Wednesday 18th December 2019

Last day of work of the year.

Of the decade.

No wonder I feel so tired.

Having got in after eight the night before, and gone to bed at ten, my brain decided it was time to wake me at ten to five. Thanks, brain.

I lay in bed listening to the weather outside, trying to figure out if it was raining, windy, snowing, foggy. All I could tell was that it was dark. Very dark.

The alarm goes off at half five, and we leap out of bed, throwing the off the duvet and joining in with a rousing chorus of "Oh what a beautiful morning", as we danced down the stairs, dodging awkward cats and partly disassembled mice.

Downstairs, we have a quick tango around the living room before we pirouette off to feed the cats and make coffee.

My cold had then moved onto from the near death phase to the chesty cough phase, which meant that phys probably wasn't the best of ideas. I was happy enough to skip that and go straight onto to breakfast, more coffee and second breakfast.

Good hobbit.

Work is the usual mix of periods of dull, and brief moments of excitement of meetings and phone calls.

I prepare the report for the audit, and all is going well when I get a call from the care hire people; can I get the car to them soonest? And sorry, we can't pick you up or drop you off. What's in it for me? Our everlasting gratitude and upgrades every time you use this location?

OK.

So, with it being lunchtime in Denmark, I take the car to the garage on the Duke of Yorks roundabout, £59 to fill up, then back down Jubilee Way to the harbour, dropping the keys off, and then, no longer mobile, I walk back into town along East Cliff then crossing over to the promenade.

From there, up across the market square then up Biggin Street to find a taxi to take me home. There were a few people about, shopping, but not that many, just a week before Crimbo. I don't stop to shop, instead I ask the first cab to take me to St Maggies, and he lurches off, taking us back to Townwall Street, past the harbour and up Jubilee Way back home. He also lives in the village, and we swap news and good tradesman, as is also a bad DIYer, and needed a plumber.

My good deed done for the day, I was back home, check mails and find many people already had logged off. Oh well, soon be my time.

By the audit report had arrived, and I had to put into our reporting system; rest of the day sorted, then.

And outside the joint third shortest day of the years draws to an end, the sun setting away in the west.

One last look at the inbox, and I set the out of office message, close the lid and power the laptop down.

Job's a good 'un.

Dinner is to be warmed up ragu, pasta made from peas (!) I kid you not, and garlic bread using proper crusty French bread from actual France.

And wine.

And it was wonderful.

We both had finished for the year, so we toast ourselves and tuck in.

We listen to the radio, I write blogs, my eyes grow heavy and we go to bed at nine with Colchester drawing at the Theatre of Revised Dreams.