Eastern ends

Ah, december and the comfort of kitsch, this time of the year. The purveyors of fine Christmas commercialism seem to have been unusually restrained this Autumn, which could be variously interpreted as gloomy economic outlook, or perhaps a cheering little resurgence of good taste. I now resent the missing barrage of Xmas adverts as, memory unjogged, I have failed to get any presents yet. The usual poverty of ideas for gifts too: CD for brother (perhaps an upgrade to household electronics this year, as he is now betrothed to the one with whom he lives); scarf/book for mum, and god-knows-what for dad. Then friends (bottles of booze I think, possibly something sophisticated, Blue Nun perhaps), flatmates (chocolate/cheese) and of course my (ex) girlfriend, Annabel. Five years... I would like to give her something beautiful. No surprises then folks (not that any of you read this damn thing).

My adventuring friends Ed and Flora have returned from Afghanistan, at last, though perhaps before they were ready to. He seemed well when I shared a dinner with him and Daniel, though a little pensive at times - a lot to take on upon returning home I expect. Strangely though, it renders this lacklustre monologue a bit functionless: in some way it was meant to be a reply to his blog, and now he is back it seems a bit daft to carry on when he is on the end of a telephone (mobile). Still, they are soon to go back to Itlay, to live for a time (that's the way to live life i think - spring in Florence will probably be nicer than in Tooting), so perhaps there is hope.