Carried forward from 2004 and still applicable (having checked the archives of the old blog - RIP)

• I applied for a got another non-worthwhile job
  
• I moved house. Again
  
• I met some other bloggers
  
• I went to three one weddings (it would have been two if I had decided to make the long journey to Sussex just for an evening do – no thanks).
  
• I went to one funeral
  
• I still didn't know what I wanted to be when I grow up

In addition and in chronological order:

• I acquired a new nephew to add to my collection
  
• I bought a car (having proudly managed for 5 months without)
  
• I started a new job (the non-worthwhile one alluded to above)
  
• I rediscovered the joys of buying property
  
• I bought a God-forsaken money pit beautiful Victorian house (though sometimes I wish I hadn’t – don’t ask)
  
• I ran 13.1 miles for the first time
  
• I ran my second "Race for Life" with my sister, who was doing it for the first time
  
• I paid an extortionate amount of money to an organisation so that I can sit an exam which may or may not provide the key to my future career
  
• I had to close the old blog after a heart-lurching moment at work when I realised that one of my colleagues had discovered it
  
• I was blogless for about 2 months
  
• I started a new blog and guess what! You’re reading it!
  
• I realised that some people are just complete and utter bastards and unfortunately I have to live next door to them. Well, not all of them - that would be rather unlucky - but one prime example.
  
• I acquired my very first dishwasher
  
• I discovered that two of my bestest friends ever are now an item and I didn't suspect a thing
  
• I wondered whether I belonged in the West Country
  
• I wondered whether I belonged anywhere in this crazy world
  
• Big discovered just how messed up I am, but he's still here
  

Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, I hope 2006 will bring you good things.

Make yourself at home, why dontcha!




* with thanks to Alan for providing me with the title

Oh dear.

He was not happy on Christmas Eve.

We plonked him outside on the decking and locked up the house ready for our trip to various locations in Hampshire to spend Christmas with my family, his family and our friends, in that order.

He glared at us through the double glazing whilst we oscillated between sympathy and sniggering. We were secretly pleased that he would rather spend his Christmas with us than with his real owners. Although I don't expect it was our sparkling personalities which drew him in, rather the warm places to sleep and the neverending supply of milk to sup.




Now we're back (just before the snow blew in) and there's no sign of him... So it's my turn to glare out of the patio door, looking glum yet hopeful of seeing our little companion.

Hope you all had a good Christmas. I did a little too much driving, a little too much eating, not enough running and was woken up a little too early by the youngest members of my family. But I had a lovely time and am looking forward to a little more relaxation before this year comes to an end.

It was a bit like a scene out of a very low quality, British sitcom.

We loaded the composter onto the flat trolley. As we wheeled it toward the checkout, it immediately fell off and rolled noisily and rather eccentrically on the ground in front of the carefully assembled display of dustbins, incinerators and other "waste management" receptacles. Our second attempt was more successful. We managed to transport it through the checkout and to the car with no further mishaps. Although I did realise en route that we would also need a small bin to collect kitchen scraps, a vital part of the composter's "diet". Big continued through the checkout, whilst I became distracted by Christmas gift tags and other twinkly things.

I located a suitable receptacle and made my way to the burgeoning checkouts, where Big had already progressed through to the other side. He passed a twenty pound note to me and I took my place in the queue. I wielded the barcode toward the checkout operator, congratulating myself for being so efficient. However, my efforts were entirely in vain, as the barcode wouldn't scan. He tried typing in various numbers which appeared on the label, all to no avail. He set his checkout light a-flashing and we both looked hopefully towards the information desk but all the staff were busy with queries, refunds and special orders. I could see Big waiting at the car, furrowing his brow and "prairie-dogging" at me as if this would speed up the futile process. He didn't have the car keys so couldn't make use of the time to load the composter into the car. Finally, a roving supervisor took the bin and set off to the display to find the "magic number". I looked around sheepishly, hoping that the other customers would realise that it wasn't my fault, I hadn't been negligent in my shopping duties.

