Author: Rob

So here we are again. The start of a new year—depending of course on your calendar of choice. Yet again we were lured past midnight on New Year’s Eve by the promise of big fireworks (Caversham, you did not disappoint. House Beast Millie slept through the lot) and actual house guests. Thai takeaway and half a bottle of Kraken is a good way to put 2025 in the rear-view mirror.

Inevitably, even though I know the whole situation is a social and political construct loosely hanging onto seasonal cycles and I really should be doing this on the Winter Solstice, I have an an itch to clean up and get ready for the next twelve-month of challenges. Give Harvette a clean and fettle after our Kentish adventure, de-Christmas the house and begin work on the longer-term plans for C’s lady-shed at the bottom of the garden, the ongoing trash-heap in the garage and improvements to the office.

Who knows, I might even try to squeeze some writing in there somewhere.

We go again. Let’s have it.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you plan to spend 2026, welcome to The Swipe.

The first week of my sixtieth year on the planet did not go as planned. A stack of first world problems—car trouble, boiler issues, post-menopausal nausea (not me)—managed to swerve life at Swipe Towers properly off-axis. The cumulative effect of these little niggles kicked any hint of Christmas joy into the bin.

Yesterday, things began to improve. We now have hot water and warm radiators again. Our beautiful Harvette returns to us from car hospital on Monday, sporting two new doors and a festive glow up. We have been, as my pal Sensei Paul put it, in an upside-down place, unfamiliar and un-nerving. Now, our home is returning to normal. We are nearly at the point where we can look ahead and enjoy the run up to X-Day—

—ah crap, I’ve still got cards to write and presents to wrap.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

This time of year is peak activity for one of my more annoying habits — causing injury to the motor vehicle I am allegedly in control of. No-one else is involved. The only person at risk is me, the only thing at risk is my dignity. 

Six years ago, I half-tore the front bumper off our long-suffering Note, necessitating an panicky appointment with our local body shop. The work was finished the evening before we were travelling up to Staffordshire for a big family Christmas.

This week two years ago I gently backed the same Note into a sticky-out bit of I-beam supporting an air-conditioning unit at work. The back windscreen imploded with a gentle pop. Glass everywhere.

On Monday, while pulling into our front drive I misjudged the angle of approach and swerved Harvette into a tree, cratering a divot into the join between the front and passenger-side doors. Cosmetic damage, but an insurance claim and a courtesy car nevertheless. Wails of despair from me, assurances from C that this stuff happens. Like I’m not going to blame myself brutally and at length for my shortcomings.

Why do I do this in December? I think the weeks leading up to my birthday are more discombobulating than usual. As another year ticks off my allowance, I become a little sadder, a little more distracted. Once I get past the mid-point of the month I settle down and cheer up, but in general I am a sulky little pain in the butt around now.

Tis the season, jingle trauma, falalalala boo yuk.

Best not ask for a lift from me until after Christmas. I’ll let C do the driving until then.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

So, I guess we’re doing this again. Every year, we jump on the same merry-go-round and whizz about until we feel a bit dizzy and sick. We spend too much, buy too much, eat and drink too much, then limp into January either in penitent’s weeds or wild-eyed insistence that it’s actually better for us to carry on with the party. We never learn, and capitalism makes sure we don’t.

C and I are no better. We did a food shop earlier in the week and ended up with half a trolley-full of snacks and sweets which we’ll still be eating in March. Call it stockpiling just in case the AI bubble bursts and the global economy collapses on Boxing Day. For presents, we buy the slightly more expensive things we’d both like and can’t justify at any other time of year, give them to the other and tell ‘em to wrap it. A more logical way of doing things—at least we’re guaranteed to get the stuff we want.

However you’re spending the upcoming X-pocalpse, remember to be kind, gentle and forgiving to those you’ll spend the time with. More importantly, be good to yourself. If you need breathing space, take it. Call it a Christmas gift from you to you.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

Despite the weather and the change of the season, there are still jobs to be done in the garden. C spent a bright sunny day outside yesterday, engaged in the pleasingly mindful task we all know as pottering about. Sweeping, tidying, planting tulips for the spring, putting straw and fleece on the beds to keep the soil and its humming ecosystem beneath warm and snug. There’s still colour out there—the bare scarlet branches of the acers, the clean green and white of the chard, still providing for the table even now. Frothy fronds of fennel are poking up too, a sharp, tangy green. You learn quickly about the circle of life in a garden. No matter how bleak the forecast, change is always round the corner. Whatever the season, the earth abides.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

We have gone into the west—well, a bit. Somerset, to be precise, for a few days away from—well, everything. Burnout sneaks up on you. The water in the pot warms up and your soul starts boiling off like pink steam before you realise. A long weekend probably isn’t enough, but we’ll take what we can get. 

Quite a writery Swipe this week, with Kerouac and Irving and the guy who invented what we think of fetish wear. Ok, that took a swerve. Maybe the water’s hotter than I thought.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.