I go to the Village Shop.

My new Village Shop is extremely handy and well stocked, but is situated inconveniently one hills-worth away. I haven’t got much exercise recently, so I am panting and disorientated when I arrive.

“Morning!” I say to the Village Shop Man. “It’s a lot warmer out today.”

“Morning Jonny,” replies the Village Shop Man. “Not as warm as in Hertfordshire though. Only need to glance out of your window there and you’ll get a tan.”

I am a bit puzzled by his response but do not follow it up. My attention has been taken by a headline on the paper that Richard Pryor has died. I am sad about this – he was a great comic actor, and I was a big fan of The Good Life and Ever Decreasing Circles. It turns out that he set himself on fire once, which goes to show that you never can tell. I pay for my newspaper and take my leave.

It is only later that I discover what the Village Shop Man was referring to (re Hertfordshire conversation, above) – that oil tanks have taken to blowing themselves up all on their own.

This is extremely alarming. I have one in my new back garden which coincidentally I had filled up last week (it was a regular delivery, not a panic buy at all). I am not really sure what to do. I don’t really want to get exploded and have my windows blown in and my ceiling brought down; worse, whenever there is an incident like that they force you to go to a local leisure centre. I have spent my entire life giving local leisure centres the wide berth that they require, and I don’t mean to change that now.

Modern life is so full of complications. The central heating here makes the house warm and cosy, but at times like this I long for the rustic simplicity of my own cottage with its wood fire and reassuring oak beams, plus the internet access is better. But we are in general very happy here.

I settle down with the paper for ten minutes, then put the pork on to roast.

Intermission for diversionary announcement:

‘2005 Blogged‘, the paperback blogging anthology edited by Tim is still available from that link just there (ad removed from right hand side due to 28k dial-up hell).

I didn’t say a lot about it before, basically because it hadn’t been printed so there wasn’t a hell of a lot to tell you. But also I guess I was unsure as to who to recommend it to. Now I’ve read it through a couple of times I’m clearer on that front, and a couple of people have asked my opinion, so here’s some sort of more detailed appraisal much of which has already been covered by Mike and the subsequent commenters, including Tim’s replies.

There’s some great stuff in there. Structurally it’s exactly as you’d expect a blog anthology to be. It’s all well-written. There are pieces that are funny; there are pieces that are serious. There are pieces written as satire or parody; there are pieces where you’re not sure whether they’re written as satire or parody or not. There are pieces that you find yourself nodding vigorously in agreement to; there are pieces that make you want to crawl into a hole and rock gently from side to side. There are pieces that are short and pithy; there are pieces that would have benefited from being included in their own pull-out, perhaps featuring advertising by the Samaritans. In short, style-wise there’s the full gamut.

Topics-wise, anthologies are always going to reflect the interests of their editor – I guess you could describe Tim’s sphere as ‘political argument’. Rather than ‘this is what happened to me today’, ‘political’ bloggers tend to write self-contained posts about current affairs that require no background knowledge of the writer. This is always going to be handy if ones brief is to compile a book of self-contained posts about current events aimed at readers with no background knowledge of the writer. Despite Tim’s genuine and perhaps heroic forays into the areas of blogland less familiar to him, politics is the lens through which he sees the medium (everybody has one) and it forms the soul of the book – the strand to which we return again and again. Occasionally and amusingly, political-blogger-parochialism does creep in to the annotations. “Robert Fisk of The Independent,” we’re told authoritatively, “is a favourite target for bloggers all over the Anglosphere”. Here in the Norfolk webring we talk of little else.

So the man or woman on the Clapham bendy-omnibus will find the year as described in ’2005: Blogged’ familiar but also oddly disconnected from them. It’s a world in which a piece by Polly Toynbee in The Guardian just can’t pass without analysis and dissection, but in which we didn’t actually get to win the Ashes. Football gets nine lines, winning the Olympics gets five (despite being one of the ‘major events’ on the back cover blurb); there was nothing on the telly that could be enjoyed without a political deconstruction (indeed no films were released either and there were no cultural events); Ronnie Barker’s still with us; Michael Jackson’s still prancing round Neverland without a care in the world… you get the drift. Meanwhile, the nineteen pages on the ‘ID card debate’ are detailed, informative and well-argued.

