January 2024! By gosh, that feels very futuristic. Like a movie set in space, or a story by George Orwell.
But no. Here we are, two thousand and twenty four years after the birth of Little Baby Jesus, or thereabouts, and we humans are still f@cking up our planet and killing each other.
No – sorry! Positivity is the tone I was aiming for. So positivity it shall be.
Funny Little Bungalow Mark Three is ticking along nicely. We have exciting new spotlights in the hall, bathroom and bedrooms, meaning that on a few ceilings at least, it feels like our home has entered the twenty first century – just. Which is nice.
We have cut a lot of trees down – which hopefully hasn’t contributed towards the f@cking up of the planet… they were leilandii, and they were mahoosive. The hedge that they were meant to become reached optimal height circa forty years ago, and since then, no trimming has taken place. They were leviathans, they eclipsed our house. They needed to go.
As for other progress, well, there hasn’t been much. We are biding our time, and working out how to proceed. Don’t forget, our budget is never large, and so we have to be clever with it… or magicians. But magic may not be entirely out of the equation, because, dear reader, I have long suspected that I am indeed a witch, and have recently had that suspicion verily confirmed.
For my birthday last month, Little Seymour Number One took me to The Cauldron, a magical pub in Brighton. She, on her student pittance, set aside enough pennies to treat her ageing mother, me, to a night out! Woooo! I was excited.
We had a snazzy burger in a swanky spot in advance of the main event, and then wandered The Laines and thereabouts in search of The Cauldron, unsure what to expect.
What we got, in fact, was a shock.
The place was dead.
It was open – but barely. It looked as if they were tidying up for the night, and there were no other customers at all. Poor Number One Child – she looked as if she had just got the distinct feeling that she’d wasted two week’s food budget on something entirely naff. With nylon cloaks around our necks, and a foul-tasting “cocktail” spewed from the mouth of a fibreglass dragon in our glasses, we smiled at each other and silently resolved to make the best of it.
But, dear reader, there was magic in the air! Whether it was us, as intrinsically magical beings, or The Cauldron itself, I do not know, but soon, the wind changed, the cocktails improved, and we had conjured up some company for ourselves, in the form of George and Sam, two delightful and totally b@ll@xed young men from Patcham.
They. Were. Hilarious.
I think, although I can’t be sure, that I summoned them over with my wand after cocktail number three. Wand summoning is encouraged at The Cauldron. Normally, it is reserved for the staff, but it seemed wrong to be sitting so close to THE ONLY OTHER PUNTERS IN THE JOINT and not have some sort of chat.
Some sort of chat turned into a whole evening of hilarity, Hermione impressions, accio spells, lots of Franglais, much ridiculous flattery and (here’s where we must be magic) as many free drinks as we could manage! Sparkly ones, smoking ones, ones with pureed elven socks in them – whatever we asked for, we got!
The evening was a blast, one to remember, and as we came away with a few keepsakes (Naughty George secreted a wand up my daughter’s sleeve – oooh er!), remember it we will. And with that wand, I am hoping we can conjure up more magic to power us onwards in this new year, that of twenty twenty four.
Personally, I think that we have something to be grateful for already- 2024 is a good year to be a witch. Imagine if we’d been conjuring up conviviality and liquor in 1524! We wouldn’t have lasted long back then. The stake would surely have beckoned.
And so, as I lament the lack of heating, the condensation, the mud, the rain and the fact that our cars are all broken, and as the task ahead here at FLB3* feels daunting, I count my many blessings, one of which is that it is unlikely that I will be tried and executed for witchcraft.
Happy New Year!
(*Funny Little Bungalow Three, obvs!)
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