Wednesday, 12 December 2012

12.12.12. Which, in the end, was an ordinary day

I must, at last, at last, do the news. What happened on this tremendous date? The editor of the Times resigned; the Finucane enquiry released its report; North Korea launched a missile. A chemical tanker caught fire on the M6; unemployment fell by 82,000; a petty officer was sent to prison for trying to sell nuclear secrets to what he thought were Russians. In fact, they were M15 agents. (Good work, secret services.) In America, they still appear to be hurtling towards the fiscal cliff. There is fighting in Syria and entrenched battles over gay marriage on both sides of the Atlantic.

In my own tiny world, I have:

written book, walked dog, thrown ball for dog, fed watered worked and loved horses, seen family, had conversations, sent emails to old friends, made special green soup, cooked beef, eaten a ham and cheese sandwich, thought about failure, read an old newspaper, only had one bet (lost), contemplated Kauto Star doing dressage, listened to Radio Four, felt quite tired, avoided several domestic tasks, felt a vague sense of achievement, felt a bit useless, worried about imminence of Christmas, looked at pictures of lovely equines on Facebook, paid for the new feed shed, lifted my eyes to the hills, admired the sheep, taken photographs, drunk too much coffee, been slightly behind all day, taken receipt of new winter rugs, typed fast, appreciated the things I have, watched a lovely young man take on a Supreme Court judge, entirely missed almost all the news, had bad hair, and wondered if my mobile telephone will ever work again. (I’m talking to YOU, Vodafone.)

I have smiled and laughed quite a lot.

I have no idea why I did this 12.12 blogging, but I did.

Now I’m tired, and I must make my plan for tomorrow. I must write more book, do horses dogs family all over again, hope for fine weather, go to HorseBack, and try, against all the known odds, to get a little bit more organised.

It’s not a Grand Plan, but it is a Plan.

12.12.12. We won’t see it again.


Picture of the day:


The ones who were not here, but live in my heart:



12.12.12. Fa


  1. I wanted to say something about the three pairs of the beloveds' eyes covering the full emotional spectrum, but I didn't really know what I could say other than that...

    I will try anyway. Your father's intensity seems to burn through the ether and the Pigeon's softness spills out as it always has in her generous gaze. The Duchess is somewhere in between, defying description, but I think that is as it should be. It feels as if I have taken liberties with personages I have never met, but those eyes drive words along - even if they are the wrong ones.

  2. Goodness, five entries from you in one day! What an absolute treat for your Dear Readers. I hope you don't do it every day though or no one will get any work done... well I won't any way.

    Something you left off that you did is probably that you will gain more readers as a result of your blog titles today when people go searching for that date.

    Sorry for the horrible run on sentence.


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