#oneaday Day 566: Merry Christmas

Just a short one for today, as it's Christmas and I'm very tired indeed, plus we have things to do tomorrow!

A very Merry Christmas to anyone reading this. It's been a pleasantly quiet one here on Davison mountain, as we've just had the immediate family together for the first time in quite a while, particularly after some have had a bit of a turbulent year, to say the least.

Everyone got a nice selection of presents. I got some books, a nice Samsung smartwatch/fitness tracker thing and some other bits and pieces. I bought Andie a Soda Stream, as I thought it would be fun and we use quite a lot of sparkling water generally anyway.

Tomorrow we are attending a "handfasting" ceremony for my brother and his partner — not something I'm familiar with, but it sounds like a nice little event for close family. After that, it's the long drive home to reunite with the cats, who have been having to fend for themselves (with the food and water we left for them, obviously!) since Christmas Eve.

Anyway, I'm pretty wiped out so it's time to sleep. I hope you all had a pleasant Christmas if at all possible, and that you at the very least get some nice time off for the end of the year.

#oneaday Day 565: It's almost Christmas

Which means it isn't Christmas, I know. Christmas where I am at the time of writing is in 52 minutes.

We're at my parents' place for this Christmas, as my brother is over from the States, and it's a rare opportunity for our Mum and Dad to have the whole family together at a special time of year. (We're going to the in-laws for New Year, then next year they get us for Christmas.)

I've waxed lyrical over the years about how Christmas kind of loses its magic a bit as you get older, but I think there might be a kind of inverse bell curve thing going on, as I feel like I powered through Christmas being a bit "meh" over the course of the last decade or so, and I'm back to it feeling rather nice to get together with family and share some good times.

Of course, there was a hefty period of my life where things were not going particularly well, and that didn't exactly help with the festive spirit, but while I'm not in a position where I can say my life is "perfect" or 100% where I want it to be, I'm a damn sight more grounded and, for the most part, content than I was back around 2010 or so.

As I say, there are plenty of things I want to work on and improve in the coming year, and the festive season, of course, always gets one in a reflective sort of mood and keen to kid oneself that yes, this next year will be The Year.

I don't yet know if next year will be The Year. I suspect we all have many uphill battles to continue fighting in our own respective existences — and the world itself, for sure, needs to overcome its current challenges and, eventually, heal.

No-one really knows what the future holds. So while you're in a pleasant present, you might as well at least try and enjoy it.

I hope any of you out there reading this have a pleasant conclusion to 2025, whatever you might be doing to see it off — if anything. I certainly intend to try — beginning with a nice long sleep right about now.

#oneaday Day 383: Missed connections

I don't know if this is a side-effect of getting older, or if my thoughts and emotional state have changed, or whatever, but I've found myself missing my grandparents a lot recently, particularly those on my mother's side. This may sound a little harsh, but my family in general were always quite a bit closer with my maternal grandparents for various reasons — and this isn't to say I don't miss my grandparents on the Davison side, along with Bill, the lovely chap my Nan Davison married rather late in life — and thus I find it's them that my thoughts turn to with increasing frequency of late.

I feel a particular sense that I wish I'd gotten to know my Grandad a bit better. He was the first of my grandparents that we lost, but he was a beloved part of our family. He was always quite a character, and somewhat notorious to my parents for his famous "bodge jobs" on things that needed fixing or building. Since my wife, Andie, is rather handy (no jokes please) and good at improvising when things go sub-optimally, I find myself thinking that my Grandad would have got along well with her.

My Grandad was also always very supportive of things like my creativity and musical ability. Quite often when we made the trek from Cambridgeshire over to the West Midlands to visit the grandparents, both sets of whom were there, we'd take along a keyboard from home and I'd put on impromptu little "concerts" in their living room. Rather cheekily, I'd put up hand-made signs to make it look like we were in a real concert hall or theatre — I always used to find it particularly amusing to put signs up for the toilet — and I'm pretty sure on more than one occasion I put a modified tissue box on the door as a means of charging "admission". But my Nan and Grandad always humoured me, and they were always pretty generous with the pocket money, too.

