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.

Peaked

This hasn't been a very productive blog month so far. And writing this is my only real area of productivity. So it has been a very fallow month indeed.

It's probably because the evenings are getting darker. I have a solar powered computer.

It's probably because the evenings are getting darker. I've had to shove every available bit of writing into my word furnace.

It's probably because the evenings are getting darker. It's difficult to write when the threat of vampires is prevalent.

It's probably because the evenings are getting darker. I'm constantly reminded of death.

But it's not dark now! So let's get this show on the road. I haven't got a show, let alone one on wheels, but I'm sure I can think of something. We're all in this together, right?

Here's something you might not be aware of:

I have a blue metallic CD rack in the corner of the bedroom, near the laundry basket. It doesn't have any CDs in it, but is housing quite a lot of dust.

It looks good, though. Like something a stylish person would have. I should display it more prominently, but my CD collection is generally hidden away. It's all iPods now. Thanks a lot, JOBS.

I suppose I could put other stuff in it. It could be a very long toast rack. But I rarely get through fifty slices of toast in one sitting, even if I have a large variety of jams, marmalades, honeys and yeast goo.

Narrow books, I suppose. Narrow books would work. Maybe some of those Very Short Introductions (published by the good people at OUP). We don't have much shelf-space. But I quite like having piles of books teetering all over the place. It makes it seem like we're ramshackle university lecturers, when in reality we're just ramshackle people.

Ironically, to shackle a ram, you need to be quite organised.

You can have that one. I'll tell you what - I'll tweet that now, and let you know if I get any retweets or comments. Here's a prediction: nuh-uh.

Here's something you might not be aware of:

We recently had our blinds replaced. In fact, it wasn't very recently. It might have been over a month ago. People came into our flat - [Godfather Quote] IN MY HOME! IN MY BEDROOM! Where my wife sleeps... and my children play with their toys. [/Godfather Quote] - and replaced them.

When they'd taken down the old rusty, dusty, spidery blinds, they left the old blind-brackets on the windowsill. Just little metallic attachments that had been screwed to the window frame. There are two of them. And they're still there.

It's been over a month. And neither Lucy nor I have moved them. We should throw them away, but we haven't. We haven't even tidied them away to one end of the windowsill. They just lie where they fell, like plane crash victims in the desert.

I bet you weren't aware of that. I bet you were pleased to hear about it.

(No retweets. Maybe I should have established the phrase 'ramshackle' first. It may not have been clear. My fault. My fault.)

Here's something you might not be aware of:

An old man in a peaked hat just posted a couple of letters in the letterbox outside our flat. I saw him. I don't think he saw me.

The first letter was fine, but the second one he had to fold in half. Is that allowed? Letters are judged by size now. Maybe he knows that already and has included the correct postage. He's probably a wise old fox.

I wonder what he'd think if he knew a voyeuristic stranger was writing about him right now. I wonder how he'd feel about being blog fodder.

I wonder if he even knows what a blog is. Some old people don't. The present is a foreign country: they do things differently there.

He might be awestruck at the notion. His actions can be read by people all over the world, SECONDS after he's completed them. The envelope smell is probably still on his fingers. And yet somewhere in the Southern Hemisphere, Joe Peru has taken it all in. What a world!

I'm probably being patronising. There are lots of older people online. He probably has his own blog. A blog about postage prices. Or peaked hats.

Or maybe he documents how he's being spied upon by a bearded lunatic. He's probably just tweeted about it.

RT @peakedhatman That beardo chump was watching me post my letters again. Yes I used correct postage LOL!

That's probably happening.

I hope he's not dead. That would be a real downer.

Oh well, at least he managed to post his Last Will and Testament in time, even if folding invalidates inheritance.

(Still nothing on the shackle tweet front)

Here's something you might not be aware of:

There's a Frenchman in your bath.

No, don't go and check. You'll only disturb him. He's just trying to relax. It's tough being French - give him a bit of "moi time".

He has probably lit some candles and is stubbing out cigarettes into an ashtray the shape of a croissant. Poor Pierre.

You don't use the bath anyway, do you? It's all about showers nowadays. (Thanks again, JOBS.)

***

I think my no-retweet prediction may well come to pass. It was a shot in the dark. Another reason I haven't been blogging much lately.

It's probably because the evenings are getting darker. I could be shot at any time.

And that level of threat makes the very act of writing a blog seem ultimately pointless.

Unless it's about peaked hats.

Shot or not, we need to have that conversation. The secrets of the human condition can be found beneath the brim of a wiser man's visor.