At any level 2015 has been a shitty year...and I haven't told a word of it so far. And nor will I. But I am reveling in my own self-pity.
Having thought that I'd kissed goodbye to some history at the beginning of the year, it came back and has bitten in a very, very painful way. It will take at least until June to resolve, and even then a nasty taste will be left that will be difficult to forget.
I'm in need of Auntie Gwen's expertise, as things up North are not what they should be.
And if I wanted to, I could fill this post and a million others with a list of woes and misery.
But enough, at least I'm not living in fear of being burnt alive or decapitated in the middle east, or Nigeria, nor am I seeing my country torn apart as the Ukrainians are. Everything in perspective.
At the weekend it was Valentine's Day, so you can imagine we had a romantic evening out at our favourite restaurant followed by a night at the theatre. Well imagine away. You couldn't be further from the truth. We usually spend Valentine's Day in Brighton, and so we made plans for this year. Cards and romantic gifts were exchanged in the morning before the day got going. We did indeed spend Saturday and Sunday there...so that's good. However, we traveled separately...like the Royal Family. The Cat's Mother drove down, having worked out how to pay the new charge at the Dartford Crossing, to arrive at a freezing cold flat (I'd forgotten to put the heating on and she doesn't know how to put it on...it's a remote system on the mobile phone). As she wasn't sure when I would arrive, she sat there twiddling her fingers...and TCM is not good when she's doing nothing. Me? I decided (encouraged by TCM) to cycle. It's a mere 135km, and it seemed sensible to follow the National Cycling Routes 21 and 20. I should have checked the Sustrans web site before I set off, because once out of London I quickly found myself on muddy tracks that would defeat even the most determined Russian tank in Ukraine. Much time was spent yomping up (very steep) hill and down dale with a road bike on my back. To rub salt into the would Google kept sending me the wrong way...it was more lost than I was, and at one stage I ended up in some sort of valley that had clearly not seen a living creature since the dinosaurs roamed there. I can't tell you how angry I became, and if you hear the birds in your garden are no longer singing, but instead using the foulest of foul language, that's my fault. Eventually the guiding technology of my mobile was switched off, I followed my nose and didn't get lost once. I eventually arrived in Brighton at about 7.00pm ready for a romantic meal at home a deux.
It was lovely. Well I enjoyed it. But I think TCM deserves better next year...
Sunday evening was spent mostly washing my extraordinarily filthy cycling gear and the bike all of which were caked in mud....I've cancelled my monthly donation to Sustrans given how ridiculous and cavalier I thought there approach was to route planning and development...
