Typically the intelligent realists among us can be a bit tiresome. We love them and agree with their take on existence but manage to remain lighthearted as we face it. Most years it is a fifty/fifty split between storm clouds and optimistic light breaking around the edges; there is time to laugh; we can band together to keep each other sane and lifted. This year has made jaded cynics of us all. Turns out when you have enough free time on your hands to watch the world function, it is a complete shit show. Spend eight months seeped in it and—well—here we are to where talking of the Australian wildfires a year ago takes on a tone of near reminiscence in comparison. If this reads negative, know that hopefully you, like us, see a tomorrow of promise, a tomorrow of togetherness, a tomorrow where right wins the day and the racist nazis pile up in their maga pickup trucks and drive right off the edge of their flat-earth conspiracies into forgotten anonymity once again. But in this moment, after all we have been through, and all we have lost—all who we have lost—we just need a holiday to get our bearings back. Attic Ted feel it with us. Not a bad way to dance off a year we will never forget; with all the good and bad that implies.