So this is Christmas...
How about this? One post a month and I'll feel better about keeping this blog up. And perhaps...to ring in the new year, I'll make new friends!
Right-o! Sounds like a plan...
I need to be doing work today. On a Sunday. Working out an Environmental Policy at 1130 in the morning after getting to bed at 7 is --- painful. But I'm thinking: I'll be off to bed once Sainsbury's drops off the goodies.
Christmas is coming and I'm not off to the islands. I'm spending the hols with Conlon and Neil at the flat. [Note to self: clean now...] Got some goodies coming in today and tomorrow and Tuesday and Wednesday is prep time. Oh joy. Wait...something more peppy...oh joy! This year's Christmas doesn't feel like Christmas at all. Even though I've kitted the flat with a tree...
...and some lights...it just feels different. Second Christmas away from mum. Coincidentally I've been away all the Christmas hols since she became Mrs B. Is there some underlying message in that? Some sort of unconscious way of avoiding the new family?
I'm shit at this.
Where's the eloquence of the writer? Nothing left in me except quips and short paragraphs. Where's the lengthy spiel with tangents flying left and right?
Ah. Wait.
Written whilst having had five hours of sleep and seriously hungover.
There's your answer.
Right-o! Sounds like a plan...
I need to be doing work today. On a Sunday. Working out an Environmental Policy at 1130 in the morning after getting to bed at 7 is --- painful. But I'm thinking: I'll be off to bed once Sainsbury's drops off the goodies.
Christmas is coming and I'm not off to the islands. I'm spending the hols with Conlon and Neil at the flat. [Note to self: clean now...] Got some goodies coming in today and tomorrow and Tuesday and Wednesday is prep time. Oh joy. Wait...something more peppy...oh joy! This year's Christmas doesn't feel like Christmas at all. Even though I've kitted the flat with a tree...
...and some lights...it just feels different. Second Christmas away from mum. Coincidentally I've been away all the Christmas hols since she became Mrs B. Is there some underlying message in that? Some sort of unconscious way of avoiding the new family?
I'm shit at this.
Where's the eloquence of the writer? Nothing left in me except quips and short paragraphs. Where's the lengthy spiel with tangents flying left and right?
Ah. Wait.
Written whilst having had five hours of sleep and seriously hungover.
There's your answer.