1463: Losing Face

I’ve been off Facebook for some time now — a cursory search through these pages suggests I closed my account in October of last year — and for the most part I haven’t missed it.

I certainly haven’t missed the endlessly inane reshares of content from George Takei(‘s PR intern) which in turn was stuff that already did the rounds on Reddit and subsequently Twitter several days earlier.

I also haven’t missed the few people who seem to think that Facebook is an appropriate platform for standing atop their soapbox and bellowing the most ill-informed political and/or sociological opinions they can possibly think of.

I also haven’t missed having shit games and advertising jammed forcibly down my throat every time I log in. I spent a considerable amount of time reviewing Facebook games professionally and all it left me with was a bitterly passionate desire to never play one ever again.

And yet…

Over the weekend I went out. This is nothing unusual in itself, but this was something of a special occasion — it was a reunion of sorts for those of us who studied music at the University of Southampton between 1999 and 2002. We were a pretty close-knit bunch while we were there — though I must confess, being a joint-honours English and Music student, that I always felt somewhat on the periphery of this particular social group — and most people have kept in touch pretty well ever since. A number of us are still in Southampton, too, though a distressingly small number of us are actually doing anything with our music studies professionally. (Note to kids planning their future: when someone tells you that a particular degree is a “good, general choice that will get you into most careers,” they are talking bollocks.)

Anyway, yeah. We went out to a pub near Newbury and ate our respective body weights in roast dinners and custard-covered desserts. It was thoroughly pleasant, particularly as I hadn’t seen some of these people for a while.

It’s partly my fault, of course — I could have very easily picked up the phone and invited them over for dinner, or coffee, or whatever, but I haven’t. But then they haven’t either. I don’t say this with bitterness — it’s just the way that the rapid pace of modern 21st century life makes people think. Real-life friendships often fall by the wayside somewhat, and people whom you once spent every day with become people that you see a couple of times a year — albeit on those occasions, you’ll start singing improvised offensive German barbershop a cappella as if no time whatsoever had passed between the last couple of times you saw one another. (At least you will if you are me and my friends.)

The thing is, though, for many people, Facebook fills that gap between in-person interactions — or “face time” as obnoxious wankers like to call it. It allows you to remind each other of your existence, and to likewise acknowledge one another’s existence with a Like or a Comment.

At least, that’s the intention. One might argue that said intention has been somewhat diluted over the last few years as Facebook has become less and less about meaningful social interactions and more and more about sharing viral content in an attempt to amass as many Likes, comments and shares as possible.

Having almost missed out on this reunion due to my non-presence on Facebook, I find myself questioning my decision to leave the network. It also makes me ponder whether or not it might be possible to use it in a different way — specifically, to have a substantial cull of my friends list to just those who are local and whom I am likely to want to see again at some point. I’d cut out any Pages that I was following — not that I think I was following many in the first place — and keep my friends list down in the double-digits if at all possible. I’d be ruthless in the culling of people who didn’t post anything interesting or useful and consequently cluttered up my news feed with bullshit, and I’d lock down my account so I’d be in complete control of who could find me. I’d also minimise overlap between Facebook and Twitter, because what’s the point?

I’m tempted to try this, though with all the changes I’ve seen Facebook make regarding how it decides what it wants to show to you, I have my doubts as to how useful the service is even with these attempts to take ownership of the experience. It certainly can’t hurt to give it a go, anyway, and if it does turn out to be useless nonsense as I suspect, it’s little bother to simply hit the “deactivate” button again.

I’ll leave you with this, which is a big part of my hesitance to return:

1461: Day After Day

Every so often when I sit down to write this blog thing every day, I look at the number before the post title and think “bloody hell, that’s a lot of posts.” Then I think “bloody hell, that’s quite a long time I’ve been doing this.”

Of course, given that my day job involves writing lots of things every day, it’s perhaps arguable whether or not having written a single post on here every day for the last 1,461 days is as impressive as it once was, but I like to think it still shows a certain degree of dedication and commitment on my part. And, given that I’m not the sort of person who spends a lot of time thinking particularly good things about themselves, that’s one thing with concrete evidence that I can specifically point to and say “yes, that’s good; that’s something I can be pleased with.”

