Back from The Village now: cold and liver-damaged but happy. Our cottage was distinctly chilly (we left the oven on to heat the kitchen most evenings) but it had the best view evah: most mornings I lay in bed and watched the sun rise over the hills on the far side of the partially ice-bound estuary. When I did finally get up it was all go: I drank, ate, walked, danced, watched fireworks, drank, played silly games, ate, wrote a little, drank, caught up on some reading, jumped up and down on a frozen lake, festooned the cottage with pilfered balloons and drank some more (though not necessarily in that order).
Meanwhile, other people have been doing real work, including posting my rather sparse review of books wot I read last year, which you can read right here.
No comments yet.