"Aye, that's all fine then."

 Venezuela is also very rich in rare minerals, gold, etc. etc.

So everything seems to be going quite well.

Alright for some.

Paper Sun

It’s a fake kind of winter. Only a paper sun. Low in the sky. Blinds you when driving. The snow is within touching distance for us, if you’re prepared to go 60 miles. I’m happy to avoid that. We’re on the coast. But it’s still killer chiller. All this warming just makes us cold. The sharp kind of cold that pings your ear’s insides and rises up through the tiles or tarmac into bones and nerve ends and into your core. In a non specific way. The older you get the thinner the skin, so you feel less protected, like wearing cling film in a freezer. 

Old age: The chilled blade of the traitor’s knife has your name on the hilt. We've fallen into that trap already.

I have trouble spelling. I can’t concentrate. I’m waiting till it’s a sane time to light up the logs and then count them down. Hoping for a clean burn. One good, big hot meal. Might include alcohol. Pots of soup can last us three days. Add pepper. Books, TV streams and guitar noodling. Looking out of windows. Charge up the devices.

Nobody ever says, "I really think that I should check my phone a little more."

Winter is full of ritual - or is that just life? How dark is the dark? Check the air and wind direction. Does the sea water look choppy? Trees are moving. OK to let the cats out? Good time to let them in? Boil a kettle. Is the Co-op open yet? Empty the drier. Why are those people waiting out there? The buses seem to be running. Bin's out. Bed time soon.

First thing: Clean out the wood stove. Wipe the carbon and creosote away. Remove excess ash from the pan bottom. Collect logs from outside. Add some kindling on the way. Order more logs in about a week or so. Put tomorrow’s logs under cover to make sure they’re dry. Construct the cold, dry fire. Maybe chop sticks later. Once in a while it lights up spontaneously - warm embers and my careless ways of working to blame.

Every year a different fire building method emerges. One horizonal log across the back. Two vertical at the sides. Kindling in the middle, a mix of thick and thin. The logs can’t be too big to begin with. Add a log into the red hot the middle after about fifteen minutes. Never change the method, repeat and repeat till summer wipes the memory clean. Next year’s method then has to be decided. Experience is learned but I seem to forget. Fire is it’s own master. Still a just paper sun up there.

2026 was the year that I decided to do something.

Mindful

Staring deep into the same old void after the first rumblings of the new year: It was the second of January and we decided it was time to take down the Christmas decorations - but in a mindful way, without panic and pain. It is never too soon to act if you get the urge.

The great festival of extravagance, indulgence and general confusion has passed. Both meaningful and meaningless it's the perfect expression of how lost we've all become. There's no way back either. So let's bury it in the past, not that it was particularly bad this year, just a reasonable dose of all the normal Christmasy stuff everybody in our wee world gets on with. 

With a positive mental attitude the mindful hard labour and removal of Christmas tat and tinsel isn't so bad. Our tracks and footprints are silently erased by the incoming tide as we journey on, the pale winter sunlight almost warming those worn and weary hearts.

We breathed in a lot. 

Sang a Joan Baez organising song.

Stopped and considered things.

Got high on a step ladder. 

Exchanged observations.

Untangled the various cables - slowly. 

Breathed out even more. 

Rejoiced that we'd less stuff to put away than last year. 

Unshackled the "real" tree and returned it to the "real" garden in the "real" cold. Just about everything was real it seemed. 

Spread brandy butter on various baked goods. 

I also ate the slightly overage blue cheese.

Used the dustpan rather than a noisy hoover. 

I wore plimsolls.

Maintained the silence of our souls.

Once the boxes were full of all the cables and gnomes, paper and golden stars, baubles and switchgear, they were duly sent off into oblivion until about the 13th of December 2026. Perhaps I'll  join them there.