Bank holiday Monday. Duvet day, after eight solid days of minding the bar and chatting customers and thinking only of others. Oh and nursing an intense fury at the state of the world so that only endless movement—cleaning, and walking, and yoga multiple times in the day—could assuage it. The weather was finally right, cold, after all those fierce mild days, freakishly so, New Year's Eve was only 14 degrees. I read in bed, drinking water and eating nothing until dinner, takeaway southern fried chicken with chips and beans and coleslaw in the company of husband and mother-in-law, both of whom I hadn't seen all day. Beholden to no one but myself, and I had a divine time.




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