At 5am this morning, I snapped awake and stumbled through the house. After ten cold minutes of rummaging around in my bag, amongst old receipts, escaping dried fruit and the occasional passport which may or may not have been mine, I finally lay my hands on my diary. By the light of my mobile phone, I turned to today’s page and with relief, let my shoulders fall from where they had been standing to attention by my ears. I hadn’t imagined it in the sleepy bliss before bed: the 20th is a day off.

Except as with all of my days off of late, there seems to be so much else to do. Hats need knitting, packages need posting, piles of Danish Christmas cookies need scoffing with cups of steaming tea. I need to pack for the Christmas break, to prepare for work on the 21st and to tidy up the chaos that is my living room in preparation for the new sofa. I need to avoid the lure of the Dreamcast for just a few more weeks until after Christmas 2 in January.

Anyway, I’m not complaining. I tried to remain still this weekend, to sit and reflect and take the time to feel better but that’s just not how I work. I’d rather be busy.

Also, I don’t know if anyone remembers the bear I knitted? I want to give him a name tag, like the one Paddington has, but I don’t know what to call him. Suggestions are very, very welcome. You have until Thursday morning, when he will come on the plane with me and fly to merry ol’ Denmark.

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