December 26th 2005 - January 1st 2006
Sunday Bloggies
Saturday Watlington 2005
Friday Blogadoon was...
Thursday Poncey
Wednesday Jubilee Line 2005
Tuesday Painless
Monday Festive greetings
Sunday 1st January 2006
It's that time of the year again: you have just seven days in which to enter your nominations for the 2006 Bloggies.
Relevant categories include: Best British or Irish Weblog, Best European Weblog, Best GLBT Weblog, Most Humorous Weblog, and Best Photography of a Weblog.
Although Blogadoon has been going long enough to qualify for (and you have to laugh) Lifetime Achievement, I rather fancy it for, sssh, Best-Kept-Secret Weblog.
Saturday 31st December 2005
Watlington, Winter 2005
Friday 30th December
Last year, Blogadoon was: ho ho ho / daring and witty hedonism / delicate hothouse blooms / a rancid bore / inevitable glitches / sequestered rubbish / the No pile /opaque text messages / near-beefy depth / pre-read tomes / curiously muted / cloned and nanonised / spooky premonitions / rubbish in london / a puissant foe / a clenched grin / men disordered like you / an asbo might be appropriate / when crossed / Inmate Sunshine / green damask curtains / thin slices of swan / all terribly tasteful / embroidered sperm / dumbstruck / bibulous scruff / life's a beach / litter bins and witty playground animals / plucky / absurdly cheap / bah, and bah again / shady coves / Drunk Pride / slightly repellent / carnation / seamless, to reduce chafing / vicissitude / sodomy, bestiality, and incest / predictable irony / a random handful / langorously posed / slightly disconcerted / impenetrable tedia / your strawberries / increasingly stentorian / tabloid tittle-tattle / hard-won experience / gilt-splattered / older and uglier / ninety per cent drizzle / tampering with the truth/ pretty disgusting.
Thursday 29th December
A random conversation with my (thoroughly random) godson crystalised something that's been mildly bothering me recently.
"I really like most of the photographs I've taken this year," I said. "But they're all a bit..."
"Poncey."
To late to beat that frankness out of him, I fear.
Wednesday 28th December
Jubilee Line, Winter 2005
Tuesday 27th December 2005
My Christmas holidays passed without too much pain, thank you for asking.
On Christmas Eve, I route-marched a companion along the South Bank from London Bridge to Waterloo, in full guide-mode ("London Bridge! The George! Guy's Hospital! Borough Market! Southwark Cathedral! Winchester Palace! The Clink! Another bridge! What used to be a bridge! Another bridge! The Globe! Christopher Wren's House! Tate Modern! The wobbly bridge! Another bridge! National Film Theatre! Another bridge! Royal Festival Hall! Another bridge!") and then on to Soho.
(Someone asked, astutely, "And does he enjoy walking?"; I just hope he likes bridges.)
After a drink or three at Comptons, and a meet-the-family moment, we rolled home, I cooked, and we watched War of the Worlds - the worst movie I have seen for a very, very long time.
On Christmas Day, my ride rang around 4pm and woke me from a dream about cake, of all things. Then we drove into work for a swift shift, and off to The Swan for the traditional annual cabaret from Miss Ross, still going, still gorgeous.
Staggering home in the early hours, I spotted a fox at Shadwell Basin - presumably taking early action to avoid the traditional Boxing Day hunt.
I finished watching Vera Drake, not exactly traditional festive fare, but excellent nonetheless. And, as far as I can recall, the only thing I cooked on Christmas Day was a bacon ciabatta. (I also somehow managed to miss The Queen's Message, which is just as well as I gather she complained about her only place to live, which I might have found a bit rich.)
On Boxing Day it was into work yet again, and a hard slog we had of it too, leaving me too tired to do much else other than go home and catch up with the Doctor Who one-off which redeemed itself, I thought, in the final fifteen minutes. ("Trouble is the bits in between". Indeed.)
Christmas presents received: none. Christmas presents given: none.
Christmas cards received: seven (five of them from people I shall be seeing shortly anyway); Christmas cards despatched: one (to the people who live above me, and signed 'from your downstairs neighbour - he who hears your every shoe-step').
Like I said: painless.
Monday 26th December 2005
Members of the pro-hunting Countryside Alliance have been encouraged to send a Christmas card or two to The League Against Cruel Sports this year.
Unlikely, you might think, given the rancorous enmity that exists between the two organisations.
And then you discover that the League is currently running a money-raising drive, designed to fund the purchase of equipment with which to monitor hunting activity. And has organised a Freepost address to make it easier for donors to send money. Which means they have to pay 39p for every item of mail received...
......previous week
