recently I've been thinking about starting a completely new career, ideally in a subject that I have absolutely no prior experience. inspiration struck when I was in boots the chemist the other day where I saw an own-brand 'dig for a velociraptor' kit (for the budding young paleontologist!) going for the humble sum of 99p. a surefire way to kickstart a new career for the new year.

I purchased the item and opened it up at home. the kit consisted of a hardened cuboid block in which contained (the instruction leaflet described) 'twelve hidden parts to make up your velociraptor.' the only other item in the box was a small plastic knife with a serrated edge with which the budding young paleontologist should use to chip away at the block and find the hidden dinosaur remains.

after carefully slicing and chipping at the block for approximately twenty-five seconds I realized that I was not only bored but also that I felt angry and agitated. it would take me HOURS to get through this thing! so instead I set about destroying the block with whichever household crunchy-scrapy-smashy-chissely things I could lay my hands on. it still took hours.

as a result of my less than subtle handiwork I'd managed to accidentally chop some little bits off the plastic 'bones' of the dinosaur so that they wouldn't fit together so well. also my clothes were covered with dust and debris (is this stuff toxic? where's the instruction booklet??) and my hands were calloused to the point where they had a similar texture to those of a scaffolder.

this experience has taught me three things:

1 excavating velociraptors is a frustrating business
2 paleontology will never be my field of expertise
3 boots 'age 7 and upwards' kits should not be sold to adults


* the assembled velociraptor, however, I've grown quite attached to...

emr and mjz apprehensively face the year ahead...

Dear emr

Thank you for your email.

As you are aware, a lot of work will be done over the next few months/year to enable the use of trams in Edinburgh. The noise from this has to be expected, and the workmen are doing this job in reasonable working hours.

We can pass on your thoughts and feelings to the appropriate area's. [well thank's for that - emr]

---

Dear emr

Thank you for contacting Trams for Edinburgh. Please accept our apologies for the inconvenience caused during our works in your area. The points raised in your email have been passed to our construction team.

Thank you, and, once again, many apologies for the inconvenience. [doesn't anyone know how to punctuate? - emr]

---

well hey, I got replies but the problem still persists - woke up to drilling at 8am again today and I still think that's too early.

* the picture here is of elm row roundabout. the historic clock has been removed to make way for a 'traffic light controlled t-junction'

last night I knocked by accident a little thing down the back of the old piano that sits in my living room. when I peered behind the piano I found that the rear section was covered only by a frayed cloth with large rips in it. so I reached down through a hole in the cloth and stretched out my hand in the dusty gloom of the piano innards, and there I touched upon something decidedly un-piano-like. from my vantage point I couldn't make out what it was, but my hand told me that it was something hard and flat, that it had two wheels, and most importantly that it was trapped inside there and urgently required my attention.

I manfully wrenched the piano away from the wall and fervently set about rescuing the mystery object, the original thingy I had intended to retrieve now long forgotten. as I tugged to and fro on the awkwardly placed object I felt like a doctor attempting to retrieve a baby from its mother's tight womb. then I realised the old piano had a front panel that could be removed quite easily. once I'd detached the panel from the body of the piano my mystery object just fell right out, born if you will via emergency caesarian section. and there was my baby, staring goo-goo-ga-ga up at me, decked out in lurid red and brown. my colours. I removed the wheels as if cutting an umbilical cord, dusted it down as you would clean a newborn, and beamed with admiration as a proud father would.

then a memory poked at me. I thought back to when I was an adolescent and the time I'd found out that my mum had thrown out my old skateboard. she had thought that it was just a worthless piece of junk. to me though this was a traumatic event because in my mind I believed that through separating me from my skateboard my mum had inadvertantly exorcised an important part of my youth. now I realised that the new skateboard from inside the piano was more than just a fortuitous find, it had been placed there by some other medium that knew of the childhood trauma. the arrival of the new skateboard was a balm of forgiveness that would fix and heal past transgressions. I felt happy.

I have no use for the skateboard any more.

so I've thrown it out.