And what, then, is there to write about?

Miserable weather, mostly. Too cold, too many flurries, too soon. Grey, wet gloom and ice slicking the tarmac so one has to pick one's feet and walk carefully. Office thermostat malfunction, so that one's feet freeze through the day. End-of-year blues. Deathly malaise that makes it difficult to drag oneself out of bed and into work each morning. A crippling incapacity to do anything remotely productive... and an environment that robs anything productive one does of any excitement or value.

Crib, bitch, whine, moan...

But ah, the one silver lining: the discovery of the Telegraph quick crossword online. Oh Calcutta-morning-ritual joy!