The dishes are washed and put away. The trash has gone out to the garage. At least one child that I know of is in bed. I can’t find the other one. Maybe she's asleep, too, and I just haven’t looked.

And so I’ve come up to my little room to assemble the bits and pieces that my brain recalls from another week of life and football. The holiday season has skid round the corner and now veers dangerously close to the bushes. I am in the passenger seat, with the volume up and a pile of empties in the back.

There’s no point in resisting this time of the year. Just watch the football and eat and drink whatever’s at hand. With that in mind, scribble down a few platitudes in January that you’ll aim to abide by through April until the sun comes back and it’s cup season and then the Euros start and maybe we won’t be quite as hobbled by this silly virus and can do some or all of this in a pub somewhere.

Read the rest of Issue #62 here.