As one who regularly weeps into his ex-broadsheet newspaper at the dumbing down of Western culture, society and media, pointing out an imbalance towards serious political analysis might be a little contrary. Actually, in an odd way, relying on this political core probably makes for a more coherent and focused book – ‘reviews of the year’, being a bit of an artificial conceit, aren’t often that interesting in their own right. Therefore if there’s a problem it’s not with the product itself but with the ambition to produce a catch-all ‘this is what blogging is about’, which I’m not sure is actually possible to do. So two stars for fulfilling the mission statement, four stars for an enjoyable browse. I suspect it’s likely to put off more people than it converts; those it converts will be very converted.

A recommendation? It’s the ideal Christmas gift for your annoying brother-in-law who monopolises dinner parties with his loud and entrenched opinions. Buy him the book, log him into Blogger, point him towards that particular area of blogdom and let him get it all off his chest. As such it might be construed as a public service.

Intermission for diversionary announcement:

‘2005 Blogged‘, the paperback blogging anthology edited by Tim is still available from that link just there (ad removed from right hand side due to 28k dial-up hell).

I didn’t say a lot about it before, basically because it hadn’t been printed so there wasn’t a hell of a lot to tell you. But also I guess I was unsure as to who to recommend it to. Now I’ve read it through a couple of times I’m clearer on that front, and a couple of people have asked my opinion, so here’s some sort of more detailed appraisal much of which has already been covered by Mike and the subsequent commenters, including Tim’s replies.

There’s some great stuff in there. Structurally it’s exactly as you’d expect a blog anthology to be. It’s all well-written. There are pieces that are funny; there are pieces that are serious. There are pieces written as satire or parody; there are pieces where you’re not sure whether they’re written as satire or parody or not. There are pieces that you find yourself nodding vigorously in agreement to; there are pieces that make you want to crawl into a hole and rock gently from side to side. There are pieces that are short and pithy; there are pieces that would have benefited from being included in their own pull-out, perhaps featuring advertising by the Samaritans. In short, style-wise there’s the full gamut.

Topics-wise, anthologies are always going to reflect the interests of their editor – I guess you could describe Tim’s sphere as ‘political argument’. Rather than ‘this is what happened to me today’, ‘political’ bloggers tend to write self-contained posts about current affairs that require no background knowledge of the writer. This is always going to be handy if ones brief is to compile a book of self-contained posts about current events aimed at readers with no background knowledge of the writer. Despite Tim’s genuine and perhaps heroic forays into the areas of blogland less familiar to him, politics is the lens through which he sees the medium (everybody has one) and it forms the soul of the book – the strand to which we return again and again. Occasionally and amusingly, political-blogger-parochialism does creep in to the annotations. “Robert Fisk of The Independent,” we’re told authoritatively, “is a favourite target for bloggers all over the Anglosphere”. Here in the Norfolk webring we talk of little else.

So the man or woman on the Clapham bendy-omnibus will find the year as described in ’2005: Blogged’ familiar but also oddly disconnected from them. It’s a world in which a piece by Polly Toynbee in The Guardian just can’t pass without analysis and dissection, but in which we didn’t actually get to win the Ashes. Football gets nine lines, winning the Olympics gets five (despite being one of the ‘major events’ on the back cover blurb); there was nothing on the telly that could be enjoyed without a political deconstruction (indeed no films were released either and there were no cultural events); Ronnie Barker’s still with us; Michael Jackson’s still prancing round Neverland without a care in the world… you get the drift. Meanwhile, the nineteen pages on the ‘ID card debate’ are detailed, informative and well-argued.

As one who regularly weeps into his ex-broadsheet newspaper at the dumbing down of Western culture, society and media, pointing out an imbalance towards serious political analysis might be a little contrary. Actually, in an odd way, relying on this political core probably makes for a more coherent and focused book – ‘reviews of the year’, being a bit of an artificial conceit, aren’t often that interesting in their own right. Therefore if there’s a problem it’s not with the product itself but with the ambition to produce a catch-all ‘this is what blogging is about’, which I’m not sure is actually possible to do. So two stars for fulfilling the mission statement, four stars for an enjoyable browse. I suspect it’s likely to put off more people than it converts; those it converts will be very converted.

A recommendation? It’s the ideal Christmas gift for your annoying brother-in-law who monopolises dinner parties with his loud and entrenched opinions. Buy him the book, log him into Blogger, point him towards that particular area of blogdom and let him get it all off his chest. As such it might be construed as a public service.

My car has been crashed into!!!

The LTLP told me the news as I lay in the bath; Short Andy had popped over to let her know. He really is a most helpful neighbour and very sensible in comparison with some others that I have had.

The car had been parked fairly obviously, the only one plonked on the straightest of straight roads leading in to the village.

