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A calm moment

It's New Year's Eve; I'm alone. Outside the wind is screaming, carrying rain by the bucket load.

Inside is calm, completely free of worry, a puzzle.

Our social infrastructure encourages us to think it's sad for people to be alone at this time of year. Trust me here though. In this corner and on this day, alone is simply the most glorious moment of peace.

This is my moment. I get to spend this one how I like. Well, I choose to spend this moment wondering - what you're up to.

If you've ever blogged and you've stumbled on an odd character who goes by the name of Bunnyman then there's one certainty I can offer. I'm raising my glass (okay, beer bottle) to you right now.

I hope you find something of value in the coming year.

Tomorrow, my attendance will be needed, chaos will sweep me away first in body, then in mind, but ... don't doubt that I'll be back sometime in 2007. After all, I have to examine my sanity somewhere.

Meanwhile, take good care of yourselves, wherever you are.

x.

Listening to: Philip Glass, music from The Hours

The Hours

I know it's New Year's Eve, but I gotta post this.

"To look life in the face, always to look life in the face and to know it for what it is. At last, to know it, to love it, for what it is and then to put it away."  film quote

BBC2 has just shown the film, The Hours which I first saw back in 2003. I didn't have a blog then so I couldn't reflect on it ...

On the surface this is a film about the writer, Virginia Woolf and her fight against mental illness and depression; it's about sexuality and conformity explored in the lives of three women. But on another level it's about one character's realisation that her long years of blossoming happiness were merely a euphemism for one wonderful but finite moment in time; it exposes the superficial habits we construct to act out society's stereotypes; and it shows the intense, flawed and lonely people that we actually are.

Woolf faces the threat of her own extinction through madness. A mother abandons her children to leave an American Dream, one that is incapable of recognising her sexuality. A hostess struggles to confront her superficial life, as she sees the only meaning she's known, slipping away.

I can think of no other film that presents society's triviality in such bleak contrast to the intensity of our lives.

I love:

• that Nicole Kidman is virtually unrecognisable
• Philip Glass' mesmerising and hypnotic scoring of the soundtrack
• that everyone in this film acts
• the way these three separate, yet so directly connected lives intertwine
• that at least one reviewer really hates this film

Perhaps there can be no beauty in the absence of death? Perhaps this is a necessary fate, that those who are unable to conform must sacrifice themselves to our collective triviality?

"It's not catastrophes, murders, deaths, diseases, that age and kill us; it's the way people look and laugh, and run up the steps of omnibuses."  Virginia Woolf

Neither the nut loaf nor the napkin

Well, I hope everyone made it through December.

I went through to Leaf's place last Saturday, dropping by the supermarkets on the way to buy the supplies for Monday's Christmas Dinner. Preparation and pre-cooking were all done on Sunday to avoid a mad rush in her small kitchen on Christmas day.

Leaf's large flat was a renovation when she bought it well over a year ago and she's been redecorating constantly since then. We had to serve dinner in a room where the walls and ceiling are stripped bare, waiting for the plasterer, so we spent most of Christmas morning trying to make the place presentable. She laid down some rugs for the floor while I mounted a selection of oil paintings, watercolours and printed artwork on the walls. We dragged in a huge wood and stained glass cupboard to occupy one particularly bare corner, then she found a set of lanterns that she'd bought in Brighton so I used adhesive strips to hook these to the wall. Although the room was quite dark, candles on the tables and in shelving recesses provided just enough light without revealing too many wall or ceiling cracks. In the end the whole thing had the look and feel of a rustic Italian farmhouse.

During the morning we received reports of minor injuries, illnesses and travelling problems but a very manageable seventeen turned up for a dinner menu of festive fish pie and trimmings. This rebellion against the traditional Christmas fare seemed to go down quite well with her family and of course, the great advantage of fish is that the supermarket's are full of it at this time of year and it's very easy to cook. Rice, couscous and vegetable dishes alongside a couple of poached salmon six pounders helped everyone fill in the gaps and provided nibbles for the late arrivals. Everything was eaten and the emergency sausage rolls, chicken pieces, cheeses and nibbles weren't even needed. Most importantly, Leaf - not an easy person to please - seemed happy enough.

