As is customary each December, I’ve had enough of the current year, and am ready to begin a fresh one in the hope that a new number will mean a new beginning. It won’t of course, but a change is as good as a rest, or something…

Right now I’ve got the particular ‘ump with the expectations placed upon advocates to draft, agree and lodge complicated draft orders within unrealistic timescales. Some things never change, they only get more normalised. I have started to push back and explain fully and frankly just WHY I can’t get an order drafted by tomorrow at 4pm. Because I have other cases. Because I have family. Because I have meetings. And now travel again. And sometimes I need to switch off my computer, my brain. Sometimes I even need to sleep. In these short and gloomy December days wellbeing seems like a distant dream. Last week I had to debrief a client in a car park in the icy wind and the dark at 6.30pm because the judge sat late to finish the case. It was meant as a kindness on the parties of course, but it meant I got home tired, hungry and in no fit state to deal with yesterday’s left over drafting. Advocates (and I’m sure the judges too) have commitments precariously stacked one atop the other, rather like my kitchen draining board. And just like my draining board, every addition, adjustment or removal of an item risks shattered crockery on the floor. My husband will tell you that just carefully piling one thing on top of another and then having to rummage amongst the undergrowth to find your favourite cup or the tin opener is no way to stack a draining board. But there is no time to wipe everything up and stack it neatly to make room for more. And certainly no time to put everything away in order to reveal the surface below. No, the draining board is never clear in our house (unless my husband does it). Maybe I can balance just one more plate on top of the mound…maybe not. I feel like my life is like a badly stacked draining board…or a tall pisa-like stack of folded (but not ironed, obvs) washing, beside empty drawers.

Yes, I’m at that stage of the year when my dishwasher salt is about to run out. The warning light is on, my glasses have lost their sparkle, and have nasty grit in the bottom. And everything is slightly grubby…

You’ll have noticed I’m at that time of year when my analogies become even more ridiculously strained than normal. And my blog posts more unstructured than is entirely wise. This weekend has been the first for approximately two eternities since I’ve had a decent amount of kip and some down time. It has been lovely. I had a lie in this morning, plus (in an extra bonus) the central heating has been fixed so I woke up to a warm bedroom and bathroom. I have been lounging on the sofa surrounded by twinkling lights and draped in blankets, dogs and children. I’ve done absolutely no Christmas organising, on account of having entirely run out of f*cks to give (maybe Santa will bring me some if I’m a good girl). I thought I’d write a blog post, like in the good old days when I had time for such things, but I don’t really have a plan (Can you tell?)

I have two more court days to go before the Christmas break. I’m trying to muster some enthusiasm for Christmas and the new year…It will be a disappointingly short 10 days this year, and in our household it will definitely not be a normal Christmas. But at least it’s a break of sorts. I am keeping expectations low.

I’m sure there will be more exciting stuff happening in 2023, but I haven’t really thought about next year except as this beyond-the-immediate-survival-horizon thing that is just an ill defined blob of next-yeariness. I see with alarm as I flick through it that my diary has THINGS in it right up until June. I suppose the usual January joys will be with us –  January tax bill to pay, new CPD plan to draw up, still cold and dark, annual realisation by about 4 Jan that actually this year won’t be any better than the last…but perhaps its best to keep 2023 blurred and out of focus until it arrives and smacks us around the chops like a cold wet fish.

The only specific 2023 news item I can think of to offer you is this one:

The Family Court Reporting Pilot will finally go live at the end of January. The pilot will only be in Cardiff, Leeds and Carlisle, and it isn’t perfect – but it is happening. And it is an opportunity to really push forward transparency in the Family Court. If we can get enough journalists AND legal bloggers to attend, observe and report. And IF the local judges and professionals keep cool. I will do my best to play my part, but I’m going to be honest, I’m too tired to muster much enthusiasm right now. I hope 2023 (or my increased dose of HRT) will bring renewed energy and time. But on any basis the legal blogging community really does need new recruits. If legal blogging remains the province of me and the same handful of others it will be both minimal and samey. Never fear, I will be at the FLBA conference in January 2023 talking with ENTHUSIASM AND VIGOUR about transparency, I just need to recharge my batteries first…

Righto. If I could be bothered I’d find a neat way to weave in a final reference to my draining board / dishwasher analogy now, but I can’t (be bothered). I’ve mainly been tapping away with my best serious face on, whilst pretending to watch Polar Express, so that I can avoid unloading the dishwasher for a bit longer…I mean really, what’s the point? Someone’ll only make it all dirty again, right?