Nearly Midnight in the Storm

What? You thought that going into 2020 would be the time to exercise a little optimism? N’aw, stay you, you. People are doing their various year and decade roundups and coming to the rather understandable decision that this has been a rather less than wonderful time globally. Still, you should be able to pick out a few little rays of sunshine amongst the gloom. Maybe I’m just looking forward to seeing what they do with the season finale of The Good Place. Plus, some personal stuff may well have come right in some people’s lives.

Look, a lot of people are going to be peddling a lot of nonsense today about hope and determination and all that. And you waded through every last speck of it. Good job. Of course, some people are having a rather rough time of it and no amount of positive thinking is going to get you through it. Wildfires are raging in Australia and people are getting alerts that it’s already too late to flee. Look, I’m not trying to peddle a lot of doom and gloom, there just so happens to be a lot of it out there. I suppose you can relax at least a little bit if you’re reading this and are currently not on fire (if you are, well, thanks so much for the dedication).

Anyway, there’s plenty said about making resolutions and that just because a 9 becomes a 0. The truth is, you can do those whenever. If the pressure’s piling on as we barrel a few seconds closer to midnight, you don’t need to give into it. When the motivation’s right, you’ll carry a thing on for surprisingly long. I started this thing in June and I’ve been doing a ten thousand steps a day regime (up to 11K now baybee) ever since August. You do you whenever you need to.

Song choices courtesy of: Neko Case and The Goo Goo Dolls

Bruce’s Human Hurricane

Someone should have been able to predict it. Everyone knew what Bruce could get like once he was in the grip of one of his artistic notions. He couldn’t see anything else, consumed by his vision, whatever he was convinced would be portrayed by the piece he was picturing. But whenever he got out the other side, it was all fine and there was generally a saleable piece produced. It was all worth it to endure whatever Bruce’s artistic imaginings entailed.

But the human hurricane ended up being rather a lot more work than anyone had initially understood. The small group just wasn’t enough, barely a breeze on a blustery day, stirring a pile of fallen leaves on the ground. Bruce needed more.

A community centre filled to the rafters with people procured through various means (bribery, inducements, general threats, enthusiastic wheedling, calling in assorted family favours) still wasn’t enough apparently. After a certain point, people had to stop asking Bruce whether or not enough was enough. Just try it, have a go, see if it works. If you’re not willing to pay people, you’re going to have to be satisfied with what you get. A static force isn’t quite as dynamic as one in motion. Wasn’t that the whole point of the enterprise?

Of course, that’s when it all started to go wrong. When you set up a series of dominoes, concerning yourself with the patterns people make, you have to be aware that just the slightest little push might well bring the whole thing tumbling down. Yeah, you can see where this is going. It’s lucky that no one ended up with crush injuries. Several broken ankles, an array of black eyes, various stepped on feelings and one seriously bruised ego. Don’t ask Bruce if he got what he wanted, you’ll never hear the end of it.

Song choices courtesy of: Monty Python, Daughter and MS MR

A Plea to Plot Politics

Things feel a whole lot more set in stone than they’ve been for, well, let’s say since mid-2016. That there majority isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Various political machinations have chuntered to a halt with the coronation of the floppy-haired sociopath. But here’s hoping that just because one set of blueprints has come to fruition, that doesn’t mean that other plotting has gone away altogether. If anything, you might hope that the success of one side has fired up the other to even more furious action.

Of course, it’s more than possible (practically a certainty in fact but let’s not want too far outside the comforting waters of speculation), that certain factions are working to cross purposes. There are those keen to cement the legacy of certain Labour leaders by anointing his preferred heir. And then others who actually want the party to stand a chance of re-election in the next decade or so. We need to hope they aren’t going to pick one another too much to bits in their manoeuvring round the edges of opposition.

Which brings us towards the victorious lot. It would be rather foolish, would it not, to even think about unseating a leader who managed to cover themselves in so much glory at the ballot box. Even if that would be a tacit endorsement of the lies, damned lies, vicious rhetoric and dodging of public scrutiny that also went down during that particular campaign. But you can always hope that an ambitious sort has their eye on the top seat and will do what they need to in order to get their mitts on what they deserve.

Can all the plotters think about the future, the children and that? They should all come together, upset the levers of power and we’ll see what we can make of it. It really can’t be much worse than what we’re wading through at the moment.

Song choices courtesy of: Lorne Balfe, Get Cape, Wear Cape. Fly and Chaos Chaos

The Emotion Ocean

There’s more to your inner self than you might suspect. The surface is what you always thought it was, the immediate things: hungry, a little bit bored, shaken by immediate circumstances. But there are more levels, most of them operating on old grudges, buried memories and formative experience that you can’t quite remember but are wrapped tightly around the core of your very soul. But that stuff doesn’t always stay locked away. The tides swell, swept along by circumstance and bring different things to the surface, scattering them along the beachfront.