At the car, we puzzled over how to get the composter in. The back seat seemed like the most sensible option. Whilst Big returned the trolley, I manhandled the bulky green article in, taking care to place its black door flap on the roof of the car temporarily, so as not to lose it. Yes, I think you know what's coming.

We got home. Big unloaded the composter and I noticed an omission:

"Oh no, where's the flap?"

Almost as soon as I'd said it, the realisation came to me. I remember putting it on the roof of the car to keep it "safe" but at no point in time did I take it off the roof to put it somewhere infinitely "safer" - i.e. *in* the car, rather than *on* it.

With the sort of sigh which can only come from the realisation that one has built a rod for one's own back, I drove back to the garden centre and retraced our "tyre steps" around the car park. Doubtless, the other patrons thought I was some kind of lunatic, capering around, peering under cars from time to time and standing, hands on hips, looking thoroughly pissed off. No flap, anywhere. So I did something naughty. I went up to the information desk with my receipt:

"Erm, I've just bought a composter and it doesn't have a flap" - well, it was kind of true. At that moment in time, it had no flap.

"Is it okay if I take one?"

Amazingly, they agreed to this.

As I guiltily drove home on the dual carriageway, there at the side of the road I espied a lonely, discarded, composter door flap on the grassy verge.

"I just want to go to a beach somewhere with you and sit there on the sand, looking at the sea, feeling it, smelling it, holding each other, like we used to," I said, through the tears which he patiently wiped away with his thumb.

It had been one of those days. I get them about once a week, on average. Everything was conspiring to overwhelm me, to engulf me in panic, to fill my eyes with tears as soon as I was left alone to contemplate. The approach of the annual stress-fest that is Christmas, the never-ending stream of chores to be done, the cloud which hangs over our house (alluded to, though not in any detail, here), the stress of driving home every day in the cold and dark, the long journeys required to see my beloved friends, the feeling of never having any time to study, to relax, to just simply be.

It seems that I've spent my adult life moving on and starting over. Each time, I tell myself: "This is when my life really begins...". Each time I'm left with a strange ache, telling me I'm not there yet, I'm not living yet, I don't quite belong. The daily routine takes over and deadens me and I just feel I'm being carried along by life rather than actively living it.

I thought that being with Big would "fix" me. That nothing else would matter as long as I was with him. As a long-term singleton, it's easy to think that all your problems will be solved as soon as you find someone. In some ways, the things which need "fixing" in me which had been lying dormant during my singleton years have been brought to the fore all the more by finding my soul mate. He's the one person who understands the complicated mess of neuroses which is me. I am compelled to be completely honest with him. To the question: "Are you okay", I cannot just say: "Yeah, I'm fine". Not when I'm not. Not with him. He always senses it, and draws it out of me. Hopes, fears, worries and tears. And whilst he can stand there and hold me and stroke my hair and wipe the tears away and tell me it's okay, ultimately he can't fix me. I must do this myself.

But before you can fix something, you need to know the precise problem. All I have are the symptoms. Inexplicable tears, the feeling that I can't cope, that I'm chasing my tail, that I don't "belong", that I'm not "there" yet.

Maybe I'll never get "there". Maybe all I have is this journey.

...they would chant, to the tune of "nerrr nerrr ner nerrr nerrr".

One of my abiding memories of childhood.

And proof that anxiety, far from being an adult trend, is something which has followed me throughout my life like a rather annoying puppy which constantly yaps around at my feet, slobbers on me from time to time and never really leaves me alone.

On Saturday mornings, when my brother was old enough to supervise his three younger sisters, my mother would take advantage of the free childcare to get the shopping done. Very sensible of her to decide NOT to take four kids along to the supermarket; I do remember a couple of fiascos from the days before my brother was old enough. Getting my arm stuck between the trolley handle and the trolley was one, and rushing out of the lift doors at the wrong floor, turning round to see that my mummy wasn't there and getting very scared indeed is another example which springs to mind.

