Notes from the bunker

I'm still dusting off the debris of the last few months.

It is late and wine has been consumed, not always a recipe for good blogging, however I am in love with the genre again, especially as it has now been overtaken by about twelve other developments in the great race to remain up to date.

Here are a few of the things that have been rolling about in my mind.

What is the Pope up to?

How long will the coalition government last?

Will the Liberal Democrats take the kicking they deserve at the next election?

Have I returned all those library books?

Should I feel guilty about secretly feeling good about demonstrators smashing up Tory party HQ? (OF COURSE, I'm not condoning dropping fire extinguishers from tall buildings)

What's more important? Washing or sleep?

Why am I not missing TV?

The cloth of kings

I'm slowly emerging from the bunker.
The bunker that was suddenly becoming the father of three.
The bunker that was moving house and saying goodbye to the neighbour from hell.
The bunker that is work.
The bunker that is life at the start of the twenty first century.

2011 will be a big year for corduroy. At a rough guess there will be at least four official days of cord.

1/1/11
11/1/11
1/11/11
11/11/11

That last one will be the biggie. It only comes along once in 100 years. Trouble is, one always has to be a bit respectful of Armistice day, that's why I'm excited about the other three.