2016 in review

A couple of weeks ago, I met up with three of my friends to set fire to 2016. In the garden, under the full moon, with candles. We each wrote down what we want to leave behind in 2016, and what we welcome for 2017, then we read them out to one another and set fire to them. It was cleansing and very good to focus our attention on something tangible, rather than howling at the horrors of the year (though that is also valid and important). Now, as the sun sets on New Year’s Eve, I wish I could say I’m feeling cheerful and ready for the year to come, but I’ve got a disgusting cold and have had to cancel my plans, as I’m unlikely to be awake at midnight. My impulse is to try to counter that with relentless positivity, but even I can’t manage that on its own, so I’m trying to look at the year in balance.

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Spinster Rambling Club: an update

Last week, I posted about the walking club I’d decided to set up. Sunday was our first trip out, and it was a resounding success. There were a couple of little wobbles – Katie had to grapple with train cancellations, Cornelia, Lauren and I were late because of, first, buses, and, second, an incident with some juice which will soon see me attacking my car with washing-up liquid – but other than that, it went very well indeed.

In which I needed a hobby

Last summer, while I was in the throes of breakup misery, I decided that what I needed was to meet new people, and I also needed a hobby. Over the course of several days on holiday, we ran through all sorts of things I could do, but none of them felt quite right.

Friendship – Emily Gould

Scout was very interested in this

Friendship, Emily Gould

I rescued this from a friend when she was having a bit of a book clear-out a couple of months ago, because a) the cover was pretty and b) there was a quote from Chad Harbach on the front saying how much he liked it. And as The Art Of Fielding is absolutely incredible, I figured he was probably right. I picked it up from my toe-read pile on a day when I knew I’d be spending a lot of time on trains and waiting around. It led to me being on the Bakerloo line, surrounded by men on their way to the rugby, telling one of them that he needed to read it so that he would “learn how to get friends mate” and so on.

On the gift of poetry

I can count on my fingers the number of times I’ve been given poetry.