My Nan was a nice person, too. Every time we went to visit, she'd make me jelly and ice cream and make sure she had Jammy Dodger biscuits in because she knew I liked them. I have odd little flashes of memory of my time spent with her, like attempting to draw Asterix in my sketch books while listening to the tape of '80s chart hits that felt strangely out of place in my grandparents' house. I remember playing Super NES on the ratty old portable television in the dining room. And I have regrets over occasionally being a moody adolescent on certain visits. I don't even remember why I was upset or angry; I just feel a bit ashamed when I look back on those moments, which occasionally, likewise, pop into my mind unbidden.

It's an odd thing, really, isn't it. As you grow older, you have a better sense of who you are, and who you feel you might get along with. As I've grown older, I feel like I would have enjoyed spending more time with my grandparents, and I'm pretty sure they would have liked Andie a lot, too. There are times when I almost feel like my Grandad is watching over me from wherever he is, even. And as he watches, he never judges; he's just there, a comforting presence.

Perhaps that's enough. Well, it kind of has to be, doesn't it? Because you can't turn back the clock. Sometimes it's just a bit of a shame that you feel like you understand the importance of certain people in your life long after they've departed it.

Perhaps I'll see my grandparents again someday. No-one really knows. But it's kind of a comforting thought to feel like they might be there waiting to see me again.

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#oneaday Day 200: Night Before Christmas

It's a late and short one this evening as we're away from home and the main PCs for Christmas. We're spending Christmas Day and a bit of Boxing Day with my folks, and New Year with my in-laws.

It's a long drive from where we live to my childhood home but we had a remarkably smooth run this evening. I think we successfully managed to time it so that everyone else had thought they'd get their travelling out of the way a bit earlier. Even the accursed M25 was mostly clear.

God, I really fricking hate typing on a phone so this is almost certainly going to be a particularly short entry today, particularly as it's already half midnight.

I guess on that note I should probably say an early "Merry Christmas!" to anyone who happens to be reading right at this moment. I will give you a more enthusiastic festive greeting tomorrow when I'm a bit more awake, presents have been exchanged and we're all full of turkey goodness.

For now then, it is time for the Last Sleep Before Christmas, so to all a good night or whatever.

#oneaday Day 145: The love of a good cat

Apologies for last night's bleakness. Not entirely sure what came over me. I think it was just the fact I turned the TV on to watch something while I was having something to eat and I was immediately confronted by a "Dell AI" advert that… didn't advertise anything whatsoever. But anyway. That was then, and this is now, and now I am back from my overnight stay and monthly visit to the office, and I have been welcomed home by my wife and cats.

My wife is jealous of how much our cats love me. And not just our current two; I was clearly favoured by both Ruby and Meg also. I haven't particularly done anything special to make any of them favour me in particular, but I can confirm that both Oliver and Patti have been all over me ever since I returned home.

And it's nice. There is something wonderful about the completely (well, mostly) unconditional love you feel from an animal. Both Oliver and Patti simply like being with me. We don't have to be doing anything "together"; they both just like to be in the same room as me, knowing that I'm nearby, and that if they feel like jumping on me to harass me for some attention and/or treats, I'm right there, nice and convenient.

I'd always known that having a cat around was a genuine joy. I grew up with two of the most wonderful cats you ever could imagine, for starters, and I still miss them both dearly. I have doubtless told this story many times before, but our first cat Penny was very much my "nursemaid" when I was very little, and as I grew up I felt very close to her.

After Penny passed on peacefully one night, it wasn't long before my family decided that we didn't want to be without a cat, and so Kitty (we didn't name her) joined us. She was a wonderful bundle of joy who loved nothing more than jumping into your lap and lying down, regardless of if you were trying to do anything. Sadly she left us, well before her time, after an accident in the road outside our house.

I still think of both Penny and Kitty, and love them both dearly.

