read, write, ramble

Category: Diary

January 8

A drive up to Yahava Koffeeworks in the Swan Valley starts the day. I regularly require vigorous coercion to leave the house, but the promise of excellent coffee is sometimes all it takes.

Our Christmas tree still stands. I fear it may be next weekend before it is packed away. This is, in fact, perfectly routine for our household, so there’s little reason to panic…

Apex Magazine email me to tell me they’ve decided to pass on my story ‘Til Death. Disappointing, but the odds are always against you in this game. I’m still pretty stoked to have gotten a second read. Onwards and upwards.

The Sherlock rewatch continues with The Great Game, in which we finally meet Moriarty. All previous memory of the episode has been completely eclipsed by Andrew Scott’s performance, and he’s still the most captivating thing in an otherwise perfectly excellent episode. To date the Elderbeast claims The Blind Banker as his favourite episode. We’ll see whether that changes with series 2, next week.

January 7

Saturday is Designated Lie In Day, which is pleasant as always. I consider doing some writing anyway, but eventually decline the invitation.

Twitter is entertaining as always. Trump continues to insist there was no Russian involvement in the US election. Given Trump’s character and reputation this definitely means that not only did Russia interfere in the election (as everyone keeps saying they did) but Trump was fully aware of it. When I was younger even the suggestion of something like this would bring a politician down. Now it seems they can get away with anything.

Further amusement is provided by Wikileaks voicing outrage over security documents being leaked. Yes, exactly. I’m sure their outrage has nothing to do with their fears over their involvement with the Russians being exposed. I love the smell of irony in the mornings.

For our semi-regular Saturday Morning Cinema Club we watch Gremlins 2. I still can’t manage to love it anywhere near as much as Gremlins, but it’s inoffensively entertaining.

The rest of the day resists productivity of any kind, which I find acceptable for a Saturday. We finish off with more Sherlock (The Blind Banker episode) at the Elderbeast’s request. I’m already looking forward to seeing his reaction to the end of series 2 … and wondering how long I can get away with withholding series 3 from him. After all, the rest of us had to wait: why shouldn’t he?

January 6

A poor choice to wear my t-shirt to bed last night (duped by an unexpectedly chilly evening) leads to a poor night’s sleep. The Kinderbeast, predictably, wakes me up before 6am. I have also resurrected my alarm. As always, a bumpy introduction to the day is alleviated by my morning shift: further work on the spooky carousel story, which is improving with each draft, though I have yet to reach the section that needs the most substantial gutting.

Some good news. My story “Til Death” has been held for ‘further consideration’ by Apex Magazine. It may go no further, but I can at least assure myself that I’ve finally written something worthy of ‘further consideration’.

Friday night is Fridate, which means we get to see Seb, who is everybody’s favourite person in the world. Unfortunately Rach has a headache, but Seb and I entertain ourselves by pulling apart and cleaning my work keyboard, talking about all matters ranging from drugs to gardening. We cap off the evening by watching The House That Dripped Blood, which is especially memorable to us for the sight of Jon Pertwee turning into a vampire.

January 5

First day back at work. In a bitterly ironic twist, the Kinderbeast does not wake me up early. Also I have neglected to set my alarm (denial, perhaps?). I wake up early enough, but still too late to do my morning shift, which is never a great start to the day. On the plus side I’m well-rested and at peace with my impending return to work.

By a little past 9am I’ve already cleared out my inbox and wondering why it’s not midday already. Coffee seems the only solution. An expedition to Grouch proves fruitless – despite Google proclaiming it to be open, and nothing contradictory appearing on the Grouch website, we drive up to find that the cafe is in fact closed until the 18th. Clutching delicious victory from the bitter ashes of defeat, Chrissie introduces me to the Little Olive Leaf Cafe as an alternative, which is lovely and well worth a return visit.

First day at work is otherwise ideal: relaxed, quiet and vaguely productive.

On the way home I see Beryl and Stormy (the Kinderbeast) walking back from the park. I stop to say hello, then drive on as they are only around the corner from the house. In the mirror I see Stormy start running to catch up with the car. I park and wait in the driveway. He’s still running as he turns the corner and doesn’t stop until he reaches me. It’s a good welcome home from my first day back.

Later in the evening I watch the director’s cut of Legend. I’m a big fan of Ridley Scott, but even I can’t figure out what happened with this one. I’m forced to conclude that the last 31 years of my life have been none the poorer for having missed Legend.

January 4

The Kinderbeast wakes me at 5:30. Despite my best efforts at persuasion, he continues in his attempts to rouse me from bed. Eventually I relent, make some coffee, and start writing (1,200 words editing a promising yet troublesome tale about a fairground carousel).

