write.as/jonbeckett

We made it to Friday again! Do we get cake, or party poppers or something? It feels like we should.

I walked into work again this morning – dragging my eldest daughter with me. She's sitting opposite me, quietly tinkering with something or other on her laptop, and fiddling with her bullet journal. It took us about three quarters of an hour to walk in – a couple of miles through town, and then a mile through a country estate to the office. The last mile is mercifully quiet after dodging maniac parents delivering children to schools throughout the town.

I'm tinkering too. I switched back to Google Mail this morning, after several months trying out Outlook. Part of the reason had been because Outlook plays nicely with the native iOS apps on my phone – I've finally given up on that, and installed Google Mail, Google Calendar, and Google Drive. They work so much better than Apple's own offerings it's not even funny.

I have also migrated my draft blog posts back into Google Drive. I have written posts outside of WordPress for years – and given the advent of the new 'Gutenberg' editor, it makes a lot of sense to write elsewhere, and copy the words in when I'm happy with them. I thought about trying out 'Grammarly', that seems to have adverts all over the web at the moment (or is it just me seeing them – has the universe decided I can't write for toffee?) – but their website has this cunning trick where they say 'we found two issues with your writing, but you need to buy a “pro' account to find out what they are”. They must have thought I was born yesterday – I'll put up with my typos, grammar, and punctuation mistakes for free, thank you very much.

This is yet another blog post about nothing in particular, isn't it. Saying something, instead of having something to say. I promised myself not to do these kinds of posts.

Ooh! Something of note DID happen today. The other half of one of the members of staff appeared with a rather large camera, and we were marched outside to take photos for the company website. She actually arrived yesterday lunchtime, but several of us looked scruffy enough that we were given the option of re-appearing today looking a little more presentable. It was all a bit surreal really – taking turns to stand by the riverbank, a little way from the office, while an enormous lens was pointed at our face, and we were directed to look this way and that. I've never had my photo taken for professional services before, and still don't know what purpose it might serve.

What else has been going on? Oh yes – the Bullet Journal. I've switched from drawing out each week across two pages to the ultimate in laziness – 'rapid logging'. All you do each day is write out a heading for the date, and then start writing down the things you are supposed to have done, or the things that have cropped up during the day. That's it. It helps if you open the book on a morning and methodically list out the things you tried to remind yourself about before the day starts – I believe this is called 'reflection'. You're supposed to do it at the end of the day too, but I rarely do – I'm usually arm-deep in washing up, dirty clothes, and rubbish bags on an evening.

Anyway. I think that's enough droning on about forgettable nonsense for one day. Maybe I'll find time a little later to catch up on the escapades of those that really have been off on adventures, rather than sitting at a computer all day.

This blog has been unspeakably rubbish recently. There. I said it. I've been churning out posts like some sort of cheap sausage machine – more because I thought I should than because I had anything to say. It's a slippery slope, and I have no idea how to halt the slide.

Earlier this evening I read a wonderful post by a blogger I've been following for a while, and it reminded me what a blog can be – how honest, transparent, candid, and brave we can be when we empty our head into the keyboard. Some people are natural story tellers – drawing us into their adventures, escapades, triumphs and disasters. When searching for escape, they take us with them, and we forget about our lives for a few minutes. She somehow does that – seemingly without effort. I admire people with that sort of talent enormously.

Maybe a goal for the year ahead should be to get back to the posts I used to write – that I know I can still write if I apply myself – stories of days filled with strange people, unlikely situations, and relatable idiocy. There's only one problem – in order to have stories to tell, you have to live them in the first place. Sitting at a desk every weekday, drowning in chores every evening, and standing on sports ground touch-lines on weekends doesn't provide a very deep well of stories.

Maybe I should make them up. Walter Mitty was pretty entertaining, wasn't he? I'm not sure I would make a very good liar though – I would end up finishing every story with 'but of course, none of this really happened'.

Anyway. It's the rules by the way – I always write 'anyway' at about this point in a post, and change subject. It's a thing I do. Every time.

You know that whole 'writing loads of letters this year' thing I started on? That's going to have to pause for a few months. We kind of ran out of money in the bank in spectacular fashion. It had a lot to do with first having to rent a car, then failing to fix our old car, then buying a new car. At Christmas. Any outgoings deemed 'nice to have' have been cut – and that included postage stamps for transatlantic letters. The kids realised the enormity of our situation when I cancelled Netflix and Spotify – it's been educational for them.

