write.as/jonbeckett

At midnight tomorrow night the ball of mud we live on will spin a little further around the vast nuclear reactor it orbits. The day that follows will be pretty much like the one that came before – much like the thousands – millions even – that came before that, and that will continue to happen far into the future – long after we are a distant memory.

Humans have a habit of attaching invented importance to things. We notice coincidences, and describe them as fate. We describe unexplained behaviour as 'nature' rather than 'nurture'. We berate our own bad luck rather than admit apathy, or failures of judgement.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if everybody could slip on a pair of blinkers, and only see the future – the possibilities – the things that might be, rather than look back and grieve what might have been.

Christmas already seems like a memory – which is a strange thing to say, because it was only a few days ago – but it is already falling into the past – something that happened – not something that just happened. Maybe it feels so strange because we are in the days between Christmas and New Year – a limbo of sorts – no longer Christmas, and not yet New Year.

I am rapidly becoming the master of 'the other thing'. When I know something needs to be done, I invariably find the other thing that doesn't need to be done, and complete that first – then I find something else, and so on. Yesterday evening I wrote letters, caught up on email, and read recent blog posts by distant friends. I should really have been setting out the new bullet journal – still wrapped in cellophane. I also went shopping for letter writing supplies – including a new fountain pen – of course I found my old fountain pen after returning home, because I'm kind of an idiot.

Do you ever buy things with all the good intentions, and then think 'why did I do that?'. I do it all the time. I bought some writing paper, and a new pen – but didn't try the pen out until I got home. The ink soaks into the paper like it was some sort of secret men-in-black ink absorbancy test using extra-terrestrial materials. I kid you not. I think if you left the pen touching the paper for more than a few seconds, the paper would suck all the ink out of the pen. I've never seen anything like it. I imagine if the paper fell into the wrong hands, the world would run out of ink within days.

Anyway! Have you ever noticed that nearly every blog post I write has an 'Anyway!' in it somewhere? Usually it happens after I've gone off down some sort of rat-hole, contemplating something that doesn't need contemplating, catching myself just in time before you fall asleep standing up, and do yourself a mischief. So you should really be thanking me when I say 'Anyway!', because I'm helping you. Honest.

I really have nothing of importance to impart at the moment.

The highlight of the day so far was a visit to the local optician with our eldest daughter, who complained her glasses were pinching her nose. In the space of half an hour the optician tested her eyes, DIDN'T adjust her glasses, and tried to sell me a new pair of glasses and lenses – even though her prescription hasn't changed. I saw a very large number indeed pop up on the screen, and did my best not to have a panic attack. We came away from the optician without buying said glasses (which might have been made of exotic alloys, for all I know) – needless to say, Miss 18 is now not talking to me – because OF COURSE Dad can afford a 700 pair of reading glasses the week after Christmas. Hint – we'll be going to a different shop to get her eyes tested again, and to choose a pair of glasses that are spectacularly more reasonable.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a rather large collection of alcoholic beverages bought in for Christmas that haven't been touched. I'm doing my best, but I'm not very good at this whole 'day drinking' lark. I have one drink, and struggle to stay awake. If I fall asleep halfway through a sentence, you'll know why.

Just glancing at the clock, it's a little after 10pm on 'Boxing Day' – the day after Christmas Day. I'm not sure if other countries around the world call it 'Boxing Day', but we do here. I'm not entirely sure why – I'm sure a visit to either Google or Wikipedia would answer that – or a shout-out to Alexa. More on her later.

We were awoken at 4am on Christmas morning by our middle daughter, asking if it was too early to get up. Given that myself and my other half had only fallen into bed at perhaps 2am after an epic present-wrapping and house-tidying marathon, we told her to go back to bed. She hovered in the bedroom doorway for a few moments before starting negotiations.

'Can I open my stocking though?'

I thought for a few moments, before murmuring 'Yes'.

Somewhat miraculously, after the false start we all slept through until 8:30am. Knowing the in-laws would arrive mid-morning, we dragged ourselves out of bed, pulled on some clothes, and made our way downstairs. Apparently leaning our heads into our daughter's bedrooms was enough disturbance to wake them.

Miss 13 pulled presents out from around the tree, and gave them out around the room – making several mistakes along the way – thankfully caught before any surprises were ruined. She has something of a track record when it comes to delivering presents incorrectly. After making a coffee, feeding the cats, emptying the cat litter, and feeding the fish, I slumped down on the couch to join in the mayhem.