Browsing the various ‘educational’ sites I’ve added to my Feedly account, my attention is captured by Alan Bennet’s diary. I’m inspired to write a diary during 2017 – just something to track the minor trivia of the day (and partly inspired an utter and collective failure on New Year’s Eve to remember how the 2015 edition of New Year’s Eve was spent).

This is, inevitably, it.

I have one more holiday goal yet to complete: to tidy up the patio area in a probably fruitless bid to encourage us to spend more time out there. I achieve the goal and spend 5 minutes sitting outside to savour my triumph before retreating indoors to make pancakes.

The Elderbeast, having had his Internet privileges dramatically shortened decides enlists my help in building the balsa wood Apache helicopter kit he got from Andy for Christmas. Surprisingly, this task proves far less annoying than it had any right to be.

Prolonged drama ensues after the Kinderbeast knocks one of his teeth during play. He is mostly miserable for the remainder of the day. Panadol and cuddles are dispensed.

Sherlock, series 1, episode 1 provides the evening’s entertainment at Carter’s request. Still damn telly, and the Elderbeast’s newfound passion for Sherlock appears to persist for now …

January 3

The Kinderbeast once again prompts a distressingly early start for my writing, but I complete the second draft of my short horror story, so all is well.

I achieve several small goals for the day: I clean the barbecue (rarely used, but it’s still satisfying to see it once again bereft of grease and cobwebs); I update my writing tracker spreadsheet ready for another year of writing, and I even blog about it;  finally I draft a length post reflecting on my writing progress over 2016. Maybe three people at most will read it, but it’s still good to remind myself that I did manage some writing achievements during what was ultimately a fetid shit of a year.

Twitter is aflame with stories about the GOP gutting the ethics committee in what can only seem like a transparent bid to get away with the sort of corruption that they’ve been so busy accusing the Democrats of. As someone tweets: every burglar knows that you kill the guard dog first.

One outing for the day: a drive to Harvey Norman’s so the Elderbeast can spend some of his Christmas money on some new, much-needed bluetooth speakers. As much as I dismay at giving HN our money, I’m gratified that the headphones (spotted via a casual browse through the junk mail) are 50% off, which makes it feel like HN won’t be creaming too much profit from that particular transaction.

For the evening we watch the new episode of Sherlock. Still entertaining, still first class TV, but occasionally rambling and lacking in focus in the way that Sherlock almost never is. Nevertheless, it’s sufficiently good to inspire the Elderbeast to show interest in the earlier episodes, which pleases me.

January 2

Day starts with the Kinderbeast awakening at 5:45am, both unusually and irritatingly early. I decide to stay up to get on with some writing and hammer out just over 1000 words on a nice little horror story I started a few days earlier.

Late morning and afternoon is occupied with a splendid breakfast provided by the in-laws, but the early start begins to take its toll. When we eventually return home, I bash out the 2017 Goals blog post I’d been pondering the day before. Naturally this effort is preceded by research into a new theme for the blog. I also write a quick post over on Blog Like A Mofo to announce the ‘yoyo blogging’ challenge that I’ve set myself for 2017.

The evening is spent watching The Witness For The Prosecution, which proves every bit worthy of the anticipation. In bed I read a bizarrely interesting article about foreign exchange negotiations post World War II.

January 1

Malcolm Turnbull starts the year by trying to keep us all more afraid of terrorists than the extreme right w(h)ingers in his own party. Trump sends much love to the ‘losers’ an continues to demonstrate how someone with the emotional maturity of a fish egg can continue to be a complete loss even when they’re set to become the most powerful man on the planet.

Rach and Carter (the Elderbeast) head off to the cricket early in the afternoon (not returning until past midnight). The Kinderbeast and I entertain ourselves as best we can, in large part by playing the Mars Rover game given to him by Hedgie for Christmas. We attempt to watch Beauty & The Beast (which I have this far failed to see) but it does little to capture the Kinderbeast’s attention. We dine on pasta and a homemade cheese sauce, of which I am inordinately proud (especially as it gets a literal thumbs up from the Kinderbeast).

Settling the Kinderbeast proves a struggle, but he finally relents at around 9pm. With the house to myself I make use of the last precious hours of solitude by watching Hellraiser Bloodlines: The Restored Director’s Cut (which isn’t restored in the conventional sense – someone has merely taken clips of a diabolically rough VHS workprint and edited them into footage from the finished film). It proves another exercise in Hollywood squandering the potential of a decent concept, but also revives my occasional interest in the Hellraiser franchise.

I go to bed and read the Lovecraft graphic novel that Hedgie has lent me, and idly wonder whether there are any stories about the old gods in me.

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