So, comma, hello! Happy merry! Yuletides and fruit-cake nobody likes and so forth.
It is the end of a year. Something that just happens. Once every 365 days or so. It’s not an exact science. If it was we wouldn’t have to change our clocks twice a year because of farmers.
Telling it like it is. I’m not scared of the countryside alliance or their furry minions.
But more and less than this, I wanted to say hello and thanks and wilkommen and oops up side your head at the end of an eventful and, in many ways, clagged up arse-biscuit of a fetid steaming year.
Some people got married and shit. Some other people didn’t. Some people moved house and lost the charger for their Lumix. Some other people didn’t even know what a Lumix was. In the end it’s all swings and roundabouts and whirligigs and twist-a-noughts and upsy-downs and insy-outs and an entire roomful of oh get to the points.
So I will. Or will I? No, I will. Why wouldn’t I get on with it straight away. I can’t see any reason for delaying the inevitable. Not even one. Reason, that is. For waiting any longer. I mean, that’s why you’re still reading this isn’t it? Most people would have tuned out by now. Switched off. Deserted this guff for pastures new. Gone for a wank or some online shopping, to use the language of the street-urchins I pass by in my tweed.
Well, I intend to reward you dear reader. Oh yes. Below is a storyette, if you won’t, concerning the year 2014 that is both moving and entirely untrue. I believe that it is very common in America to write a letter to all your friends around this time of year telling them just how fabulous your life is, just to make them feel fucking terrible and inconsequential and to slightly silence the nagging voice that murmurs incessant reminders of your failures in the back of your increasingly pickled and fractured mind. So this is what I’m going to do from now on. Most of my xmas messages are considerably more vacant and pointless than this one, which really says something.
So. Have it.
In 2014 I moved to a house in the middle of some fucking fields and mud or something. Our child did school and whatever and friends and some party with hats and a headache. At several points we went to pubs and drank nice stuff. Also we ate some food that was local. I’m completely behind this.
Occasionally there was stress. And tension. Like a too-short kettle power cord straining to reach the one free socket, we were sometimes pulled to our limits so we didn’t accidentally shoot steam up underneath the cupboards which is a bad idea in the long term as eventually it will fundamentally undermine the integrity of any wall-mounted cabinetry.
Something to think about.
But despite all this, we have pulled through and I in particular am more handsome, winsome, fulsome, cleversome, fluffy, moist and well-endowed than ever. I’d like to thank those people who helped me along the way but I can’t because I did it all myself.
So I firmly hope that your 2014 wasn’t bollocks. Some bits were ace, by all accounts. And next year is the one with a number one higher than 2014, which makes a nice change. I clasp my hands together in deeply serious and reverential prayer to a non-existent deity and I wish you ace presents, fabulous sex, the entire absence of back-pain, things that make you smile, adventurous cheeses and something good to watch on the telly.
If any of you are passing by Somerset, do drop in. I think I’ve gone a bit wrong in the head and I need a hug.
Merry Xmas. Your life is shitter than mine. Guaranteed.
Mxxx
P.S. The new studio should be ready in January at some point. At which point I will start spewing music at anyone and everyone. Brace yourselves.