I feel doubly pleased when I think back to how this all started. For those who have joined me recently, the basic gist was this: a few UK-based writers got together and decided to write something every day, initially for a year. I joined quite late in January in that first year, and haven’t stopped since. Interestingly, a significant number of the people who started that first year also gave up very quickly — the person I regard as the “founder” simply bowed out with a tweet that said “fuck #oneaday” one day and never picked it up again — but others stuck it out for most or even all of that first year.

Following that, I managed to organise a ragtag group of bloggers into a group who helped motivate each other somewhat, and in the process we raised a bit of money for charity. Again, though, relatively few people made it through the whole year, but I stood firm. Now, to my knowledge, I’m the only one of the original participants from either of those first couple of years to still be blogging on a daily basis and while I may not always have a lot of meaningful things to say, I still sit down and write every day, regardless.

Because it wasn’t necessarily about writing something meaningful or useful. It was just about writing. As with any creative endeavour, regardless of how ambitious it is, the only way to get better and refine your craft is to continue doing it as often as possible. You might just discover a few things about yourself in the process.

For my part, I’ve discovered — well, confirmed, really — that writing is a good outlet for me. If stress and anxiety is starting to build up in my head, as it often does, writing this post each day is a good means of venting some of that steam. I don’t even necessarily have to write specifically about what I’m stressed or anxious about; if you look back to the period on this blog where my marriage was falling apart and I was in a seriously bad place mental health-wise, you’ll notice that a lot of the posts are considerably more creative than they perhaps are now. I don’t think this is coincidental at all; misery appears to beget creativity, which may account for the whole “tortured artist” stereotype.

Note: I do not advocate the seeking out of misery purely to get your own creative juices flowing, but if, for whatever reason, you’re not in a good place, use that negative energy to make something. It doesn’t have to be good. But it can help.

Anyway. I think that’s enough blabbering on for now. Just another day in the increasingly long list.

1460: Flexitime

Where’s all the time gone?

I’m not talking about the year zipping by — we’re still in January when I last checked, so things are proceeding at about the right pace there — but instead I am talking about the time within each individual day. I know that reasonably speaking each day absolutely isn’t any shorter than it normally is, but it certainly feels like it at the moment for some reason. I feel like I used to be able to fit more things into the day, whereas now I seem to spend the majority of the day working, a little while chilling out in the evening and then before I know it it’s after midnight and I should be sleeping.

This is, as you might expect, somewhat frustrating. There are things I want to do, see. Lots of things. And, as any respectable human being in the 21st century will almost certainly tell you, there is rarely enough time to do everything you want to do. This seems to be a particular issue at present.

Perhaps I’m just trying to squeeze too many things into too short a space of time, and I should be more realistic about things. In fact, let’s try a little exercise: let’s list all the things that I want and/or need to do, and determine which of them can wait a bit and which of them I can probably squeeze in to the time I have. I am thinking out loud here, which is probably terribly tedious to those of you good enough to still be reading at this point, but eh. I’ve started, so I may as well finish.

I present, then, in no particular order, The (Possibly) Definitive List of Things I’d Like to Do (Perhaps on a Regular Basis), 2014 Edition, Not Including Things to Do With Other People.

