Wednesday 22nd January 2014

Hey-ho another year is born. I thought I’d pop in for a short visit to say hello and wish everyone a belated Happy New Year. Remember, people, while money is nice, health is the real wealth.

Thanks to those who have emailed festive greetings and New Year wishes.

The men folk and I had a nice enough Christmas, though there were some bumps and lumps along the way. It’s not in my nature to glide smoothly through life. I didn’t actually get to see in the New Year as such. We were due to spend the evening quietly at home with just a few friends, but as things turned out Dick and Shane spent it quietly at home with friends while I spent it quietly in bed - out for the count. I had a nasty episode on New Year’s Eve. I’d felt a bit out of kilter all day, but put it down to having a cold. Anyway, it pretty much wiped the floor with me and it took me a good few days to bounce back properly. I was as per usual a crabby little bastard over it and drove the men folk up the wall with my complaining.

Weather in Blighty is depressing, all grey gloom and constant drizzle. I’d welcome some frost and snow just to brighten things up a bit. In an effort to cheer myself I’ve been doing quite a bit of saling lately, but not at sea. I’ve navigated every shop and store in the locality and beyond in search of post Christmas bargains in the sales.  Alas, Shane does not approve of ‘recreational money wasting.’ After one mega spending session, he put a flea in my ear, a hand on my arse, and ordered me to take loads of stuff back. In his view I already have enough shirts, tees and jeans to open a fucking shop of my own. Mean Daddy.

I haven’t made any New Year resolutions as such. I never stick to them. Why set yourself up for a fall by setting unrealistic goals? One thing I would like to try and do is finish my book. I’m struggling with motivation these days. I need to develop a determined mindset and apply myself to the task instead of finding reasons not to bother. As soon as I sit down at the computer I get an overwhelming compulsion to do anything other than actually write.

Well, peeps, as I said, this is a short visit. I must be off. I’ve spent most of the day quaffing tea, eating choccy biscuits and reading the Robert Ludlum books I got for Christmas. I have cleaning and cooking to do. My taskmasters will boot my arse if they come home to a messy house and a lacklustre dinner. A houseboy’s lot is a hard lot.



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