New Year, Old Habits

For those of you who are even partial acquaintances, who may have seen bits of me (in the shower or old issues of Woman's Realm), you may recall that prior to my blissful espousement (blows kisses at short suffering wife) I liked to spend the donging of Big Ben 'pon the lav. I feely admit it was a rather obvious and lazy way to display my cavalier disregard for the inexplicable excitement felt by those for the New Year. Fortunately my father-in-law has since appeared with his own proud tradition of fancy dress - inflicted cheerfully upon his family and their hangers on. Each year is themed, which allows me to attend every year as a nun, thereby creating a proud tradition of my own. Such festivities are not without a suitable level of danger - usually in the form of said father-in-law, sugar-deprived and caperng wildly as, armed with a flaming taper, he launches a small arsenal of fireworks at his wifes carefully pruned trellis, then at one or more gravid offspring (fortunately safe behind the re-inforced glass), all the while his son stands on in the costume of an officer of the NKVD.
This year it was not to be. My turkeden came home to roost - which serves me right for attempting to re-heat it and serve it up as risotto 5 days later. I was violently ill and unable to attend the annual costume party. Which had been cancelled anyway. So, alone I ushered in the New Year, my stint on the toilet now obligatory. Still, there's nothing quite so fine as playing Sid Meyer's Civilization at 3 in the morning dressed as a nun. No strides on, but I've dragged the Ancient Greeks into the Renaissance by 440 BC. Happy New Year.

On another, smaller, smaller note, how nice it is to have a Follower.
I'd all but resigned myself to becoming the destination of last resort for Eastern Europeans desperate for results from the search terms 'Marc Singer' and 'naked' (you know who you are - and you're probably using Google Translate to translate the rest of this now - I sympathise with your inevitable disappointment - but can not find my postcard of Bobby Chunka or I'd scan it in for you as a late Christmas gift). But yes - I feel like I'm a Character in the late 80s boardgame Talisman, so thank you Jez Fielder (is that a tent in the background) - your signed photograph of Simon Fay is in 'the post' (of course it isn't - I've probably lost that too. Though if anyone knows what happened to Simon Fay, last known whereabouts: Preston Tescos in 1994 - let us know. I should point out that Jez Fielder and I, like Richard Astley, are no strangers. He was the shorter of my best men at my wedding and very good he was too (reasonable rates available for wedding and Bar Mitzvahs).