I was all poised to wallow in self-pity.

Then a small event occurred which really shouldn't, by rights, have boosted me as much as it did, but which took me from the blackest pit to a point of complete equanimity with the world.

It wasn't as if I didn't have anything to look forward to tomorrow already - on the contrary, I did, and I knew I would enjoy it.  But now I had two things to look forward to, and somehow that small difference was enough to completely overbalance the seesaw the other way, and herald a lovely evening.  Probably not a good sign, that I'm so easily mood-swung, but I'm not about to complain just at the moment...

...seems to be a crying night.

Not a particularly sad night, you understand, but a night when emotion seems intent on bubbling to the surface.

It began with More 4's Peter and the Wolf - I knew that the music would begin the moment Peter managed to get out of the house, much like the colour suddenly appears when Dorothy lands in Oz, and yet, when it did, I was convulsed in great, wet, sobs of joy.  The whole thing was so utterly beautiful from start to finish, and somehow that seemed more than enough excuse to cry my eyes out.

Then there was an advert, which happened to use Sigur Rós's Hoppipolla... and I was off again...

I fear there may be more.  In fact, I rather hope there is.  Tears are the bathwater of the soul.

Maybe it's just old age.

There was a time when a big New Year's Eve party really appealed to me, when getting very drunk and leaping about with many like-minded people seemed the obvious and inevitable way of seeing in the next 365 days.

I have opportunites to attend such occasions this year:  I'm invited to a party in west London, and a good friend wondered if I fancied coming along to a club with him, or perhaps meet up to watch the London fireworks.

The last of these seems the most attractive, but I confess that what I yearn for is dinner, wine, and good conversation.  The number of people with whom this might occur is fairly small, and they're (so far as I know) all already committed for the evening.

There's a chance that I'll do what I've done in previous years, and have a quiet night in, in my own company.  Not such a bad thing, and potentially good for the soul.  Makes me almost feel a bit guilty though, as if I'd be spurning the company of those who've invited me out... very far from the truth, it's just that I really don't know if I can face it.

Over the years, I've cooked Christmas Dinner in a lot of different kitchens, for a lot of different people.  It's a thing I enjoy a great deal - I love cooking for others in any circumstances, but doing it in an unfamiliar kitchen is an extra adventure.

No matter how many reassurances, though, it's hard to escape the feeling of being an invader.  Just because I've been invited to cook in somebody else's culinary domain, doesn't prevent my feeling that it's somehow an intrusion.  All very peculiar.

This year's gastronomic incursion was an entirely novel one, too - G & S have recently moved, to a brand spanking new property in Dursley.  Really nicely-built house, too - it has the feeling of quality manufacture about it.  The kitchen, of course, was virtually pristine - the stainless hob had not a mark on it, the oven smelt only of hot metal - even the microwave gleamed.  I did manage to apply a thin coating of grease to a number of spotless surfaces, but nothing that G wasn't able to remove...

It's been a generally very good festive break:  Saturday's retail therapy in excellent company, a pause for breath on Christmas Eve, then gluttony, drunkenness, charming gifts, heart-warming text messages and good company.  What more could one require?

It warms my heart to know that I live in a world where things such as this can exist...

Brief conversation with the stunning young man behind me in the coffee queue at Marylebone.  He asked me in the loveliest, gentlest, sexiest voice, if there was anywhere on the station where he could get warm.  I should have answered, "in my arms", but instead I smiled foolishly and said that the only warm place was probably in a train.  He smiled straight at me, and complained that his train didn't leave until ten-to, a good 40 minutes away.  I wonder if he travels that way regularly?

The journey to Wycombe made short and joyous by a moving and delightful short story by the foremost literary genius of the 21st century.  Next time I must bring tissues.

A squirrel leaps exuberantly from spindly, leafless tree to spindly leafless tree, the thin branches bending and bouncing in great extravagant arcs in the golden winter sun.

The imminent, scary prospect of freedom. An ending, so that there may be a beginning.

What I need can never be,
Not ever, in this life.
Not you,
Nor you,
Nor you,
Nor you,
Nor you, nor you, indeed.
Not you, not you,
Not even you,
Not ever, in this life.

It occurs to me that I've never really faced, not really faced, the likelihood that I'm going to remain a single and lonely person for the rest of my life, as I have been for the 46 years I've so far seen.

I can think of no reason why the current sitution should change.

Do I resign myself to it?

Or do I resign myself to the subtly different prospect of spending the remaining decades falling in love with people who can't return my feelings, as I have the last four decades?

Now that most of the financial information's been presented to us, about the impending redundancies, and now that the offer is substantially more generous, I am presented with a choice:

I can take an immediate (or nearly so) redundancy - a few weeks of handing over my job, a very handy chunk of cash, and (hopefully) pay in lieu of the remainder of my notice - which would also be a handy (though rather smaller) sum.

or

I can choose to "transition" - taking up to six months to hand over my work, and thereby doing a more thorough job of it.  At the end of that time, a bonus.  Small, but again, handy.  There might, again, be pay-in-lieu, and I should have accrued another year's service, so a little more redundancy pay would be added.

How eager am I to cut and run?

Does the lure of extra dosh exceed the powerful desire to get the hell out of here?

If I go as soon as may be, I'd have to start looking at the possibility of trying out the acting career I've been daydreaming about, and quite quickly.  If I do that, where does that leave the Artisans?  I have, after all, just said that I'll direct next year's summer play...

If I stay for the extra six months, will the inevitable loathing for the situation be more than I can bear?

I should probably get quite drunk tonight.

I've long known it.  People are kind, but I can't really escape the inevitable conclusion that I'm actually really rather dull.

Yes, I'm fully aware that this morsel of self-pity does nothing whatever to improve that.

I'd have to say that prospects are looking up.

The redundancy settlement is due to be much more generous than we'd all feared, so that's one definite plus.  All that remains now to be settled, is the timing.  I've opted not to apply for any of the jobs in Zurich, so the future of the Build Lab (my little empirette within the company) is a bit uncertain as yet.  It currently lives on twenty or so rather aged machines in a 19" rack.  Can't see them wanting to move all that to Zurich, somehow.  Maybe the Lab will simply be discontinued - there's a vaguely similar facility already in Zurich that might be expanded to perform some of the tasks... or maybe it'll just stop.

A quick departure with Pay-In-Lieu, or a multi-month migration?  I wonder which it'll be.

Meeting this morning.  There probably won't be any firm details, but we shall see...

"We would like to apologise to customers at Romford.  Due to overrunning engineering works in the Southend area, all services from Southend are delayed"

1) "We would like to apologise".  Go on then.

2) I'm a passenger, not a customer

3) "Delayed"  Now, it's really rather silly to lie, isn't it?  They're not "delayed" at all, are they?  Look at your own information boards.  See that word in red?  What does it say?  That's right, and what does "cancelled" mean?  Does it mean the same as "delayed"?  No.

4) When there are overnight engineering works, it's very common for them to overrun.  Not good, but hardly a surprise.  So why is there no contingency?  Why no buses, no extra trains run on the part of the line (the majority, in this case) that's not suffering the overrun?

5 It's fashionable these days, not to speak of  "a train", but to say, "a service". Are you familiar with what the word "service" actually means?