Looking down the barrel of Christmas (or 'the festive season' to be politically correct); it rolls towards me like a giant snowball (in Darwin?) picking up everything in its path, including me. I feel like my life has suddenly increased in pace significantly since December arrived, and my days are a frantic procession of jobs being ticked off, presents being bought, trips to the post office and dishes being washed. And now, suddenly, it arrives next week!
Just signed up to the library and checked out four books for four weeks. My summer reading list includes: 'Experience' by Martin Amis, 'Boy' Roald Dahl and 'On Writing' by Stephen King. Currently devouring 'Wuthering Heights', a birthday gift from M last year and a large heavy tome which I must rest on my knees in bed, such is its weight.
Treating myself to an early mark this afternoon and heading to a media screening for the new film, Bran Nue Dae with M and RM and AMMM from work.
Will miss the family on Christmas Day. But M and I have loads of fun planned including the tradition of champagne breakfast on the foreshore with mates and a big slap dash lunch, then siesta and walk on the beach. Arthur will get a fat ham bone to gnaw on, tied with a red bow.
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