Not much to write about. Still floating on the after-holiday glow, but a bit peeved that it's now work for me all the way into the new year and beyond. I've only got Christmas day off this year, working all the other days. The usual Christmas socializing; the interdepartmental work do, which glorious repast consisted of a piece of stale focaccia and an overseasoned sausage full of preservative. Not very festive at all. The usual people making the usual fools of themselves in fancy dress, ho ho hum.
Mr Machinery has been going wild this week, no doubt trying to finish for Christmas, but I'll bet you anything he has it going on Christmas day, just for a little amusement before Christmas dinner. Nutbag.
Starting to formulate New Year's resolutions yet? One of mine will be to get away more, whether it be to Blenheim or Bhutan. Christchurch is very hard to live in now, with the endless roadworks, rebuilds, demolitions, and general angst. Plus my personal nemesis (see above). Driving back from holiday along the motorway, I couldn't help but think "Why do I live here?" There has to be a better place.
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