Remember those grumpy-looking Victorian kittens from my Christmas Day post? Well, they’re back and they’ve brought some friends, who all appear to have been at the sherry over the festive season (it’s the only possible explanation). No idea where the one in the middle got the banjo from, though…
They, and I, would like to wish you all a very happy and healthy New Year (and the rest of 2016) – and to thank you for all your support for Another Kind Of Mind in 2015; it is, as always, very much appreciated.
Now I shall leave you in peace to nurse your hangovers!
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If you’re still feeling festive, there’s plenty of seasonal reading to be found here.
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for Another Kind Of Mind (cheers stats helper monkeys, hope you’ve got the day off today!).
Here’s an excerpt:
The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 10,000 times in 2014. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 4 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.
We are now approaching the final hours of 2014, so as an added bonus, here’s a last blast of seasonal strangeness from the BFI’s National Archive for you all. The only thing I know about it is that this odd little film was shown in British cinemas in late 1949. I can find no other information about it, although some thought has clearly gone into it, and some of the special effects are really rather fun. Despite this film being more than sixty years old, it must be said that it’s still better than most of the tat British TV broadcasts on New Year’s Eve these days…
On a more personal note, thank you so much to everyone who has read, commented, liked, shared, suggested things, written guest posts and sent me stuff in 2014 – your interest and intellectual contributions keep Another Kind Of Mind (and me) going in more ways than one. I am incredibly lucky to have such a great bunch of readers!
Wishing you all much light, luck and love for 2015 – and a very Happy New Year!
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2013 annual report for Another Kind Of Mind (thank you stats helper monkeys, hope you had some time off over Christmas!).
Here’s an excerpt:
The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 12,000 times in 2013. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 4 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.
And a big thank you to everyone who has read, shared, liked and commented on Another Kind Of Mind this year. I couldn’t do it without you. Happy New Year to you all, and I hope your 2014 rocks…
I don’t do New Year’s Eve. Call me a party pooper if you like, but I really do not enjoy it and never have. It’s never anywhere near as much fun as we all convince ourselves it’s going to be every year, for a start. I honestly can’t figure out what’s fun about freezing your arse off in, say, central London, crammed in with thousands of other cold, drunken, slightly annoyed people, watching a few fireworks that you can see just as well (and without all the crowds) on your TV screen at home.
Then there’s the clubs. Just because it’s NYE, ticket prices suddenly go through the roof, the line-up is half-hearted at best, the drinks are both watered down and stupidly expensive, and the place is invariably full of idiots on far too much of whatever the current drug of choice is, drooling and windmilling round the dancefloor in a deeply annoying fashion and incoherently trying to chat up inanimate objects (and the occasional actual person). The loo queues will be like the first day of the January sales, and you have to freeze half to death outside if you want a cigarette. Um, no.
Just. Not. Interested.
And all that’s before you have to even think about getting home at the end of the night. Free public transport, yes, but free public transport full of lairy drunks, gaggles of screeching teenagers and the inevitable sleepyhead who passes out in a pool of vomit at the back of the night bus and ends up at Heathrow or somewhere else equally remote to the average Londoner.