make a list of 43 good things in life

is a good thing. I was telling G last night about my plan to set up a goal, nearer the end of the year, for 43 happy memories of 2009, for me to look back on with pleasure in a spirit of focusing on the positives.

But then I told him I’ve already got this goal, 43 good things in life, and that I’d only made it up to 11 things. As soon as I said that it seemed incredibly funny that I’d only managed to make it this far. And I couldn’t actually remember what any of them were apart from cheese and Best of Belinda Volume 1. Why are kittens not on the list, demanded G. Especially kittens with spotty tummies? He has a point!

I think a while ago I got it into my head that to go on here, the good things have to be weighty and important. I think I was also scared that they might all end up being items of food and drink ;)

So memo to self: it doesn’t matter if the things are trivial, it’s fine for it to be about the little pleasures and amusements that keep me going on a daily basis.

_{Kittens with spotty tummies will be added just as soon as he comes back from Kittenville with a photo of said kitten’s spotty tummy.}

I know I’m probably in the minority here but I truly love the Winter months. Sure being cold is a bit miserable but as I always say, you can put another layer on but when you’re hot, there’s only so much you can take off without getting arrested. A freezing cold day when it’s bright sunshine is my idea of perfect weather.
Also I blimmin love Christmas, my birthday is in January and, dahlink, I prefer Winter season clothes, shoes and accessories.

I love toast. I love Marmite. I love toast and marmite.
It’s a good poverty staple, when you have 3 days til payday, no food and a fiver in your pocket.
On good quality, thick farmhouse bread with lashings of cold butter it makes you feel like a Foodie.
It’ll soak up all the alcohol from the night before and probably be the only thing you can taste from where whatever shot you thought was a good idea at 1am has stripped your tastebuds.
It’s great comfort food.
Marmite haters are just wrong.

Specifically, my Mum and sister. Apart from my Dad (who counts but doesn’t quite have the requisite levels of madness to fit fully in this entry) they’re the only 2 blood relations I’m really bothered about, but I’m bothered about them in a big way. Why? I can guarantee laughs on every visit and know that there are at least 2 people in the world who will generally agree with me when I have a rant.
Even more specifically who else could you go to for a cake rendering of the clay head from Lionel Richie’s Hello? A birthday gift composed of Humpty and Jemima from Playschool in knitted form? A Life Goals list that includes “punch a policeman/celebrity” and “fit 40 marshmallows in my mouth”, among others (nice one sis)? Or a house full of mice and rabbits. Voluntarily.

Stolen from Anti-Crisis Leopard.
I’ve been feeling a bit like the majority of my list is worthy and deep so here’s a bit of fun.

I’ve been a Grauniad reader all my adult life, although I’m not ashamed to admit that I did use to read the Independent for Helen Fielding’s Bridget Jones column back in the 90s! And interestingly Richard Dawkins says he reads the Indie which makes me think perhaps I should add it to the list of things I look at from time to time.

Anyway, back to the Nurgiard. It has fewer of the typos these days, but still some good articles. Today, for example, there was a court judgement ruling that Pringles are in fact crisps, which affects their VAT status. Only the Guardian would turn this into an article about Platonic philosophy.

Some of my more elderly friends, and indeed my parents, have sadly given up on it claiming that “it’s full of rubbish” but I have a feeling the rubbish is my favourite bit. Columnists like Lucy Mangan, Hadley Freeman solving fashion dilemmas on a Monday, the Private Lives agony aunt thing on a Thursday, John Crace’s “Digested read” brutal summaries of recent books, Nancy Banks-Smith’s TV reviews, Peter Bradshaw’s film reviews on a Friday, and Oliver Burkeman’s “This column will save your life” commentary on self-help literature on a Saturday all make my week more enjoyable. Hurrah for the Guardian!

Trees. I took this photo yesterday – it’s a tree in Tavistock Square which I go past on my way to work. So beautiful at the moment.

This title for an LP might be funny, if it wasn’t such a tragedy, as no. vol.2 has ever been released.

Recently I’ve been self-indulgently wallowing in my Belinda collection and few things are guaranteed to cheer me up quite as much (or get G to leave my flat in a hurry).

This is a particularly good one for the gym – it’s all I can do not to howl “yeah yeah yeah!” at the top of my voice, but that might get me kicked out ;)

Primrose Hill. I can actually see it from one of our office windows. It calls to me.

Cheese! God, why has it taken me this long to get cheese on the list! (oh yeah, it was because I was trying to think of non-food/drink things. Oh well, sod that!)

Today I bought a Trou du Cru which is like a mini-Epoisses, and washed in marc de Bourgogne _{I will tell you about marc de Bourgogne some time, late at night… it forms the basis of my Nano novel!}

It enables me to imagine I am back in Burgundy – I saw these for sale in Beaune market so how wonderful is it to be able to get one in my local supermarket.