It's funny really – now the girls are older the presents are getting smaller, and more expensive. Clothes, music, perfume, and books have for the most part replaced toys. Among the various presents retrieved from under the tree, some were mysteriously labelled 'To the Beckett Family', from me. The girls faces lit up when an Amazon Echo was unwrapped – although if I hear one more call of 'Alexa, tell me a joke', or 'Alexa, play twenty questions', I might strangle somebody.

My in-laws arrived mid morning with more presents for everyone, and more mayhem. After making coffees for everybody with a shiny new coffee machine in the kitchen, we started watching the clock – a table was booked at the local pub for Christmas dinner. We have been eating out on Christmas Day for the last several years. The first time we did it, we thought ourselves tremendously extravagant, but soon realised that given the cost of cooking a roast for seven or eight people, and the hours of labour involved both before and after, eating out really wasn't that much more expensive – and more importantly gave us a huge proportion of the day back to actually spend time together. I can't remember such a relaxed, happy, jovial day in recent memory.

Unfortunately the day wasn't happy for our entire family. When I called my parents on Christmas morning, I learned that my sister-in-law's father had passed away – my brother had called an hour or so before to deliver the news. Those few moments on the phone were awful – my other half noticed my change in tone, and started looking straight at me across the room – searching for answers in my face.

The evening brought terrible television shows, board games, rich food we couldn't face, and more than a glass or two of strong alcoholic beverages. One card game in particular has caused endless hilarity, and has been quietly noted for our next night in with friends. The game plays on your inhibitions – facing off randomly in a circle against each other in feats of memory, face pulling, singing, impersonating, and so on. Only after thoroughly embarassing yourself in a variety of inventive ways can you claim victory.

Today – Boxing Day – has been altogether quieter. After dragging myself out of bed at perhaps 9am I have busied myself with the usual round of chores, interspersed with more board games, more rich food, more alcoholic beverages, and more terrible television shows. I even made it into town with Miss 18 at lunchtime to find out which shops had opened their doors. The moment of the day came when we visited a fashionable sporting goods store, where she spied a pair of rather fetching leggings. I pointed at the price, she inhaled sharply – just stopping her eyeballs from ejecting from their sockets – and announced 'we are leaving'. On what planet does a pair of leggings cost 100 ? We had a good laugh, while walking away from the store about the clientelle – all women of a certain age wearing clothes of a certain style – almost certainly purchasing expensive workout clothes to 'look' the part.

Tomorrow I return to work. Actually, 'return' is something of a falsehood – I'll be working from home – doing some research, and preparing for a pre-sales thing in the new year. At least I get to sit in the warm at home, rather than cycling to the office in the cold and wet.

Anyway – here's to you and yours this Christmas. Hopefully this post finds you well, warm, and happy.

I spent the majority of today working from home – sitting at the desk in the junk room accompanied by my work laptop, mobile phone, and bullet journal. Elsewhere a handful of co-workers were doing the same – throughout the day we kept a chat-window open, and fired messages back and forth – first to greet each other this morning, and then to count the minutes down at the end of the day.

So – it's Christmas! I would perhaps suggest an alcoholic beverage might be the order of the day, but I already did that – a moment after stowing the work laptop in my backpack, I wandered into the kitchen, poured myself a drink, and stole one of the mince pies our youngest daughter helped make this morning.

This evening my other half is off to Church with our younger children. I will of course stay behind – I don't believe in any of it – but would never dream of preventing others from following whichever faith they want. While visiting friends the other evening the subject came up, and I was quite surprised at how many 'non believers' were in the room – and perhaps more surprised that they volunteered their lack of belief. I'm always very careful not to say or do anything controversial – so try to avoid declaring which side of any argument I might align with.

You might think it a little disingenuous to celebrate Christmas when I don't believe in the historical figures the story centres on – and I would completely agree with you. You have to draw the line somewhere though, and if Christmas provides an excuse to buy those I love presents, to get in touch with distant family, and to see smiles on people's faces – then of course I'm going to go along with the crowd for a change.

Didn't the Coca Cola company hijack Christmas in the 1930s anyway ? The Santa Claus we all know was pretty much invented by them. As an aside, did you know that the Elves we all think of as helping Santa were also invented by Coca Cola? They introduced a woodland character into their artwork in the 1940s, called 'Sprite Boy' – which also explains where the product name 'Sprite' came from.

Anyway.

It's nearly Christmas. By breakfast time tomorrow morning all the excitement will be over for another year. The living room will look like a disaster, and we'll be waiting for the inlaws to arrive – we're heading out to lunch at the pub. We have gone out for Christmas lunch for the last several years – the first time it seemed tremendously extravegant, but then we realised it wasn't that much more expensive, and it gave us half the day back. Half a day we normally don't get to hang out, laugh, eat rubbish, and watch terrible movies together.