A little while after finishing chores last night and sitting down quietly to survey the remains of the evening, my eldest daughter sidled up to me, and carefully volunteered that there might be something not quite right with her computer. I put my hands on my knees, and lifted myself back out of the chair I had just sat in, and followed her back to her bedroom.

'What's wrong with it?'

'I don't know – it went wrong this morning'

We turned the corner into her bedroom, and I saw the screen.

'Oh.'

Windows had failed to start, and was failing to recover too – repeatedly. I went back to the junk room, and built a diagnostic USB stick – a pre-built copy of linux that will boot, and allow you to check things. It became obvious pretty quickly that the hard drive had failed.

'Don't worry – you haven't lost anything – all your stuff was saved in Google Drive, and Google Photos'.

'What about my games on Steam, and my Sims?'

'Oh – yeah – they've gone'

She took it remarkably well really. She seemed more concerned that I was still in her room an hour after summoning me, but was also somewhat impressed that I was able to dismantle the computer, swap the hard drive out for a still working one bastardised from something else, and that it all worked again afterwards.

So yeah. There are advantages to having a nerd as a Dad. Sometimes. Suddenly I'm not quite so boring when my skills are needed.

Most memorably moment of the evening was pulling the side off the computer, and discovering an enormous house spider dead inside the case – covered in enough dust to make it look like a camoflaged tarantula. I thought my eldest was going to pee her pants in fear, but eventually got enough courage up to transport the very dead spider to the rubbish bin on a piece of paper.

I have 'Monday Monday' by the Bangles bouncing around inside my head today. It won't go away. I think 'Eternal Flame' by The Bangles may have been the first twelve inch single I ever bought. Oh crikey – it just occurred to me that most people younger than perhaps thirty will have no idea what a 'twelve inch single' is. I'm turning into a dinosaur. Hell – they probably have no idea who 'The Bangles' are either, let alone Suzannah Hoffs (a name to be whispered reverentially).

Monday is being anything other than manic, to be honest – but at least it's giving me time to clear the decks before twenty nineteen arrives in earnest, and tips my life upside down. I just went through appointments for the month ahead, and have already made the 'Month' day in my Bullet Journal look like a battlefield.

Oh – random discovery for the day – most people pronounce the name of the company that make the most popular bullet journals incorrectly. Leuchtturm (spelled phonetically) is loikt-toorm – with the k pronounced as a soft sound (imagine preparing to spit). It means 'Lighthouse', and for a bonus point the company was founded in 1917, in Hamburg – on the coast. They started out selling stamp albums, and still do so.

Did you also know that Moleskine notebooks are sold by a company founded in Italy called Modo & Modo? Although they claim an esteemed history – being used by writers of years past – they were actually designed in the late 1990s, and modelled after small notebooks sold in Paris in the early 1900s. As with many things, the notebooks are manufactured in China.

It's amazing what you can find out if you fall down an internet rabbit hole, isn't it.

After a Sunday morning standing in the cold on the touchline of a rugby pitch for two hours, stamping my feet and making conversation with other parents, I'm now home, sipping tea, and half-listening to the rather random playlist Alexa has decided I like. Miss 18 and Miss 13 have gone to watch a football match, and Miss 14 is upstairs somewhere pretending to play video games, but actually watching a stready stream of YouTube videos we would much rather she did not.

The washing machine is rumbling away, the clothes dryer is filling the house with hot air, the bar heater is on in the kitchen, and the lounge curtains are already closed – all in the hope of trapping a little warmth in the house. Kaspar is curled up in his cat-bed – his nose tucked into his own tail – enormous green eyes looking around the room from time to time.

The overwhelming feeling is one of tiredness – and yet it's already Sunday evening. Where did the weekend go? In a few hours I'll be washing up again, fighting a losing battle to put things away the children have thrown everywhere, and starting to put things back into my work backpack for the week ahead. Transitioning from the holidays back into work and school life is a bit jarring at the best of times – this year it seems even more difficult than usual. Perhaps it's because we didn't really go anywhere or do anything at Christmas – we hung out at home for the most part. It's amazing how much nothing you can fill the day with when you put your mind to it – and how steep a climb even the most trivial tasks seem like when you've forgotten how busy you usually are.

