The end of the year.

Well here we are, at the end of another year. I'm sat here with not much to do, except in the company of a lot of books and video games. You always hope and hope for the work to be over, without actually thinking of what you'll do when it actually is. What is here, however, is snow. Quite a bit of it, perhaps even enough to last for a white christmas? Doubtful, but a nice thought. I mean, I don't even particularly celebrate Christmas, so I don't know what I'm doing wishing for a snowy one. Harking back to some manufactured idyll I suppose, it's all rather Dickensian, except without the crushing poverty.