I am cosy in my living room, sipping tea as hail smashes down onto the velux window. A spiced stew and jacket potatoes are cooking up in the kitchen. For the first time in a while, I'm feeling pretty calm.
There are still awesome organic veg discoveries happening on a regular basis (marrow turned out quite nicely, moss kale was a winner and I am joyously awaiting some organic parsnips in my stew), and life is ticking over with the pleasures of winter to drive it along. We've discovered an amazing recipe for Madiera cake (thanks Nigella!), I've found a new favourite film in The English Patient (oh how I wept!), and my running is getting better and more enjoyable by the day (I totalled over 27 miles last week!).
Despite all this, the build up to Christmas isn't really happening. I'm surrounded by crafting residue and bits of paper litter the carpet, but I just don't feel it yet. The Christmas tree is scheduled to be assembled at the weekend, and I am planning on making mince pies and simmering up some wassail; there is snow on the tops surrounding the village and the local Christmas festivities are in full swing - hopefully my first mince pie will bring the festive feeling along soon enough.
But, in reality, I can think of one thing and one thing only. I have a new obsession, and it's taking all of my creative energies, a lot of my time and most of my more pleasant social graces right now. I haven't had such a one-track mind for quite a while, so please, do bear with me. From where I'm standing right now, I'm thinking that this electric state will last until about March (the only clue I can give right now - I'm being careful about what I say for a variety of reasons, though), and then, for better or for worse, life will hopefully start to take a more definite shape again.
Until then, well, let's see about a mince pie or two!