Here's hoping the week ahead is filled with rational people, straightforward tasks, no stress, and no arguments. Of course we know it's not going to happen, but we can hope, right?

I seem to have fallen into a pattern of posting every other day at the moment. This is not intentional. Hell – posting every day was never really intentional – but I suppose it became a 'thing' after a while. During the last year I probably went more than a month at various points without missing a day. I'm not sure if that's something to be celebrated or not – I can't imagine I had anything interesting or insightful to share every day, and I'm certainly not going to go back and look. I know that sounds lazy, but I've always seen the blog as a forward moving thing – not retrospective at all.

Wow. This got introspective quickly. I'll blame the glass of rum I just downed – backed up by a pint of beer earlier this evening, and half a bottle of red wine. We're slowly working our way through the 'Christmas Drink' – the various bottles we bought in order to have something on hand should visitors drop-in. At the rate we're going, we will still be working on this project at Easter. I think there might be an untouched bottle of Baileys in the cupboard – and a bottle of brandy. Somehow we have ended up with three bottles of mulled wine – one from each of the last several years. The hassle of warming it on the stove prevents us from ever bothering with it – and yet we both like it.

I started playing 'Skyrim' again this evening. Our middle daughter is about to turn 15, and has been asking about the various games she might play now – I pointed her in the direction of Oblivion (the game that came before Skyrim) first – and will hold Skyrim back for a while. I bought it when it was released, but somehow never quite got that involved in it. I'm like that with most games, to be honest – once I figure out how they work, I lose interest. I also see games as a bit of a waste of time, I suppose – which is ridiculous, because I write this blog – which doesn't really benefit anybody either. I suppose it stops me going mad – or at least that's what I tell myself.

Anyway. The glass of rum is now empty. Maybe a coffee to level everything off, and then a movie or a book. I started writing a list of books I want to read this year earlier – most of them have been propped on the shelf behind me for quite some time – bought on an impulse, and never quite gotten around to.

Maybe I should give Skyrim to my middle daughter now, and start looking at that list of books? Or maybe I should go make a coffee.

It's funny how the universe works sometimes. After discovering our eldest daughter in floods of tears last night, I suggested a late night movie on the sofa armed with endless cups of tea might help a little. A distraction. I'm good at distractions.

There was only one problem – what movie to watch? Quite by chance, we stumbled upon the best movie any of us had seen in quite some time. We'll forget that it meant we collapsed into bed at 2am, and that we then got up at 7am this morning – that's just our own stupidity at work. The movie though, was something else.

It was called 'The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society', and seemed to star a number of both legendary, and up-and-coming actors. As the titles rolled, my other half sat down with us, and said 'Oh, I read the book of this – it was wonderful'.

Here's the trailer:

I don't want to ruin the plot too much (and the trailer doesn't either, for a change) – but I will perhaps volunteer that the movie presses every button going. By the end we all had tear stained cheeks, caused through all manner of emotions – sadness, happiness, hope, elation, loss and despair. I've never known a movie quite like it.

There's something about the story – about books, writing, reading, and people – that connects with my core – that bypasses all of the walls I typically surround myself with. There is a romance – a power that the written word carries, that little else can compare to – and the movie taps into that somehow.

I won't go on and on about it. I will however urge you to find time to see it if you have not done so already.

The phone on my desk at work rang at lunchtime – it was my other half. Miss 18 was at home (she goes back to work tomorrow) – and was freaking out, because she couldn't find the cat – the 1 year old nutcase we took delivery of from the local rescue centre before Christmas. I called home in response and spoke to her.

'When did you last see him?'

'I haven't'.

Given that I woke her up a little after 8am this morning, and that Kaspar (the cat in question) had been dancing around at breakfast time like a lunatic, along with George – our 8 year old ginger tabby, I wondered exactly what time Miss 18 had got up. I suspect lunchtime.

Anyway. While talking to Miss 18, Miss 14 (who doesn't return to school until tomorrow) piped up with 'I saw him when I went to the bathroom'.

'When?'

'Five minutes ago!'

Cue laughter around the office – they heard the entire conversation.

As the afternoon wore on, I got on with what I could, but worry gathered in the back of my mind. Had the cat really done a runner? Where might he be? I called home again.

'Any sign of the cat?'

'Nope'

'Do you want me to come home, and help look?'

'Maybe'

Half an hour later, after cycling home at quite some speed, I set about turning the house inside out – quite a task, given that the Christmas decorations were still up, and the children had pretty much trashed the place between me leaving this morning, and arriving back.