It would appear that my reputation as a chocoholic may have leaked out - click the parcel to see what three young persons heaved half way across the country and up three flights of stairs to present to me.

Quite an honour really.

I'm not at my most upbeat right now but I do wish everyone well, and I sure wish I could hug and squeeze every blogger I know. You each have my very genuine thanks for helping me reach the end of the year intact - and that means all of you, even the quiet ones out there. Take care.

Listening to: Cocteau Twins, "Persephone"
Hoping: you're all alive and kicking.

Dear Santa's Helper

Do you think Father Christmas keeps up with a changing world? I wonder if he employs lots of little blog readers to sit and chatter away happily while reading all the world's blogs, looking for prezzie requests?

Dear Santa's helper,

Thank you for coming to read my blog. I hope you're tucked in all snug and warm up there in Lapland under the northern lights. Would you please be kind enough to pass my Christmas list onto Santa?

A box of chocolate flavoured tea bags
A small teapot
A teacup
A bunnygirl

Thank you,
Bunnyman

Supermarket Relativism

Popped to the supermarket last night for a few top-up supplies. You'd think we were expecting a nuclear war the shelves are so empty. Shoppers are panic buying and stocking up their Christmas bunkers. My well trodden route past the fish counter and bakery led me to a bread aisle lined with barren shelves. I struck lucky in the mad rush for the last surviving loaf, a shrunken oat-bread affair almost small enough to swallow in one huge bite; then almost missed out on my bag of salad leaves, having to grab for the second last pack.

There are benefits at this time of year mind you - two whole aisles full of chocolate goodies.

Counting 15 things in my basket, a cold hearted assistant rejected me from the "10 items or less" express check out queue, sending me off to stand behind trolleys stacked as high as miniature mountains. Quite mean, don't you think? Feeling quite vengeful, I broke open a pack of Kit-Kats and munched off the minutes while checking my list of milk, bread, yoghurt, leaves and chocolate. I felt like a little basket of annoyance, wedged between families busily unloading supplies.

Now you may have counted my listed basket contents and be wondering how it could total 15 items. Well you see, with two aisles of choccy goodies I couldn't stop at just one pack of Kit-Kats now could I?

---

The next few days will likely be fraught so I'm not sure how much posting will be done. I will try to report on the Christmas day catering challenge though.

---

Meanwhile my head has been buzzing, wound up so tight it feels ready to explode. With thoughts of what to cook, you ask? Where to buy the last few missing gifts?
No.
I've been frantically wrestling with an internal debate involving individual rights, moral relativism and whether society has a moral obligation to legitimize sex as a marketable service. This isn't in response to the recent murders of five women in Suffolk, but is something I've been mulling for a while. In fact since reading this item which presents one argument for sex working.

You know, this Christmas there's an urge to go celebrate one final time with some friendly lemmings.

Listening to: incessant storms of static inside my head.

Threatening the Livelihood of Captive Turkeys

The Goldfish recently posted on one aspect of ethical eating. I was going to leave this as a comment but then decided there was sufficient content to possibly have one or two others accompany me in my state of dietary confusion.

With the option of meat, veganism, vegetarianism, probably as many varieties of these are there are seeds in a pumpkin, and religious observance, choices can be bewildering. I cannot and would not judge anyone else's stance on the morality of their diet. We should be free to make our own choices. For myself, I eat fish (cough, of course not Goldfish, gulp) and almost certainly products made with animal derivatives but I don't eat meat directly. You could say I'm a non-Goldfish, fish eating partial vegetarian.

Perhaps because of the lack of certain key vitamins I'm not always cogent enough to provide an argument on this subject but here are my thoughts anyhow.

