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I'm busily sorting out maintenance schedules and rotas and generally having a gentle, enjoyable time of it in the office. I have some lovely classical music playing in the background, a healthy pre-prepared lunch waiting for me in the fridge, and Earl Grey tea has never tasted better.
It's so weird to think that this is the same office I sit in during June, July and August, frantically dealing with six hundred and seven different issues and incidents, juggling e-mails and meetings and phone calls and breakdowns and basically being run ragged. I know I've already mentioned it, but it's like I change jobs completely in September and take on a different role.

At home, Philippa and I are discussing what date we pick to start talking to Mathew about Christmas. The bloody adverts are all over the telly, the supermarkets are full of the bloody seasonal specials and I'm amazed we haven't heard Wham on the radio already. It'll be nice to have a big build-up but we don't want to kickstart too early. We're aware that he is getting into the perfect age now for all the magic to be meaningful and we want to make the most of it while we have it, because we know that it'll be frighteningly soon that he'll suddenly be a teenager, and it will have to mean something different. We even thought about taking him for a special Christmas excursion, but then we looked up the prices, and we decided not to spend six months-worth of food and bills on a 3-day trip to Lapland...

RC 18-11-25