Good afternoon all.
I'm about to leave the office for 11 days. I've emptied the bins of all the rotting confectionery, fed Toby the Sapient Pig and got through most, though not all, of the marking. I'm going home with a manuscript to review for the Welsh Books Council/Cyngor Llyfrau Cymru (thanks for the homework, Clare) and a pile of books. At least one of them will be Ballard's Cocaine Nights, the last text on my MA module, and Angels in America, which I'm adding to my first year drama module, Making a Scene. I had quite forgot what an enormously long play it is to be honest. No doubt I'll take some other books home, but what they'll be I don't yet know. If I get enough ironing and wrapping done tonight I'll take a wander through the Room-and-a-Half of Unread Books.
Then it's off to the ancient family seat for my annual bout of illness, occasioned by being in close proximity to six of my eight nephews and nieces, and several of my siblings, all of whom bring exotic new bacteria home just for me.
As interlude music, I'll leave you with some of my favourite discoveries of the year: work by Pauline Oliveros. Experimental drone accordion: pretty much my idea of heaven. And so festive.
Happy Christmas. See you in January.
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