As an intelligent, responsible and rational thinking human (these qualities are actually under considerable dispute in my case), I should be able to come to some justifiable conclusion about what I eat, and my fundamental belief is that I must do so and not remain ambivalent. That's not to say I can't change my mind, but there should be a reasoned argument for doing so.

It is therefore slightly galling that my best attempt relies on being comfortable with my own sense of guilt. However in the absence of any actual knowledge about how animals think or experience pain and distress, it's the best I can do.

I eat the flesh of those creatures I can bring myself to kill personally. I took myself out one day and caught, killed and eat fish, therefore although the rationale is somewhat shaky, I do feel reasonably comfortable with the consequence of eating fish. Clearly I can't speak for the scaly ones themselves. I have not been able to bring myself to do this with any other creature, so I don't eat other creatures. That's about it in a baking dish.

Of course, the major failing here is that I don't personally catch all the fish I eat. I caught fish once (albeit quite a few on that occasion) to prove to myself that I could do it, but now, like most other people, I buy fish, neatly killed by someone else, over the counter. I do feel though, that I could go out and kill a fish tomorrow were it necessary. I don't know that I could do this to a chicken, lamb, pig, cow or even mouse. No need to let you know my stance on humans because I don't much fancy the taste.

So what happens when I am invited as a guest to someone else's dinner party? (yes that's can be taken as a hint!!) Well I don't like to burden others with the consequences of my own dilemmas. We have to realise the world isn't black and white and that sometimes we have to do the best we can in each differing circumstance. So when others cook for me, I eat what they eat, including meat (but no snails, euugh!). When I cook for others, they get fish pie or nut loaf or a napkin forcibly inserted down the gullet, depending on preference. This is excepting the ongoing dilemma of the 26 meat eaters I'm supposed to be catering for this Christmas. I don't have 26 napkins you see.

Now I could extend this to putting myself in the shoes (or scales) of a fish and ask myself whether I'd prefer to be killed and eaten by some vast automated process where my individual opportunity to look my killer in the eye has been denied; or whether I'd prefer to be individually speared, knowing that my killer would be my eater. This argument would however be anthropomorphic (I got to use that word too) and unsound. I can have no idea how an anchovy, tuna or even chicken might judge it's own death. Of course, for any creature death by eating is probably not a desirable option, however millions of years of natural selection have made this outcome likely for many organisms on the planet.

So after all that, what can you conclude? Probably that I am at least as mixed up as many others on this issue. But I have at least satisfied my own need to have decided just what flavour of confusion to adopt.

Listening to: NOFX, "Clams Have Feelings Too"  (a lie, I'm clueless about NOFX)
Hoping: you enjoy your next turkey, smoked salmon, or nut loaf (but not snail, euugh!)

Deader than I've ever been before

Leaf is now working in a different country - albeit a mere half-hour flight away. She only found out last week. "We've deleted your job but don't worry, you can have this new one. It's just across that little sea over there. Get packing, you start Monday."

I had no idea these things could happen so quickly and neither had she, but there isn't much point in kicking up a stink because she's actually a bit better off now. Not so much financially as for her state of mind. She's working in a buzzing capital city full of night-life, bright lights and colourful accents; a real change from the dour, grey excuse of a capital city that so depressed her before.

So that's all been a bit of a shock. She was relieved when I called her yesterday evening because she hadn't been able to phone home - forgetting to preface her numbers with the 44 international dial code for the UK, silly thing.

I wanted to explain about my last minute booking, a Christmas experience on the Orient Express ... which meant of course that I couldn't cook Christmas dinner for her entourage of 26. Unfortunately I'm not a very good liar, "Bunnyman, if you don't turn up to cook, you'll be deader than you've ever been before."

?deader than before? Hmm, golly, that's a threat to get you wondering, isn't it? Just how many forms of death are there? Have I already been dead and not realised? What a puzzle.

