Christmas came and went. I managed the food alarmingly well; with just a soggy tomato, a bag of salad and half a lemon tarte making it to the bin so far. We had not a brussel sprout or a pig-in-blanket in sight this year, instead I chose a Middle Eastern feast full of spicy lamb, falafels, stuffed aubergines, jewelled rice with dips and sauces galore. It required no less work than the turkey dinner but made me happy knowing everything was a little different than usual - the lack of waste was positively joyful.
It's not really a break, Christmas time. In fact this is the first time I've sat at my pooter in days - he's in bed with the flu #2 and the kids are watching the Cbeebies panto for the squillionth time. I just had a maniacal attack on the wrapping paper, tutting at the plastic, burning a load of cardboard and shoving all their stocking bits into a shoe box each. The house needs hoovering again. More food needs buying. The booze is depleted and we need fizz for New Year.
This in-between bit is itchy-scratchy. I can't quite get on with my resolutions so am carrying on with the bad habits. The tree is still up and moulting. The left over bits of stilton still might be eaten. I keep finding cracker debris. He even agreed that a big escape to somewhere hot next year might be a good idea. I think it's a great idea, I'm sure Santa would still visit us in the Caribbean.