PETROL CAP BEE

I got really grumpy yesterday because something silly had gone wrong. The petrol cap on the car is jammed and won’t open. Not the screw cap, I mean the door that flaps out. We’re stuck on half a tank.

I was so cross. I think mostly because it’s such a ridiculous thing to go wrong. Had the clutch failed or the brakes stopped working, I would have been less annoyed. Somehow this little inconvenience was massively irritating in a way that I just couldn’t quite believe.

It’s a good reminder about my attitudes. I really do think I need a softer heart, instead of getting all steamed-up about the tiny things. I’ve seen it so many times now - someone gets a bee in the bonnet, frustration builds like a storm cloud, then - pop - a relationship bubble bursts. Someone tries to be kind, or honest, or just right, and it’s too much. A ham-fisted comment, a barbed response, a flash of eyes and a friendship crumbles. I sometimes think these are the moments when I ought to guard my heart the most carefully.

Anyway, the petrol cap thing is annoying. Hopefully the garage will fix it; they say they can, they just have to work out when. Meanwhile we’re on emergency trips only to preserve our half-tank.

Bees are often silly things. Bonnets too, now that I think about it. Yet at the time, they’re all consuming. In fact, sometimes I think relationships fall apart for no good reason at all - just a silliness you can barely remember. Yet there you are.

Sammy takes it all in her stride when I get grumpy like that. She has a unique ability to cheer me up. We were back on track before we got home from the petrol station, and I was listing things I was grateful for. I do wish I were more chilled-out when things go wrong though - seems like a kind of super-power to me. For now, all I can ask is for a heart that’s soft, teachable and quick to forgive. I’ll settle for that.

LIFE UNGAMIFIES THE ADVENT CALENDAR

Finally finished opening my advent calendar. The last window was a chocolate snowman, which, I think, is an anticlimax.

Door 24 was always the big one - you know, baby Jesus in the manger, shepherds and angels gathering round the glowing cradle! These days, you’re lucky to even see a real snowman at Christmas.

Anyway. I know what you’re thinking, and, yes, Sammy asked the same question. The use-by-date is July 11th. So, even though I’m a bit slow at the Christmas admin (to say the least) I am ahead of the natural deterioration path of the chocolate.

I just kept forgetting about it. It was right there by the bed and I just went right on with life.

Christmas came and went, and every now and again I’d open a window and chomp a little snowflake or candle, or mysterious thing that might have been a sleigh but upside down could easily have been a stocking.

You probably won’t be surprised to know that I did this in order. I mean what kind of person wouldn’t?

Anyway, it has made me wonder what the point was. Clearly I hadn’t taken it very seriously if I’d let advent stretch over four months. Do we really need advent calendars? I mean, they’re supposed to be so exciting in December that you race to the choc, rip open the window and wolf it down before breakfast. I hate to say it, but I don’t think they’re designed for grown-ups.

Sometime in late November, Sammy will disagree with me about this, I have no doubt. Additionally, I will almost certainly relent and we’ll end up with an advent calendar each.

I feel like there are deeper points to make about growing up, and how an activity can do quickly go from being a joy to being just another bit of admin. It’s like life ungamifies everything.

But I can’t be bothered to go into the depths of it, trying to sound smart by explaining everything you all instinctively know already. I even feel like I ought to make a humorous comparison between all this and the fact that I have work to do. You’re probably expecting that. Well quite.

THE RESOLUTE DESK

I feel as though if someone said I could spend a day making a spreadsheet of all the books in the house, I'd light up like a candle. I'd properly love that as a Saturday activity - all our books spread out, piled up, all over the house, in anticipation of beautiful organisation, and ultimately ready for re-filing, gifting, or the retirement of the charity shop.

But imagine the spreadsheet! Title, author, category! Date of publication! Number of pages! No, of course not number of pages - that's mad, but I love the idea of being able to calculate some stats with the data. Oh the formulas I could use! And the pie charts!

