What to write about? It looks as if the cats won’t do anything interesting until the spring comes round, they are deeply dozing on the underfloor heating – and I must say I rather like it myself, this is the first house I’ve ever had it in.

As for writing, I’m not really. Reaching the end of The Dry Well seems to have left me more shattered than I had expected to be, and instead of looking up courses and trying to make sense of my possible plans for a possible PhD, I’m drifting. I’m reading a lot, which is always good, but at the drop of a sit-down I’m dropping off.

Is my system trying to tell me something? Maybe it’s time for a rest.

Maybe organising Christmas cards and presents counts as a rest? Or as an acceptable substitute for writing when the impetus runs down?

The other task I’m pootling through, the winter equivalent of my summer gardening, is paper-sorting and shredding. It’s not very restful though, since it consists largely of papers from Andrew’s long business career, and those from his almost equally long political career. It goes rather slowly since I keep reading things, remembering, and even hanging on to some items since they carry such welcome memories.

Does anyone else get that slowing-down feeling as the days shorten and the nights grow colder? I wonder if I have squirrel or hedgehog genes sometimes, I certainly feel the call to hibernate just now.

*Yawn* must pull myself together……..