Whoa, it is 2.5 hours till the Bells, and I have no earthy idea how this crept up so suddenly. Not that I’m not kinda glad 2017’s nearly over; if 2016 was the year everyone I knew was bewailing the deaths of artists they loved, this year’s been the year it got a lot closer to home, for a lot of people I love. Bad trend, dude, so I’m already giving 2018 the side-eye.
I can’t even say it’s been an eventful couple of months since the last post, although we did manage to get out a bit. We went to the local wrestling’s tenth anniversary at the Hydro (and had VIP tickets, it turned out, for the blasphemous price of thirty-seven pence apiece) so I got to have Swears screamed at me by thousands as we went up to the no-queueing door, which was… interesting… but it was worth it for a totally awesome night. Later that week, I got taken to see Deep Purple for a very cheap price by someone I didn’t know very well but who turned out to be totally lovely. I spent a lot of time trying to help someone who was going through a very bad relationship; then when we went down to Cambridge for a party and a couple of days’ peace, a bunch of bad news broke and we ended up inheriting a dog for Christmas. Within two hours of getting back, even, so that was a lot of running around even before my Christmas present (seven blueberry bushes) turned out to have arrived a month early and need urgent TLC.
Neither of us have had a dog before, so that’s certainly been an eye-opener. We’re very fortunate that he’s an OAP and as little trouble as a dog could possibly be (except for the separation anxiety. And the fact that he was terrified of the stairs. We ended up taking shifts sleeping on the couch, while I was under the attack of the worst lurgy I’ve had in a decade, so that was just fab, and in the end, though I was half-dead and the G-monster appallingly drunk (so jealous!) we got out the staple-gun and spent the midnight hour decking the stairs with cardboard until dog-breath could be persuaded to come up them and stop barking all the goddamn time already). He’s been here just under a fortnight and already it feels like we’re a proper family or something, so I predict he will stay long enough to break our hearts, and our bank balances with his medical bills, and then pop his poor little clogs, leaving us devastated. Woo, pets.
In the meantime, I fulfilled this year’s goal of writing a short story for every week for the year (if one generously counts poetry and sarcastic articles as short stories). The less said about all the other goals I had for this year the better, but who knows, maybe next year I will get more done. Not as much as I want, of course (until the lurgy, my plans for the Christmas period were to write eight short stories, and possibly a novel, and get a whole raft of drawing done, while somehow also gutting the house, getting fit with dog-breath and insulating the loft. Probably not realistic goals for eight days, but they never are.)
Nevertheless, it would be a small and mean world if one person had the slightest chance of experiencing it all in one lifetime, and I suppose it would be a small and mean lifetime if one had any chance at all of doing everything one wanted to do within it. Though I hope, for anyone reading this, you have a chance of doing all sorts of wonderful things and fulfilling all sorts of wonderful goals in the coming year. Remember, it’s always better to have tried and failed than never to have tried at all. At least, until the landing.
On which note, here are some fever-animals. Happy New Year!