writing – Page 3 – EXCUSES AND HALF TRUTHS

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 36

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.

A Little Christmas Story

Today is my birthday. I am off gallivanting in the bright lights of the big town. As such, Swipery will be paused for this week. Instead, allow me to regale you with a short story for Christmas, written for the Reading Writers Secret Santa Challenge. We were offered a prompt, a ~~victim~~ recipient and given five hundred words to come up with a little treat. Here’s mine, a tale of hubris, entitlement, social media and revenge. Hope you enjoy, and I’ll see you next Saturday for the Santastic Swipe Special.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 35

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.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 34

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.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 33

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.

Several Sorts Of Sacred

From Glastonbury Tor, you can find a kind of perspective. Below you, the lines of the earth are clear and sharp—both the natural contours of the land, and the hedges, fields and roads carved onto the face of Mother Earth by her violent offspring. Even on a cloudy, blustery day, the horizon is a long way in the distance. Petty concerns and worries slip off your shoulders, whisked away into the wild beyond, and for that moment you can breathe again.

As your head clears, you feel as if you’ve found something sacred.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 32

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.

Rising

I couldn’t tell you where it started, this thing with Bruce and I. Perhaps it was the thundercrack, the twelve-gun salute from Mighty Max Weinberg which counts off Born In The USA. Maybe it was the hundreds of listens I gave to my dad’s tape of Nebraska, played on rotation in the flats and houses he lived in while he and my mum lived separate lives. It may even have been a clip of the E Street Band in full flight in 1975, blasting through Rosalita at the Hammersmith Odeon, which seemed to always be playing on the Old Grey Whistle Test. You know, the one with that ridiculous hat.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 31

We took a wander out into the woods near Maidenhead last week, as an attempt to keep some sort of exercise regime running. The weather was greyer than expected, but the colour of the leaves and foliage, all golds and postbox reds, provided a splash of warmth.

On our way home we dropped into Wargrave Nurseries, who have regular open weekends. They specialise in giant pumpkins at this time of year, and some of the examples on offer are extraordinary. One in particular, which spilled off the sides of the Europallet it was placed upon, was on sale for £1250. That’s a lot of soup. Seems ridiculous, but some slightly smaller ones had sold for a few hundred quid, so there’s clearly a market. We bought some colourful gourds for an autumn display instead, spending a tenner. That’s quite enough outlay on seasonal decoration, thank you.

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

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 30

This week, a little spurt of writing advice as we gather pace towards a month made for hunkering down and making a dent in your wordcount. The organisation behind Nanowrimo hasn’t made any friends with its embrace of AI assistance, and I understand the calls for boycott. For many of us, though, November is still hardwired as a blessed 30 days of hard work. Will you be indulging? Even if you can’t make the whole 50,000 word goal, it’s a great time to pick up the habit of doing something creative every day. Hope to see you on the start line.

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