The last time I wrote was 29 November, which was a whole month ago. I can hardly believe this and I am worried that I’m some sort of inadvertent time traveller who is going forward in time at lightening speed. What is most distressing about the past four weeks is that I don’t recall having actually done anything of note. Unless you happen to be a member of the International Federation of Competitive Eating because if so, you’ll be mightily impressed at the number of mince pies I’ve been getting through. Seriously, I currently share 50% of my DNA with dried fruit and brandy.
Of course, December is always a busy time of the year with shopping, nights out, parties and general merriment. Also there is a certain element of can’t be bothered-ness about December; Diet? I’ll start in January. Exercise? New year’s resolution. Drinking less? Not when I can legitimately sup bucks fizz for breakfast and have a Bailey’s before noon, thank you very much. Decorating? If I wait until January, I can spend 50p less on each tin of paint in the Homebase sale. It’s called economising. Updating my blog? Only if it’s less taxing than tapping and unwrapping a chocolate orange.
So, it would seem that all I have done in the last 44,000 minutes that made up the previous month is eat, drink and be merry…
…Bloody hell, anyone would think it was Christmas.