Twixmas

The gap between Christmas and the New Year. It's a kind of phoney war; a hiatus. In Scotland, where Hogmanay is probably celebrated more than Christmas, they've taken to filling this space by having extreme weather events. I'm selfishly crossing any and all digits to ward off problems for family and friends in the north of England and across the border in Scotland. Otherwise this is the parson's nose of the year. We've enjoyed the rest of the bird but this bit has no real use other than as a period when chocolate and Midsomer Murders are consumed. I thought of heading out to spend some time with the birds but our "Southern Jesse" version of Frank has been blowing a hoolie and offering rain showers; far easier to veg out with John le Carré and John Nettles. I have done some work, just enough to stave off any feelings of guilt that it's piling up but not enough to stop it piling up. I'll have to see whether leaving the house is possible tomorrow - those birds will not watch themselves.