A New Year

 

Christmas Day

Yes, yes, I realise New Year's Day was nearly a week ago, and Christmas two weeks ago, but I did warn you that the interval between these posts was going to increase. Besides, this blog isn't a newspaper; if you want to keep up with current events I hear the BBC does a pretty good job, and if for some bizarre reason you need access to my hectic appointments schedule then you should subscribe to the Idiotic Hat Lockdown Circular, which can be nailed onto your door or handed over by our exclusive six-foot-cleft-stick service for a modest, non-returnable fee, payable one year in advance by direct debit. Or, under the current circumstances, in exchange for a negotiable quantity of toilet rolls and / or hand sanitizer. Only the good stuff, though: I'm beginning to suspect that the sanitizer offered as you enter a supermarket is really just hair gel. Certainly, if you rub it in your hair – often the only way to get your hands dry – the styling effect can be dramatic.

Anyway. By bending some rules and generously interpreting various guidelines we succeeded in escaping from Southampton and spending Christmas in Dorset with our daughter (spirited away in a carefully co-ordinated, daring, and quite possibly irresponsible joint operation from an obscure carpark somewhere on the M25), but were unable to meet up with our son as originally planned, as his intended accommodation cancelled the booking when London went into Tier 4, and he had to remain in the capital. Then Southampton also went into Tier 4 while we were away, so our usual retreat to the Bristol flat at New Year seemed inappropriate, even for rule-bending, guideline-interpreting scofflaws like us. So we stayed at home, where it now seems we will be remaining until mid-February, at least.

Weather-wise, Christmas in Dorset was a game of two halves. Christmas Day dawned bright, still, and slightly frosty: we went over to Lyme Regis on Christmas Day (for exercise, honest!) and the afternoon was beautifully clear and sunlit, and the sea as calm as it is possible for the sea to be. Apart from a listless flipping and flopping at the very edge, there were no waves to speak of: it was like looking at a very large lake. Then Storm Bella blew in and by Boxing Day the waves were crashing magnificently onto the beach at Burton Bradstock. More exercise! Well, Exercise Plus: we had a superb takeaway lunch from the Hive Beach Café which had to be eaten in the car to get out of the blustery wind and seaspray, not to mention keeping a safe distance from the other exercisers-plus. I unreservedly recommend the Hive Beach Café if you're ever down that way: the Boxing Day takeaway special was beef brisket in ciabatta with a side of roast potatoes... Yum.

Christmas Day, Lyme Regis

27th December, Seatown

By contrast, New Year's Day in Southampton was pretty dreary: cold, dull, and overcast. Nonetheless, it is my habit to go out on the first day of the year and try to find one decent photograph, no matter what the weather. It was a bit more of a challenge this year, given the leaden skies, flat light, and general air of lassitude pervading everything, like a communal hangover. In the end, some semi-derelict garages and a post-Brexit-y council flat were the best I could do, but they seemed to capture the mood pretty adequately. I'd say "things can only get better", but after last year we should all know better than to tempt fate like that. I think it's OK to think it quietly to yourself, though, with fingers crossed and your spirit cautiously dialled to the setting "hope for the best, plan for the worst". Or, in its Gramscian version, "pessimism of the intellect, optimism of the will". [1]

New Year's Day, Southampton

1. According to subsection CMXVII (xiii) ii of chapter 47 of the Brexit document, all European-language quotations must now be provided in English translation, and any alternative British source, however dubious, given precedence where one is available. It's the law!