Last Snowstorm of The Year

“You’ve forgotten how to relax,” they said, about an hour or so before I started planning this week’s baking tasks. Admittedly, only two desserts, but one essentially takes three days to complete, and the other is a recreation of something that I only found out about last week. Totally sane.

I have watched things (mainly finishing off the one-series tale of a Labour MP in 1976, oh yes), I have plotted, in all senses of the word. I have sat on a seat as the winter light shines through the window, reading of tales set in the Thames Valley (incidentally, how come it took me this long to read The Dark Is Rising Sequence?). I tidied, I organized, and yet at the end of it all, I still feel like I haven’t done enough.

There were so many plans for 2020, and almost all of them lie twisted and burned in pieces on the ground as we trundle off through the last hours of this terrible, no-good year. As for 2021? No plans, no resolutions, just hunkering down and hoping that by the middle of the year, things will start to look a little more hopeful.