We're not doing that. We're moving the kitchen around so we can fit in a desk we're inheriting. I'm calling it the resolute desk - not because it's similar to the one in the Oval Office, but because it's sharpened our resolve to get the kitchen tidy. And I know what you're thinking - but honestly the kitchen is the only place the resolute desk will go, so for now, that is where it's ending up.

Above it there's a picture on the wall that was given to us as a wedding present. It features two felt bees approaching a lovely flower from different directions. I'm pretty sure it was a prophetic gift, though I'm not certain the person who gave it to us was aware of it. There you are though - prophecy works in different layers. And on this layer, we're definitely two bumblebees fluttering around the kitchen, looking at the same problem from two totally different angles.

Anyway, the resolute desk is on the way and I guess someday I might just be able to spend a lovely Saturday sitting at it, laptop cradled open, cataloguing all my books. You never know.

BUS, TRAIN, CANAL

It was brighter this morning than it has been. Pale orange above the trees, street lamps flickering off and the gradual fade from violet to blue as the sun came up. As ever, the bus rattled its way through the traffic lights and streets of waking houses. Then the busy railway station gave way to a warm, plasma-lit train carriage that sped through the morning.

I’ve been wondering whether the commute to and from Oxford might be the best bit of coming here. That’s mad, isn’t it? The travel is supposed to be the inconvenient nuisance you have to put up with in order to get from A to B, not the reason you do it. And yet, I really love the space it offers me. I drift between the sidings and hedgerows. I spin into dreams as bridges and towns and telegraph poles go by. I don’t have to be me, at least for a little while.

I almost took the bus from the station this morning, but I convinced myself to walk the canal. It wasn’t raining, it wasn’t icy cold. And so I did. Headphones in, audiobook on, rucksack bobbing. One foot in front of the author for Mr Anonymous in Jericho. It’s almost a disappointment when the office appears and I fish my pass out of my pocket.

Lots of people in today. I’ve taken to listening to a white noise playlist on days like these, just so I don’t get distracted by conversations and yes, the radio. The irony of coming in to be around people and then  literally disconnecting myself from them isn’t lost on me. I’m a bucketload of paradoxes sometimes.

In an hour or so, I’ll skip out and walk back too. Same route - canal, train, bus. Loving every minute of the freedom of it. I suppose it’s okay to love opposite things all at once? I love being at home, and I love the in-between places. I love the company of colleagues, and I love having the option of switching them off while I concentrate. I love climbing aboard a train and I love getting off it.

It will be dark when I disembark from the 33 bus. That’s okay. The warm lights of our house will guide me home.

CLOUDS OF SILVER

The skies were phenomenal today. At one point, silver clouds rose majestically across the sun, and wisps of purple caught the wind, high in their orbit, like sails blustering along on a magnificent ocean.

I stood and watched in the park.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the past recently. I suppose the fragility of life does that to you. Then there’s the terrible situation in the Middle East and the uncertainty it brings to all our futures. The silver-skied past seems much more appealing.

Yet deep within, I don’t think I can escape the need to feel alive. There’s such a beautiful world out there  beyond my desk and my computer. I wish I could describe it, explore it, find wonder and freedom again. I used to say I’d like to make music for my job, or perhaps be left alone to write novels that make people laugh. But I wonder really whether my dream job would actually be as a travel writer - adventuring and reporting on strange and dangerous tides, windswept mountain peaks, and crowded markets.

I can’t do that job though.

For one thing, those people aren’t called travel writers anymore; they’re influencers. And they don’t write anywhere near as much as they film and grin and pose. And that cannot be me.

For seconds, the world is messy these days. It’s pimpled with hot spots. Danger seems to fall through the atmosphere, and I am a man with knees, a digestive system, and most importantly, a wife who won’t travel. And that’s all okay! We are allotted that which we are allotted - a thought that I repeated to myself as I walked back home from the park.

Yet perhaps there are tweaks we can make. Perhaps there’s hope for the adventurous, restless types stuck in a world of computers?

In unrelated, yet strangely connected news, I think I’m hitting yet another inflection point with social media. It really does feel as though the world was far nicer without it.

Sigh. There I go again, staring at the silver clouds looking for the past. It won’t do, Matt. It won’t do.