UnChristmased

Favourite Christmas picture (I'm not the daddy either).

There the deed is done, the once gay and proud Christmas tree lies naked in the back garden, the lights and tinsel are back in their boxes, the baubles and holly are rested in shoe boxes and old shopping bags. I'm experiencing a bloody great feeling of relief, a sense of decluttering and some smug satisfaction now that it's done. Christmas is fun and crazy and infuriating, I enjoy it but I'm well glad when it's all over and parceled up and away. Outside a storm is raging and the windows are rattling - winter holidays are ok most of the time but the extremes of the Scottish weather works against any bid to go outside or even empty the Hoover.

Today's post is my 2000th and marks the rough tenth anniversary of this blog (forget the other two running and stuttering in the background). Not the most interesting, prolific or regular of blogs and with many hits that come and then...go. I sometimes wonder where I'm going with this and when the plug will be pulled on this mode of "chucking lumps of rubbish into a black hole" communication or will it just die a slow and dignified death? Who knows, it's just one of those many manifestations of the marvels of chronic uncertainty that keeps us all going really.

TV Sherlock: finally got around to watching the return last night, not sure what to make of it yet, roll on Sunday's episode. David Blane seemed able to pull stunts to shock and entertain a little more effectively the other evening - no crimes were solved or prevented however.

Now down and out and in the garden.