Happy Christmas

The hyperactive child is asleep. The wife is wrapping presents. Monty is in his basket. Treacle is sitting next to me.

Me? I’ve just signed my Corporation Tax return and written a fat cheque to the Revenue.

Ho ho and, indeed, ho. Merry Christmas.

Wall to wall

Why is it that we seem to be suffering wall-to-wall, back-to-back illnesses in our household? I had a really rotten cold a few weeks ago. Over the weekend I had a nasty stomach bug. And now I have a sore throat, blocked sinuses and repeated sneezing. And, naturally, Hels and Tom have had/got it too.

Anyway, mustn’t grumble, and all that. None of us have had to be hospitalized, which is what happened to my Dad. He’s home now and getting better, but it was one of those stop-and-think things. Hmm.

Meanwhile, we’re all busy as mad things and wondering how we are going to survive the madness of the next fortnight. I do wonder how it is that, every year, we say we are going to do less and make the festivities simpler and more enjoyable, but still end up running around like idiots, cooking for the five thousand, spending a fortune (in spite of setting a maximum of fifteen quid on gifts) and actually not really enjoying it all as much as we’d like.

Bah! Bumhug!

Next year, we will go away for Christmas. I say it every year, but this time I mean it.