Finish watching the anime Clannad. (Eminently doable; I’m watching an episode with breakfast and sometimes lunch each day right now, and there’s only 20-something of them.)
Watch the anime series Ghost Hunt, Hell Girl and whatever I’ve been adding to my Crunchyroll queue over the last year or so. (Also eminently doable; do not start until Clannad is finished to minimise confusion.)
Study Japanese. (Currently attending weekly evening classes, and have just signed up for a second semester; in order to progress further, I both want and need to set aside some time each week for self-study, not necessarily every day, but at least two or three times a week, I’d say. Perhaps this is something to do in the morning.)
Make my game. (Haven’t worked on this for ages, but still really want to get it done. At the same time, I find it difficult to believe I will ever get it done. Again, a case of setting aside regular time each week, I think; perhaps on days when I’m not doing Japanese self-study.)
Play the visual novels and dating sims I have on my shelf that I haven’t even touched yet. These include Saya no Uta, Tokimeki Check-In, Yumina the Ethereal and a number of others. (Requires a think. How can I fit these into daily life? Should I finish some other games first, or treat them more like “books” and, say, read in bed or something? Or perhaps play them when I would “normally” watch anime?)
Repeat plays of visual novels I haven’t seen all the paths of. These include Aselia the Eternal (super-long, lots of paths), Deus Machina Demonbane (quite long, few paths) and possibly some others. (See above.)
Play the bajillion PS1, PS2 and PS3 RPGs I have on my shelf. There’s about fifteen years’ worth of games there. Fuck next-gen.
Play more music. (Stop making excuses and set aside 30-60 minutes a day to do so. The piano’s right there.)
Finish ZHP on PSP/Vita. (Need to not be playing any other RPGs first in order to concentrate on this, and perhaps even start again altogether.)
Get my Final Fantasy XIV white mage to level 50. (Eminently doable at the rate I’m going.)
Write something long-form, either a non-fiction book on some aspect of gaming (perhaps visual novels) or a novel, then publish it somehow. (The latter I’ve sort of done for the last few years on this blog each November, but more planning and editing is required to make something worth paying for.)
Forgive the few people who have wronged me and for whom I hold grudges. (Never gonna happen. I don’t hold many grudges, but the few I do are, to me, entirely justified.)
Get back into walking, running, fitness, some combination thereof, without getting demotivated that they don’t obviously make me any smaller.

I’m sure there are more, but I think that’s probably plenty to be getting on with for now.

Whew. I think I might need to go back to making myself a schedule and trying to stick to it again.

1459: What the Person in That Car is Trying to Say

During particularly long and boring drives — down a particularly tedious stretch of motorway, for example — I often find my mind wandering in various ways, pondering various subjects.

One of the things that occasionally pops into my head is a sort of “what if?” scenario about how communication between vehicles could work. If you’ve ever played a ’90s or ’00s space sim, you’ll know that it’s implied that most spacecraft have an always-open communication channel allowing them to be hailed by other pilots and installations, and it always feels fairly natural.

Were we to have an equivalent for our roadgoing vehicles today, the results would be anything but natural, since it would provide those with road rage with the ability to directly yell at people without having to stop and get out of their car, and it would also open the real world up to griefing and trolling. Of course, it might also facilitate helpful communication, but, well, the Internet has taught me to be something of a pessimist when it comes to forms of communication.

But if we consider the way that people in cars communicate with each other now, it’s clear that there’s something of a problem. Allow me to elaborate.

What is happening: The brake lights on the car in front of you are flickering.
What it means: The car in front is being driven by an old person.
Or: The car in front is suffering from a loose connection to its brake lights.
Or: The driver of the car in front isn’t quite comfortable with exactly how hard you need to press the brake pedal to keep it under control.
Or: The driver of the car in front is trying to send you some sort of message using Morse code.

What is happening: The car in front is continuing to drive forwards, but it has put its hazard warning flashers on.
What it means: There is a hazard.
Or: The car in front has broken down and is coasting to a smooth stop.
Or: “Thank you.”
Or: “Fuck you.”
Or: If the car in front is of German origin and costs more than £10,000, this also means “I am parking here,” regardless of whether parking is permitted here.

What is happening: The car in front is approaching a junction and its indicators are not flashing.
What it means: The car in front is going straight on.
Or: If the car in front is of German origin and costs more than £10,000, this may mean “I am turning left” or “I am turning right”.

What is happening: The car behind you is flashing its headlights.
What it means: “Hello!”
Or: “You’re going too slowly.”
Or: “You’re going too fast.”
Or: “Thank you.”
Or: “Fuck you.”
Or: “Look at my headlights, I bought them at Halfords, aren’t they bright?”
Or: “You should probably turn on your headlights, it is dark after all and I nearly ran into the back of you, you cretin.”

