I have long felt a special affinity for 23 December. In my childhood we called it Christmas Eve Eve, which delighted me. For several years (or maybe only three, but enough for it to feel like a tradition) this was the day when we would go to the woods in search of holly, mistletoe and other foliage to decorate our house with (along with all the usual paper and foil stuff).

I’m not sure why this was a big deal to me. I mean, I loved romping through the woods, but we lived in the Forest of Dean so that wasn’t exactly unusual. It’s been a long time now, but my memory of those Christmas Eve Eve forages is overwhelmingly of being with my Dad, so perhaps that’s what it was – he worked long hours so time with him was (and still is) precious.

Really, not much has changed. Though I won’t be walking in the woods today, that is something I very much look forward to doing with my Dad next week. Much as I love living in Bristol, there are days I crave being surrounded by trees. And of course, time with family is always important.

We have a busy Christmas planned so I don’t know how much I’ll be online. I will be grabbing every spare second I can to read (I have 300 pages left of Sophie’s Choice still), but books will have to compete with nature and family for attention. Isn’t it always the way?

I hope you have a wonderful holiday season.