Monday, December 14, 2015
Having a while ago reached my unambitious plateau and curled up like a contented cat only occasionally awakened by infuriating, unnecessary noise, I haven't given a real update on my life since the last time I moved into a new place a year and a half ago. I haven't really done anything since. Well, there was that time I got married, I suppose.
The most exciting thing to happen to me recently was when I over-enthusiastically defrosted the fridge-freezer with a knife, let out the refrigerant gas and worried for a few seconds that I might be about to die in an embarrassingly stupid way (not yet). It's alright, we were about to move out anyway. Deposit refunds are for squares.
I probably wouldn't have bothered taking note of this latest flat - sorry, apartelle, get it right (like that's a word) - except that it will hopefully-definitely be the last in an undistinguished line of temporary accommodations I've called home since leaving the family nest 11 years ago, from Room 8 of Bowland Hall through various passive-aggressive communal flats, bed-bug-infested dorms, claustrophobic hotel cupboards and tyrannically regulated condos.
Beyond the awe-inspiring views, this air-conditioned cube seems like a peaceful enough shelter to make it through another Filipino Christmas, which has been going on since September and is fast approaching its unbearable crescendo. I could do without the racist system of apartelle that means my wife and I have to live in separate buildings, but it's only for a couple of months until our house is finished. And this is about as close as we can get without going for the Alan Partridge static home option.
I'm told it's coming along nicely, but I haven't visited the site personally, since I don't want to turn the suspicion of foreign investment into hard evidence and risk inflated (i.e. more reasonable) prices. My wife's taken photos to chart the construction's progress, I'll post them when it's over and we can look at them together. What could possibly go wrong?
Saturday, December 12, 2015
I read quite a lot of books this year. Here's probably what I thought about them, if we're going to pretend I'm capable of mentally juggling hundreds of books read over the course of a year in various moods and states of distraction and to put those into some kind of definitive ranking to find the most alright read of the year.
I've tried, anyway.
Thursday, December 10, 2015
That'll do, maniac, that'll do. I read the equivalent of a book a day in 2015, which in reality was nothing like that. There were times I delighted in watching the flimsy titles speed past, other times I sabotaged myself with a long and arduous tome in failed attempts to snap myself out of it.
It was mostly good. Well, it was alright. Next year I'll write a book a day, it's only fair. Tedious stats coming soon.