Sunday, November 30, 2008

Home comforts

A short mulling of a blog update. Last night I had a pretty awful dream, in that it was totally non-enjoyable in a bleak, depressing way rather than being a straight-forward, put-it-behind-you nightmare. One that had life-affirming threats in it and threw up hard-hitting facts of life in the aftermath that stayed with me for the rest of the day. It isn't important, the detail to it. But it was more than a little reassuring to wake from it, in a different bed to usual, but a bed that is one I gratefully still call my own. This weekend sees me back at home for a weekend with the family, and a timely reminder of things that are important to me that don't revolve around what I do in Bournemouth.

For instance, who else is going to make me an ad-hoc fisherman's pie for dinner on a saturday? Who else would drive me to Brighton on a miserably grey afternoon for the sole purpose (as it turned out) of pissing about on guitar effects for a while, and then returning home again? Who else would I allow to sip - copious sips, bro - my paid for pint without so much as an eyebrow raise?

Despite it being that I do not see my family as often as I should, they still have without doubt the overuling bearing on my life, and like to admit it or not, I on theirs. Even if it is not day-to-day, it is part and parcel, inescapable. And it was nice to come home to surroundings that reminded me strongly of this, and clearly had a big impact sub-consciously with that goddamn dream. It's easy to say, but comforting in the extreme to feel, that outside of the self-centred bubble of my personal daily life is the continued, sometimes invisible, sometimes overlooked but never forgotten, love and support of family.

It seems a moot point to make, especially as Christmas time approaches, but I often curse myself for not showing enough gratitude for it. This isn't going to make up for that but might hopefully cause a similar reaction for anyone else who sometimes takes a few things in life a bit for granted.

(In Charlie Brooker style) This week, Tim Miller: joined Twitter about 50 years too late, and came within £7 of maxing his overdraft (not just the interest-free bit, but the extra on top of that).