Too soon, too soon.

Well winter is well and truly beginning to settle in. We've had a relatively dry year so far but I now can't remember the last time I walked to work without being drenched by drizzle. I would't mind, I mean I'm all for the joys of nature but it isn't even proper rain - it's that extremely irritating mist that hits you like a sheet of freezing cold glass. Sometimes when I arrive at work, I can't even feel my forehead. Having said that, the technique could be useful next time I feel a migraine coming on.

The shops are already decked out with Christmas paraphernalia. I have visions of shop staff waiting with bated breath until midnight after Bonfire Night, chomping at the bit to throw tinsel across the shelves. Adam loves it as Christmas could never come too early for him but I can't help but be depressed whenever I think about Yuletide in November. Is this really what we have become? Such a shallow, materialistic race of commercialists? I've banned all talk of it until December 1st and believe me, I've more than compromised. I say I've banned all talk but that hasn't stopped Adam from attempting to subtly 'christmas-ise' the house. I've already had to confiscate two wooden reindeer that appeared prematurely on the lounge shelf and a red and green doorstop that I can only presume was the fruit of one of his craft sessions. I did, however, allow the purchase of a doggie advent calendar in Sainsbury's yesterday so I'm not a complete Scrooge. Put it down to the Swedish in me - we're strictly  'Christmas in December' type people.

A spate of boredom a few evenings ago lead me to look up 'the top 50 books you should read before you die' online. I have to admit, it strongly varies from website to website and heavily depends on the nationality of the article but I've narrowed down a good list of twenty that seem to appear across the board. I'm challenging myself to read them all at least before the end of next year but I tend to read in bursts - I can go months without reading anything at all and then suddenly I'll clear a good ten novels in just a few weeks. I've started with 'To Kill a Mockingbird'. Most kids study it in school but I was lumbered with Shakespeare, Lord of the Flies, Great Expectations and The Woman in White. Ironically, due to that reason, 'To Kill a Mockingbird' is one of the very few books that Adam has read. He takes great delight in reminding me of it too - I'm eager to change that.

Don't worry, be happy.

The snow has been falling thick and fast for the past few days. Lincolnshire received the worst of it last night and even I, the boy who endured many a winter in the frozen tundras of Sweden, found it a struggle driving to work this morning. It does still amuse me how this country grinds to a halt at the slightest sign of the white stuff but I guess you'd never truly understand unless you came to live here; despite having snow almost every single year, there are still no real provisions in place should the inevitable happen. Road gritting is confined to only the busiest of roads, path gritting is non-existant. Buildings and pipework are not built to cope with extremities of any kind and more often than not, many schools are forced to close. It's a shambles and to the rest of our frozen northern European neighbours we're a laughing stock - but I don't think I'd have it any other way. It's part of Britain's bumbling charm.

Skye, of course, is loving the snow. I guess you could say she is in her element and I've been tempted several times over the past few days to purchase a sledge in order to see what she is made of. If it wasn't for work then I really think I would. Damn work. It's pointless even being there with all the schools closed - I guess this is how lifeguards feel in winter.

Lately I've been attempting to work on just how much I worry about the tiniest, most pointless of things. If you asked people that know me just what kind of person I am, anxious would definitely not be on their list of traits - to them, I'm probably one of the most laid-back, easygoing people they know. To be honest, pointless is probably the wrong word - it isn't pointless things I worry about, it's more when someone does something to spite me. It's strange really, it may even be something innocent where the other party has no idea of the impact of their actions but I have this overwhelming urge to get some small piece of revenge. I sound like a complete psycho but it isn't as bad as I'm making it sound.

A good example would be the lady from the end of the street that insists on parking in the one available space outside our house ...... four doors down. She probably has no idea it's an issue and probably does not realise that it then prevents us from parking across our drive like the other neighbours can but it angers me to the point that I just cannot stop thinking about it. The best way to describe it is a strange underlying sense of foreboding, as if you have a constant worry about something that you need to do, no matter how much you try and forget it.

I've been trying to put those 'little' worries into perspective and recognise the logic behind them. It's helping a great deal and I haven't experienced that underlying feeling much at all lately. Don't get me wrong, it's easier said than done but by learning to chill out and understand the sheer insignificance of our constant worries, it really does help us to become more tolerable, decent people. As with most things, I guess it comes best with age - time builds and heals in multiple ways.

I suppose now I am starting to understand just how my Grandparents and the other elders in my life managed to achieve such a heightened sense of calm and tranquility - they've recognised that worrying is simply just not worth it.

I'd just prefer to achieve it sooner rather than later.