The emotion ocean is not a shallow rockpool. Then again, you don’t get to claim a complexity the depth and size of the Atlantic. And anyway, like real seas, your emotion ocean is subject to variation, pulled around by the gravity of stuff floating around you. There are days when it’s calm as a millpond, or it just looks that way, things churning away under a glassy surface. And then there are bound to be days when waves crash and churn, knocking ships about and destroying infrastructure. But then you calm down and worry about the havoc you’ve wrought.

Maybe it would be something if I tried to plumb the depths of my own emotion ocean (not a euphemism, get your mind out of the trawler). But maybe I wouldn’t like what I found in between the slipstreams and currents. I only chose the title because I thought it sounded pretty, who doesn’t love a little bit of rhyming? But I didn’t exactly think too hard about how I was going to spin out a little bit of subject matter on it. They say a picture is a thousand word so all I’d need to do is try and explain the image in my head and be home free. Oh well, perhaps it’s better for it to stay in there.

Song choices courtesy of: Gabrielle Aplin, Chaos Chaos and Kal Lavelle

Easy Teardrop

Oh, don’t look so glum. You got through yesterday, didn’t you? And was it quite as bad as you were expecting? I see. Well, the important thing is that you’re out the other side intact and you’re free and clear from seeing them again for at least a few more months. Stop suggesting that you can fake your death to avoid any future family gatherings, it really isn’t as simple as you think it is and there will be consequences you haven’t expected. Yes there will.

So Aunt Mirabelle delivered a forty minute lecture on the ins and outs of the political situation and why she’s considering setting up a new centralist movement. At least she’s not as stident in her opinions as ardent Brexit supporter, Great Uncle Kevin. It was lucky he’s so profoundly deaf that all he did during Mirabelle’s ramblings was smile and nod with a patient smile on his face.

There are difficult conversations to wade through, sure, but you’ll be trotting out some of the experiences of yesterday as anecdotes in the office once you’ve decompressed. Like Cousin Sam getting the condiments about as wrong as you can get. Some of the flavour combinations weren’t even as bad as you might have predicted but no one’s going to be repeating the debacle with the turkey leftovers again. Some things are better left in stories.

They’re your family and they love you. The same can’t be said for all families. Sure, they don’t quite understand much about you and don’t always think to ask. The pamphlet idea you flippantly raised might be something to consider a bit more seriously. It would answer some of those questions they’re more keen to ask than you might think. You might even enjoy putting it together with colourful illustrations. You could have it ready in time for next Christmas.

Song choices courtesy of: The Barenaked Ladies and Massive Attack

Drunken Ophelia

This isn’t depressive Ophelia driven to madness by the rampant killy behaviour of her beau (I may not have double-checked on the precise plot details that led to the tragedy of Ophelia. Although I could rewatch the Lion King and see what I can infer from all the antics of the pride).

No, you know what, she’s sick of all your assumptions. Her honey may or may not be a rampaging killer hiding under the guise of a vengeance seeker, but Ophelia doesn’t need to be defined by a man. No she doesn’t.

It’s Christmas after all. Do you assume that everyone who got a little bit tiddly on eight or nine sherries after not eating quite enough turkey to line their stomach is suicidally depressed about murders? Exactly. Ophelia can get hammered off too much eggnog and it be a simple enough mistake. Or perhaps she’s concerned about wider issues like the state of the planet or whatever politics are shaking out in Denmark.

Anyway, Ophelia can have more depth than one might expect from the textual evidence of the play. Sure, she’s got a thing for bad boys or does she actually? That Wikipedia page on her is dense and besides, there must be plenty to her that Shakespeare didn’t have time to explore sprinkled in amongst all the daddy issues and royal shennanigans.

Then again, again, when someone gets drunk you don’t necessarily need to start reading too much into it. Cocktails are delicious and, as far as I’m aware (I’m on holiday, are you really going to make me read stuff?), Ophelia was a fun loving gal who didn’t have a whole lot to fill her time with besides wondering about who her father would permit to sweep her off her feet. Who wouldn’t get hammered under such circumstances?

Song choices courtesy of: Flogging Molly and the Lumineers

Christmastime Will be Criticised

It’s an inevitability, there’s no getting away from it. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing or even saying that your version of the holiday season is wrong (I mean, the paper chains you’ve been making out of all the most depressing news stories of the past year so that they become a celebration rather than something to lament is a little bit weird but more power to you for the whole optimism thing), just that we all do different stuff.

The only problem comes from the criticism itself. Start picking and choosing from the a thousand or so elements of what makes up Christmases around the world and deciding that the ones you do are the right ones. Or maybe I’m reading too far into it or even actually ruining your childhood through my various choices.

My botched attempted point-let is that we all come from different perspectives, cultures, this that and the other (my way is of course best – having the proper Christmas meal in the evening is the only way to go, working up to the very best part of the day). Whether you do presents the night before, put out an array of pickety bits for your Christmas tea, gather to sing carols in front of indifferent punters or anything else, it’s Christmas your way.