Three hours later I had taken all the decorations down, eaten dinner, washed up, and checked every room in the house for the elusive cat. I walked the garden three times in the dark with a torch, and the front drive. I even spent some time in the attic – the hatch had been open. I've never seen a cat climb a ladder, but you never know. We even reported the cat missing on the local area Facebook group – in the hope he might show up in a nearby garden over the coming days.

After my other half and the girls left for rugby practice, I finished tidying up various rooms around the house, and did a final walk of the back garden before resigning myself to perhaps having lost the cat. I made myself a coffee, grabbed my notebook, and sat in the lounge in silence – half wondering if I might hear something.

After sitting for a few moments, the couch next to me creaked quietly. I thought I was hearing things – we had already looked inside it and under it twice with a torch. I checked again – nothing. It must have just been settling after taking the christmas decoration boxes off it a little earlier.

I sat down again, and began writing. The couch again made a noise – the vibrating sound a cat makes when they stretch. What the hell? Then I noticed a gap in the material at the back – a gap perhaps four inches long that lead to a cavity between the cushions of the back, and the cushions you might sit on. I pulled it open with my fingers, and pointed the torch into the innards of the sofa – and two enormous green eyes emerged from the dark – staring straight at me.

The next few minutes were spent calling my other half, and updating Facebook. A few minutes later the whole family arrived home, and I broke the news.

'I've found him!'

'Where is he?!'

'Inside the sofa!'

'What?!'

I then pointed at the sofa, that he was still hiding inside. We arranged a bowl of leftover chicken nearby, and I set about waiting for him to make an appearance.

He left it another hour before finally extracating himself. Little shit.

It always seems like the first post of a new year should have some important news to impart – the story of an adventure, an intelligent insight, or something equally engaging. Unfortunately I have nothing of the sort to share – caused mostly by celebrating the new year with friends until the early hours.

While quietly knocking around the house throughout the day, I have at least started filling out the bullet journal that will see me through the coming year. So far it has a double page spread for January, and a double page spread for this week. While using bullet journals over the last few years I have evolved my own method – which is close to, but not exactly the same as that described in the 'official' book by Ryder Carroll (which I got for Christmas!). I think that's the point of bullet journals though – it's not a specific method – more a collection of methods you might pick and choose from.

My pages tend to be very spartan compared to many you see shared on Instagram – I suppose 'utilitarian', or 'minimalist' might be good words to describe them – just underlined headings for days or months, and list of tasks. Occasionally I write notes, but generally it's just about recording what I want to get done on a given day, or what I did on a given day. Quite apart from helping me become more mindful while drawing up each new week, I now find the record of the past is invaluable when queries are made about time recording at work. What was I working on last Tuesday? – hang on – let me just check.

Enough about that.

Time is ticking on. I have to somehow kick-start my body clock back towards the normal routine in the morning. I should really have an early night. I found it amazing how quickly I lost track of which day of the week it was while working from home over the Christmas break.

So. Here you are. You made it to the end of another year, and so did I. I seem to have made it by the rather unoriginal method of putting one foot in front of the other – and continuing to do so. Others seem to have had all manner of adventures, drama, and disaster along the way – I didn't really notice, because I was busy concentrating on where my next footstep was landing. Because this rather eccentric method – lets call it 'plodding' – has served me so well this year, I see no need to change it any time soon.

So no. I'm not going to be making any grand 'resolutions'. I don't even know why people call them 'resolutions', when the things people typically list are goals. The dictionary definition of a resolution is 'a firm decision to do, or not do something'. You can't just decide you're going to get fit, or lose weight, or travel more – they are all goals – things you will plan to do.

Actually, maybe you can make resolutions – this is where I stand on a chair and shout 'I'm going to stop eating chocolate!' – and know instinctively that there's no way on earth it will happen. Perhaps that's why the phrase 'resolutions are made to be broken' exists.

Perhaps we should call resolutions lies instead. It sounds far more reasonable – standing on a chair, and shouting 'I have a lie for the new year – I'm totally going to stop eating chocolate!' – and everybody will laugh, because they know me.

Anyway. There you go. Not making any resolutions. I will spend tomorrow (with a hangover) trying to organise my new bullet journal though. I like the bullet journal method, because you write it as you go. Kind of like plodding along, looking at your feet really.