The driver had driven off afterwards leaving a hole in the bumper. For the benefit of overseas readers I should point out that this sort of crime is quite common in the UK, as the police do not carry guns. I pursed my lips crossly as I wished the descent of endless live Dido studio sessions on the perpetrator.

Later on, I heard the LTLP answer a knock on the door. The driver had returned!!! I resisted the urge to leap up and run out to confront him, as I was still washing myself and so I would have also been guilty of an offence, probably even if we were on my own private property. It is political correctness gone mad that I am liable to arrest if I stand dripping and naked on my front step shouting angrily at a criminal, with a large erection, even if I do remove the shower head.

That last bit was a joke. (The hose to the shower head would not have stretched to the front door anyway).

“I’m really sorry,” I heard him mumble. “I thought I’d only hit it gently, but when I saw the damage to my own car I thought I’d better come back.”

This seemed fair enough and I regretted my earlier crossness. The baby Jesus said something like it was better for people to sin then own up to it than not to sin, and this bloke sounded pretty contrite. Hitting a parked car is an easy enough thing to do, especially if you have had a couple of pints, and it was dark and rainy outside making conditions difficult for driving. I relaxed in my steaming bath water and pondered the redemption of humankind.

The LTLP took the name and address, and we took things no further.

‘Tis the Season!!!

A sort of December-only advent calendar funny thing. Run by Meg and Anna who are very funny ladies and prove that women can be really funny, as well as all soft and warm.

I’m doing a couple of pieces on it this year. Read it!!! Read it!!!

UPDATE there is also a funny blog advent cartoony calendar over here. It’s by regular reader Dave, who is a man and funny.

“Morning! Didn’t expect to see you today!”

The Chipper Barman welcomes me effusively. I order my drink, plus a gurl’s drink for the LTLP, and ask for a bar menu. It is nice to be able to lunch together and so we have undertaken the ten-mile round trip to the (old) Village Pub especially.

Martin the IT Consultant sits in the corner, studying the food options. This is unusual – he is normally an early-evening sort of chap. I ponder his unexpected change in behaviour.

Thinking about it, the clue is probably that he works in IT. I guess that he probably keeps some form of geeky internet web log, and that he has turned up today on the sole possibility that he might bump into Ann Widdecombe in a vaguely amusing circumstance thus generating easy material to get round his chronic writer’s block.

He is a very sad man.

The most convenient table faces the glass door that leads into the packed restaurant. We sit down and watch the world go by. The Chipper Barman approaches with his special pad.

“There might be a bit of a delay,” he apologises. “We’re really busy in there, with the Ann Widdecombe thing.”

I had completely forgotten that she was going to dining in there (despite my suspicions about Martin the IT Consultant (above)). I assure him that there is no hurry. Behind the glass, the restaurant seems to darken suddenly. I think it might be Ann Widdecombe walking past the window, but it turns out to be just a big cloud.

Martin the IT Consultant meanders over to the cigarette machine, between our table and the door. I had no idea that he smoked.

“Any sign of the old bat yet?” he asks casually.

“Not yet,” I reply.

The Village Pub is all but empty.

Clearly my moving out has had an adverse effect on trade. I perch on my usual favoured barstool and engage the Well-Spoken Barman in conversation.

“Are you in here tomorrow?” he asks. “Ann Widdecombe is booked in for lunch.”

I stare at him. My brain ticks over at speed. I cannot recall a mutual friend called ‘Ann Widdecombe’, nor do I know of anybody in the village who goes by that name. Perhaps one of the regulars is unkindly known as ‘Ann Widdecombe’ behind her or his back. It does not sound particularly likely.

It might be a euphemism. Like in the theatre when the manager runs around shouting ‘Inspector Sands is in the building!!!’ it is a coded phrase designed to evacuate people in an emergency without panic. There is no reason why there would not be the same sort of thing in the catering trade; ‘Ann Widdecombe is booked in for lunch’ is probably just something restaurateurs use to clear the area as quickly as possible in case of, say, a really bad chip pan fire.

An elderly couple are the only other people in the bar; they sit unevacuated, picking at their cheeseboard. There is no sign of smoke, flames, al-Qaida etc.

It was Sherlock Holmes who said that when you have eliminated all the probable possibilities then whatever is left even if it is really, really unfeasible is likely to be a goer. That is the typical reasoning of somebody on drugs. But he was quite successful by and large, if a bit full of himself, and I am forced to adopt his methods.

“Ann Widdecombe?” I ask.

“Ann Widdecombe,” he replies.

I finish my pint, thoughtfully.