Thanksgiving

Went to church yesterday - a rare occurrence. Before entry - it's at the American Embassy- a rigmarole designed to deter the most patient of evildoers has to be followed. Firstly, you get on a list, obtainable from the pastor, echoing grim memories of Ben Kingsley writing furiously in 'Schindler's List'. This involves submitting photocopies of civil ID and passport. On arrival, one is 'individually processed' through a one-way system of doors and I waited nervously for the snap of the rubber gloves. Short of giving a blood sample at the door, I think I'd rather wait in line at Ben Gurion airport. Church itself was comfortingly wide-eyed and Presbyterian in overtone with Pastor Jim (or was it Buck) as master of ceremonies, confiding to us that he'd once been a jet pilot with 'the military'. The highlight was, of course, Thanksgiving lunch, which had a wonderfully down-home feel to it. The President's (mercifully final) Thanksgiving address was read out and we all reflected on absent friends before the roast turkey and a rather good key lime pie.

I have to say, I quite enjoyed myself.

Tellyennui

I'm quite fortunate, I suppose. I have access to a large number of TV channels, courtesy of NileSat and HotBird, varying in mediocrity from the paralysingly boring to numbingly bad. We get David Letterman and Oprah here, which others seem to find entertaining.  Oh, joy. The former is so self-absorbed that he has probably stopped laughing at himself, the latter reports heartwrenchingly painful exposes which some find riveting but others like me find the resultant queasiness almost too much to bear and blame the retching on the macaroni cheese.

This post won't last long here. It's badly written, but I can't blame Letterman's scriptwriters for that. It's also far too self-absorbed, much like Oprah's guests. This being so, what hope is there for me. Apart from more macaroni cheese. Bleugh!

Tiddly Beer

I've been blogging elsewhere recently. 

Here in fact. 

If you enjoy physics and science for bright kids, you might find something amusing to look at.

Due to particular circumstances, I find myself looking at the past rather more than I think I should, but I can't really explain why this might be. Life seems to be in some degree suspended and in slow motion as if in slow-moving water - one day gently blurs into the next and the extremes of last year at this time are no more than a memory.

For those who might be interested, yesterday, I celebrated two alcohol-free years. It's difficult to examine oneself and come up with some kind of accurate picture of what one was like then and how things might have changed, indeed why should I? I'm still emotionally crippled - if a preference for a degree of solitude constitutes disablement. I'm not sure it does, but others disagree. I find that conscious interaction with the collective needs less conversation than most people, I suppose. Hannibal Lecter was supposed to have 'palaces of the mind' - great swathes of memory which he could allegedly visit, interacting with at will. I perhaps have semi-detached spaces instead, where colours and music and people come and go as they please, peeping around familiar corners and smiling reassuringly.

I know one or two of you visit here from time to time. Thank you for coming. In the future, I want to make this space more welcoming and inclusive.