Sense and sensibility

Well, only one week (and a day) into the new year and I've already
managed to miss a couple of days of blogging. Quite disappointing,
Spence. One hundred lines and a visit to the metaphorical headmaster's
study, methinks. Quite regretable.

Still, a fun week at work what with the snow, the Tories' draft NHS
manifesto, the Hoon et al failed coup and the LibDems' watering down
of their RDA policy. I'll grant you the latter isn't terribly
interesting, but it kept me busy this afternoon. The joys of working
in economic policy, huh?

A wonderful evening spent in a pub in Manchester so wonderful I'm
loathed to even tell you its name, and shared with wonderful friends,
too. (I'm overusing the word wonderful but tough. It's late and it's
how I feel.)

The comestibles of the evening inspired lots of conversation, and my
favourite pithy remark of the night was opening discourse on the
direct relationship between sensibility and alcohol: life is awful
without them, tolerable with them in small doses, fun with them
applied liberally and regularly and only fun for the over-possessed if
professed too forcibly, with everyone else quite bored by the
occasion.

Think of that what you will, but quote me if you use it.

With thanks to JS, LP, KP, KK and the wonderful BL for a splendid
evening: you know who you are. Bon nuit.

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas

And it still is, of course, despite the fact that Tesco et al have
started stocking Easter eggs. Today is the twelfth day of Christmas
and the day when traditionally we take our Christmas trees and
decorations down in readiness for the arrival of the three kings from
the Orient tomorrow at Epiphany. Of course, for those of us with an
Anglo-Catholic streak, our cribs will be staying up until Christ's
presentation at the temple on 2 February.

A beautiful sight this morning, as we awoke to see the effects of
around six inches of snow falling overnight. Our Sky dish is heaped
with snow and cars needed digging out all across the street. Armed
with walking boots, the walk to the station was no harder than usual,
though cars were making slow but steady headway. But what a beautiful
sight it all made.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow ...

Brass monkeys and manifestos

Cripes, a bit nippy, what? So cold, in fact, that Northern couldn't start one of their Class 180s this morning, so we had to endure 40 minutes on the platform in -6C. Not funny. Brrr.

Still, a safe and timely (08:59) arrival at my desk for Capt. Darling's press statement and then more from Cameron on the NHS followed by utter balls from the Nutter Balls on languages in schools. I should really commit my thoughts on all this to the ether, but I'm afraid my brain is already fried from doing that all day at work. Suffice to say that Darling is living in cloud-cuckoo land, Cameron is, sadly, not that far behind him, and Mr Balls loses the plot just a little more each day.

I must curl up and drift away to a land where less nonsense is spoken.

Bon nuit, mes amis.

The first week of the new year starts here

Well, time to head for bed, but not before watching La vie en rose on BBC4. We meant to go and see this at the cinema when it was first released but, sadly, we never got around to it. Still, it's hard to watch these things at the cinema with a glass of burgundy and some brie by your side.

The coming week is going to be a busy one, mostly taken up with writing the analytical briefings on Cameron's speech and Brown's interview from the weekend, and with starting to tackle the Conservative's draft manifesto which should be published in the morning. And I'll probably have to contend with icy roads on my walk to the station in the morning, too: the weather forecast is predicting -6C for overnight. My thoughts are with all the brass monkeys.

Hopefully this week will start to bring some of the first house-viewings for the hopeful move before Easter. The thoughts of a fresh start in a fresh house are exciting both of us now, and we're looking forward to doing some house hunting. A visit to Longdendale, Broadbottom and Glossop at the weekend might even, if all goes well, start thoughts of a future in Derbyshire. Time will tell. We have some outstanding viewings to do on city-centre apartments, too. It's all very open yet. And there's still our passion for Saddleworth and the Pennines. That's the problem with Blighty: there's just too many nice places.

No plagiarism

There seems to me to be some sense of delicious irony in quoting from someone else's post entitled "No plagiarism". Still, there's nothing wrong with a little delicious irony now and then. The wonderful Fr Hunwicke in passing described one of his children as his Filia nata Tertia. As one who loves a Latin tag more than most, I think this is simply wonderful.

Small things amuse small minds, you may say, and you may well be right. But I have always lived by the maxim that is best to take pleasure in the small things: this way, one is guaranteed to be happier.

I should like to stay awhile and write some more, but I have a lasagne that's about ready for assembling and putting in the oven, so I shall go and do that forthwith. Bon appetit, as they say in foreign climes.

Happy New Year

Greetings, one and all. Not for the first time I am starting to blog with the intention of being rather more regular than I have managed in the past. I cannot promise I will achieve this, nor that the contents of this blog will rise above mediocrity, nor even approach it on occasion. But I shall try.

There is no real theme to this blog. It is not here for my personal religious or political proselytisation, nor even as a vehicle for the massage of my ego. It shall reside in the electronic ether more as a personal diary, a vehicle for the whims of my mind, my occasional thoughts and various distractions. Please don't expect clear and comprehensive discourses on all things of import. I hope you shall get some of these, but they won't all be extracts of Pepysian prose. I do hope that there will also be light-hearted moments of chuckling and giggling as well as the odd spot of campery and issues of pedantry. All these things make up that which is me. I hope it will provoke humour, thought, or even outrage, but never apathy or boredom. They are the two things each human should fear the most.

Of your charity, remember me, and I shall remember you. Here's to 2010.