Bah, Humbug, New Year!

I'm not really a New Year person.
Despite the In-Charge's cousin talking me through 'the year is a circle, New Year joins seamlessly onto the end of last year' - that still doesn't work for me.
It's always seemed like a straight line, the year - so 31st December appears as some sort of awful cliff that you fall off, willy nilly. Yet another leap of faith.
Sadly, I guess that makes me a member of the flat-earth society.
I'm not proud.

I have tried.
Indeed, I do try.
No doubt my family, at this point, would say 'you're very trying' - but despite all, something isn't working.
It's all a bit like this really, New Year:

Whatever, this circle thing just isn't happening for me.
It's about colour somewhere along the line. (There you go - 'line' - see what I mean?)
Colour, whether I like it or not, is the be-all and end-all.
Christmas teems with colour. It jumps out and socks you one, grabs you round the neck and sucks you in until you drown in it, until colour has replaced the blood in your veins, the air in your lungs, the thoughts in your brain.
New Year isn't about colour. It is clean and cold and brightly, icily blue.

Or - as in today's case - wet and grey and rather down-at-heel.
But whatever the reality, it's a chilling contrast to the warmth of Christmas, and definitely outside my comfort zone. It's all about new beginnings, starting all over again - like Maths homework that you got wrong the first time round. 'Return to Go' and definitely do not collect 200...
It's the point when, were it not for the chocolates, empties and new socks lying around, you'd wonder if Christmas had just been some sort of tantalising dream.

Sorry, all you New Year fans out there.
Please tell me, where am I going wrong?

We went to some lovely parties over Christmas, and even had one here, but last night was a quiet night in.
I didn't go to bed - I couldn't be that Scrooge-ish. We watched a movie (an excellent, if rather distressing one, as it turned out - The Flowers of War, with Christian Bale), but then we had an unexpected treat.
Queen and Adam Lambert live at Central Hall, Westminster.
I've not exactly been switched on this last while, so Adam Lambert and I haven't been personally introduced until now. As with most things, I'm behind the times, but it's never too late to catch up.
Last night's gig was, to quote an old friend, 'bloody-marvellous'.
Freddie Mercury - sleep on, sweet singer, rest in peace. Miss you as we do, your legacy is in safe hands. Adam Lambert is a worthy heir.

And just in case you missed it - here's a little snippet for you

And if you need any more convincing:

Still not sure?

Here's one for the road:

Oh, and London's New Year fireworks were amazing too.
Queen thoughtfully paused to let them take centre stage at midnight.

Happy New Year everyone, from rather a dark, damp, colourless west coast.

Best Mates

Oh the joys of the modern world!
We have made a new friend.
Well - actually a virtual friend.

If only we lived in Suffolk, he would be a real friend, and Model Dog, SuperModel and I would want to see him every day because he is right up our street (so to speak. Alas not in actual fact).

After consultation with my girls we all feel that, quite apart from wanting you to meet this new and colourful character in our lives, we all would like to share his educational message and picture for the benefit of the less-informed.
I daresay there are many dog owners out there who live in blissful ignorance of a hound's very real needs at this time of year. Indeed, I confess with shame that I am one of them.
But worry not, after a severe lambasting for my total disregard for their welfare, I have promised Model Dog and SuperModel that I will mend my ways forthwith.

Here is our new best mate in all his glory.

And here is his educational message. Please read, learn and inwardly digest!
(I have tried to pick a colour of which he would approve.)

'Wen it be's sooper chillies, like wot it be's in Lowstuff ats the moment, it be's sooper himportant to keeps warm. So I did finks to meself to makes a heducayshonal foto fors all hoomans wot is new to ownings hounds this winter. Fings you will needs: sooper luffly warm coat wivs tummy warmings fing, leg warming fings, feets warming fings, hat ands scarf (probly best ifs thems matchings), ear warmings fings (wot can be dedded ferst like wot mine woz) ands a hot waterbottle. Then you's reddy for winter walkies bys the marshes!'

I am appalled at my own inadequacy. But before making this delicious boy's acquaintance, I hadn't realised just how important it is to keep those brindles warm, nor how many garments are required to do the job properly.

And my own hounds have made their feelings very clear. When I showed them this picture, I perceived immediately that they had (to use our new friend's inimitable language) their most envious 'eyeborls on'.
No words were necessary.

We are still in major discussions at this end, as to style, colour, yarn texture and overall look, though inevitably - being ladies of decided but individual fashion - we are not yet in complete agreement.
But I am preparing.
The wool is out.
I am sharpening my knitting needles as I write, and just as soon as a decision has been made, I'm ready for the off...

Under starter's orders...

After all, you know what I love best! You know how itchy my fingers get!


In the meantime, you can learn more about this remarkable hound by clicking on the link below.
Read how, in true crusading spirit, he has written to the Queen with 'hinformashons on his polly-sees to ban flashbangs' and also his 'Campayn to be Prime Mincer'.
His manifesto is full of good, sound stuff, and although the 'elekshuns' are not imminent, I know who'll get my household's vote!

Maybe I should knit him a soap-box while I'm waiting for my girls to decide?
Or a campaign banner? 'VOTE FOR THIS DAVID!'

Read all about it! Read all about it! 

                     

Happy Hallowe'en?

I've been wondering what it is that makes occasions special.
What tingles through the blood like an unbidden electric current?
I'm not quite sure, but I think that for most of us, it's things that hark back to childhood traditions.
Like Hallowe'en.

