Keywords: Grumpy;Santa;Beer

Years ago my colleague, a very Scottish Bob, recommended that I use keywords to catalogue my photos. Last week I was trying to find a specific photo and failed abysmally so I though that the act of keywording would make a decent new year's resolution.

The first three are attached to the photo (left) of a present from one who thinks she knows me well. Rather cruel, I thought and were I American I'd doubtless be making urgent appointments to see an analyst. Or a lawyer for hurting my feelings. Surely not being upset must be a human right, isn't it? Fortunately, I'm not and aren't. I am, however, vastly misunderstood.

The percieved state of grumpiness in which some believe me to reside is meterological not psychological.

Having spent days, nay weeks if not months observing raindrops coming to an abrupt halt on window panes before colliding into each other producing rivulets on the glass and making streams on the patio before forming puddles in the garden I have concluded that a prolonged period of consecutive rain days is not soul enhancing.

Furthermore, looking out to sea and being unable to see where the sea ends and the sky begins doesn't lift the spirit much either, nor does uniform greyness observed from all elevations and directions help spread much joy. As for considering how many layers to don each day and wondering if the coat has dried out from yesterday's dousing, that can get really tiresome, too. It could easily cause the exhibition of that emotion sometimes percieved as grumpiness in one more emotionally fragile than me, obviously.

It should be readily apparent that what one needs is a balcony. A horizon. Air that wafts warmly about sans dampness. A bit of sun and less all enveloping cloud more distant pale white fluffines is what we want. As is to wake up knowing that shirt sleeves will do and that the most exacting decision to be made each day is shorts or jeans.

This years balcony looks out at a clear horizon with no precipitation in sight. Shirt sleeves are more than sufficient and shorts quite likely once unpacked.

Grumpiness? Don't know what it is. The whole world looks glorious, the future is a joy to contemplate. Even the prospect of supermarket shopping is an event eagerly anticipated.

See, not a trace of grumpiness. Sheer joy. Delight.
It's meteorological as I've always known and so should all who know me.

I'm even coming around to the view that being born in Wales is no bad thing.

Not ideal, of course but not as bad as it could be.

Probably!