And having pets of my own has brought me immeasurable amounts of joy. I consider myself incredibly fortunate to have been blessed with such wonderful pets consistently — though the fact that every pet I have had has turned out to be such a wonderful companion makes me wonder if the way you nurture them as their carer has as much impact on their overall personality as their general nature. If so, that hopefully says something positive about me.

The only thing I wish is that I'd explored the possibility of having my own pets sooner in my adult life than I did; right from when Andie and I first adopted a pair of rats because we thought it might be fun up until the fussy little mogs who are currently adorning various surfaces in my living room, pet ownership has been a wonderful thing.

There are challenges, of course, and it is sad when you have to say goodbye to a beloved pet. But the possibility of those sad times in the future should never take away from the amount of joy pets can bring you. And, as with Penny and Kitty, the pets we have lost over the years are still with me in their own way, too. Willow, Lara, Lucy, Socks, Clover, Ruby, Meg… I will never forget any of them.

Pets are wonderful companions, excellent listeners and never judge you. And now, I cannot imagine ever being without them.

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2534: Christmas Cheer

While I've somewhat lost enthusiasm for Christmas over the last ten years or so — I used to absolutely love it as a child — one thing I am pretty grateful for is the fact that I don't recall ever having a "bad" Christmas.

I mention this simply because one of the most popular stereotypes used when describing the Christmas period is that of "the inevitable family arguments" that apparently occur in many households. While I feel that the descriptions of these are often somewhat overblown and exaggerated for comedic effect in most cases, these stereotypes presumably came about for a reason.

My Christmases growing up were fairly formulaic and predictable, but that brought them a certain sense of comfort about them. I'd wake up to find a selection of small gifts that had been snuck into a "Santa's sack" at the foot of my bed, then go downstairs for a bacon sandwich and, once I was a little older, a Bucks Fizz. After breakfast, we'd go up to the lounge and open presents — my mother usually being the one who was most enthusiastic about this part of the day, and my father urging a certain degree of restraint — before relaxing with our new acquisitions for a little while.

After that, lunch preparations would get underway, with my mother taking the lead on things — we were a household of traditional gender roles, and also my mother is an excellent cook — and the rest of us alternating between staying well out of the way and occasionally fetching and carrying things as requested.

Lunchtime would come, and sprouts would always be on everyone's plate, regardless of protestations, though those of us who really objected to them (such as me) would typically only have one of them, drowned in gravy to make it as inoffensive as possible. This would be followed by Christmas pudding, which would always be set aflame, and which I'd never quite work out if I actually liked or not — after 35 years of contemplation, I don't think I do — and perhaps a cheeseboard to finish.

At some point during the day, the whole family would troop down to a local family friends' place for wine and conversation for an hour or two; this was never a formal affair, but was always pleasant, particularly if the circumstances of the rest of the year had meant that we hadn't had the time to catch up as frequently as we all might have liked to do. Then we'd return home, flop into our respective chairs and go back to enjoying our presents, mountains of snack foods and a generally relaxed, calm atmosphere.

I don't remember a single Christmas that was blighted with arguments or troublesome political discussions, and I'm grateful for that. Perhaps these things did happen and I just don't remember them, but they couldn't have been especially traumatic for me if I can't recall them at all.

These days, a Christmas exactly as I describe above is something that only happens once every couple of years now, since being married, we have the "one family, other family, quiet Christmas by ourselves" cycle going on. This year, we're with my in-laws, who have routines of their own very similar to those that my family have enjoyed over the years, albeit with their own little twists.

And after a turbulent year — not to mention the chaos of working retail over the holiday period — I'm looking forward to a day where everyone, everywhere can just take some time to relax and enjoy themselves for once. At least, I hope that's what everyone, everywhere is at least going to make an effort to try and do.

Merry Christmas.

#oneaday Day 889: Rats!

We got two pet rats yesterday. We didn't start the day intending to end it with some pets, but they were cute and we've been fancying having a pet for quite some time. Given that we're renting our house (and contemplating moving at some point, too) it's not practical to get a cat or a dog, which would have been our first choice, so something small, cute and furry that doesn't go very far was ideal, really.

