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Man, I felt sure today was Boxing Day. But it was Boxing Day's Boxing Day.
A freezing cold post-lunch walk through the snow with my family reminded me of all the miserable walks I had with my own family back in the 1970s. I am glad my parents dragged me along in hindsight, but at the time, going for a walk seemed the most stupid idea, especially when we went up on the Mendips in six foot snow drifts, got lost and I nearly got hypothermia (or at least that is how I felt). To be fair I enjoyed that one, until we were lost and I was wet and freezing. I still remember the tingle of frozen body descending into hot bath as my parents tried to ensure I didn't die and they didn't get sent to prison.
Today's walk was relatively short and Phoebe was excited by the light smattering of snow that had fallen in the morning (though mostly turned to slush as it followed on from a night of rain). We made some rock hard snow balls and kicked piles of ice and she, as usual, jumped in every puddle she could find. She nearly went over in a very muddy bit of path and only just kept her boot on. Once again I found myself remembering those unthought of childhood moments where you ended up with a seemingly irretrievable boot and a dripping wet sock. I managed to catch her and save her boot, so she will have to wait for another day for that particular pleasure.
I felt myself coming down with a cold by the end of it, something I've avoided for a while (I've been taking a Vitamin D tablet every morning this year and it may be a coincidence but I don't think I've picked up any debilitating bug since then), but to be fair it's probably down to the fact that I didn't have a drink today and my body has gone into shock. I fancy also that it might be a reaction to that super strong whisky melting the lining of my throat.
Otherwise I had a busy day, trying to get some order in my office/snooker arena. Will I manage to record one more frame in 2017? I am hoping it can become a regular fixture again once things have settled down here. This contest can only end with the death of one of the players. But the positive thing is that I had the energy to make a good crack at moving things at least into the vague area where they belong. There was some energy there, even though I was pretty tired after a couple of hours. We're still having disturbed nights and I had the double bad luck of having Phoebe wake two times in the night (which she really never does) when it was my wife's turn to look after Ernie.
I am intending to take it relatively easy in January too, ahead of the tour starting on February 1st, but I do need to start thinking about getting back into writing. Radio 4 want another series of Relativity and we will have to record it in the Spring and I don't have any old scripts to copy off for the next four. But luckily my life throws up enough material. Do you think Ken might eat lip balm at his son's wedding? I think he might.
The house feels like a home now though. And though the stress of the last few weeks has not evaporated completely, it's certainly down to its embers. I am writing this blog in front of our fire, as my wife writes her new book beside me and our cat perches on a box of unpacked DVDs (I mean, will they ever be unpacked? Who needs DVDs now?). It feels like we're staying in some fancy hotel or ski lodge. I haven't yet tested this house as a place to write anything long form, but I think it might be a rather good place to work. And my feeling is that I want to concentrate more on my writing over the next few years. You can never know for sure, but I think Oh Frig I'm 50! will be my last proper tour for a while (I have a vague idea of trying to do some RHLSTPs out on the road in 2019). Certainly no big stand-up idea is clawing at my soul right now. And I have made a commitment to sitting in front of this fire until I die, so I might as well try and write something while I am waiting.
So if you want to see me live
then book now or come and look through our snug window.
