Foolish Oaths and Rash Promises

Not meaning to put myself in the same bracket as any of the 1000-faced heroes of legend, but in an attempt to cultivate positive, creative habits rather than reinforce old, less salubrious ones, I made a rash public promise that I would write a poem every day for a month, starting on the 14th January to the 14th February inclusive, meaning 32 poems over the next 32 days.

I hereby pledge to write one poem a day for the next month, up to and including 14th February.
— Innominate Primate (@TheMightyBuch) January 13, 2015

This is something I think I need to do, to make sure I follow through. I've tried things like #100HappyDays, have told myself I would attempt 50 sit-ups and press-ups on waking up each day, or would get up at five am and do an hour's writing before showering and getting ready for work, but up to this point I have been incredibly consistent in the breaking of my word to myself. Guilt lends fuel to the shame spiral engine, and down I would go, into brown beer or red wine, and grumpy mornings, poor work ethics and general misery-making. So, having read a hippy-dippy article on habit breaking which I then also found in The Telegraph from a year or six back to salve my prickled pecadilo, I decided to try something which might actually embed a useful habit in my quotidian routine. And I've made the pledge publically so that I can be called to account.

Therefore, from tomorrow I will write and post a new poem every day. Please send abuse if you spot a lacuna in my scheduling. Odds are I'm struggling with technology but constant chivvying will only help.

Thanks for your attention.

Comments

Rage, rage against the piling up of shite.

It’s Local Election Day in Cardiff, and on my way out with the dog, I am greeted by the smiling faces of the Liberal Democrats’ Plasnewydd Focus Team. I had naively believed that I might go one day without being harassed by the Liberal Democrats, but obviously today was not going to be that day. Nonetheless, it was the final straw for me and my paper-thin patience. A little history, and some contemporaneous comment, would be useful right about now I think. The Lib Dems have led the council in Cardiff since 2004. My sources in the Welsh Conservative Party have indicated that they are about to take a complete pasting in today’s local election, with Labour way out in front, likely to come close to the 50 members they had back in 1999. In my opinion, this is a justified spanking. And yet I am unable to justify this on a political level. According to some of the bombastic nonsense that comes through my door unbidden every single day of the week and often on weekends too,

There's a bit missing...

Stay angry, people.

Ed's dead, baby. Borrowed, with thanks, from the Independent I was unsure whether or not to write a post, post-election, on my post-election blues. For the most part, this was because I'm sure that political commentators, bloggers, activists, and people with far more understanding of the political landscape and the effect that the latest result would have on the lives of those for whom the spectre of a Tory government was only a bad dream, a shade that haunted at night when the lights burned low and the wolves howled at the door, had already used all of the adjectives and metaphors of despair in ways far more eloquent than anything I might come up with. I find however that I must say something, even if it doesn't help matters, to explain to myself more than anyone else why it is I feel so miserable. I will probably have no right to bemoan a Conservative government - my country still has a socialist leader, in theory if not in practice - particularly as I did very littl

There's a bit missing...

In response, a rebuttal, from an apologist for the Liverpool Cause

I feel the need to raise the ugly spectre of my footballing allegiance this sunny Tuesday morning in response to some not unfounded criticism from an understandably long-suffering Jack , now into the fourth (or fifth?) day of waiting for the delivery of a little Jack, and also a Swansea City fan of some years. I say not unfounded but playing to an anti “Plastic Scouser”* crowd is just going for cheap laughs if you ask me. So, a rebuttal it is. In no particular order, let’s start with punditry. Like all those in the harsh media spot light, the best football pundits are the ones who are unequivocal about their opinions. It doesn’t matter if they’re right or wrong, as long as they invite comment and argument, otherwise what would be the point? An expert opinion is useful if one has to make a decision on something, but when the decision is out of your hands in the first place, the only use it serves is to make a prediction that can be debated endlessly for fun or to infuriate.

There's a bit missing...

From The Centrifuge

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