The Affair of the Cooked Breakfast.

Well, I'm back overnight before heading out to Marlow tomorrow for New Year's festivities.

Christmas was, as you may have guessed, something of a washout. Three generations of a single family with one set of in-laws living directly next door, and another within 5 minutes' walking distance. You'd think it wouldn't take a genius to see the pitfalls, wouldn't you? Somehow or other, only Dad and I foresaw problems, and he was talked out of it.

Anyway, the last couple of days haven't been quite so bad, but it will be a while before I set foot up there again. The January/February move is proving to be an excellent reason¹ for an extended absence. Ironically, it seems that I have misjudged my eldest niece (she who moved out on her 17th birthday); she is happier now than I have seen her in a long time, and blooming into a very pretty young woman. I wish she'd lay off the tattoos, though.

The current round of family dysfunction started on Christmas morning with the decision not to have a cooked breakfast, with sister, brother-in-law and the kids disappearing off to the pub instead. The plan was that there would be an early, full breakfast, with dinner being eaten late, around 5pm. No-one informed the ancestors about the change of plan. I fixed a fry up for Mum and Dad (and myself - it would have been rude not to), and we ended up with two separate Christmas dinners.

And to think that they played football in no-man's land at Christmas in 1914...

Anyway, of such mediocrity are family feuds forged, especially when all involved cast blame at each other and generally act like 7 year olds. Except the 7 year old who acted like an 8 year old and had the beating of everyone. Regardless of the stupidity, the atmosphere and recriminations were real enough, and as usual in these cases, everything snowballed out of control.

In the end, Mum forced a truce by threatening to take back her investment in the house and leave. Ah, money, is there nothing you cannot achieve? Even a fractured and trigger-happy harmony is not beyond you.

Had I not promised to take the kids to see The Incredibles², I should have been back down here yesterday, and living in solitary but serene splendour.

Today's trip back south introduced me to a new variant on the saga of British trains. The trains were on time, but the timetables were not. Or rather, the trains did pretty much what I expected of them, and the timetables were mere works of fiction even by their own standards. On the train in Shrewsbury at 16.26, back in London by 20.03. Even allowing for a 30 minute stop over at Wolverhampton, that is pretty special considering all the engineering works are supposed to be complete.

And I hate Virgin Rail's Pandolino Pandemonium trains. The seats are unstinting in their lack of comfort, and the air conditioning can only be described as relentless. The winter setting, regardless of temperatures outside, is Second Level of Hell. I suppose that this will have done me some good by sweating off a few ounces, here and there, but by God it was uncomfortable.

One of the unexpected benefits of having the kids monopolise the TV over much of the holiday was the fact that we missed most of the news broadcasts, and were thus not further depressed by the events in Asia. On the other hand, it might have added a little perspective to the futile family quarrel. It's at times like this I wish I had a belief in a Deity with ineffable purpose. As it is, sadness at the carnage is as far as it goes. And rather guilty thanks that I'm not directly affected.

God bless us, every one. Yup.


¹read: excuse
²which is an excellent movie, BTW.

The Affair of the Cooked Breakfast.

Well, I'm back overnight before heading out to Marlow tomorrow for New Year's festivities.

Christmas was, as you may have guessed, something of a washout. Three generations of a single family with one set of in-laws living directly next door, and another within 5 minutes' walking distance. You'd think it wouldn't take a genius to see the pitfalls, wouldn't you? Somehow or other, only Dad and I foresaw problems, and he was talked out of it.

Anyway, the last couple of days haven't been quite so bad, but it will be a while before I set foot up there again. The January/February move is proving to be an excellent reason¹ for an extended absence. Ironically, it seems that I have misjudged my eldest niece (she who moved out on her 17th birthday); she is happier now than I have seen her in a long time, and blooming into a very pretty young woman. I wish she'd lay off the tattoos, though.

The current round of family dysfunction started on Christmas morning with the decision not to have a cooked breakfast, with sister, brother-in-law and the kids disappearing off to the pub instead. The plan was that there would be an early, full breakfast, with dinner being eaten late, around 5pm. No-one informed the ancestors about the change of plan. I fixed a fry up for Mum and Dad (and myself - it would have been rude not to), and we ended up with two separate Christmas dinners.

And to think that they played football in no-man's land at Christmas in 1914...

Anyway, of such mediocrity are family feuds forged, especially when all involved cast blame at each other and generally act like 7 year olds. Except the 7 year old who acted like an 8 year old and had the beating of everyone. Regardless of the stupidity, the atmosphere and recriminations were real enough, and as usual in these cases, everything snowballed out of control.

In the end, Mum forced a truce by threatening to take back her investment in the house and leave. Ah, money, is there nothing you cannot achieve? Even a fractured and trigger-happy harmony is not beyond you.

Had I not promised to take the kids to see The Incredibles², I should have been back down here yesterday, and living in solitary but serene splendour.

Today's trip back south introduced me to a new variant on the saga of British trains. The trains were on time, but the timetables were not. Or rather, the trains did pretty much what I expected of them, and the timetables were mere works of fiction even by their own standards. On the train in Shrewsbury at 16.26, back in London by 20.03. Even allowing for a 30 minute stop over at Wolverhampton, that is pretty special considering all the engineering works are supposed to be complete.

And I hate Virgin Rail's Pandolino Pandemonium trains. The seats are unstinting in their lack of comfort, and the air conditioning can only be described as relentless. The winter setting, regardless of temperatures outside, is Second Level of Hell. I suppose that this will have done me some good by sweating off a few ounces, here and there, but by God it was uncomfortable.

One of the unexpected benefits of having the kids monopolise the TV over much of the holiday was the fact that we missed most of the news broadcasts, and were thus not further depressed by the events in Asia. On the other hand, it might have added a little perspective to the futile family quarrel. It's at times like this I wish I had a belief in a Deity with ineffable purpose. As it is, sadness at the carnage is as far as it goes. And rather guilty thanks that I'm not directly affected.

God bless us, every one. Yup.


¹read: excuse
²which is an excellent movie, BTW.

(no subject)

Ah, hot coffee with Bailey's. That's the way to do it.

Drink that, re-arrange the packing and then off to Marlow. Must remember to renew my Oyster Card for another year before I go, though. And for 4 zones this time. Argh, the expense.

Best remember to pack the checque book, too. I think I have to pay a couple of credit cards, but I can't find the bills. Never mind, wander around Marlow tomorrow morning and sort that out before the banks close again for New Year. God, but this time of year is disruptive to the old schedules. Oh well, can't be helped.

I see that life is beginning to stir on the NWO board; Spring comes earlier every year.

Oh well. I'm off. Catch you in 2005. Have a good one, folks.

(no subject)

Ah, hot coffee with Bailey's. That's the way to do it.

Drink that, re-arrange the packing and then off to Marlow. Must remember to renew my Oyster Card for another year before I go, though. And for 4 zones this time. Argh, the expense.

Best remember to pack the checque book, too. I think I have to pay a couple of credit cards, but I can't find the bills. Never mind, wander around Marlow tomorrow morning and sort that out before the banks close again for New Year. God, but this time of year is disruptive to the old schedules. Oh well, can't be helped.

I see that life is beginning to stir on the NWO board; Spring comes earlier every year.

Oh well. I'm off. Catch you in 2005. Have a good one, folks.