Welcome to January 1st. A new year
When I was 'wee' I thought the millennium was almost unreachable and here we are in 2023.
I'm not as sociable as I used to be. Growing up in a very Scottish town in England, Hogmanay was to many, more important than Christmas. Not me. I embraced them both!
In those days you worked on the 1st, so it was out all night, nip home so as to wash off the old slap, have a drink of milk and head to work. Not that I think much got done. Although one year I did start a new job on the 1st and had to go to bed and toss and turn listening to the revellers around.
Over the years it got shall we say gentler. Stay up, have a toast, watch some fireworks and had to bed in the wee small hours.
I admit this year, I took me and the lurgy that is clinging to me like a leech to bed 'afor the bells'. I woke up at 12.01 to mutter 'happy new year' to my snoring other half who of course didn't hear me. I then tossed turned, coughed sneezed and spluttered for the next few hours.
Not a pretty sight.
(source—pinterest)
During which I pondered—along with a perhaps plot for a book, edits that need doing and how to add a person into the current WIP who will upset the applecart—on a few not so pleasant thoughts. To whit, about pelvic floor muscles, unexpected coughing sessions and shoot, dash to the loo moments. Is it old age, slower reactions or sods law?
Probably a bit of all of them.
But I'm still here, albeit creakier, still writing, albeit slower, and still enjoying life (even with the darned lurgy)
Stay safe everyone,
love and happy reading,
Raven xxx
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