I should probably go and help with a few last minute chores. If I don't get another chance before the mayhem begins, I'll take this chance to wish you a merry Christmas, good health, happiness, and those other things that everybody seems to repeat.

The last few days have been a blur. After visiting friends on Friday night for drinks and curry, I spent most of Saturday washing clothes, tidying the house, and running errands. I had been invited to visit another friend's house for drinks in the evening, and almost didn't go – but then changed my mind at the last minute. It's SO easy to not go out sometimes – to stay in, watch rubbish movies, or disappear down internet rabbit holes. After receiving a text message from another friend – asking if I was going – I thought 'what the hell', jumped in the shower, had a shave, found some clean clothes, and wandered out into the evening air.

I suppose the evening was really a lesson in taking chances – the old Bilbo Baggins line comes to mind, about taking a step outside your front door. I had a wonder evening – the best in quite some time. I somehow ended up staying on with a few close friends into the early hours – curled up on couches, reminiscing, drinking, telling stories, laughing, and talking about all manner of esoteric subjects. I received a text message at about 1am from my other half – asking if I was ok. I read it to the group, and we all looked around wide-eyed – where had the last six hours gone ?

What followed was a Christmas miracle of sorts – I didn't have a hangover this morning. I'm still not entirely sure how I escaped it either – having drunk at least two bottles of wine during the evening. The clear head was something of a blessing too – by lunchtime we found ourselves in one of the bigger local supermarkets doing the final grocery shop before Christmas. We now have a rather spectacular collection of alcoholic beverages stacked in the middle of the kitchen – waiting for visitors to help us disappear.

Tomorrow I'm working from home. I'll hole myself up in the study with the work laptop, and mobile phone – working on pre-sales and research projects. With a little luck the phone won't ring, and I won't therefore have to deal with anything of consequence. Who on earth works on Christmas Eve anyway ?

Oh – before I forget – Kaspar is doing well – better than any of us could have predicted. The little black cat that hid in his bed for the first few days has begun venturing out into rooms full of people for fusses. It's all very much on his terms – as evidenced by the scratches on my hand when he unexpectedly switched into attack mode earlier this evening – but every day brings a little more confidence, a little more bravery, and a little more affection from him.

Anyway. Time to go put the kettle on, and open a box of mince pies.

The days are ticking down rapidly towards Christmas. I'm working through the holidays for the first time since having children. They are a little more grown up now, so my presence isn't required as much as it once was – but saying that, I'll be working from home, so never more than a couple of doorways away from them.

Working from home essentially means working on research projects, and keeping my phone nearby. The main office numbers have been redirected during the days I'm working – I am not expecting any calls, but you never really know. Given that I've only worked on one project all year, I can't imagine how much use I might be to other projects. I guess we'll have to wait and see.

At home, I feel like we're not ready for Christmas at all. We've half-tidied the house, half-bought presents, hardly sent any Christmas cards, and haven't done the 'big' food shop yet. I did get around to sending cards out to friends on the internet though – and know that a few of them have now reached their destinations – a few have arrived here too. There's a part of me that says 'only send cards to those you will not see' – and while that fits with the internet friends, it doesn't fit with distant family at all.

We have no car at the moment. I think I wrote about the car breaking down when we went to pick up the cat a few weeks ago? Since then we have been running around in a hire car (and setting fire to piles of money in the process) – that particular piece of idiocy came to an end earlier today, when the hire car was returned whence it came. There might be plans afoot to first borrow, and then purchase one of our neighbours cars in the new year.

What else has been going on? Oh yes – we visited the Harry Potter studios yesterday. We have been before, and I've told the story here before, so I won't go back over it again – suffice to say that the sets have been dressed appropriately – just enough to entice families back for another look. I do love visiting the studios though, and looking through all the minor props – the wigs, dresses, wands, and so on. I know most people like looking at the creature-shop, the Knight Bus, and so on, but I find just as much interest in the tiniest details. We spent a small fortune in the shop before leaving.

This evening some good friends invited us over for a curry and a drink. We haven't seen them for ages, and spent quite some time catching up with movies we haven't seen, books we haven't read, and jokes we haven't heard. During the evening I realised how much more effort I should put into friendships – particularly those right in front of my nose. I've lucked into knowing some wonderful people, and often take them for granted. I think maybe all people with busy family lives fall into the same hole though.

Why does nobody else ever fall into the same hole we are in ?