Anyway my attempt to get out of Christmas day has so far failed miserably. I wonder whether the local chemist would consider selling me a highly contagious disease?

Listening to: Pink Floyd, "On the Run"
Looking for: well pretty much any old excuse now. Any ideas?

Golden Oldies Against Trident

In the company of a dozen other mature Leicestershire residents, 94 year old Alice Beer has made the news by joining more than 60 people to demonstrate against the Government's decision to continue with Trident, the UK's submarine-based Nuclear Deterrent. Alice and her group of GOATs (Golden Oldies Against Trident) have joined the Faslane 365 non-violent protest for the weekend, just outside Helensburgh. Alice makes pottery, writes poetry and has seen through two World Wars. In Vienna during the 1930's, she campaigned against the rise of fascism.

Unfortunately there's another disconcerting news item from yesterday - 20 anti-nuclear protesters from Leicestershire arrested. It seems the UK government doesn't care much for non-violent protest. I hope Alice wasn't among those arrested.

Listening to: Suzanne Vega, "Left of Center"

A dying movement?

-- Edit: this entry was a bit too long so I've split it into three separate posts, sorry for any confusion --

According to a BBC News article Blogging is set to peak next year and 200 million people have already stopped updating their blogs.

"Those who loved blogging were committed to keeping it up, while others had become bored and moved on ..."

Perhaps then, we might soon be part of a dying movement of bored bloggers?

I must admit to finding blogging a challenge and that'll probably still be the case in 2007, but Little Stitches will still continue - even if I'm unsure where it's going to be hosted in the medium term.

Technocrati is still a puzzle - apparently it tracks more than 57 million blogs, although that doesn't include this one because I haven't listed it there yet. I have a conflict, you see, between liking the idea of increased exposure, but not wanting to be 'found' by a tiny minority of people I know personally. I'm hoping that one or two changes in circumstances might make this less of an issue next year.

On this blog's visual front, I have been wondering how many dial-up modem minutes it must take to load ten of my scribbled entries, together with background and sometimes post images. Displaying ten posts on the front page is quite useful for catching the eye of passing newcomers but I wonder if this visual paraphernalia is a headache when all you've got is a telephone line? Usually I try to provide alternate text for pictures so hopefully it should all load and still make sense for those who prefer to disable images in favour of faster downloads.

I also wonder whether anyone out there quietly smoulders about reading light text over a dark background, something I sometimes find difficulty with on other sites.

You would tell me, wouldn't you? I'll even share one of my dried dates (sorry, the larder is a bit bare today) if you tell me at least one thing that doesn't work or doesn't look right about this blog or is even downright annoying.

And no, no, that doesn't mean you can say the content is annoying, just the look ;-)

Okay, that's my blog ramble done for the day.

A book tag - something the matter with my brains

A book tag from a highly respected Goldfish

1. Take the nearest book and go to page 123.
2. Go to the fifth sentence of the page.
3. Copy down the next three sentences and tag three people.

The nearest book is a three volume set of The Complete Letters of Vincent Van Gogh with Volume III being closest. Page 123 contains a letter written by Vincent to his friend, A.H. Koning, thought to be from January, 1889, only one month after the loss of Vincent's earlobe to a razor.

"I received your postcard in the hospital at Arles, where I had been quartered following an attack of something the matter with my brains, or otherwise fever, which had nearly passed off already.

And as for the causes and consequences of said illness, I think I shall be wise to leave the solving of these problems to the fortuitous discussions of the Dutch catechists, that is to say whether I am mad or not, or whether I have been mad, and am still mad, in some imagination of a purely sculptural nature.

And if not, whether I was already mad before that time; or whether I am so at present, or shall be so in the hereafter."

If you feel mad enough, and you're not all tagged out then I'll point this at Sketches, Library Faerie (if you're looking) and RomanScandle but everyone else is welcome to join in.

Listening to: Pink Floyd, "Speak to Me", from Dark Side of The Moon
Wondering: whether I have a sculptural imagination ...