Mrs Woman

Ugh. Don't you hate those post-modern portmanteau words like 'Twixmas'? Rubbish name or not, here we are in that hungover no-man's land between long-anticipated, soon-dissipated Christmas and the forced repentance and/or revelling of New Year.

Despite sounding like a mardy old cow, it's been a good Christmas here, one that Goldilocks would be happy with: Yunno, not too much X, not too little of Y, so it's worked out just right. Hope yours was too. Very quickly, we've somehow done all the necessary social stuff with parents, straggler family members and friends. After yesterday's two wildly contrasting parties - think wacky warehouse-at-home kidsville, then depraved, drunken shenanigans in a wonderful vintage den of iniquity - we now get to curl up in carb-induced stupor, augmented by time-shifted TV, radio and 'tinternet delights. If that sounds tempting, there's still room on the sofa, no questions or social niceties asked.

What else did I do? I enjoyed spinning up some of LimeGreenJelly's roving


and carried on reading Stuart Maconie's 'Pies and Prejudice', which Mr W swiped off me mid-read last year. As a kid I'd devour books in hours while these days I struggle and pick at paperbacks with the enthusiasm of a macrobiotic monk at McDonalds. Julian Clary's "A Young Man's Passage" recently helped regain shreds of the reading mojo, so maybe 11-year old literary habits will kick in again soon, uncanny and unnatural as they were.

As much as I hate social pressure to do anything en masse, the forces of New Year reflection have relentlessly worked their way into those remaining brain cells. It's been a long time since the day job has been right, so after a decision that amounts to an economically defiant 'f*ck it!', big changes are finally in progress. One side benefit is already materialising as simpler living, something that's been hard to stick to these last few years without a big kick up the arse. Ah yes, discipline. I'd love to be disciplined, but sometimes I just can't be bothered... ; )