The British and the Irish call this Boxing Day, people go around with boxes asking for money to be put in the box. This is when the English have their madcap “pantos”. Watch some Monty Python. You’ll get the idea.

Meanwhile, it’s high Summer in Australia and the cricketers are on the ovals. There is a test match with India this year. We Americans are busy going to sales and returning ill-advised or ill-fitting gifts.

I have no respite from insomnia. I awaken around Four AM to watch The Silver Meteor headed for New York. I’m drinking coffee from my Waffle House mug, a surreptitious gift from Earl, a good soul who slipped one to me from their vast inventory.

I’m reading a biography of Natalie Barney, imagining life in fin de Sieclé Paris. I’m actually tired. But the romance attributed to Paris keeps me reading.

I suppose Resolutions for the New Year are in order. But I will have one last fling with procrastination before 2025 slips in.