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Well. To the surprise of no one, it turns out going into a loud music venue to socialise with friends is the exact OPPOSITE of what a sore throat needs, and now my voice has kicked it. Heeding some good advice, I shall be nurturing what is left and communicating all weekend using a combination of charades and overly-zealous hand gestures. I apologise now if I blacken your eye telling you the story of my most recent Christmas burger.

I am currently reheating soup that has very clear instructions not to reheat it and I'm feeling a frisson of danger. If this is how it feels to be a stuntman, what a rush.

I have one of my book clubs tonight and I haven't finished the book yet. I think it's because I enjoyed this book a decade ago so reading it now feels indulgent, like a comfortable blanket, and when I have a to-do list as long as my arm, I don't feel like I've earned it. Then there's also the risk that my rose-coloured memories of it won't hold up to the scrutiny of an older me. Not that I'm much more discerning now - in fact, there are times I think I'm actually regressing - but still, the concern is there.

Either way, if I can achieve my proofreading target early today, I'm going to draw a hot bath, douse the water with menthol oil, and see what progress can be made. WORDS WORDS WORDS.

And because every post needs a picture: look at our nice lumpy Christmas tree. 

I hope your days are going well so far and you're staying warm. Until tomorrow,

Big hugs to all, 

Essss