Posts Tagged ‘New Year’

Days with Tom #5. Christmas Days

January 11, 2013
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Iiiiiiiiiiiiit’s Chriiiiiiiiiiiiistmaaaaaaaas!

Well, Tom. This is a momentous, erm, moment. The first post of 2013. A belated happy New Year to you, my lovely little lad.

This brings the total number of posts to a massive five in nearly two years. Even by my apathetic standards, that’s quite impressive. You should be proud of your old man.

So, what’s occurring then? Well, your second Christmas came and went. Unlike your first festive experience, when you were more interested in boxes and paper than the actual contents, you seemed to ‘get’ what was going on. Apart from thinking that Christmas is Santa’s birthday – but, hey, you’re not even two yet and we’ve got plenty of time to sort out the whole ‘Baby Jesus’ thing.

Talking of Santa, we took you to see him this year. You weren’t scared, just a tad overwhelmed (and somewhat out of focus). You asked him (via mummy) for “choc-choc”. You got a paint set. Silly Santa.

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“Where’s my chocolate, fat man?”
“Don’t talk to your father like that.”

Going to see the fat guy in the red suit was just one rite of passage that got me a little teary-eyed and choked up. It’s just another sign that my little lad is growing up fast.

Another rite of passage was leaving a sherry and mince pie out on Christmas Eve. I love this photo – there’s a sort of innocent wonder that I hope you’ll always keep (Oh dear, did I just write that? It looks like the manopause is fast approaching).

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“Mmm, forbidden mince pie.”

And of course, every family must sit down and watch The Snowman together. Except this year it was The Snowman and The Snowdog. You liked it a lot. So much so that we watched it over and over again. And each time you didn’t quite understand why daddy would get so leaky in the eye department.

It happens when you get older, son. Trust me – it happens a lot.

Fear the blank page

January 5, 2010

"Hey there. It looks like you're failing to write anything of interest!"

An auspicious start to the New Year this is not.

After one blog post, I’ve dried up. Can’t think of anything that interests me – or, to be more specific, would interest my reader (hello mum). The things I consider writing about become, before I’ve even put fingertip to keyboard, dull and tedious. Or, in the words of some second-rate hack from a few years back, how weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world.

Happy 2010? Bah.

It’s ironic (although I’m sure the type of pedant who likes to pick holes in Alanis Morrissette’s “Ironic”, believing they’re the first person to do it EVER, will point out that it isn’t). Because this year I’ve started keeping a diary – one that doesn’t just say things like “12:45 – Dentist”, “6:30 – The White Horse” or “11:59 – Murder tramp”. No, this time, I’m keeping a record of where I’ve been, what I’ve done and (in exceptional circumstances) how I’ve been feeling. So far this year I’ve been feeling “drunk” and “hungover”.

Funny things, diaries. On the one hand you’re writing purely for yourself; but on the other hand you write because deep, deep down you want your words to be read. It’s the hoary old ‘unhappy relationship’ chestnut. You write about how unhappy you are, but you won’t be happy until the other person betrays your trust and reads about your unhappiness. Because then you’ll be moving towards some kind of resolution.

So you keep your diary secret, stuffed down the back of the sock drawer (sorry dear, I won’t look again). But really you can’t wait for it to be discovered.

Mmm, secret diaries...

There was an interesting documentary about the public/private tension yesterday called Dear Diary presented by Richard E. Grant. (Well, it sounded interesting – actually I missed it. Still, God bless you BBC iPlayer.) Nancy Banks-Smith’s review in The Guardian mentioned a little anecdote that made me smile: “Russell Davies, editing Kenneth Williams’s diaries, was, no doubt, wounded to find himself described as a nasty piece of work.”

If you read that, would you, ahem, edit it out? And how does one edit a diary anyway? Surely the whole point is that a diary is shown in its warts-n-all entirety?

Anyway. I’ve broken my New Year blog duck. By writing about writing. Maybe I should scan the pages of my diary in and post them here. Then it could be a public blog about a secret diary. That’d be the self-referential icing on the postmodern cake.


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