I’m a fan of the week between Christmas and New Year. I know a lot of people find it an anti-climax, or the point at which the cold they’ve been fighting off takes the opportunity to get a full-throated, hacking grip… but in Stephanie world, this week might be the only time in the year when I feel as though it’s right and proper to do very little that doesn’t please me.
I think this goes back to childhood days, when Christmas would have brought books and more books and lots of crafty things to do, so the days afterwards were a time for reading and doing nice things. My parents were relaxed, a lot of my family were off work, people would pop in: this week was calm and kind.
And so it still is. One of the facts of writing for (part of a) living is that you could always be doing it. And when I’m not writing, I usually feel as though I ought to be. Except this week, when I’ve slept long and watched TV in the afternoons and eaten food I wouldn’t normally eat at times I wouldn’t normally eat it, and crocheted a blanket and curled up with a book for the morning. I’ve even let the blog look after itself for a bit, which is something that I rarely do.
I write this on the 28th, and as you read this on the 30th Alan and I will be in London, catching up with friends and family and precious, precious godchildren. I hope that your funny, inbetween week is being as kind to you as mine is to me.