Chronia Cross-Pollinating

My favourite janus job of the new year - sitting down with a new calendar and the previous year's and deciding which events or reminders to carry forward.

When I arrived in March 2006, I knew nothing and had to take my mother's word and what was happening round me.

As is my wont, I copied and noted everything: birthdays, Saints Days, strike days, Oki Days, festival days, departures and arrivals, dinner dates ... the lot. A right magpie, I am, which is how I made such a perfect toady of a PR, by remembering what to remember.

As the years advanced, each calendar improved on the previous one, at the same time as being edited and pruned ... except for irrepressible Sod's Law that declares that,

"Yea, tho' ye keep close a document unto the fifth generation, and transfer it hither and yon, and file begat file, verily it is written that thou shall'st not need it until the day after you have finally chuck'd it in the wagga. Yea, even tho' thou consulteth the ruby of your eye saying "Wife! Surely we dont need this after all this time?" and she agrees and says she's always wondered why you kept lugging it around, and lo! thou castest it into the darkness and even louder lo, on the day after, lo!, a messenger from the magistrate arrives demanding but one document to save you from the scarlet ribbon of the Pharisees and yea, thou guess'd right that it was the self-same papyrus cast into the dumpster that the council removedeth'd to the furthest pit.

Then riseth angry words between husband and wife, verily the silly moo should have known you'd need that particular document, so WTF did she agree you should throw it away?" and all the rest of that crap that we know so well, oh my goodness, yes.

So where was I, apart from trying to be too clever by half with the old Good Book lingo spoof?

Right, Transfer of the Calendars (alarums off ~ bet you never expected to link to that goody)

Aye, serious business when a man plays God.

Three shots problem minimum.

Who's in, who's out; score settlin' time.

Da boithdays One by one:

• Keep her in?
• Poh poh, he's definitely out. Bastard. Didn't invite us to the All-white frolics by the sea.
• Her dead, she's on her last legs.
• Fancy her, one last toadying email good wish and chuck her next year.
• Same with name days ~ I tell you, a well-timed chronia polla and you're up from #6 in the charts to nudging #3. I tell you, truth, I was sitting in a bar once and a strapping lass I'd coveted from afar came over and planted a stunner of a smooch bang on the old bouche,

  "You are the sweetest man for remembering my day. That swine Leo? Never remembered it in all our years together. Anyway, he's gone; last straw. Decided when I read your email. Fancy a drink?"

• Deadlines: bills to pay, car to service, money to transfer, water filters to change. That ilk.

But here's a rum note, sub-section of Sod: invariably when I noted a date in advance - birthday - I'd fall out with the person in question. Over-preparing the event.

THEFTDAY ~ the very first reminder that went in after the jewel theft of April 2007 was April 8 to commemorate the filcherie and remind me to buy a bouteillaki of champers to toast 'absent friends'. Used to drive Mum mad because once April came and the page stared her in the face, she was daily reminded of the disgrace.

The Law - once something was noted, it was gospel. I would dismiss with glee my mother's assumption that her calendar came first. I'd tell her, 'You can insist all you like that we're going to the Warrington's but it ain't down here and my guitar gig has been there for 5 weeks. Sure, you go but i'm not chauffeuring.

I would tell people that it was no use giving dates to my mother because it would be forgotten in an instant. Tell me and it would go on the calendar for me to keep tabs and remind.

The joy of sitting at table having my nerves shredded with maman going on and bloody on with droning gardenry - phone - "Chris? We're sitting here wondering where you are." - 'Nuthin' on the calendar, old boy - "But we invited your mother several weeks ago" - 'Ah! That's it, then. Wouldnt matter if it was several seconds ago. I'll hand you over'

They never fucking learned, and i loved it.

Wonderful history books, they became. Like this past year when i've tried to re-live each day according to what was screwed up in years gone by.

Late Decembers - wondered why it was empty round Xmas - but of course! The house fielded a full complement of thieves from Villa Thefti, requiring me to be here to thwart the handing over of my good stuff.

Today, bliss. My own master.