The Month of Blah

If February was the month of BLAH in Canada - and it was - then November is definitely the UK's very own delightfully quaint version of it.  Both have one thing in common, death inducing boredom - albeit for very different reasons.

Every November in the UK, my motivation slips down the back of the settee.  Last Saturday, granted I went to see The Damned, but for a while I wasn't sure I'd make it (long story involving planes, trains and automobiles) so the day had initially started like most weekends - early, wretchedly and centred on The Lish.  Usually the most we'll manage is a trip to the park (when the park was a 6 minute walk away, you know - in 'dream area' home) but we now live in 'it will do area' home where we're not really walking distance from any nice parks...which sucks donkey balls.  Or is that the Month of Blah talking?  I mean, I should point out that the nearest nice park is Hampstead Heath, so can we have a little perspective here?  Ahem.  And I bet that when the sky finally changes colour from suicide grey to Om Shanti blue all of this will seem a little silly. 

Still, last weekend after dragging myself, knuckles and chin scraping the pavement, to our nearest high street I slept walked through the usual routine of charity, coffee and nik nak shop browsing (I hate this feeling, I know it too well), you know the type of thing.  Anyway, the point comes when you either decide to DO SOMETHING or go home and usually I'm really good at doing something but on this occasion, I couldn't move. It was like a form of  thought paralysis. Urgh.  The park was too far, Kensington High Street too twee, Oxford Circus WAY too manic and my usual mainstay - a good museum -  just too much like hard work.  Luckily I was saved by the sudden arrival of tickets to this Damned gig.

Still it beats the shit out of the Month of Blah in Canada - and we're back to my favourite subject: Canada bashing.  February is the coldest month after 3 months of cold.  It is the bell-end, no, the frozen cheese under the foreskin of the knob of winter.  It was too cold to do anything except drink and plot ways to kill yourself that didn't require you having to leave the house.

I turned to Yoga in the end which is lucky because I could very easily have fallen into alcoholism.  Very easily indeed and on occasion I did turn to Manhattans on my really low days.  But that's ancient history beside I'm way too vain to be a proper alcoholic.  All jokes aside - it was the lowest of times.

Yep, I just need to snap out of it and I will soon enough.  I know how much more I have today then when I was stuck shaking up cocktails in The Tundra.  I also have yoga which I continue to do every day and is I might add my secret weapon because as I write this, I already feel that heavy cloak of sad lifting - and I've also just remembered I have a box of After Eight Mints in the fridge.