Heron Island, Great Barrier Reef, Australia

Saturday, 24 December 2011

A rather quieter reminder of snow: some photos of last year's white Christmas with a bell-like version of something seasonable, by an uncharacteristically restrained (and all the better for it) Liszt:
video

Friday, 23 December 2011

Just to make sure of a little show of snow this Christmas, here's a video card from a remote Inuit village in Alaska (it was all the rage some time ago, but I've only recently become aware of it - and yes, they have been told about the apostrophes):

Thursday, 15 December 2011

It's no good: there just doesn't seem to be a way of shaking off the idea that, whatever I'm doing, I ought to be doing something else. Never mind the reminders in my phone diary (what? use it to talk to people? how very last century), there's a nagging feeling that there is something else, planned or promised, that I've somehow forgotten to do, and that there will shortly be some sort of "Oh heck!" moment, or a puzzled "Where are you?" phone call. Or worse.

Of course, there are always odd chores awaiting the acquisition of A Round Tuit, things that could be a bit cleaner or tidier or neater, the cupboard that threatens to brain me with an avalanche of clutter, the buttons that look a bit loose, the accumulation of half-read magazines and books, not to mention the computer that's running out of memory (dare I risk deleting stuff off it and relying on the external hard drive?).

But those I know about; and almost everything Christmas-related is sorted out. This is something much more nebulous: a common feeling when I was a middle manager, and you never knew what Damn-fool Wizard Wheeze from top management, or crass error from an underling, might land in the in-tray - but now, when there's no particular reason to do any particular thing on a particular day?

Perhaps I just don't have enough to do.

Thursday, 1 December 2011

More old friends

The regular return of an old friend featured in a post last Easter.

Now that the seasons have turned again, it's the Christmas cactus that has put out its improbably neon-coloured flowers, as it has done without any special attention for decades, first in my parents' house, now with me. The container it's in is also a hand-me-down, probably from a generation further back: in my memory, that deep, rich blue was always somewhere in the background or a corner of the view.

Time for it to take centre stage, for a change.