So, Saturday morning I went into town, to use the library for the first time in seven or eight years. It’s been so long, in fact, that they still have my old address on file, which baffled me when I first tried to log on to the catalogue. Anyhow, it was all in vein, as I couldn’t find any of the books I was after, so browsed the display of photos from China in the gallery instead, and went back out into the cold to look for a birthday present for Mark.

Settled on books. Always a safe bet.

It only took two days of being back in the office to decide that I’ve had enough of the salads in M&S, so on the way back to the car I bought veg to make soup. Rather miscalculated my quantities, though, and came close to snapping off my cold frozen fingers under the weight of the bags.

Anyhow, I got them safely home (fingers and bags) and set about chopping and peeling right away. It’s a good job I did, too, as it took a good four and a half hours to complete. By then I had masses of the stuff. Fifteen or sixteen pints, in all sorts of bowls and containers, perched on various tables and chairs to cool. They steamed up the windows so I couldn’t see out, so I opened them all then went and sat in the bath to keep warm.

Out to Mark’s around seven. Arrived late, but fortunately remembered at the last minute to wrap and take the present with me. They were all piling into their cars when I arrived so I followed them into town where we ate at the quirky Chineese where we’d once been chased out into the street after a mix-up on the bill.

We had a private room, so perhaps to punish us they’d put a karaoke machine in there with us. Over the next few hours the music got steadily worse and worse so that by the time we’d finished, and there was a veritable lake of monosodium glutamate swilling around the plates left on the table, it sounded like we were sitting inside a Fisher Price toy.

Mark and Alison kicked off the singing, and we stayed there for the next two and a bit hours, wailing to the mis-worded songs. The doors to our room kept sliding open, and perhaps by coincidence the restaurant steadily cleared out.

We left some time before midnight and headed back to Mark’s for cake and drinks and bingo, then videos and drinks and cake, then drinks and chat and cake.

Left at four. Home shortly after on the deserted roads. Bagged up the now-cold soup, which looked like the outcome of a bout between a blender and a funfair goldfish, and put it in the freezer.

Flopped into bed, but was woken a few hours later by dad on the phone calling to wish happy new year.

Hid under the duvet for a while after we’d spoken, then forced myself out of bed so I could dig out the papers my accountant needs to check my tax. Took them round to mum’s so she could pass them on, and stayed for lunch and tickles with the cat.

I don’t know where the day disappeared. Next think I know it’s five and I’m racing to the station to catch a train into London. Felt too much like going into work to be pleasant, but was worth the effort. Free tickets to see Cirque du Soleil at the Royal Albert Hall. Fantastic venue, fantastic show. For a moment I was impressed that Canadians could be so flexible, in spite of the cold environment, but then read the programme and saw that most of them are from Poland or the Ukraine anyway.

What a show, though. I’ve never seen anything like it. People literally flying around all over the place, and half of them without any safety wires. Loads of bungee stuff, some unbelievably fit Polish guys twisting themselves into all manner of unnatural shapes, and kids being thrown around and dangled at heights even Michael Jackson would consider reckless.

Home way too late again. Dug into the freezer to get out some of the soup for tomorrow but needn’t have bothered. It’s still liquid, despite the fact it’s been in there 20 hours.

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