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New Year’s blues

15 January 2010
Published in Attualità, Columns
by Hackney bird

dalstonsnow_courtesy_of_dominc_campbellNow that the snow is melting away and twinkling lights no longer adorn our streets, buy viagra the people outside have lost the impetus to be merry.

New Years resolutions hang over our heads as we increasingly retreat into a state of denial exacerbated by the looming January 31st tax returns deadline… “£800 all in one go? But that’s so much money!!! This year I promise I’ll put aside 20% of my profits every time I get paid…” (Yet isn’t that what we said this time last year?).

Just last week, patient I was walking up an icy Sandringham road – the last intersection before the Dalston/Stoke Newington boundary marker which is Shacklewell lane – when I spied, buy cialis about forty feet ahead of me, a man stumbling across the road in an obvious state of drunken disarray. Before I had a chance to fully take in this lonesome figure, I spied another man walk up behind him and nonchalantly kick him in ankles. The drunk stumbled but did not fall. This appeared to give displeasure to his assailant, who hung back, kicked him once more and then sped up and overtook the utterly baffled victim (who had still, impressively, managed to keep his balance). The drunk tried to regain his dignity and began to shout after the perpetrator of this meaningless attack, challenging him to come back and fight him like a man. The assailant walked on, ignoring him and causing the people on the street to think that the drunk was a loony who had no doubt inexplicably lost the plot.

A quick postscript to this story: I believe I was the only person who witnessed the incident and further down the street I happened to be walking directly behind the sauntering assailant. As the shouts of the victim finally began to fade into the distance, the brutish man decided to glance back. I caught his eye and gave him a dirty look but beyond that did not express to him my utter contempt at his desire to pick on weaker and more pathetic members of society. I doubt he even registered my look. I suppose in some way that makes me an accomplice, even though I took no pleasure from the scene. Sigh, so much for being a paladin of justice.

Construction work on my beloved place of abode is proceeding slower than expected. In a way the presence of two sofas has made living here more bearable, to the point that I sometimes think this is how the flat is supposed to look and forget about the grand plans I have for this high-ceilinged, big-windowed space.

Work was actually supposed to start today but the freeholders have been slow in approving my plans and the bamboo flooring isn’t arriving until the 20th, so it looks like I’m just going to have to sit tight a little while longer.

Luke, a good architect friend of mine, has warned me that I must be more concerned with getting out some kind of a liability insurance in case my builders were to accidentally damage some part of the building, leaving me to foot the bill. It’s good to have pessimistic friends who predict that negative things might happen, it helps keep my “oh whatever I’m sure it will all work out fine in the end” attitude in check.

At least having sofas and crockery means I can indulge in one of my favourite pastimes: cooking dinners for friends. The problem with this, is balancing this fun occupation with my otherwise constant concern of not piling on the pounds just because the temperature outside has been sub-freezing for weeks and I’m spending too much time sitting on my sofa (working that is, I don’t yet own a desk). In theory this means not, I repeat not, making super heavy pasta bakes, which contain more butter, cheese and milk than I’m sure is good for anyone and then snacking on the leftovers of this super-heavy meal for days afterwards. This of course is NOT what I did this weekend. Promise!

Oh the guilt of overindulgent eating. To prove my repentance I am heading to the gym. Now. No really.



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