Let's "do" advent, shall we? Well, let's try. I'm not guaranteeing I'll do every day. I almost certainly won't. But let's see.
I love advent. I am all about the anticipation. I work myself up into an infantile froth of excitement then burn out by Christmas Eve and have to be stored in a dark cupboard for a week. These first few days are the best bit. This is what was in my fugue state advent calendar box of tricks:
A crocheted tree decoration snowflake. Approved. The fancy Etsy calendar has yielded some mushrooms.
Events: I have had a properly lovely weekend. I went to my friend Nathalie's sample sale and found an exceptionally bargainous present for a family member (who may be reading and will learn no more, actually, if they are reading it wasn't that much of a bargain) and admired her feathery footed chickens, reviewed a hotel (afternoon tea, booze, view, dinner, clean, cool sheets and even a massage, which was an incredible treat), looked at Lego sculpture, walked past a free children's cooking workshop and forced the children to join in, ate resultant biscuits (L's was in the shape of The Scream), walked the dog in the sun. Lovely. Perfectly delightful. Oh! And on Friday night we actually made the damned matchbox advent calendar. I can't show you a picture today, because my technology is being massively uncooperative (unless you can be arsed to look on Instagram), but suffice to say that the children basically did it (with astonishing good humour) I did not allow my latent perfectionism to get a look in, and it shows. I will show you another day. I bet you're dying to see it. I bet Christmas won't be Christmas without a look at my smudgy matchboxes. It's totally fucking Real Simple, your minds will be blown (they won't).
Reading: Shotgun Love Songs, of which I have heard amazing things. Not sure yet, but have only just started.
State of mind: Trying (and failing) not to succumb to galloping Sunday night anxiety. OH GOD TOMORROW, why do you loom so scarily, with your load of deadlines whose fulfilment is out of my control? I wish I could learn to deal with this particular type of anxiety with something short of a mallet blow to the head. Barring that I am going to watch Homeland, which I hope will have broadly the same effect.