This week I'll be mostly not sure what to write

How do you spell horribilis?

For one reason or another, we've been holding our breath since the end of September. If the Queen had had a year like that, she would've called it an annus horribilis.

For one reason or another, I've not really been in the mood for writing.

(Yes, yes, I know, yet another blog about writing blogs. Yawn.)

So now that I've decided to think about the possibility of getting around to putting pen to paper, I have a dilemma.

Do I ...
(a) continue with the recent vein of depressing drivel that I've been churning out recently about various forms of public transport, and financial woes, and the like?
Or
(b) return to some of the more light-hearted topics of a few years ago, like finding scary stuff in the fridge, and riding cows bare-back, and severed legs in carrier bags?

This week I'll be mostly falling between the cracks

"That which does not kill us
makes us stronger"
- Friedrich Nietzsche

That which does not kill us makes us stronger.  Yeah right:

If you like a bit of risk, and you embrace change, then I can heartily recommend moving house or changing your job - say - once or twice a year.  It doesn't come without its problems though.  I find it takes around 6 months to recover financially from moving house.  It takes about 2 months to get back on track after changing job, plus another month for every week that I'm 'between clients' (what you safe non-risk-takers would call 'out of work').

This week I'll be mostly all hugged out

no picture

Being all hugged out is much the same as being all cried out.  Some of you know what I'm talking about, and it was good to see you all, despite the circumstances.

This week I'll be mostly on the ferry

Welcome aboard the Hythe Ferry.

At ten minutes past six every morning, there's a clatter from the train as it trundles up around 600 yards of track to the end of the pier.  Five minutes later it clatters back, and on it goes, every twenty minutes until late in the evening.  It's a relatively interesting way to wake up; it's up there with sheep, church bells, Jersey cows and peacocks (Oakridge, The Rectory, The Croft and Bywood respectively); it's way more pleasant than the post train or crows (Old Stables and Oakridge).

This week I'll be mostly on the train

"Leaving on the midnight train,
Leaving, never gonna come back again"
- Rossi/Young

It's been around 10 years since I last did a regular amount of commuting on the train.  Back in the early 90s I was getting the Brimsdown to Harlow for a couple of years.  It was a nice little half hour journey, and I didn't appreciate how good I had it.  By the mid 90s I was doing Broadstairs to Tonbridge, one and a half hours on a good day, two changes, one at Margate and one at Ashford.  It was a nightmare, but not quite as bad as driving.  By 2001 I was getting the 4:30 Margate to Victoria, which took two and a half hours to get into London, two and three quarters to get out.  When 9/11 happened and we all emptied out of London expecting to find planes flying into Canary Wharf or whatever, I had a carriage to myself.  The train at platform 5 was due out already and people were quite literally fighting to get on.  Me and handful of other people just went and sat on the later train on platform 7.  When our train left on time with a dozen passengers on it, the platform 5 was still bursting at the seams and the guards still couldn't get all the doors closed.  Since then, I've driven or flown to every place I've worked at.  But we digress.

This week I'll be mostly on the moor

And breathe.

Ah, that's better.

This week I'll be mostly locked in the lavatory

"Oh dear, what can the matter be"
- Trad.

(This isn't about leaving.  Who am I kidding, it totally is.)

I'm in the downstairs toilet, for what will be the last time.  Fortunately (for me), and unfortunately (for you), I have my phone on me.  It's a smart(ish) phone, so not only can I make a phone call, but I can also take a photo, and write some stuff...

This week I'll be mostly leaving the lilies to look after themselves

Thwop

(This is not about leaving.)

I'm not a gardener.  By any stretch of the imagination.

But here's the issue.  I spend the week sitting at a desk looking at words and numbers on a screen, and thinking about uninsured loss recovery, or mid-term adjustments, or catering for both pipe-delimited and comma-separated values, or secure transmission, or stream file integrity checking, or whatever.  So when I get home on the weekend, I walk through the front garden, I just happen to notice some nature that needs attending to, and a primeval instinct kicks in...