I am officially on holiday. The next three weeks away from my job will make the other forty-nine bearable – just. I don’t have the resources to go anywhere and, if I did, would I leave the cats? Who would look after them? And so I remain. But this will mean sleeping in (if Tungsten doesn’t keep waking me extra early), staying up late (if I’m not too tired) and doing what I want to do (in between catering to the beasts). That doesn’t sound too bad, after all, does it?