perhaps she could star in a film called Brie Encounter, where Alison Brie (played by herself) gets some cheese in her eye at a train station and then falls in love with a giant bit of brie, but is married (to some kind of chutney), and it ends with her cutting off her nose to spite her brie. Which is frowned upon.

But I didn't think of any of those things. The sandwich I ate didn't lead me down any of those avenues. It was a damp squib. A lightly toasted damp squib. With rocket.

The gig was in a nice back room with a stage. The night was run by The Awkward Silence, who also run the Oxford nights I've been performing at. There was a good crowd and all of the acts did well.

I was doing the same stuff as I did in Oxford last time. It's been a while since I've repeated material, and it's always a surprise to see the differences in reactions when performing in front of a new crowd. Most of it went pretty well, though both of my main bits petered out a little. I had to work a little bit harder than usual, which was actually quite fun. I did some ad libs that were enjoyable, especially when dealing with an audible exclamation of disgust after one of my jokes.

I was probably a bit complacent and had a bit of rust when going off-track (I've been spoiled by the generosity of Oxford audiences). But I had a good time, and was pleased with my response. By which I mean their response to me. Not my response. My response was the same as it always is: shuffling, embarrassed awkwardness and an imperceptible nod.

On the way home, I was thirsty. I have a bit of a cold, so my throat was (and is) sore and dry. But we only had about a third of a bottle of water left. I was forced to ration it. I appreciated every occasional mouthful. It made me realise how lucky we are to live with abundant water. We take it for granted. We glug it down like it's going out of fashion (it's not - water is always stylish).

When water supplies are low, you realise what a blessing it is. I now know exactly what it must be like to go through a horrendous drought in the Third World. Sitting there, on the comfortable bus, eating a duck wrap, I was a little bit thirsty. It was hell.

I don't understand why anyone still lives in the desert. Sort it out. There's too much water in the UK. Come over! You'll be welcomed with open arms. If there's one thing that the British are renowned for, it's our universal acceptance of immigrants.

Come and drink from our wells! You don't need camels here (caramelised or otherwise).

Hey! Water! That reminds me of something else. I didn't plan it - it was just a happy accident.

There was some flooding recently. You might have seen an item about it on the moisture news. There was all kinds of wettening in Oxford. The meadow at the back of our building was completely submerged. And I, with my terrible phone camera, was there to document it.

Here is our car park:

That brown stuff is water. There's usually a lot of grass back there. The bridge is just about above the water line. But it is no longer a bridge. It is a wooden island. Poohsticks is unworkable.

Luckily, we live on the second floor and don't have a car, so we can laugh at our hapless neighbours, and throw things at them. We can mock them by bulk ordering snorkels and having them delivered by barge.

That photo isn't great. But if you take a picture at sunrise, you don't need to worry about equipment or skill. Nature makes it look good. God is the original Photoshop:

You see? That could be on the cover of some kind of lamppost magazine. It's a bit grainy, but I blame that on the grains. Stupid grains.

So, this is what December feels like. I think we're going to be fine. Let's just ride it out. Together.