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One of my emails has arrived. I'm giving a paper in Leeds next July.

The rest of the trip is completely unplanned (although obviously I need to go to the Languedoc). I can count seeing writerly friends into my planning (as long as they want to see me), because the whole trip is about this doctorate thing, which is about writing and history. Planning is going to happen in a real hurry, because it isn't really that far away.

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I'm getting in early because I really get tired of people asking what I'm doing on Christmas Day and that question has begun to roam in my vicinity. If I write it here, some of you will know and won't ask.

Right now my plans are to work through the whole period. The friends I normally visit for Christmas dinner are celebrating early this year and everyone else is busy with family. It's my late father's birthday on Boxing Day (I've got to stop saying "my late father" now that both are gone, but it's a longtime habit) and I normally plan something with friends, but lots of people are on vacation and it looks like I shall be alone.

This is not the end of the world. It will become the end of the world if people forget that these are normal workdays for me. If this changes, cool (social life!). If it doesn't change, then expect me to become grumpier and grumpier the more people expect me to be all kinds of sweetness and light and ask me if I like watching Christmas movies (one day I shall ask the people who ask this what festive Jewish movies they watch). Three workdays with no friends and no distractions are awesome and useful and I shall get much work accomplished, but they aren't precisely the stuff of good cheer.*

On a happier note, I got my first Christmas card. I don't celebrate for myself (being of the wrong religion), but I really love it when people include me in their happiness.

Which reminds me, Chanukah starts soon. In a few hours. No-one indicated they wanted presents when I asked the other day, but if the situation has changed and you'd like silly e-presents or strange things posted by snail mail, it's not too late to let me know.


ETA: My life keeps changing. I am now spending 25 December with some of my favourite people.




*If you are a close friend and you ask, I shall wait for a Monday morning when the rest of your Section is away and I shall ring at 9 am and tell you you should be very happy. In other words, stirrers get what they give.

Happy Chanukah

I thought no-one wanted silly e-Chanukah presents this year. It turned out that some people missed the request, some thought that it didn't apply to them (if you are reading this, then it applies) and one friend was worried about email.

How does this work? If you want one of the presents, all you have to do is tell me before anyone else. There are more than eight possibilities, but I'm only delivering on eight, so if you really want something, don't leave it.

What are your choices of amazing and sumptuous gifts?

1. A copy of the first batch of recipes I put together for friends and family (email only)

2. A copy of the second batch of recipes I put together for friends and family (email only)

3. The story of Chanukah blogged (same text as usual, except this year I won't blog it unless someone nominates it as a gift)

4. An envelope containing a selection of exotic spices (only for people living in Australia -sorry - I refuse to get into arguments with the nice folks in quarantine) - including grains of paradise and cubebs

5. A random book from my shelves (possibly quite awful, possibly almost tolerable, possibly quite fine - you won't know until you receive it) - personal collection only (I need to see faces for this one)

6. A list of a hundred books I own that is strangely dissimilar to all the lists floating round (I can blog this)

7. Many versions of Mary Had a Little Lamb (probably best emailed, but I can blog it if this is important to you)

8. A late Medieval "I own this book" rhyme (emailed)

9. An open question thread on the blog (open for as much of Chanukah as is left)

10. A picture of me as a toddler (emailed)

11. A high resolution version of my new author portrait (the one where I sit in a giant teacup)