And if any of those traditions, things you’ve been doing for as long as you can remember, don’t work for you, then guess what? You don’t have to do them. If being around family isn’t quite right for you, make your excuses and hang out on a beach if funds allow. Or if your family doesn’t want to be around you for reasons that aren’t quite as apparent as you might think, you could just stare in at them through a frosted window as the cold seeps into your bones. Merry Christmas!

Song choices courtesy of: Crazy Ex-girlfriend and Murray Gold

Carol Singers Driving Home for the River Fairytale

Their pockets jingled merrily with the pound coins chucked their way over the past week, the takings of the Christmas period. Of course, they were trying not to think about how donations were rather more meagre than last year. Antonia blamed the rise of cashless and advocated getting a card reader, an idea which Desdemona immediately shot down, saying it made them look greedy and possibly a little bit soulless. It didn’t matter how much they’d stress it was for charity, it wasn’t as good a look as Mavis rattling their tin cup.

But they weren’t talking about any of that. Antonia satisfied herself by shooting the occasional death glare at the back of Desdemona’s waifish head. It gave her satisfaction when Mavis’s arthritic fingers shakily counted out an ever-decreasing pile of coppers. Soon, they’d all have to admit that the endless hours of singing cheer in people’s grumpy faces was less about fundraising and more about well, not vanity but something that wore a pretty similar face.

All four occupants of the car tried not to think about the future. Carolling was finished for the year anyway. It was time to consider their other holiday tradition, the end of the journey they were on for the moment. Seeing Eddie’s grandfather was honestly Antonia’s favourite part of the year, the main reason she stayed with the stunted singing group. Sure, she knew the story off by heart, about the princess who embodied the spirit of the coursing streams and the bevy of otters who helped to solve the problems of the various fishermen who visited the river. But knowing the links in the chain, even the way they fit together, wasn’t quite the same as hearing the old man tell it. Someday, he wouldn’t be around to tell it anymore and Antonia would move onto something a bit more lucrative but that day wasn’t today.

Song choices courtesy of: Murray Gold, Chris Rhea, Podcast All-stars, Joni Mitchell and the Pogues

My Kind of Drumming

You can’t help but feel like the partridges hanging out in the tiny orchard of pear trees get all the press. And maybe the assorted gold rings because that’s the fun bit to sing. But there’s lots of lords leaping about (in between parliamentary sittings and occupying cabinet positions – because the best kind of minister is an unelected one who’s recently lost their seat, showing just how much relevance the will of the people has to what happens in this country) and swans desperately searching for that moat you were promising to install but unfortunately hadn’t got round to before the truckload of avian life got dropped off for you.

Which brings us right to the end and the various drummers drumming. The problem is that it’s so easy to start with the very best of intentions and by the time you get further down the line it’s all rather got away been you. To be fair, it was a bit of an overreach once you got past all the birds – which could conceivably be pets – and up to the humans who were probably best name to be hired for the day until various wires got crossed and now you’re in the dock for some pretty compelling slavery charges.

Anyhow, it might have been good idea to make sure that the drummers were able to at least play the same sort of style, if not prepare them with a common song or particular beat. But heavy metal, classic rock, jazz, a dollop of skiffle, bluegrass and a little bit of steel don’t necessarily blend quite as well as you might hope once the dozen percussionists rock up on your driveway and ask where the lucky present getter is. But you know what, it’s Christmas, maybe it’s worth just rolling with it and seeing what kind of music shakes out. You won’t be able to hear it because of the pipers anyway.

Song choices courtesy of: Vance Joy and Florence + the Machine

Witches Have Problems Too

Just what exactly do you get for the woman who can make everything for herself? There’s only so many times you can present a crystal ball and expect her to pretend to be grateful for it. Sure, there are other kinds of crystals you could try giving her, maybe investing in an expensive grimoire or three, but at some point or another, you’ll reach the end of the road in witch-related supplies. You could try and remember she’s a woman too, not just defined by her witchery. But what else do you know about her?

Then again, I’m sure that this sort of thing isn’t top of the minds of witches at this time of the year. They’re less concerned about what other people are going to get for them, present-wise, and more about how the holidays season’s going to go in general. People have such high expectations when they hear a witch is in the house. Not just do they think that the decoration and the cooking and everything else is going to happen, as if by magic, but they also get stick if anything bad happens. If everyone gets food poisoning, it couldn’t possibly be that the turkey could have used an extra half an hour in the oven, no, it was Annabelle casting a curse over proceedings.

And then there’s also concerns about other sorts of expectations. You can’t just have a nice, standard-issue gathering, everyone thinks it’s going to be rituals and chanting and get all disappointed when you don’t indulge in their uninformed thinking. And if you thought that giving a present to a witch is a complicated minefield of social expectations, wait until you get a gift from one. Do you trust it, or do you get all concerned about what might happen if she’s laid a hex on it it whatever a bored witch might get to to in her spare time?

Song choices courtesy of: Lorne Balfe and Crazy Ex-girlfriend