What Day is it? Happy Christmas, one and all.

I know, I know. I have been remiss. I've failed in my blogging duties and have not been here for weeks and weeks and weeks. This is because I have been everywhere else. You name it, I probably went there. The amount of time I have managed to spend at my hovel on the hill this month can be totalled in hours, not days.

I have composed some excellent blog entries in my head during that time. A very Freudian Christmas was one of the better ones, inspired my dream that I was so busy that I actually missed Christmas day entirely. At one stage there was the risk this might happen.

I am now not particularly excited about Christmas because all festive excitement is overshadowed by the prospect of January and a skeletal diary. I amy actually be able to live in the place where I live. I can move out of the car and stop eating quite so regularly at service stations. It's almost too much to think about. It may be my best Christmas present ever.

In between the jauntering around for work I have found time to deck the halls with holly, cut a tree down and throw on every decoration and make wreaths for the doors. None of this for my house but all for my parents house where I am spending Christmas. Chutney Mary and the Box of Frogs will both be here, as will Special Boy (the youngest much adored brother) and his wife, who he lovingly calls 'his nest of vipers'. Aaaa, Young Love.

So, I wish you all a happy Christmas laced with the usual family rifts, bitter looks, excess of chocolate and boxing day hangover and a tree laden with expensive presents that you actually want.

Happy Christmas.

Rainy days need chocolate and bad television

Is it just me, or do rainy days always instill a need for chocolate, a roaring fire and some old school Indiana Jones / James Bond type film on television? What they don't cry out for is sitting in the office surrounded by filing that you don't intend to do, bills you don't want to look at and notes you haven't typed up. Obviously that describes some hypothetical slob's office, not mine......

Of course, having spent yesterday loitering with intent around the garage, I sort of have to be in the office. There are moments I hate being my own boss. Quite aside from the complication of trying to give myself a verbal warning and an annual review, it can make days like this very noisy inside my head. One side of my brain whinging that it doesn't want to be at work, and the other getting all headmistressy and telling me to 'buck up' and 'knuckle down'. Both unattractive phrases to start with, let alone extremeley unappealing as activities to pass the day with.

At some point whatever work that I do manage to achieve is going to have to be taken down to the post office to be sent. Now for most of you this might be a simple task but for me it involves opening two gates in the pouring rain. I can hear some of you thinking so what? But think about it - this is one of those classic 'living on your own' frustrations. There I am in the car on my own. I get to the gate, stop. Get out and slip in the sheep / cow sh*t, open gate and hook it back. Return to car, forget to wipe feet and cover foot well in aforementioned cow / sheep deposits. Drive through gate, repeat performance and that is just the first one. and I'll have to do the whole thing again on the way back....... So after my 4 gate / 8 mile round trip, I usually discover the post office is closed for some obscure reason such as the fact that it is half day, it is lunch time, tea time, tool time - you see where I am coming from. It does put me off coming down from my mountain.

I expect the overwhelming urge for chocolate will induce me to tackle the rutted track, sas style escapee sheep who try to 'great escape' it out of the gates when I am not looking, and the cattle in the third field who consider it to be their life's mission to hold the road against me. The chocolate had better be good.