The year draws to an end with a momumental movement of plates.
As I walk along streamers-littered asphalt,
Others, elsewhere in the radius of destruction,
Suffer at the wrath of a levelling force.
Sixty thousand lives is sixty thousand too many.
Time and again we are reminded
Of our relative place in the scheme of things.
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This Christmas I didn't cook a feast or drink copious amounts of wine.
Instead I ate obscene portions of ham and mash,
And danced the night away in cyan beads.
I am happy. And thanks to all of you who have made me so.
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It's nice when the barista remembers what you order every morning.
And even better when he's got it ready to go before you've even gotten to the front of the line to order and pay.
I squealed in delight as the others in the queue fired a mixture of curious and dagger looks my way.
What a great start to the morning. These things make me smile as I walk down the frangipanni-lined lane that still reeks of last night's beer.
Brilliant.

When you stopped
I started.
These days of handbag house
And shocking amnesia
I have retracted my hand
As gently as I possibly can.
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I've been tired. The eyes tell it all.
I can't dispel speculation
It's true I can't.
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This Christmas I'm thankful for many things.
As much as I am the ill-principled pagan living in a world of grey overlaps
I remain grateful for good hearts and love.
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Fruition - like Nigella's warm chocolate cake on winter nights
Happiness - best served with unfeigned, voluptuous laughter
Health - plump peaches and ruddy pomegranates
That's all I could ask for,
For myself, and you.
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I'm going to be sick if I hear another hipped-up Christmas carol.
The problem with not having an iPod is having to deal with bad radio.
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I went Christmas shopping on the weekend, and ended up with a pair of crimson satin and sequined shoes, Marc Jacobs' Blush, a (very) little pleated black skirt for the kinky fetish party this Friday, a black strapless bra (essential for the festive season of little black dresses), and only two out of twelve names struck off the shopping list. There was no keeping me in check. I had a case of impulse purchasing syndrome. But boy did that feel good. Plans to buy sensible dancing shoes were thrown out the window - my back has been protesting quite a bit from dancing in 4-inch heels.
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I've finally decided on birthday plans.
Acid Bar Emerald Hill
Saturday 1 January from 2200hrs
Swing by if you're in town.
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