As of tomorrow I only have eight days of work until my first holiday for the year. For nine days I don’t need to do anything - except hang out, sleep, eat, swim, and my favorite thing ever - rereading trashy books.

For someone who used to make their living writing and editing (not books admittedly, but tv was kind of similar), I have a disturbing love for a particular type of book - crap. Fitting the bill perfectly are Patricia Cornwell’s last four or five books, which I’ve read, despised, and then reread and despised all over again. Disturbing you might think? Agreed, but I’m powerless to resist the urge.

I actually liked her first three or four books, which were quite well written and clever - so I can’t bring myself to read them again. All the bad ones are at my mother’s house (which is why they’re a Christmas time treat) - because she suffers from almost exactly the same affliction. Agatha Christie was her first love, but I’ve lured her over to the Cornwell dark side. Last year Miss M got furious with me as I ploughed my way through Blowfly and the subsequent titles I’ve forgotten the name of, involving some disturbing French werewolf, a heap of smart alec regular characters, and Kay Scarpetta - the most annoying heroine of all.

It’s a sick addiction and I probably need some kind of support group, but I may have to create it myself. Until then, my end of year holidays will be inexorably linked with Ms Cornwell’s particular brand of “creativity”.

The last two days’ advent activities have been held over since Miss M has had to go to her papa’s house early, so photos will be posted some time later this week.

Today I’m loving: the fringe I didn’t know I had!