While listening to a podcast en-route to work this morning, mention was made of a saying that had stuck with the presenter for years – 'the Sun doesn't wait'. I've been turning it over in my head for the last hour – thinking about what it means. I have often commented that being able to keep putting one foot in front of the other has served me well over the years. Perhaps the idea that the world keeps turning – that the sun will rise tomorrow just as it did today is the reason plodding forwards works so well.

The world keeps turning. It keeps changing too – if we like it or not. While we could complain about change, it seems curious to do so, because invariably change has already happened. There is no rewind button.

It's now a couple of days since the hammer fell on Tumblr, banning almost all adult content from a platform that had formerly been a proud bastion of freedom of thought and expression. Initially I sympathised with those throwing their hands up in horror at 'the man', but then found myself taking a step back, and thinking about the wider perspective.

Perhaps it's time for the internet to change.

When left to their own devices, people tend to congregate together – they form communities – it's just what they do. The various platforms on the internet take advantage of this trait – providing those people with a platform to find each other, to share a little of themselves, and to build relationships that might never have happened otherwise. Of course those platforms are not doing it out of the kindness of their heart – they are busy monetising everything they possibly can. There's ano old saying related to the internet – that if a platform is free, then the people using it are the product being sold.

Here's the problem though – trying to build an all-inclusive platform on the internet where everybody has as many freedoms as possible is dangerous – impossible even – because people have conflicting interests, cultures, morality, and ethics. Imagine organising a party where christians, muslims, buddists, satanists, sex workers, conservatives, democrats, socialists, nihilists, straight people, gay people, lesbian people, trans people, bi-sexual people, and queer people were all invited, and all thrown into the same room with each other (apologised if I missed anybody out).

It makes sense for smaller communities to exist with varying degrees of separation from each other. This happens naturally in the real world – people tend to group together with those that share their views, and stay away from those that don't. We'll ignore those that might stand next to a group they don't agree with, holding placards, because they illustrate exactly why this is all so damn difficult. Small er communiuties cause problems too though – because if thoughts, ideas, and conversation happen in seclusion, they may not foster the thoughts, ideas and conversations you might wish for.

In a strange sort of way, throwing everybody into the same room enforces transparency, openness, and accessibility – with provides an inherent self-regulation – nobody can hide. Of course doing so will also create friction, conflict, violence, and general mayhem – because people tend to ruin everything. Actually, scratch that – people always ruin everything. They always have, and always will – and they'll complain about the good thing they had being ruined by everybody else, which is hilariously self defeating when you think about it.

Maybe the solution is to stop thinking so much about anything, and just remind ourselves that the clock is ticking, and will keep on ticking. The sun will rise again tomorrow, and unless we start walking forwards, we'll be wasting a lot of time.

I'm not entirely sure how I'm still awake. After an invitation to dinner with friends yesterday evening, arriving home in the early hours, we were awoken with a start by the sound of cats fighting – inside the house.

While gathering our senses, the tearful voice of our fourteen year old daughter drifted across the upstairs landing in panic – 'MuuUUUM! – I don't know what to do!'. I don't think claws were drawn, but there was some kind of almighty stand-off going on, judging by the yowling and hissing.

Somehow Kaspar had escaped the safety of our eldest daughter's bedroom, and was quietly exploring the house in the dead of night. It would appear George – our huge ginger cat – had woken up on Miss 14's bed, and discovered the ninja-esque intruder.

There was a crash, and the sound of claws on carpet – perhaps the sound of an enormous ginger cat in pursuit of a very fast small black cat. I looked across at the bedside cabinet. 5am.

Moments later I was downstairs in my boxer shorts, searching for the cat. That was when I discovered the cat-flap wasn't locked. Hopefully no neighbours happened to look out of their bedroom windows at 5am – they would have seen a guy in boxer shorts creeping around the garden with a torch – in search of reflective eyes in the undergrowth. Did I mention it was only a few degrees above freezing?

We thought we had lost Kaspar.

While going from room to room in search of him, our eldest daughter discovered a small black bundle huddled behind a curtain, in the darkest corner of the lounge. I picked him up, and braved carrying him towards his bed – narrowly escaping a blur of claws en-route.

So yes – one step forwards, and fifteen steps back in terms of introducing the cats to each other. We can only guess that our older cat broke into our daughter's room, and forced the door open (he's done it before) – which was fine, until young master Kaspar started exploring the house in the dead of night. One rule for George, and another for Kaspar – at least in George's head.

After settling the cats and children back down, myself and my other half looked at the clock. 5:30am. It wasn't worth going back to bed.

