I briefly looked over recent Christmas write-ups
to see what I said, and was gently boggled. Even by my standards of Christmas being the same each year, we seem to have excelled ourselves on similarity. Even down to the "famously loquacious" friend of the mother's whom we narrowly avoided as we left the butcher's on Christmas Eve last year.
(This year we did not avoid her. We left the butcher's, weighed down by giant turkey, and she caught us fair and square. I am now very well informed on the state of her largeish family.)
The tree? Well, that looks pretty much like it did last year. I have again shoe-horned all the baubles in the world onto it, including the costume-jewellery Maltese cross that used to be the "star" at the top of the tree when I was a kid. It's now been replaced by a silver snowflake, but I found it lurking at the bottom of a box and squeezed it onto a lower branch. ("Oh blimey," says the mother. "That was Ann's when she was a teenager". Ann is a schoolfriend of hers. Erm, so what is it doing in our Christmas decorations box? This seems unclear.)
ChrisC (bravely risking my family Christmas for the third year running) has mostly been looking about in confusion all day. Apparently he barely recognises Darlington without the festive snow, and has been asking rather anxiously when it's going to arrive. I considered explaining that Darlington isn't really
that far north and the last two years have been aberrations, but it seemed safer just to assure him the snow would doubtless be along tomorrow. It'll be delivered by a magical polar bear just after midnight. Won't it?
Merry Christmas to all, and to all goodnight.