Further ramblings of a self-made pauper

New Year's Eve, traditionally a time to look back at the year just gone and forward at the one about to start.

So, 2007.

An average year over all, I think, in so far as good stuff balanced out the bad stuff, but the difference was the extremes at either end compared with usual. The end of February saw the birth of my great niece, Courtney. That was balanced a week later by the death of my father in a somewhat sudden and unexpected fashion only tangentially related to the ailments that had seen him put into a nursing home.

I started the year at work with the suggestion that I might be the person to keep the Monster in check as a member of her Private Office. I finished the year stressed out and ready to strangle her on sight. Had I taken the job in Private Office I should have been doing a life stretch by now and the good burghers of her constituency would have had a by-election.

March was a rough month, what with the funeral and all. It's thirty years since my grandparents died, and twenty since my last funeral. None of the others were as traumatic. I was young enough to sail through my grandparents' funerals relatively unscathed, despite being close to them, and distant enough from my uncle to cope. Dad's funeral was of an entirely different magnitude.

The following month I met up with an old school friend (telemeister) in person for the first time in nigh on thirty years too, to find pleasantly that apart from expanding waist and receding hair lines that very little had changed in the intervening time. Moreover, despite living in Californie for 17 years, there is only the vaguest hint of a Yankee twang to his voice.

Beyond these events, I'm not sure much else has happened. A number of celebrities have shuffled off this mortal coil as in every year, (the saddest loss to my mind being Ian Wallace), and one of my oldest online friends died. I stopped smoking at the beginning of May and have not yet - so far - relapsed, though from time to time I really, really feel like a cigarette. Still, the signs are hopeful. It's been nearly eight months, now.

Furtle lost her Nan, which was sad as they were very close and that scraped the top off my own slow-healing scab.

I guess now that I come to write it all down, the poor bits of 2007 somewhat outweigh the good bits. But I am constantly reminded that I am operating from a higher level of contentment and general happiness than a couple of years ago. Which reminds me, she will be back from Egypt later today so I have to go and find something for dinner. A nice steak, perhaps...

So, what can we expect from 2008?

Assuming Pakistan doesn't descend into civil war and some tosser set off a nuke on the subcontinent, personally I am hoping for a quieter year with fewer negative emotional extremes. I hope to be able to go for a promotion, but time will tell. I also need to lose some weight and although I vaguely recall saying something along the same lines last year (to no effect), I shall be trying again. I want to be able to wear my leather jacket with a sweater under it and be able to button it up, all whilst breathing!

We'll see.

Well, to quote Samwise himself, "I'm back".

As suspected, there is only so much family a body can take these days, much as I love them, and it is a relief to be back at the Athenaeum Club in front of mine own computer and clutching a cup of coffee.

To be fair, most of the week was spent in Wales with mother, surly 16 year old nephew/Godson, and littlest niece. Godson's voice is not so much broken as badly cracked, and a great deal of effort was expended in not laughing like a drain as he moved from baritone to soprano three or four times in a sentence. That said, he's a hefty brute, and only a couple of inches shorter than his Uncle Bry. I expect that sometime within the next 12 months it will be me doing the looking up, rather than him. Luckily, he is an even bigger softie than your favourite correspondent, so I do not expect the balance of power to shift quite as drastically as the centre of gravity.

Much of the week has been engaged in wandering up and down beaches, digging channels, diverting littlest niece and streams between rock pools. Dams were involved, and so were starfish.

I have also discovered why the Welsh rarely laugh, unless they are in England. There are no dentists. Even by our infamous UK standards, the Welsh coast is ill-served by the buggers. Since dental pain is pretty much the worst I have ever experienced, I can only assume that is the reason why Baptists and Methodists have such a hold on the Valleys.

On the other hand, I have discovered the magnificent restorative power of Oil of Cloves which did in three hours and two applications what paracetamol and codeine could not achieve in three weeks of constant liver abuse. It turned the pain off. Permanently. Admittedly Oil of Cloves tastes pretty much how I imagine a Turkish Wrestler's jock strap might, but a good strong mint clears that. And hey, no pain.

I still need to find a dentist, but now it is a more leisurely affair, so I can wait on an NHS dentist which means I shall not need to mortgage my soul, not that of my first born to the seventh generation.

Those of you who have emailed me with queries about the NWO characters what I wrote, I beg your indulgence for a day or so further. The forum is covered in new postings which I need to digest before thinking through the oddities you have come up with. I shall get back to you shortly.

I daresay that there's more I should write, but let's break ourselves in gently, shall we? I wouldn't want you to overdose on these witty little entries after an absence of ten days.

Apart from which I have a hankering for cheese. Toasted, mostly.