currently looks as if Santa has crash landed his sleigh in my living room and that Delia Smith has taken over my kitchen. I would have said Nigella Lawson but it's Amelia in the kitchen, not me. Come to think of it, there is something very Delia about my mother in law, especially the way she's prodding the pork at this very moment in time.The reason for this state of affairs is quite simple: it's Christmas soon. Have you noticed at all? If not then you need my son informing you every hour and, as he slides down under his Scooby Doo duvet, he tells you how many sleeps there are until the Big Day. If I sound grumpy, I don't mean it. I love Christmas, I really do. It's just that I have to do it at my own pace and in my own time. This time last year I was thinking about writing my Christmas card list and thinking about wrapping up the odd one or two presents and thinking about the menu for Christmas Day and what to take to Bea's Boxing Day Evening Buffet. This year, thanks to Amelia's control-freak nature, I've written my card list, wrapped up those (very) few presents I've already bought and planned the menu for both Christmas Day and Boxing Day. Bea doesn't know it yet but I'm bringing about a million mince pies and a hundred weight of prawn parcels.
Yesterday was lovely: Selfridges was busy but not packed, Santa presented Mac with a lovely present that he's yet to open (Amelia said that if he opened this present, Santa would know and not bring him any more: it's a wonder that David and Ginny don't have issues) and David enjoyed his monthly golf club meeting almost as much as Amelia enjoyed her dinner with Jack Next Door. I spent a lovely evening alone watching Casualty and Only Fools and Horses and eating Roses chocolates directly from the tin and only had to get up three times: once to let the dogs out and in, once to open the door to a merry David who couldn't find the key hole with his key and once to peek out at the lovebirds as they said their goodbyes over the privet.
Today has been less idyllic: David's hangover did not (sadly) prevent him from getting up and stomping around like a bear with a sore head, Amelia has been mooning about all day getting in my way and giving out her orders (albeit in a moony fashion) and Mac is rehearsing the big show stopping number for the Nursery Nativity - badly.
Even as I type he's belting it out in the garden with the dogs ("I'm singing alcopop mummy" he keeps saying thanks to Charlie praising his a-capella version on Friday), Amelia is telling me that my potatoes "will never go crispy unless you turn them regularly" and David has just fallen over the sellotape dispenser and has stubbed his toe.
Tis the season to be jolly.....how I'm longing for a Silent Night!
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