Wait until next year

While I am out and about I sometimes play a little game for my amusement.

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Last week I read W.G. Sebald’s A Place In The Country, a collection of essays on his favourite writers. Within I found the beginnings of a roadmap for writing:

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This is a season governed by custom. So I like how Christmas Eve feels far more personal – we all have our own routines rather than feeling bound by tradition.

We took an evening walk around our local streets, enjoying the lights and displays. As much as I love the insularity of Christmas, of holing up away from the world, I think it is also good to feel part of something bigger and engage in that world a little.

It was wonderful to share a moment like this with loved ones. I know I am exceptionally lucky.

I would happily eat mince pies all year round. I’m considering stockpiling them to make that possible. 

Or perhaps I should just learn how to bake them. 

Or accept that the value is in the scarcity, like all good things.