What is happening: The driver of the car in front is making a gesture that looks like he is tenderly stroking two invisible, curved penises.
What it means: I have no fucking idea, but I saw this once and it’s haunted me ever since.

1456: The Bigger…

There are certain types of people in this world for whom the bigger the audience they have, the more of a colossal tool they become.

It happens in all walks of life and all occupations, and conveniently explains the existence of Piers Morgan, though it by no means excuses it.

In my own personal experience, I’ve encountered this phenomenon in several disparate environments.

Firstly, when I was a teacher, we have “the problem child”. Rare is the class that doesn’t have at least one of these little horrors; unfortunate is the teacher who has to deal with more than one simultaneously.

The “problem child” is often an interesting case because his or her dickish behaviour is usually a ploy to get attention, whether positive or negative. If this is disruptive to what other people are doing, they don’t care. It is consequently easy to assume that this type of child in a classroom simply wants to be a dick and annoy everyone as much as possible, when in fact all they want is everyone to pay attention to them. This is amply proven by the fact that if you get one of these children by themselves to talk about their behaviour, they’ll often appear to be completely reasonable and open to your requests. But as soon as there’s a class full of other children in front of them, off they go again, and so the whole hideous cycle continues again and again and again.

Secondly, it happens in the workplace. The more power and prominence certain types of individual have, the more dickish they become, flaunting their new-found power over you and pissing everyone else off in the process. Grab them one-on-one and, again, they’ll often appear to be reasonable, only to undermine you at the next opportunity when they have an audience.

I suffered the effects of not one but several of these types during a job a few years back. They all seemed to feel like they had something to prove, and I — and several other members of the staff who generally did nothing but keep our heads down and got on with our jobs as best we could — were caught in the firing line as they attempted to prove… whatever it was they were trying to prove.

Thirdly, of course, you have certain people in the media, such as the aforementioned Piers Morgan, but also people who specialise in comedy of various types. Certain comedians deliberately favour the “being a dick” approach to comedy, and it works for them, so fair enough; again, though, take that supportive audience away, and they crumble.

Fourthly, it happens in online games, and this is the reason I bring this up at all this evening thanks to reliable old blog topic Final Fantasy XIV.

Simply put, the more people you’re together with at once in an online game, the greater the chance that one or two “alpha” types will try and fight it out to determine who has the biggest e-peen of them all.

Compare and contrast, if you will, the experience of running a 4-player dungeon in Final Fantasy XIV with the 24-player Labyrinth of the Ancients raid added in the most recent patch. I did both this evening: true to form, Labyrinth of the Ancients provided the rest of the group with a few loudmouths who liked nothing more than swearing at one another and passing blame for things that went wrong; conversely, when I ran Pharos Sirius — regarded as probably the hardest four-player dungeon in the game — with a group of three randomly-matched players from the Duty Finder, I had a very pleasant experience in which everyone was helpful, communicated well and was polite to one another.

In this instance, I wonder how much of it is due to the fact that managing communication between 24 people who are supposed to be working together is a lot more challenging than managing communication between just 4 people. Someone has to take the lead when there are that many people milling around, and it just so happens that those with the loudest voices often seem to become the de facto leaders — or at least think they’re in charge anyway.

There are exceptions to all of the above, of course; the second time I ran Labyrinth of the Ancients this evening, it was a perfectly smooth run with no disagreements, yelling or willy-waving, for example — and for every “problem child” in a class, there are usually 29 kids who are quite-to-very nice.

It’s just a shame that the few dicks out there have to spoil things, isn’t it?

1452: What Can You Use Bovril For?

bovril [Note: This was written last night, but for some reason didn’t publish. My apologies!]

Inspired by someone who found my blog today by searching for “what can you use Bovril for?” I proudly present to you the Definitive List of Things You Can Use Bovril For.

