Thunderstorms and blackouts have taken their toll on the internet here. While I dutifully disconnect the power during storms, the gargantuan and rolling nature of yesterday afternoon and evening's tempests seem to have overwhelmed the system. The NBN box is flashing an ominous red and will not respond to any of the suggested troubleshooting tips. Either the box or the outside lines or both are clearly faulty.

I was awakened in the middle of the night when everything went black - street lights, night light, anything-charging-light, and awoke this morning to a continuing blackout. My first thought was  - how do I make a pot of tea? - a desperate thought, I grant you. I am usually thirsty in the morning and hankering for the quenching liquid ( and a ginger nut). That is a far more pressing matter than an internet connection, for me anyway.

I think that I'll invest again in the one of those inexpensive gas camping cookers, if for no other reason that I can guarantee a cup of tea in the morning, should the plug be pulled again.

In amongst all the bad news that the first two weeks of 2025 has generated, there are stories that uplift the spirit. I think we all need these stories to balance out the drip drip drip of negativity that comes from the news media, who are only trying to turn a dollar, I understand.

Last night I found a story from fire-ravaged Los Angeles about a family who returned to their home of 37 years only to find it totally destroyed, as all the neighbouring homes were too. There was nothing standing, nothing preserved except one solitary object  - a statue of the Virgin Mary, without blemish or burn, completely intact.

The family gathered in a wide circle around the statue and began to sing Regina Coeli by Antonio Lotti, beautifully and in harmony. You will have to watch the video to appreciate the sadness and joy of the moment, people of faith singing amidst the ruins of their home, grateful for this one miracle. I challenge you not to be brought to tears and yet also, to marvel at the wonder of it.

The emergence of the 'Tech Bros' over the last two decades is a phenomenon that only goes to show that shallowness can lead to great riches. The platforms that they preside over offer very little value in terms of genuine human development. But they do offer a wealth of exploitation, misinformation and Janus-faced dissembling, the like of which has rarely been seen in such a public context before.

And yet it all pays a lot of money. And power, apparently. A cadre of the bros recently went to Mar-a-Lago to tug the forelock to the incoming President. Having trashed him somewhat in the past, they went in fear that their fortunes might be compromised lest they pay due homage.

One of their number, he who claims he is 100% certain that we are living in a simulation (and also that nuking Mars would be a good terraforming option) is apparently amongst the most senior courtly advisers to the new King. I doubt that two such gargantuan egos can co-exist in the same room, but we shall see.

I would prefer that 2025 were not characterised by providing us with 'interesting times' to live in, but the signs do not look promising.

The horrendous bushfires in California are a reminder, if one were needed, that the climate is changing and we are more vulnerable to extreme weather events. It is awful to see the burnt homes and cars and such utter destruction. But no quantity of disasters will convince climate sceptics that the threat is real and upon us now, for they have already laid all the groundwork for their cognitive dissonance via their peer bubbles and entrenched pridefulness

Unlike California, we are in official bushfire season but very fortunately we are experiencing a wet patch which may see us through to February or March. But a spell of hot; dry weather and days of strong winds could see everything go pear-shaped very quickly. Those who live in the Mountains understand the risks - or they should - and we are ready.

No one wants to lose their home - everything they have worked for and built - but factoring in that possibility has its own calming rationale. We hope for the best but prepare for the worst.

Grace

In the fancy basement food hall,

I slide by well-healed women

And men in anxious suits,

Lose myself in bespoke aisles

Of pickles and plum pudding,

Marzipan, maraschino cherries,

Slabs of date and fig,

Walnuts and dried fruit and

Stashes of exotic chocolate,

Searching for that one,

White-iced rarity of

An English Christmas fruit cake,

And realize, astonished,

That I am looking for 

my Mother.

There is no use pretending that the new year is a jot different from the old, save we add a '25' at the end. Never mind the fireworks, the back-slapping, kisses and firm resolutions, the day after the last day of December is exactly the same, a continuance of the human condition without respite.

I don't need to glance again at the daily news for confirmation, for the perfidy of the species will continue unabated. Even now, there are multiple sirens on the highway, a sign that drivers remain careless and impervious to change.

Of course, we experience days in quite different ways, depending on our outlook and what is going right or wrong. Nobody desires suffering and affliction, though most don't feel the need to crash their cars into innocent people just because they hurt. Some, of course, do.

Days

What are days for?

Days are where we live,

They come , they wake us

Time and time over,

They are to be happy in:

Where can we live but days?

Ah, solving that question

Brings the priest and the doctor

In their long coats

Running over the fields

Philip Larkin

Ann and I popped into Parramatta today. I was keen on testing out the new light rail between Parramatta and Westmead (which extends also to Carlingford). It is rather slow in sections, especially where it runs parallel to and through existing road corridors. But it was pleasant enough and not at all crowded and had a nice, new tram smell too.

No plans for NYE. Readers of this blog (surely none - ed.) will know that I don't credit it as being anything special though I'm glad for others to celebrate. Or commiserate.

Nevertheless, Happy New Year to one and all!. May you be blessed in the coming weeks and months. Here's the first verse of John Clare's The Old Year for you to ponder as the hours run down.

The Old Year's gone away

To nothingness and night:
We cannot find him all the day
Nor hear him in the night:
He left no footstep, mark or place
In either shade or sun:
The last year he'd a neighbour's face,
In this he's known by none.

At Water's Edge

The tailings of the year,

Shift slyly on the sea,

Recede and wash back in again,

With bland regularity.

I, stand amongst the spume,

A Crusoe of a man,

I cannot fathom at the pulse,

Nor apprehend the span.

The waters dawdle at my feet,

A cold abundance dulls,

Upon the skies faint boundary,

A crowd of coloured popping light -

The dead year's last assembly.