Last weekend I had two glorious days of uninterrupted writing with Carla, my writing buddy (waves madly). We hid out in a holiday home near Queenstown, and did nothing but write. Oh, and drink the odd creativity-enhancing beverage.
Just as well, because it’s been absolute bedlam ever since; pre-Christmas madness with a capital M. And I’m left wondering, as I do every year, why we allow ourselves to get caught up in it all. The desperate stampede for just one more gift, the frenzied supermarket bun-fights, the manic Christmas Eve wrapping routine . . . And, as we do every year, Beloved and I swear we’ll be finished in time to enjoy a quiet Christmas Eve wine. (Yeah, right.) If only our kids knew the half of what goes into the magic of Christmas . . .