After a brief period of upheaval, we are now safely ensconced with my parents for Christmas: the presents have been wrapped, the turkey has been baconed (apparently this is a verb, or so I was told in no uncertain terms this morning), and Eoin has enjoyed his first sprout. S and I have been able to sneak out for a grown-up lunch with friends in the Poshest Restaurant in Preston™, which involved a great deal of pudding and a healthy dose of Chianti. There was a small wobble when we realised there are no longer any swings in the village for Eoin’s daily constitutional (my mum reckons they have been taken into storage for the winter. I think they have been condemned as unsafe, largely because they were ancient and crumbling when I was a wee one), but we’re hoping that vast quantities of wrapping paper might keep him entertained until Boxing Day. Little more remains to be done but to try to manage a complete night’s sleep before the general decadence and indulgence begins tomorrow.
…and, of course, Merry Christmas to everyone!*
*I couldn’t remember how to say “Happy Christmas” in Latin, but I’m sure Caecilius will forgive me.