Christmas week was spent in the company of good friends in a seventeenth century cottage in Avebury. While I've visited Avebury so many times before, there's nothing quite like walking out the front door & 50 yards up the lane to be confronted with the stones. It did actually achieve some of the -ahem- emotional resonance I was looking for, particularly during a blustery walk atop Windmill Hill on the 27th. Loads of food, wood burning stove, sloe gin, *two* (count' em!) christmas trees, low-beamed ceilings, good conversation, no telly. Super.
Similarly refined -honed almost to the point of non-existence, in fact- birthday. Thanks all for yr good wishes though. Turning 40 is a lorra laffs, believe me. And New Year's Eve was spent round Clare's getting to know her new boyfriend, playing popquiz on the playstation and despairing at Clare Balding's desperate fireworks ramalama, as everyone seems to have done. And -inevitably it seems when Clare's around-, playing "I'm Not Afraid To Move On" by Jostein Hasselgard. Not that I have any complaints with that.
Happy new year all. Hope it treats you well.