A fool in Wales...

Yes I had a few days in Wales, well, one long day really, each day blending into the next with a greyness that only the dampness of a new year without cold, crisp air can bring. Foggy minded time. Not quite real. A crossing from one year into the next with hardly any fuss at all.

Of course as some of you might have guessed, through my own optimistic stupidity, Christmas didn’t go quite as we wished for despite all the planning, reassurances and last minute effort. We almost made it. But Boxing Day erupted into the farce that always threatens; probably because I should have known better than to try given the unpredictable predictability of the same old same old. To be honest the repetition of it all, the ever-present underlying storm, makes me tired to the bones - too much Jeremy Kyle I guess.

And of course I should have realised given that the lottery balls are weighted, Deal or No Deal is fixed, back then was a different time so seventies paedophilia doesn’t count, and instructions must always be followed. Just what did I expect? After all, Jean Charles de Menezes deserved to be shot by the police; only a guilty man runs from men wearing jeans and T shirts and pointing guns at him on the tube.

Disappointed? Yes, but mainly with myself. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. But fool me over and over and over again…

Anyway, after that, Wales was a welcome break. Not that we did much. A walk on the beach on that one fine afternoon, some long sleeps, a drink or two with friends; but no dark cloud over us other than the ones in the sky above our heads. No storms. Just directionless drifting. No shouting. Just a quiet time. As midnight came and passed I didn’t make any formal resolutions, but a lot of things flashed through my mind and in some cases stuck. I still don’t have a plan for this year, any more than I had a plan for last year. As I’ve learnt to my cost, planning isn’t all it is cracked up to be.