2008 and beyond

Happy new year, one and all.

My but it has come round quickly hasn't it? Seems like only yesterday I was in Cardiff, scaring Jasper with loud noises and seeing in 2007. So it goes.

The end of December saw me off to the sandlands for a short, almost restful holiday. Hurrah for getting my nails done after a hiatus of 6 or so months. Hurrah for SensAsia. Hurrah for carrot cake at the Lime Tree. However, eventually, hurrah for coming home to London.

Following an awkward moment in the tube the other day, when a man offered me his seat - presumably because he thought I was with child* - the diet of death is back on and exercise is playing a displeasingly large part in my calendar planning of January. Although I suppose with my credit card bill being what it is, I can't afford food or socialising anyway, so it's just as well.

(However, as I simply never learn, have booked myself on another holiday - in a mere 14 days I shall be temporarily quitting these shores and heading for gay Barcelona. Not sure yet how I plan to pay for this, but as with all matters of finance, I intend to address that concern when I get to it.)

In other news, a couple of colleagues and I wiped the dust of the office from our feet for half an hour today and wandered down to the Tate Modern to cock an eye or two at Doris Salcedo's Shibboleth installation. For those who aren't as cultured as myself, this is it - http://www.tate.org.uk/modern/exhibitions/dorissalcedo/default.shtm . Yes, that's right, it's a crack in the ground, albeit an unusually sizeable one. Expecting my usual levels of cynicism to have gauged the situation correctly, I found myself pleasantly surprised at how engaging a crack in the ground can be. For the people who have reportedly fallen into it (http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/7037536.stm) I have little or no sympathy. I mean, if you trek out to a gallery for the express purpose of looking at a crack in the ground, you should at least have the good sense not to fall into said crack. (Well here I am, all set to look at a whacking great big crack; hang on, I've tripped on this giant bloody crack - who put that there?)

(Now, since I've used it so many times in that last paragraph, the word crack has lost all meaning. Crack? Crack! Crack. Crack...)

Finally, after years of swinging between political apathy and rage, I have found myself interested in the US elections and have been keeping reasonably well-informed about the race for the Democratic candidacy (if that is indeed a word). The mud-slinging has begun and I am finding it all quite diverting. The thought, however, that my horse might not win does warrant a shudder or two.

The threat of a visit from Guri (and the amount of energy that requires) looms darkly on the horizon. Have tried not to succumb to its evil influence but no doubt when Friday arrives I will be as dust beneath the wheels of Fate and powerless to resist.

*For those who don't know, in London's public transport circles it is de rigeur to offer your seat to those more in need of it, such as older folks, disabled folks and pregnant ladies.