I like to send my favourite author (Harper Lee) a Christmas card and a letter every year. It's not so much a tradition as a habit; I don't expect a reply of any kind, but I feel it's only proper to send someone a card if you do think so highly of them. In this day and age where we think we know so much about celebrities because of all the inane internet gossip that floats around our heads. We are overly familiar with those people we do not know; if I wanted to I could go and find measurements of every actress I admire on screen, I could list a famous actors allergies and I could most certainly find an unladylike photo of Lindsey Lohan getting out of a car. So with that in mind, I seal up the letter to the stranger living thousands of miles aware because I love a couple of hundred pages she wrote once.

H. birthday.

Once upon a time, in nowhere very specific, a man sat and ate his ice cream in the park. The rain slapped his bald head and his fingers, blue at the tip held on a little too tightly to the cone. No one played in the park, no one walked their dog and no joggers braved the conditions- especially at 10PM on a Monday night. The only person near was the ice cream van driver. Who sat in his cabbie reading a three week old paper- waiting for the old man to finish his dessert and come back and buy some more cones to feed the ducks on the other side of the park. He was cold and tired and was looking forward to getting home to his warm bed. He didn't mind waiting though- the old man was a harmless sort and was always pleasant. As the rain stopped and the moon gave more light it was easy to see the two in their separate patches, the only sound was the radio in the van playing an old tune about a girl who still couldn't decide if she loved her current or ex lover. The man on the bench finished his ice cream, wiped his hands and popped the napkin in the bin beside him, he made his way to the van and bought his customary three cones, nodding he made his way to the pond. "Sorry for asking, and I hope you don't mind sir, but why do you sit on that bench in the cold and wet weather eating ice cream of all things? Wouldn't you prefer to be at home?" The old man stood for a moment and gave a rueful smile; "Ah, but then I can't talk to my ducks when no one else is around- see how they are getting on without getting in the way of all the families that come by during the day to give them the scraps of their dinners". The van driver was unconvinced but did not want to seem rude so he wished the older gentleman a good night and went to close his door. The old man started to walk back to the van, "You see, I've always come here at this time of night, first with my parents when it was just a pond and the surrounding houses still existed, then with my own children when it was a meadow of grass where they could play, and when they outgrew it my wife and I came here to relax and watch the world. Everything has changed in this place but those ducks and my visits, so don't worry about me- I'm so old no one would think to bother with an old man and a very empty wallet", laughing he turned and went on his way. The van driver got behind the wheel and rubbed his hands together to fight the numbness of his fingers- starting his engine he headed for home. As he left the park he could see the man in his rear view mirror, crouching down and feeding the ducks. He would stay there and watch the animals eat and then make his way back to wherever he came from.

enLIGHTening.... geddit? lights.

I had a long conversation with my two younger brothers today. The youngest of the two- the "baby" of the family decided that we should play the "how well do we know each other game"- it went well, there was no awkward moment and definitely no tears, only one punch was thrown and to be fair- I was asking for it. The second brother, who is closer in age to me, is about to become a father for the first time. He works everyday and spends his evenings with his girlfriend as they get ready for their son or daughter. We discussed the excitement of what is about to happen and the massive changes that will take place in their lives and in everyones who will get to know and love this new little person. Both conversations were important, both very valid. I learnt just as much from the first as I did in the second. It's an amazing thing to me, it's so important to talk to people that I forget that even if I am not at home, I can pick up the phone and talk to them and check in. Also- my youngest brother likes Nickleback.... and that devastation will take months to get over.

Thus with some Cif... he dies.

I had an issue with a blue bottle that seemed to be stalking me in my own home... it buzzed form room to room, taunting me with its very existence. Until I was preparing myself for bed one evening.

Bottle neck (naming it in an affectionate light wasn't a priority for me), had made his way into the bathroom while I was brushing my teeth, I could hear him behind me as I brushed my teeth and I could see him flying around with abandonment in my mirror. I decided I had had enough- I had also watched The Birds recently and find that I have trust issues with all things that swarm around the head area...

I picked up the Cif and preceded to attack.

This didn't go according to plan. In fact unmitigated disaster would be a far kinder description for the situation that I was dealing with. the bathroom, all lino, tiled and white became a hazard as I forgot about the simple fact that gravity exists and if I am to spray a cleaning agent into the atmosphere it must land somewhere.

And land it did.

On the floor, the toilet, sink, the washing, me....

I began to sweat (if my mother were here, she would tell me that people perspire and horses sweat- but I recollect thinking "giddy up" at one point, so I knew I was safe with my description)... the floor glistened, I slipped and Bottle neck old boy seemed to derive power from the putrid chemicals in the air.

But then he made a tactical error. He landed.

and BAM.

Shoe to the body.

I flushed him.

After checking for a pulse.

I wanted it to be as humane as possible.

My my my

I love this time of year. There is nothing nicer than crisp weather, crunchy leaves and having to wear a hat to cover my ears.

I walked around the city yesterday for a bit and I didn't even mind that other people were doing the same thing. It's like the cold air cast a non cynical spell on me. It's not a spell that will last long mind, but it exists now and that is all that matters.

All fairytales need a good old fashion villain

I think Arthur Conan Doyle got Moriarty to say that once...

mirror, mirror

The large room was always filthy, the furniture covered in dirty green sheets and the curtains so thick with dust the colour was no longer discernible to the naked eye.

But the mirror stood proud and golden in the middle of the neglected and musky floor, tilted up right like a robin with a bursting chest of pride it waiting for a visitor. Someone to stare and worship, chew lip and worry about what they see in the clear glass of truth.

The days whirled by and the room got heavy with age. The light outside forgot to hit the windows and let the rest of the house know what time it had. The ceiling groaned as the children skipped and played above and the outside corridor forgot to make room for a door.

A door that had the skin of the wall swallow it whole. Suck it out of existence. it was no longer a fixture. It was a place in another world. A world with no one, a place with no beauty.

But a mirror to watch it all pass by forgotten.