Sunday, 29 January 2012

The Power and The Glory

Happy New Year, etherkin. It’s going to be a strange one. Ructions are afoot - I have read the auguries in my laundry. 2012 is seals in the eelgrass. Something cold and bobbing.

Seals will be big this year, and sisters, and doggish things dancing on their hind legs through the trees. We’re on the edge of the strange times. On the plus side, the matador look will be in, and I look adorable in those trousers. Swings and roundabouts.

Anyway, here I sit, baht ape, watching out of the window as the headlights climb the hill opposite to the unreasonable black of the moors, picking my teeth with a wishbone and pondering what’s to come.

When looking forwards, it’s always best to start with a quick glance behind you. Last year was one of yearning, for penpals and monsters and muses and gods. Yearning makes me bilious. Perhaps it’s time I turned to Christ. Or to Christopher at least, patron saint of my dog-head daydreams, hot-breathed, slobbering force of faith. St Christopher was a definite sort.

In the meantime, there is work to be done. The Olympics are coming and I am Team GB’s only hope.


  1. I remember; not the specifics, all is blurry; did I used to know you?
    I have a stick with a name, a memory of a dirty cream dial-tone phone; pressed so long that my ear remained reddened and inflamed come morning. A rug; Himalayan Yak.
    But such words, such poetical flow as you possess now were not yet fully developed, Team GB is indeed lucky.

  2. I believe 2012 will be the year of vacuum cleaners and shattered ornaments, but that's because I bought a rug and I don't want to take down my Christmas tree.

  3. Anon: And here was me thinking I'd left no survivors.

    Rass: Never take it down. Christmas is a state of mind.

  4. What are aubergines doing in your laundry!?