Yesterday, at the market I belong to, we had a fancy dress parade for the kids.
Well, theoretically it was for the under 12s, but either there are some very tall 12 year olds in Beltra, or else various adults were enjoying a second childhood.
Fantastic
It was great. As you can see for yourself -
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Beltra-Country-Market/146394695386284
A really happy occasion.

But this morning I found myself lying in bed pondering.
I loved yesterday, but it's not a big thing for me, Hallowe'en. It doesn't tingle my blood.
Put it like this, if I suddenly moved to some part of the planet where Hallowe'en was unheard of, I'd never think of it again. Even after living in Ireland for nearly 20 years.
And I suppose that's because Hallowe'en's not lodged somewhere deep within the marrow of my bones.
And it's too late to change that now. I guess marrow develops very early on.

I feel as if I'm chancing my arm by making such a confession, living here, as I do.
Perhaps ghosts and ghouls and witches would haunt me on that distant side of the planet - Irish witches.

Irish witches plotting my downfall.  OF COURSE they're out of focus! Duh!

Well, I suppose it would be no more than I deserve.
Many, many years ago I remember listening to an episode of that wonderful BBC Radio 4 programme - Alistair Cooke's Letter From America, a once-a-week aural capsule that slow-released for days afterwards - I'm sure it started Sunday morning for many of you; always interesting, and sometimes an eye-opener, as this specific one was for me. I was decorating the bathroom at the time (weird how things are anchored in the mind) - and it was with amazement that I learned that Hallowe'en - as it is known and loved by millions today - was imported lock, stock and barrel into the USA by the Irish. I really thought it was the other way round, but no - it is an Irish, or perhaps, more accurately, a Celtic phenomenon.

There's a possibility that it dates back to Roman times apparently, but by and large it grew out of the inevitable - perhaps I should rather say the 'arranged' marriage of Samhain (the Celtic festival marking the end of summer) with the Christian festival of All Souls. Or let's be more accurate still - I daresay All Souls gatecrashed the party in order to make Samhain kosher. (Um, that choice of word probably throws an un-necessary spanner into the works!) However, Hallowe'en got its own back by taking over the medieval custom of 'souling' - when the poor went out begging pennies in return for saying prayers for the dead.

Whatever.

Thegargoyle laughing at the Hallowe'en moon

In Ireland Hallowe'en's a really important festival. It lights up autumn like a great beacon. Families get together, everyone dresses up, houses are decorated and kids start trick-or-treating practically as soon as they can walk. It's even a Bank Holiday weekend. My kids loved it, and I sewed Dracula cloaks, cut up old sheets to create teeth-chatteringly scary ghosts and made fangs and face masks with the best of them. I bought all the usual sweets, peanuts-in-their-shells and traditional Barmbrack to keep by the door, awaiting the dread knock, ready to appease the fearsome (if small) creatures looming in the dark We even got pretty slick at carving jack'o'lanterns - my gorgeous son's intricately chased pumpkin creation remains unsurpassed to this day.

But I have to say, it was a learned response.

Hallowe'en just isn't in my soul.

Maybe it wasn't widely celebrated in my family, or in the West Indies where I lived as a child, and I certainly don't remember it being a feature of life when I moved to England in my teens. The 31st October just isn't a red - or orange-letter day in my calendar. I don't think 'Bah, humbug!' - but there is a blank where witchery-pokery should be. It doesn't resonate.


But Guy Fawkes and Bonfire Night! That is a different matter altogether.
When I first moved to Ireland from London, people used to ask if I missed the theatres - the galleries - the shops, and when I paused before replying, the first thing that always sprang to mind was the 5th of November. That was what I missed, and still do.
'Remember, remember the 5th of November, gunpowder, treason and plot, I see no reason why gunpowder and treason, ever should be forgot...'
Well - the gunpowder and treason fell by the wayside long ago. I wouldn't be mad for burning Catholics myself. Or Protestants for that matter.Or anyone.(Although, now I come to think of it, there are bankers out there...)

Glorious Bonfire Night

But like Hallowe'en, the origins have ceased to be material. It's the date that matters, and what you do with it. And the 5th of November still stirs nostalgia within me. The excitement, the anticipation: the shortening afternoon falling rapidly into night, shutting the pets away with their beds and supper, and then out - out into the darkness tingling with expectation, hats and scarves pulled tight against the damp November chill, the massive bonfires starting to crackle in every garden, spitting and licking greedily around crisp autumn leaves. And then, your face smarting with the heat, your back chilly in the darkness, sparklers spelling your name quickly, quickly in white light before they fizzle into burnt, spent sticks between your fingers. And hot sausages and mustard, melting, burning marshmallows and crunchy, tooth-achingly sweet toffee apples that were so impossible to break into. But most of all the fireworks - the fireworks, oh glory be, the fireworks! Explosion after explosion of multi-coloured, glittering fire spilling magic across the sky. You wanted them never to end. And finally, when everything had melted back into darkness, with just the glowing embers telling the night's tale, the smell hanging in the air like a pall. What was it - cordite? Hanging in wreaths so heavy that sometimes it seemed like the first fog of winter.

Now that's what tugs at the marrow of my bones.

Hallowe'en? Bonfire Night? It doesn't really matter what kindles your blood.
As long as something does.

Happy Hallowe'en!