I've never owned my own pet before. Sure, my parents had cats for most of the time that I was living at home, so I was used to having an animal around as a child and very much loved both Penny and Kitty. But since leaving home (on both occasions) I've never had a pet that is "mine" (or "ours" in this case). It's a slightly daunting prospect, if I'm honest, because getting a pet is essentially saying that you're confident enough that you can take care of some form of small furry creature well enough that it not only doesn't die immediately but also (hopefully) comes to love and appreciate you.

Our two rats haven't quite got to that stage yet as they're both very nervy and scared still, but they're getting there. One thing that has struck me about them is how clearly-defined their personalities are. Never having owned a creature of the "small and fluffy" variety before, I never really thought about them having particular personalities. I know from experience that dogs and cats have their own distinct character traits, but I'd never really considered rats as being the same. It does, of course, make sense — every creature, whatever species it is, is different and will react to situations in different ways regardless of primal instincts. At the most complex end of the spectrum, we have humans with their various neuroses, phobias, passions and addictions. And at the other end, we have our two rats, whom it's impossible not to assign very "human" characteristics to.

One of our rats (who has since been dubbed "Willow") is very shy. When we first got them she sat completely motionless for a very long time just staring at us. She's moving around a bit more now but is still startled by loud noises and doesn't like to be watched while she eats, drinks or indeed does anything. She's already grown in confidence, though, so she'll be fine in no time, I'm sure.

The other rat (since dubbed "Lara") is the complete opposite. She likes to explore. She was the first to come out of the box and wander around the cage. She was the first to find the food and the water. She was the first to start climbing around the bars on the side of the cage — and she's really rather good at climbing, too. She seems to be the smarter of the pair, as she figured out very quickly how to get into the "hammock" they have hanging from the top of the cage, and spent a very comfortable-looking few hours in there earlier today. Willow, meanwhile, came close to figuring it out but didn't manage to get in there, and tended to bolt if we actually picked her up and put her in there.

I'm looking forward to the two of them coming out of their shell a bit more — they're both very young and very nervous at the moment, but I have several friends who keep rats and say they're great pets that are very friendly. It will be interesting to see these little balls of fluff grow and change over time, both physically and in terms of personality, no doubt. For the moment, they're very cute and fun to watch; as time goes by, I'm sure they'll become wonderful companions and parts of the "family" (for want of a better word).

#oneaday Day 137: Say My Name, Bitch

I have something of a — what — phobia? I'm not sure it's that serious, but I have something of a thing about saying people's names, for some inexplicable reason. It might be something to do with the fact that I never really liked my own name or the way my voice pronounced it when I was a kid (hence my habitual shortening of it to "Pete" everywhere in the world these days) or it might just be one of my many strange and inexplicable neuroses.

I can't even pin down why I sometimes find it difficult to say the name of the person who is standing right in front of me and who, in most cases, I know quite well. Perhaps I worry I'll mispronounce it (granted, it's kind of hard to mispronounce most of the names of people I know, though I have no idea how to say the surnames "Ohle" or "Honea" to this day and worry if I ever meet the people in question face to face I'll pick the wrong possibility and make a big tit of myself) or perhaps I just think that someone's name is somehow a window on their soul, a piece of their person that is, well, personal.

I don't mind people calling me by name, though, that's the weird thing. And I'm aware it's silly to feel odd about saying other people's names — particularly if you're calling out for someone. "Hey! You!" really doesn't cut it in a room full of people — although to be honest, I've never really been one for calling out anyway, as I generally much prefer to just go over to the person in question and speak to them, as yelling just draws attention to 1) you and 2) the person you're yelling at, who may not be grateful for the attention.

Of course, it's easy to go the other way and start calling people by their name far too much. Then it gets a bit weird, people start raising their eyebrows and wondering why you're "acting suspiciously". Saying someone's name too much is often seen as a sign of guilt, like you're trying to avoid accidentally referring to the person as someone else, like an ex, or a hilariously deformed person you saw on TV that you can't get out of your head while you look at your friend, however awful a person that makes you.

