Happy holidays – not arf


Gawd help us, that was about the longest Christmas I’ve ever had. Long in terms of eventiness, that is, and not the kind that involves flitting from party to party, sparkling and twinkling my way across the shires. This was more the kind that sees my mum getting pneumonia and ending up in hospital, and then my dad slipping on ice (we’d left the Yak Trax at home, ‘It’s only down to the station,’ Stupid stupid stupid) and practically laming himself on the day we were due to pick up my mum, so that I had to find him two walking sticks, fold him into the car over his squawks of protest and then bool him into the ward in a wheelchair. Adding to the gaiety of the situation, those NHS wheelchairs are practically impossible to steer going forwards, so I had to tow him in behind me. Fortunately he’s quite a slight man. If I’d been trying to get a fatso uphill and onto the kerb, we’d have had a hat-trick of family disasters. As it was, I still managed to carve a slice of the action by scoring meself a nasty cough and carting it around the country to infect further- and nearer-flung relatives by the cartload.

Finally I shipped back into London and celebrated by catching another peach of a cold that had me retiring early and grumpily on NYE (I’m not sure where it came from, but Lincolnshire is helping police with their enquiries). At midnight I was thrown from my sweaty couch by fireworks so loud and so near they bathed the garden in red/green/pink light. The fireworks were too huge and frightening to be anything but designed for large public displays, and obviously not intended for the patio-with-bikini-line that constitutes the garden from whence they came. I dunno who set them off but the terrifying meteorite shower all around sparked some sort of epileptic memory of a rather shifty-looking gent filling a carrier bag with explosives in Lidl a day or so earlier.

Due to my life-threatening head cold, I did very little about new year’s eve except flop about in front of the telly. But I know that someone out there was thinking of me, because they bothered to text ‘Happy fucking new year. Xxx’ Absolutely no idea who it was, but I’ll take the cheeriness wherever it comes from.

And happy fucking new year to all.


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