The real truth is that it has been a bit of a working Christmas for me, apart from the day itself. I still haven't finished the copy-editor's corrections for my laughter book. It's all a bit like Zeno's arrow -- however much closer you get, there always remains some distance to travel.
And it's a funny mixture of emotions and reactions too: gratitude-cum-self-flagellation. Each error spotted by the editor produces a huge sigh of relief (phew, thank heavens, Juliana spotted that I had a) omitted Silk et al 2014 from the bibliography, b) typed 1968 instead of 1986 . . .and so on, and on), followed by a stomach churning, "how-could-I?", sort of feeling. Am I really capable of using one edition of Terence for the quotes in the text, and another for the quotes in the notes? (Answer: yes, but it's been fixed).
But Christmas work is, however, gratifyingly different from the usual grind. Apart from the occasional emergency dash to the library, I've been settled in at home, in a comfy chair, in front of the fire -- with the occasional glass of wine (carefully calibrated to aid resilience, but not effect concentration; yes, it's tricky).