Maybe it, like so many socialisation things, is something you just need to practice a bit. It is, after all, one of the things about "growing up" — the moment when you stop calling adults "Steven's mum" or "Mrs. Stevenson" and start calling them "Geoff". (Steven's mum's parents didn't like her much.) Perhaps there's still some sort of residual hang-up in my mind about that, like so many things.

Ah well. One more to add to the list.

#oneaday Day 112: Standing on Ceremony

It was the wedding day of my friends Ben and Amy today. It's been a long time coming and they're going to have a very long and happy life together, I'm sure.

One thing that struck me during the ceremony, though, was how odd ceremonies as a concept are. Very formalised and based in tradition, they're a far cry from the way you act in regular day to day life.

And I guess that's the point; a wedding ceremony isn't something you do every day (hopefully) so it stands to reason that something should make it extraordinary. So why not infuse rings with meaning and symbolism, and why not insist that people are facing each other at the correct time, and why not delve into Old English when necessary?

It's all about tradition. Concepts such as marriage and the like are almost as old as society and civilised living itself. To modernise them after they've been the same (or at least similar) for so long would be to break with years, decades, centuries of tradition.

That doesn't mean people don't do it, of course. Unconventional weddings are great fun to be a part of. But there must be a reason that so many people choose to do things in the "traditional" and apparently antiquated manner. For all the trappings of modernity we have these days, it seems that there are some traditions and ceremonies that we still respect.

I wonder if we'll still be theeing and thouing in two hundred years time? Smart money's on yes.

#oneaday, Day 324: Humbug

It's easy to be cynical about Christmas these days, given that it starts in mid-September and proceeds to get increasingly more present in the months leading up to December until it is eventually omnipresent. (Happy, Mr Hussick?) By the time it actually arrives, people are so thoroughly sick of the whole "Christmas" thing that they just want it over and done with for another few months until the whole thing starts over again.

It's not like that for everyone, of course. I doubt that the kids out there are as cynical about Christmas. I certainly wasn't when I was a kid; Christmas was a time to be excited. There was a different atmosphere about the whole day, and not just the tangible excitement over getting presents or eating copious amounts of turkey dinner. It felt like a special day when nothing could possibly go wrong, when it would be impossible for Bad Things of any description to happen.

I haven't felt like that for years now. I forget the last time I felt that way, but I'm pretty sure it was back in my childhood. Perhaps there's more to be said for the belief in Santa Claus than people give credit for. It doesn't help that the last few Christmases I've had were pretty underwhelming at best and downright unpleasant at worst. The Christmas that I had to work over and then spent the best part of Christmas week lying in bed alone suffering with a strong bout of flu—proper flu, the "can't get up because your whole body aches too much" flu—was a particular lowlight, but the events of the past year haven't made me particularly feel like celebrating anything at any point.

I am spending this Christmas abroad, though, away from this cold, grey, depressing land. I'll be over in the States, where I'll be spending most of the time with my family, including my brother, his wife and his kids, whom I haven't seen for some time. I saw John earlier this year, but it's still been a while. I'll also be spending at least one weekend with my very good friend Mr Chris Whittington, former host of the Squadron of Shame SquadCast, and hopefully we'll get the chance to put together a special seasonal/end-of-year show for everyone to enjoy. Then we can kick 2010's ass out the door and let it rot in the gutter like it deserves to.

I seem to recall having similar thoughts at the beginning of this year; that 2009 had been, on the whole, shitty for most people involved including myself, and many of us started 2010 with hope for the future. I can say with some confidence right now that I'm just happy to get to the end of each day at the moment. Any time I've had a bit of long-term hope for the future, what with job interviews for positions I'd give my right arm for, those hopes have ended up being dashed for one reason or another. So right now it appears to be something of a case of taking each day as it comes and hoping something good eventually happens.

Not a great way to do things, but little else I can do right now. So you'll forgive me if I'm not exactly full of festive cheer.