Got my skates on

I went ice-skating (outdoor - novelty!) the other night with the girls from work. I can't believe it has been so long since I got a pair of skates on. I used to rollerblade quite regularly in Melbourne - who wouldn't, what with that long, gorgeous bike path snaking along St Kilda beach? - but have never been skating in London. This is partly because my new life here is lived 99.9% indoors, and partly because I have no one to go with.

So it was a pleasure to experience that lovely, effortless gliding motion once again, especially in the biting cold London night; especially in the shadow of the quite impressive Tower of London; and especially after crossing the tourist-tastic Tower Bridge on foot.

There were lots of kids having spectacular stacks (Australian for "crashes") in the middle of the rink, and after one particularly bad tumble, I skated past a little boy being led to the edge by his Dad. As I glided past, I overheard him saying quite hysterically to his Dad, "Am I dead or what?".

If I were his parent, I would have been tempted to answer, "Yes, Brandon/Callum/Maddox, and heaven is a giant ice-skating rink in the sky, where your boots never dig into your ankles, and you can skate in any direction you like, and the music that plays is less Generic R n' B and more Electric Boogaloo."

2007 - the year I resolve to ignore the fact that I am turning 30

Thirty? Pfft. Isn't it the new twenty, anyway?

My New Year's resolution is to pretend that turning thirty is really no biggie. I am going to defy the Gods who made me the anxious, angst-filled, worry-wart that I am with a big two fingers to the sky.

In the world outside my head, this year has been not so great for a few people I know (and indeed, the person closest to me in the world). Then again, in my circle of "peeps" there has been the birth of a beautiful baby boy, the purchase of a dream house, and some new relationships formed (and no significant break-ups). A year of mixed blessings, then.

In music, as in school reports, the girls have performed better than the boys this year. The albums which have made the most impact on me this year have all been by women, with the possible exception of Scott Matthews (and then only because of the hints of Jeff Buckley which ghost through his voice). Amy Winehouse blew me away with her deep and gutsy Back to Black. Joan as Police Woman (again, the Buckley connection) broke my heart with her soulful, cracked voice. Jenny Lewis brought me around to alt country. Cat Power came out with her best album to date, appropriately titled The Greatest. Claire Bowditch reminded me of what I love about Melbourne (I was a little behind on this discovery).

Most Gorgeous Gig of the Year: Lior at Camden Lock

Sweetest & Funniest Flick of the Year: Little Miss Sunshine

Most Breathtaking TV Programme of the Year: Planet Earth

Best Haircut of my Life: November 2007. Thank you, Stace.

Gingerbread greetings

Have a good one, everybody! See y'all next year.

Infected with the spirit of Christms

Man, this is turning out to be the least Christmassy Christmas ever. Not only is my boyfriend grieving and therefore NOT in the mood for festivities, but the office has also been infected with an outbreak of Deadly Chicken Pox for Grown-Ups (and the people who weren't sure whether they had had the Pox as a kid, now know for sure). All this, and the dessert we had for our Christmas dinner last night was bread-and-butter pudding. Let me tell you, bread-and-butter pudding is the most lame-ass dessert ever invented - I know it was a war-time staple, and a lot of British people have very fond memories of stale bread with egg and sultanas, but it really is disgusting. I really cannot convey the full extent of my disappointment.

In order to generate a little Christmas spirit within my soul, I was trying to remember the best Christmas ever. After much thought, I decided it was a toss-up between The One Where I Got My Red & White Roller-skates (why walk when you can roll? was my credo that year), and The One Where We All Got A Trampoline. How my parents managed to keep that one quiet, I will never know. All I remember is the sheer excitement we all experienced on being taken outside and shown our most excellent new present, and the fights that ensued over whose turn it was next. That trampoline was loved to death, all the way through Primary and High school. I did my homework on it, zapped my brothers with static built up on it, sunbathed on it over Summer, and made up crazy-fun games involving the sprinkler shooting up through the trampoline meshing. Ahhh, Christmas in sunny Melbourne.

This morning there was a twinkly layer of frost on everything though, and the holly looked so pretty with the little red berries winking through the bushes, and the sharp little leaves coated in ice. It almost makes up for the fact that my ears have snapped clean off my head with cold.

In times of crisis...

Sad news on arriving back to London and my lovely boyfriend. A constant supply of herbal tea, fortifying meals, an open ear and hugs on demand are the only things I can think to offer to someone coming to terms with the sudden loss of a parent.

The seasons seems to be in sympathy with us, the last of the cheerful yellow leaves having been swept away by the recent storms. At least we still have a roof over our heads, unlike some fellow Londoners West of the Heath. The sudden bareness of the trees offers some small charms - I can see fat wood pigeons nestling in the bare branches, and catch sight of the odd woodpecker darting in and out.

Time for some stock-taking, both physical and emotional. And of course, more tea.