4 Jan 2015

end of the roll, end of the year

This past Christmas was spent with my mum, by the sea. It was all gentle wintery walks and scones and red wine, but somehow I missed the usual chaos and large family arguments that keep us all low-key pissed off for most of January. Still, it doesn't really have to be Christmas for that.


I spotted these weird Father Christmas hands when I was walking along the seafront the other day. From my side of the wall I could only imagine two possibilities: 1) that it was just a pair of disembodied rubber hands wearing fur-trimmed sleeves, or 2) a whole Santa propped up with his face against the wall and his arms in the air as though he were about to be executed. Either option seems a strange choice as far as yuletide decorations go.












Another year, another twelve months all full of days. 2014 was the year my hamster died, my sister got engaged, and I spent a lot of time on trains, as usual. There was some other stuff too: I lived in Spain for five months, moved back to Edinburgh, miraculously made it through the first semester of my last year with minimal catastrophe. I saw some things with my eyes; heard some things through my ears. There was weather. Yep, quite a year.

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