Lunchtime, I popped across the bridge to Putney in order to buy a couple of last minute things for Mum and Dad, and buy tape and wrapping paper and the like. It was lovely – I kept noticing people with suitcases and bags, clearly setting off (or arriving) to spend Christmas with loved ones. Wonderful time of year, this.

Because I was over the bridge, I took the chance to nip into Starbucks for another Gingerbread Latte, and as I was walking back, I wondered – when did my financial sense get so screwed up that I would hand over almost a fiver for a coffee and bit of cake, and not think anything odd of it? I mean, I remember living in Edinburgh, and having a weekly budget of about 30 quid for “luxuries”. Spending a fiver on a coffee would have been out of the question. Now, it’s a casual thing that I do without thinking, even when I’m running low on cash…

Reading Barbelith Underground, I find a thread entirely devoted to getting people to list ten things that make them great. I applaud this notion. We’re all bastard fantastic, but society has, as someone pointed out in the thread, conditioned us to be hyper-aware of our own faults, but rely on others to point out how fucking fab we are. And of course, most people don’t really spend a lot of time pointing out how fab all their friends are, because they assume their friends are bright enough to know how ace they are. We never pause to think for a moment that everyone else might be as neurotically obsessed with their own shortcomings as we ourselves are. So anything that encourages people to list things that make them feel good about themselves is a Good and Right sort of thing.

I, of course, have no need to list ten things that make me ace. I know I’m fab. I bring joy and light into the universe by my mere existence.

Stop laughing, damn you.

Well, that was a bloody lovely weekend. Went to Northern Ireland for my Grannie’s 80th birthday celebrations, with the family. We won’t be able to go home for Christmas, because Mum and I are both working, so we had a long weekend away with them instead. Went out with my cousins on Friday night, had a big meal round at my Aunt’s on Saturday, and then Grannie took the lot of us out for a very nice meal on the Sunday. The company was great, and everyone was in good spirits. In a funny way, it was better than a family Christmas, because the celebration was a family one, and a special one, rather than the same holiday that comes round every year, if that makes sense.

Lunch:

Sandwich: Pret A Manger christmas sandwich.

Drink: Starbucks grande mocha with whipped cream

Luxury: Marks and Spencer fugdy chocolate brownie.

Gosh, that was nice. One the one hand, I’m a good little leftie, and am opposed to Evil Chains and the way they put independant stores out of business. On the other, it’s great to be able to know (wherever I am) that Starbucks mocha’s are better than the other chains, but Pret’s food leaves them standing, and that nothing beats an M&S; brownie. And the sad fact is that there’s an independant sandwich/coffee place much nearer work than those three, but the don’t do a sandwich or brownie as nice as the ones I bought, and their coffee just plain stinks.

Anna’s been finding on-line tests again. It’ll make up for a lack of saying anything on here for a while (or at least, it’ll be some content, which probably isn’t the same thing…) so:

I am More interesting than my blog. Thank god for that.

I am How British Are You? Not a surprise.

I am A fish with a bicycle. Which is fab.

So I’m preparing my holiday compilation minidisc. I like doing these, because I don’t do it by music, exactly, but my feel. Hence, I have followed The Fall with Alan Moore and then The Cocteau Twins, for a really bizarre series of walking music that will get me where I’m going much faster. Hurrah. I’m also pleased because this is the first time I’ve been able to get Moore to work on a compilation album

In an hour and a half, I shall be on holiday. Aah, liberation.

My Discordian Name is going to be Pope Tatterdemalion Susurrus. Yes.

I’ve been listening to Angel Passage pretty much constantly for the last few days. It’s a brilliant piece of work, a psychogeography of the life of William Blake, a songline of love and creation, joy and despair. Alan still hasn’t topped “The Moon and Serpent Grand Egyptian Theatre of Marvels”/”Birth Caul” combo for me (although I suspect that an audio recording of Snakes and Ladders might come very close), but while it may not flip switches in my brain, it’s still lovely, especially that last track…