Boxing day is one we traditionally spend with my mum and dad, and there was no reason to break with tradition this year.
I was feeling less horrendous, for a start. Only one anti emetic and one hot water bottle today, and I could eat.
And boy, did I eat.
I ate like the Mayan prophecy might be coming true tomorrow. That’s how much I ate.
I am putting on an extra winter layer due to our heating failure. I am so in tune with nature and everything.
And the joint of beef that my brother and mum cooked was gorgeous, as were the raspberries and cream for dessert, and it would have been rude not to have indulged really.
As well as gorgeous food I was lucky enough to get some wonderful gifts, including a fantastic French version of the Owl and the Pussycat complete with wonderful illustrations; delicate silver earrings shaped like goldfish; a gorgeous carving of an armadillo curled up into a ball and two Ottolenghi cook books.
They know me very well.
The children got as motley an assortment as me, all equally well chosen, and spent the afternoon running about playing with Moshlings and sporks and singing and writing each other notes, and wishing bedtime would come so they could put on their new onesies.
We came home to an evening of eating crisps noisily on the sofa whilst watching Dr. Who. We always have to save it until we’re all together, and as the girls were away with their dad yesterday it had to be today.
We love the Christmas episode, because it has been so long since the last series ended, and then we end up hating the Christmas episode because it is so long until the next series starts. It’s difficult. In truth we loved it. We thought it was very silly indeed, and mostly it just made us laugh, and set up some intriguing paths for the new series to follow, and we didn’t really miss Amy and Rory much, which is a good sign.
Tomorrow we do sensible things like take my car to the garage to have the strange clunking noise which has been plaguing it for a while sorted out, and I have to go to the hospital for a scan. That’s so that they can sort out the strange clunking noise which has been plaguing me for a while.
Actually it is to see whether my lady bits are actually trying to shoot out of my ears, which is what it feels like at the moment. Jason is hopeful it will show something impressive and easy to sort out. I am less sanguine about things, and also slightly alarmed that a) I am still in quite lot of pain and they are going to want to squish me and b) they want me to drink two litres of water and it is very nippy outside and my bladder is not of the finest qualitee.
I am praying that I do not end up a) punching the ultrasound operator and/or b) piddling in the middle of the pay and display before we get in there.
The car can look after itself.