Well, I’ve been a moody little shit this week. The Darkness is getting to me again. Going to work in the dark, getting home in the dark. Etcetera, etcetera. Then I got into a huff at work this morning because I had to put up the Christmas decorations, and they were in the same jingle jangle tangled state I’d left them in last Christmas, when I’d once again stuffed them into the box in a huff because I’d been convinced Gareth wouldn’t propose and I’d be deported from the UK and definitely not be around the next Christmas and some other Antipodean temp would have to deal with them. Ha!
Putting up the decs at work contains none of the joy of putting up the decs at home. There’s no nostalgic crowing over heirloom ornaments or fighting over who gets to put the star on top of the tree. There’s not even anyone to fight with, because you have sole decorating duties. And there’s no tree, unless you count the plastic plants. There’s just a pile of tinsel bought at Safeway ten years ago, choked with ancient lumps of cellotape.
After I half heartedly threw Christmas cheer over all the cubicles I asked one of the managers could I take the afternoon off.
“Why?” he asked. “Is it because you’re cranky?”
“On you go then.”
I really love the guys I work with. They are gems.
So I stomped off at lunch time, stopping at the gym to do a Body Pump class in the hope of producing some happy chemicals. Then I came home, did the dishes, then decided to go back out and take a photo of the wintry landscape for you, in order to illustrate my shitty mood. By the time I got beanied and gloved up it was too dark to get a decent shot. Instead I am going to post a mediocre blog entry, and by the time it’s finished I will have snapped out of my sulk and be sane again, so I’ll scurry off to watch Ready Steady Cook.
During my first Scottish winter I began to notice all these lost gloves in the streets of Edinburgh. Some on footpaths, some on stone walls, some impaled on fence posts, some stuck up trees, some floating down the canal, some caked with spew. I don’t know how so many people come to lose just one glove. I started taking photos of them and had this brilliant idea that I would create a photo gallery called Abandoned Gloves of Scotland and put it on the internet. But once it got to the next winter I realised what a crap idea it was, because 95% of the gloves are black and 95% of them are found upon grey backgrounds (pavement, road, cobblestones) which makes for really shithouse photos. Och well.
Dunvegan, Isle of Skye, April 2004.
The only non-black glove with a non-grey backdrop. But still crap!