You can make it into a drink. This is supposedly its primary purpose. Essentially you put a dollop of it in a cup and add hot water. The result is a jet-black drink that is somewhat salty, and which is supposed to taste of beef but doesn’t really. I’m not really sure what it tastes of. It actually doesn’t really taste of Bovril any more, oddly, because I associate the taste of non-drink Bovril with being somewhat… pungent, for want of a better word; the kind of thing that feels like it’s stripping the lining of the roof of your mouth off. Bovril as a drink doesn’t have that effect, really; it just tastes of salt and disappointment.
You can put it in sandwiches. Growing up, this was a mainstay of my school lunchbox, but I genuinely don’t think I’ve had a Bovril sandwich since I was at school. If the idea of putting a thick, sticky, vaguely beef-flavoured salty black paste in a sandwich as its sole ingredient doesn’t sound massively appealing, you can also use it as a sort of condiment; cheese and Bovril works quite well, for example.
You can put it on toast. This is, for me, the second-most optimum use of Bovril, because toast’s relative solidity compared to regular bread ensures that the Bovril remains largely in its natural state and gives your toast a strong, vaguely spicy flavour that is not altogether unpleasant. In fact, it’s actually quite nice — but again, be careful with the quantities, since applying too much Bovril to your toast will cause your mouth to feel rather strange for the rest of the day. As a guideline, when looking at your toast, it shouldn’t be a solid mass of Bovril; it should instead be smeared across it relatively lightly.
You can put it on toast, then dip it in Heinz Cream of Tomato Soup. This is the absolute best use of Bovril, and the discovery of which is one of the very few good things I look back with fondness on from my relationship with an ex-girlfriend. It sounds like it should be disgusting, but trust me on this one; you absolutely won’t regret it. Unless, of course, you don’t like Bovril, in which case why are you reading this post anyway?
It makes a not very effective adhesive. In other words, you probably wouldn’t want to stick anything together using Bovril, but in the process of opening a jar that’s a few months old you will almost inevitably end up accidentally doing so — usually your fingers to each other, or the spoon to a wall, or your face to a cat. Wash hands thoroughly after preparing any sort of Bovril-based dish.
It makes a not very effective fake tan. Again, in the process of opening a jar that has been in your cupboard for perhaps a little longer than it should have — though trust me, unless you leave toast crumbs in it, a jar of Bovril will happily survive the apocalypse — you will almost certainly end up staining yourself with it. For fair-skinned individuals, a light smearing of Bovril over your entire body will equip you with the uneven tan typically sported by Britons returning from a holiday on the continent.
It makes for excellent scatological practical jokes. A light smearing of Bovril in the victim’s underpants — probably best to do while they aren’t wearing them — will make them look like they’ve shat themselves. Be sure to scoop out any excess Bovril before secreting your victim’s underpants back in the drawer, because seeing black sludge that has apparently emanated from their rectum will probably make them want to call the doctor rather than just throw the pants in the bin and/or washing machine.
Apparently if you hit Marmite repeatedly with a spoon it turns white. I don’t know if the same is true for Bovril, but if you are bored of an evening, the attempts to prove or disprove the theory may prove to be adequate entertainment if the television is showing nothing but reality shows.

I hope you have found this list helpful, mystery reader. Be sure to enjoy your Bovril safely and responsibly, and always remember your safe word.

1448: New Term

Taking a break from the board game posts for today, largely because I’ve left it a bit late to start faffing around with taking photographs and whatnot. I’m quite tired and it’s back to work properly tomorrow; I’d like to try and be up and about at a reasonable time in the morning so I have time to do “stuff” of an indeterminate nature before I have to actually start working, but we both know that’s statistically quite unlikely to happen.

This is one of the many problems with working from home. I mean, sure, it’s great to not have to commute anywhere. And, theoretically, being able to stay in bed until pretty much whatever time you want so long as you actually get the work done before the end of the day is pretty great.

But it’s not, really. The temptation when provided with potentially limitless time to lie in bed in the morning is to… well, lie in bed for a limitless amount of time until you really can’t justify lying there any more. To be fair to myself, I have never actually overslept to such a degree that I haven’t started working by the semi-arbitrary 11am start time I set myself to knuckle down and start writing, but I’ve cut it fine a few times.

