I have just eaten the end of the Yule log. The bit with all the extra buttercream icing on it. I feel very sick, but replete and at peace with the world. My festive season is now truly underway.
Christmas Eve started at sparrow fart with Jason deciding that we must beat the rush into town to pick up parcels from the sorting office, and then go and collect his new suits. To make this seem less punishing he treated us to breakfast at Carluccios. We were there by eight when it opened and finished by nine, when we had half an hour to kill before we could pick up the new suits.
This was spent going round John Lewis looking at all the things that will undoubtedly be discounted to nothing by Boxing Day morning. In revenge, Jason and Oscar set all the alarms in the clock department, and we hung a few pictures wonky as we were passing through.
It is the small things.
We have also visited granny, taken books back to the library and avoided doing any more grocery shopping. We have done more festive homework. Tallulah is writing an epic tale of love and loss with a Christmas theme, and my continued input is required.
It is fair to say that over the last few days we have had our creative differences. I am a hard to please critic, and she is a woman who thinks five minutes of her effort equals the sweat on the brow of Michelangelo after finishing the Sistine Chapel. It has taken us our time to find a harmonious middle ground that is proving productive. I am sure it is a valuable lesson for both of us.
Or it will be, if we survive the process.
Jason has dragged the Christmas tree down from the loft, and he and the children are now decorating it. I am hiding in here until he loses interest. The children and I are of the more is more decorative persuasion. We favour drag queen style bling, excess in all forms and a total lack of planning.
To Jason, this is kryptonite. He is currently taking them in hand. I can hear the words ‘Stop! Just STOP!’ rising above the festive jollity, as he gets out his slide rule and works out some kind of simple grid method of decoration in which everything harmonises perfectly.
I shall wait until he has finished and then go in with extra sparkle and a horde of decorations I have been hiding in the bookcase for just such an occasion.
Derek is sitting on her favourite stool, watching proceedings with rapt fascination. The tree will remain up while we are away on holiday, and granny will be cat sitting. What is the betting that Derek will be at the vet’s in a tinsel induced coma by New Year’s Eve?
I hope there’s still enough flex on the credit card to pay for her to be de tinselled.