So, on these Saturday mornings, we'd have a "getting dressed race" (which involved putting clothes on whilst still in bed) and troop downstairs to watch Swapshop or Tiswas.

Inevitably, there would come a time when I would start to worry.

"Mummy's not back yet"
"Don't worry, little Anx, she'll be back soon, she's gone shopping"
"B-b-b-but, she's normally back by now"
"Oh, she's probably chatting to [next door neighbour] or has run into [some other friend] in town"
"B-b-b-but what if something's happened to her?"

And so it would go on...
There's probably only so much whining the elder siblings could take, especially when it would get in the way of their enjoyment of "The bucket of water song". And so after a while they would sing their song of torture:

"Mum's gone out without you, mum's gone out without you..."

I love my siblings...

It seems that the torture continues today, albeit in a different guise. I am currently being bombarded by a constant stream of emails. Christmas lists, not just for my three siblings but for their partners, children and step-children too. I am drowning in "gift ideas". Yet another source of anxiety...

"With reference to our conversation yesterday, regarding my working from home on Friday 25th November, I have reflected on the situation and would like to respond.

To summarise, you pointed out that I should have tried to travel to work in the snow and if I'd decided I didn't want to travel, I should have taken a day's leave.

I find this to be unreasonable. I shall elaborate below.

• On the day in question, the Met Office had issued a severe weather warning in the South West and advised people not to travel unless absolutely necessary due to dangerous driving conditions.
  
  
• Faced with a 50 mile round trip on roads whose conditions were, at that time, unknown, I felt daunted at the prospect of driving to and from work.
  
  
• Since I had my laptop at home and was able to connect to work remotely via dialup, I decided that this would be a practical solution as I am not a keen driver, particularly when driving conditions are bad.
  
  
• Knowing that my colleagues in the Applications Support Team had set a precedent by working from home occasionally, when the situation merited it, I assumed that this would be acceptable under the circumstances. I had not been told of any departmental policy on this matter.
  
  
• I dialled in to the network at around 9am to find that there were very few people in the office. I sent an instant message to [colleague], explaining that I intended to work from home. He agreed that it was a sensible idea. I sent you an email requesting this, but did not realise you were not in the office - I did not receive an out of office reply.
  
  
• I was dialled in to the network for the majority of the day, writing programs for the [insert project name] project.
  
  
• The nature of my work as a software developer, unlike that of the Helpdesk Analysts, means that I work primarily alone, particularly when writing programs. I receive very few telephone calls in the course of my working day and in fact, there were no voicemail messages waiting for me when I returned to the office on Monday.
  
  
• Whilst at home, I was contactable via email, instant messaging and mobile telephone. I had several instant messaging conversations during the course of the day with colleagues.
  
  
• One of these conversations related to a problem at [manufacturing site] which threatened production. I was able to assist in the resolution of this problem remotely by liaising with [colleague] via instant messaging. I was able to react in exactly the same way as I would have if I had been present at the [IT department] office.
  
  
• Unlike some of my colleagues whose arrival at work was significantly delayed by the weather conditions, I was able to work a full day from 9am through to 5.30pm, with no time wasted for travel.

For these reasons, I can conclude that I was equally as productive working from home as I would have been at the [IT department] office. In fact, on this particularly day, I was probably more productive than I would have been had I attempted to travel to the office, as I did not waste any time travelling. I would also have found it extremely stressful to be forced to drive in conditions which, I later found out via colleagues, were treacherous and would have spent the day worrying if I'd make it home in one piece.

I do find it rather puzzling that I was essentially reprimanded (albeit in a light-hearted way) for taking what I believed were sensible, practical steps under the circumstances. I stand by my decision to work from home on that day and hope that I would be permitted to do so from time to time in the future if the circumstances merit it."

---

What I actually said:

"Oh... okay"