by I’ve just been to pick up my prescription, and now Mark has sent me a message asking if I’m “doing anything this New Year’s Eve”. But that’s, like, now. Sorry mate, normally I would go into town, but this time I’m staying in. Maybe we can catch up in a day or two.
Last night I had a WhatsApp call with Elena who is nearing the end of her stint in Canada. She’d had a traditional Romanian Christmas in Burlington, Ontario, by all accounts. She’s always easy to talk to. No pressure whatsoever.
The book is taking centre stage at the moment. There’s an awful lot of faffing around with fonts and margins and what have you, which wouldn’t normally be my job.
The UK is in the midst of what the Sun is calling a “quad-demic” of Covid, the flu, a respiratory virus, and norovirus which tends to make you pretty active at both ends. I’m glad I’m over here.
I’m just reading the Wikipedia article on the plane crash in South Korea that killed 179 people. I’m wondering if the article was written by a Kiwi, because it uses the word “berm” for the bank that the plane crashed into. Why on earth that berm was even there utterly beats me, but what do I know?
Three hours of the old year left. I had two trying spells to contend with, one in April and May, and the other in the summer which I really think was caused by the infernal weather. Then I’ve had this general feeling that world is falling to pieces. But lately I’ve been following the news less, have almost completely quit watching pointless YouTube videos, and this book business has given me a new lease of life as we head into 2025 (which for the vast majority of us will be the only time we live in a square-number year). For that I’m grateful.
This afternoon, by the Bega. The temperature didn’t get above freezing today and the fog never fully lifted.
