I love travelling, but for the last few years, I feel utterly sick in the two days before we go - sometimes even two weeks. It's a sense of overwhelm, my head going through all the things that must be done, from the minute (don't forget the eggs, don't forget to turn off the hot water) to the larger - I need to tidy up the chook pen and make sure the garden is soaked. I honestly feel like I'm going to vomit even writing this post. There's little reason for it, but there's certainly a lot of rhyme - my body has been somehow trained to repeat the same patterns of anxiety just before we go away.

And so, paralysed, I make pancakes for breakfast. It seems like a good thing to do, nourish oneself. Have something delightful - cold, sweet Christmas strawberries, calming oats, protein rich eggs.

It doesn't work, of course. I just feel more vomity. But they were delicious. The honey is from a friend's bees, feasting all year on yellow gum. Christmas time is definitely berry time - they feature in all our salads and puddings for weeks.

Meanwhile, Jamie writes a big list. He's trying to help, but in some ways he's making me more panicky. He decides to mow the lawns and clean the gutters. The neighbours chickens keep busting into our yard and it is making me stressed out - they're making a mess and I'm furious the neighbours haven't sorted out their fence yet as they promised. Everything seems heightened and escalated. Jamie shouts from the gutters that everything will be okay. and he'll do everything. This is lovely, but unrealistic. He can't even fold a tshirt to my specification. And he has to change the coolant on the Defender and many other things.