It’s easy to be thankful for the good stuff, as Mon points out, but can you be thankful for the not-so-good? Can you apply eager-beaver cheery optimism to stuff that metaphysically stubs your toe, I ask? Can you? CAN YOU?

Sorry. Got a bit carried away there.

Mostly, these days feel like a constant succession of tasks, with a few pauses in between; I wrote the other day about feeling as if I’m always en route somewhere, and I think that sums it up, in a way. I thought I’d have free time (free time!) once my PhD was out of the way, but somehow other things have crept up on me to take over what little time I used to devote to genuine PhD study, and I find myself with a constant mental list of things I should have done, things I must do, things I mustn’t forget, things I must finish, things I must plan…

But this morning, I got up at 6.20, staggered into the witchling, rootled her out of her nest and staggered back into the bedroom with her, where she came into the big bed for the standard half-hour of cuddles and fidgets. ‘Up,’ she insisted, ‘UP!’ Grabbing my fingers she pulled herself upright, wavered for a precarious minute, then slumped back down against me. ‘Up!’ Off we went again – up, down, up, down. Then a quick hiding session; she can’t resist peeking around the side of whatever she’s hidden behind, however, so a big blue eye, crinkled with merriment, watches as you ‘sneak’ up on her, asking ‘where’s that baby gone?’, to be greeted by a whipped-down quilt and a big beaming smile. I may be constantly en route, but the journey’s pretty bloody good.