There was an iciness in the rain this morning when I went out to post a PCR test. A colleague has covid, so needs must. Luckily there’s an NHS priority post box at the end of our street.
I feel the annual lure of hibernation. I curse the societal norms and work patterns that deny me the right to snuggle under piles of warm things all day while it’s cold and dark outside.
In just three weeks I’ll be able to do so, the studio building is closed for ten days, ten days off and no foreign travel.
Still I whoop whoop, unless the break is sooner and longer due to covid positivity, in which case there’ll be no whoop whooping.
I’m planning to use the Xmas break as a hibernation opportunity, occasionally leaving my cave to forage for food or wandering sleepily through the park to find a hot toddy.
There are rose bushes in a local park that are much more up for winter working than me. Un pruned they are still flowering. Deep red amongst brown twigs.
Beautiful but they should take some time off too, we all should.
fat tart 