In a week that served up geological oddities and marine mysteries, the run-up to Christmas proved that sometimes, the anticipation is more chaotic than the event itself. From a vanishing waterway to a baffling surge in cephalopod numbers, the signs were peculiar, if not outright ominous.
Freak Events: A Canal Disappears and Octopuses Mobilise
The week began with news that felt ripped from a surrealist play. A canal in Shropshire effectively vanished, swallowed by a substantial sinkhole. The incident, described in a tone of bemused alarm, served as a stark reminder of nature's unpredictability. Simultaneously, a report from the Cornwall Wildlife Trust delivered another head-scratcher: octopus catches in UK waters have skyrocketed to 13 times the usual number, equating to roughly 233,000 individuals.
This twin offering of the bizarre prompted deep reflection. Sinkholes represent a profound violation of trust in terra firma, while octopuses—boneless, eight-limbed, distributed intelligence—seemed to be gathering in forces that hinted at future aquatic dominance. The advice for the coming years was simple yet urgent: stay alert.
The Christmas Countdown: A Battle with Time Itself
As the festive period loomed, a personal experiment in productivity unfolded. The plan was logical: complete double the usual daily workload in advance to create a serene, task-free holiday. The reality, however, defied all mathematical logic. Despite the herculean effort, the to-do list remained stubbornly full right up to Boxing Day.
A confidante offered the grim, philosophical truth: this is the essence of adult life. Time becomes a flat circle of perpetual tasks. The dream of 'Christmas every day', as famously sung, might be less about festive joy and more about this endless cycle. The solution? A grudging acceptance that existence is simply one thing after another.
Festive Relief: The Joy When It's All Over
The holiday itself, spent in Devon, was executed with military precision by the author's sister. It featured all the hallmarks of a classic British Christmas: excellent food, thoughtful presents (including the correct edition of a Dorset Pevsner), familial debates, strategic canned cocktails, and the therapeutic sorting of a basket of odd socks.
Yet, the true highlight came on Boxing Day. The author mourned the missed tradition of the sales trip, not for the bargains, but for the unique atmosphere of liberation. Christmas, like sex or a massage, is often best when it stops—the moment you escape the loving intensity of family for the mundane, blessedly impersonal world of retail. It’s a feeling so potent that shoppers would likely pay a premium for it: the true price of post-Christmas freedom.
The week's digested photos perfectly bookended the experience. One warned of the potential horror of being sung at by a Mary Poppins impersonator at a Dick Van Dyke fan meetup. The other captured the universal struggle of a parent trying to activate 'fun mode' for the holidays. Both were poignant reminders: it could always be worse, but sometimes, just sometimes, it turns out rather perfectly.
