The Blue Flame.

Some Cardiff University psychologist, obviously tired of sitting around all day on his spotty behind, winking at sheep and picking his nose, has announced that today is officially Blue Day - the most depressing day of the year.
This boffin, no doubt in a desperate attempt to justify a fat Euro grant which the rest of the time keeps him in ovine lovers and beer, carried out research which led him to conclude that the last week in January, and most notably the Monday of that week, marked the height of post-Christmas gloom. It coincided, he reasoned, with the arrival of credit card bills run up over the festive period, freezing temperatures, rainy skies, empty wallets and a general air of despondency.


A rainy, freezing, Monday morning, rush-hour crawl to work - blue? Not me.


News of this buffoon's claim was broken on the wireless early this morning, just as I was about to drive to Big Town (adjusts gaiters, doffs cap, shifts straw in mouth) for an office-bound day. Big Town is only 16 miles away but the route was as packed as the car lot outside Halewood and so the journey took me one and a half nerve-shredding hours! That works out at an average speed of about 10mph!! I had almost forgotten how ridiculous the rush-hour traffic into Big Town is.
Once at the office I spent two hours trying to get a new e-mail account configured, an hour trying to hook up to the business network, two hours trying to get a printer to work and the rest of the time trying to contact people who had all, apparently, turned into anti-matter.
When I finally called time on my efforts, the same rush-hour mayhem and the same one-and-a-half-hour crawl faced me on the way back to Pither Towers.
I then walked in to find that the boiler had packed in and the place was as cold as the proverbial witch's bosom. No hot water either so a soak in the bath was out of the question. I entertained myself briefly, watching my extremities turn blue, but then hit on the idea of turning a negative into a positive. There may be no central heating but I do have a real fire in the lounge and the moment I lit it all the cares of the day just seemed to vanish up the chimney with the flickering flames, the rising smoke and the dancing sparks.

After marking Blue Day in true blue fashion, I have ended up in a cheery, cosy mood. This, I assume, is because I am either an idiot, I have failed to realise the cruddiness of everything which has happened to me today, I am dead or I am a latent arsonist.
Anyway, Grantham shall, from now on, have 365 Blue Days each year but the beauty of man's red fire shall stay with the rest of us.