Getting up is hard, though. I find it quite difficult to get to sleep quickly at night-time — much to my chagrin, Andie can fall asleep in a matter of seconds — and thus I like to enjoy as much restful sleep as I possibly can. Then there’s the matter of “morning dreams” — the incredibly vivid workings of my imaginative subconscious that I can usually recall rather well for a few moments after I wake up, and indeed have documented a number of times on these very pages. (Obligatory link to “the poo dream” post for the benefit of my good friend who occasionally comments here.) These are often so compelling that it’s difficult to tear myself away from them, even though I know even as they’re happening that they’re nothing but dreams, and they almost certainly won’t conclude in a satisfying manner.

At least I am able to get up, however. When I was going through what I shall euphemistically refer to as my “rough patch” a few years back, I completely fucked up my sleep patterns to such a degree that I actually found it impossible to even wake up before 5pm in the afternoon. I was unemployed, alone and shortly to be without a place to call my own, so there really wasn’t very much to get up — or even wake up — for. It was embarrassing to walk into the shop across the road from my flat and be greeted by the guy with the smelly armpits behind the counter with a polite request as to how my day had been when I knew that my day had only started ten minutes ago, despite his working day being almost over. It was frustrating, too, as I felt I should be doing something more productive with my time than sleeping, but, well, I was not exactly of sound mind at the time, and I’m not sure getting up in the morning would have helped all that much at that point.

Thinking back to that time, I should count myself lucky that I’m enjoying a period of stability right now, then. There aren’t all that many things I really need to “worry” about right now — though as anyone who’s ever suffered with anxiety and depression will know, you don’t necessarily need “something” to stress about to feel stressed out. Life at the start of 2014 is pretty good, by all accounts, and hopefully it will only continue to get better as time goes on.

Now, before I pontificate further on matters of the mind, I believe it’s probably time to bid you all farewell. I’ll see you at the start of the new working week. Don’t be late!

1444: 2014 Arrives

…and it was with a bit of whimper, to be honest.

This isn’t any reflection on our gracious hosts Tim and Sophie, of course, who not only laid on a sausage-tasting session (no, that’s not a euphemism) for us, but also cooked an immense amount of beef and other goodies, but to the fact that we all, as a group, found the moment of that single digit changing on everyone’s calendars to be somewhat underwhelming.

Is it cynicism? Jadedness? World-weariness? I don’t know, really. Perhaps it’s the fact that staying up until midnight isn’t really a novelty as a “grown-up”, or the realisation we’ve all had at some point of the fact that a new year doesn’t magically mean a new beginning, a fresh start or anything like that.

I mean, sure, the first of January is as good a time as any to say “right, I’m going to get [x] sorted out” but I’d be interested to know just how many people do successfully manage to get [x] sorted out and who are quite happy to maintain the status quo, continuing to allow [x] to do its thing as it’s always done.

I don’t have many things I’d like to do massively differently this year. I’d like to pick up on the exercise again, even though every time I engage in it I feel like it’s an increasingly futile gesture. I’d like to start drawing a few stupid little cartoons on this blog again — not today, though, as it was a busy day; tomorrow perhaps. I’d like to pick up work on my game again. And I’d like to continue learning Japanese.

These are all relatively simple, small and attainable goals. I’m not going to make any grand gestures or promises that are impossible to keep — no “I will be thin in 2014!” bullshit, for example — but I would like my life to continue in a reasonably positive direction, even if my own messed-up brain occasionally gives me days of distressingly dark thoughts.

There’s plenty of possible good things to look forward to in 2014, at least, but I shall spare you enthusing about things that may or may not happen for now because… well, they may or may not happen. But we shall see. I’d like to be positive. I’d like for it to be a good year. But I’d settle for it simply to not be a bad one.

Happy new year, everyone; may your 2014 be adequate for your needs.

1442: Yearly Wasteland

We’ve reached that peculiarly barren time of year — it’s no longer Christmas, but it’s not quite New Year either. Some unlucky people have to go back to work for a few days — Andie is one of them — while the rest of us bum around, twiddling our thumbs and wishing we had more presents to open. (Actually, we will have a few more presents to open on New Year’s Day, which is nice. I think I know what mine will be, and if I’m right I’ll be very pleased with it.)

