I think it was John Lennon who once sang-
"So this is January the 14th, and what have you done? Missed the 12th day of Christmas by a good week for one."
I think that was what he sang, at least once anyway. I wasn't really listening (a bit like anyone who thinks John and Yoko whisper greetings to each other at the start of the slightly modified single version of this ditty- listen again but with your volume dangerously high, and while you're at it check if your copy of Desire by Bob Dylan, of course you have one, you bought it as a 'Columbia- Nice Price' release, is one of the ones where you can hear Emmylou Harris saying a swear in the fade-out of Oh Sister).
So, what have I done? Well, I've watched the snow obviously, gone for some vigorous walks in the stuff, written some jokes, looked at dispiriting football on the telly, lost a little bit of the evil extra weight I've acquired gradually over the last year.
Not that much really- in fact it seems to me to me like I've lived my life like a candle in the kitchen drawer, only occasionally useful and mainly just taking up room.
I think it was me who once sang that.
Essentially I've been gearing up and rarely getting further than an hour's walk away from the house, or getting more than four pages of anything written in a day.
That all changes soon though, because I'm about to go on holiday for two weeks and thus write much, much less, much, much further away from the house! Hooray!
Today, I excitingly got an email to say something short I'd written at the start of the week had been recorded for the radio (for the open writers sketch show Newsjack), which was nice. It has however now hit the metaphorical cutting room floor. Still, a few hours mild anticipation of some pocket money is better than not being thought good enough to be recorded at all. No, really it is, ever so slightly.