Fast forward through a long, busy day, and this evening we found ourselves at a pub a few miles out of town, attending the work Christmas party. The second night out in as many nights – and running on fumes.

After posting this to the internet, I'm locking Kaspar up safely in the study, before heading to bed, and falling into a deep, deep sleep.

I'm sitting in the junk room late on Sunday evening. Spotify is playing a quiet playlist in the background, and I'm sitting at the desk tapping away at the keyboard. I am not alone.

Behind me, curled up in a cat bed we bought many moons ago, is a little black cat. He grew up in the wild and was rescued from a life living on his wits by a phone call to the RSCPA from the owners of a house his family had been visiting to scavenge food. He was an outsider in the group – a young kitten when first caught.

That happened in May this year. After being cared for, chipped, and operated on to make sure he could cause no further cats to come into this world, he was assessed for adoption. To begin with they thought he might not be suitable to re-home, given his reclusive nature, but the girl feeding him saw something in him – a shy, but friendly personality.

We contacted the RSPCA in early December, and learned that nobody had ever visited him, or even shown any interest in him. I suppose for most people he was going to be too much work to even contemplate.

I suppose it was fate really.

Many years ago – after wanting a cat her entire life – my other half lived in the first apartment that allowed her to have a pet, and bought a cat. A cat from the animal hospital that had survived a horrific early life. So we had been here before. That cat (Simpson) spent his first days hiding under beds, but lived to a grand old age – old enough to meet our children and put up with being loved just a bit too much by them on occasion.

So yes. Yesterday afternoon a cat-box arrived in the back of my other-half's car, with a blanket draped over it, making meowing sounds. After spending the morning cleaning the house from top to toe, I hastily re-arranged the junk room. A quiet, safe room of sorts for the little black cat to live in for the first few days – a place to find his feet.

We're calling him Kaspar, after the cat in a book by Michael Morpurgo.

I've spent several hours sitting on the floor near his bed today. He looks out at me with the biggest yellow eyes. After quite some coaxing earlier he crept out for something to eat, and carefully watched me inbetween mouthfuls. We have been taking turns to spend time with him – no more than two of us in the room at any one time.

Introducing George – our 8 year old ginger cat – has gone well so far. The first meeting was interesting – George was carried in (he puts up with being picked up for a minute or two), and placed on the floor near the door. It took him a few moments to spot the yellow eyes looking out of the cat bed – when he did, he slowly inflated himself to twice his normal size, and hissed. It was all we could do to leave him alone – to let them sort it out between themselves. The stand-off lasted a few seconds before we called time on it – not before Karpar ventured out of the bed towards George though. We thought this might happen.

Before being incarcerated at the cat rescue centre, Kaspar had only known a life with other cats. Even while at the centre, he was often used as a buddy for other cats. If we can get George used to him – bit by bit – he'll be a tremendous partner in crime. I think it might be a long road though.

I think there should be an award for making it to Friday afternoon. Or maybe an award for making it to the end of every day. If there was an award for every day though, does that fall into the Dash observation from The Incredibles though? ('if everybody is special, nobody is special').

I'm watching the clock tick down through the final minutes of Friday afternoon. My other half and eldest daughter are at home, preparing to head out for their work Christmas dinner – I'm charged with buying pizzas for my younger daughters, and their friend that is staying for a sleepover.

My own work Christmas dinner got cancelled earlier today. In a strange sort of way I'm relieved – it's one less thing to worry about – one less thing to have to get through. It's funny how so many people think of me as somehow 'social', and a 'people person' – when the truth couldn't be more different. Yes, I can pretend I'm pleased to be out, and I can strike up conversation with anybody about anything – but in reality I'm usually getting them talking so I don't have to.

Does that make any sense at all?

My happy place in recent years has been at home with a bottle of wine, a pizza, and a movie with the children. Now the kids are growing up the movies are changing, and the eldest is sharing the wine too, but the essential ingredients have remained the same.

Maybe this evening I'll set the kids up with a movie, then spirit myself off to the junk room to catch up with the various blogs I follow – and maybe jump down the internet rabbit hole in search of a few more. It's a strange experience – finding somebody elses blog for the first time – a bit like arriving half-way through a social gathering, and hearing half of the various conversations going on around the room. At least with a blog you get to stand there and listen for as long as you like without anybody noticing you. Of course then you want to comment – and have to agonise over telling the author that you just discovered their blog or not – or if you're about to follow their writing. It feels like you're calling a radio talk show, and announcing 'First time caller!' (which MUST cause eye rolls in the radio studio).

Anyway. Maybe I'll do that this evening. If you see comments from me on your blogs, you'll know why.