I feel a bit frustrated by the holiday season at the moment. I miss the “magic” it used to have when I was a kid. I’m not sure quite when it stopped being exciting and fun, but it’d be nice to get that back.

I’ve mentioned before my curious inability to express genuine-seeming outward signs of excitement, surprise or anything like that, and I have a feeling that may be something to do with it. I love opening presents and getting cool stuff, but I hate the pressure there is to look pleased with what you got. Everyone who buys you something is almost inevitably looking carefully at your face to see if you smile, grin, laugh or look disappointed at the things that have been purchased for you, and given that I feel enormously self-conscious about getting excited or joyful, my reaction often appears to be somewhat more “meh” than it actually is. I generally do like presents, whatever they are — because I’m not an ungrateful twat who returns gifts that other people have bought for him — and I am always appreciative when someone thinks of me and buys me something nice. It’s just sometimes a bit difficult to show.

Same with New Year’s. Everyone builds it up to be some kind of massive big deal, so when the time comes to actually say “Happy new year!” to people I feel very self-conscious and stupid. It feels like a cliche to say it. Well, it is a cliche to say it, but surely there’s no better time to actually say “happy new year!” to someone than at one minute past twelve on New Year’s Day. Garrgh.

One day I might get over all these stupid neuroses. Sadly, that day is not today, so if you are, by any chance, hanging out with me for New Year celebrations at any point in the future, I apologise in advance for my seeming lack of enthusiasm about the year increasing by one.

We’re off out to a party at my friend Tim’s tomorrow night to ring in the new year. There will be sausages. And no, that’s not a euphemism; the plan is actually for there to be lots of sausages. This is a situation I am absolutely fine with.

There will be one last post of 2013 before the new year — that will hopefully be before midnight, if I remember — and then it’s onward to 2014 and great things. Or just the same things as usual, but with a different number in the “YYYY” section of forms.

Anyway. Happy holidays or whatever.

1436: Merry Christmas

Technically this is my post for the 24th, but it’s past midnight so I can probably officially say “merry Christmas” to you all. And possibly again tomorrow.

Andie and I are having a nice quiet Christmas in our own place this year, with no-one having to travel anywhere. It will be nice to have a fairly chilled out day.

One thing we will sort of be missing out on a bit though is the fine art of the “family tradition”. Everyone’s family doubtless has their own little traditions and routines for Christmas Day, and when you’re not spending said day with your family you either have to come up with your own ones, or adopt the ones you’ve known for the rest of your life by default. (That or attempt to ignore Christmas altogether; I did that a couple of years ago, not entirely through choice, and it was not altogether pleasant.)

The “traditions” Andie and I will be adopting once we get up later this morning will doubtless be a blend of both of our families’ typical way of doing things. We’ve already done the “open one present at midnight” thing that Andie insisted on (a copy of the board game Tsuro — thanks Michelle!) but we will more than likely open presents in the morning, as is Davison family tradition, rather than in the afternoon, as is Capes family tradition. Because come on, presents.

Those who have been following this blog for a while will know that I haven’t really had my heart in Christmas for a number of years now. I’m not entirely sure why this is, but I have a feeling it’s something to do with my own inability to express genuine-seeming excitement or happiness when put in a situation where it’s expected. I really hate being put under pressure to “be happy” or “act more excited” because, in my mind, I picture an “excited” thirty-two year old Pete as an overexcited five-year old Pete with everyone laughing and chuckling at how adorable he is to be so excited. I of course know that this is completely stupid and that it’s okay to be excited, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling really embarrassed at the prospect of being excited and demonstrating anything more than a Fluttershy-style “Yay”.

Still, even if I don’t really show it at times, I am at least appreciative for a pleasant, enjoyable and peaceful festive season — and I hope all of you reading this are in the process of enjoying the same thing.

Have a thoroughly merry Christmas, everyone, and here’s to a happy 2014 when it eventually decides to show its face.