I really ought to have been in work today, but instead have
decided that my festive holidays start right here, right now. This last minute
change of plan was brought about by about three weeks of dodging the winter
lurgy which ended yesterday. Just as I was looking ahead to a bug-free
Christmas Day, congratulating myself on my super-human powers of immunity and
resilience, the evil snot-monster made
its way up my trouser leg,, under my shirt and up into my nostrils. Here, it’s found
a nice spot to stay for a while, unpacked its deck-chair, put down a towel and
set about its business,
Of course, I should not be surprised. It was just my turn to
win the annual game of pass the germ-parcel. When the music stopped it was me
holding the mucus. How delighted my wife is that I’ve brought it home to share
with the family. Well, it’s Christmas, and that’s all about sharing isn’t it?
So, I find myself with an extra day to wallow around feeling
sorry for myself. It means I have a little extra time to potter. I clean out
the kitchen cupboard that has been developing teenager tendencies, all messy,
disorganised and starting to smell. I wrap a few presents, apologising under my
breath to the intended recipients for what I know is my shockingly bad
technique. I do washing, empty bins, tidy away clothes and so on. All the while
I have one ear on the radio. In particular, I’m listening for news of the
progress of this season’s second named storm, Barbara. Really? Who thinks up
these names? I’m struggling to think of a less stormy name than Barbara.
Beatrix maybe. Anyway, Babs is on her way from the west, while my daughter,
Alex, is due to fly home from Paris tomorrow evening.
I know I shouldn’t but when you become a parent your DNA
gets altered, and the worry gene is activated. That little critter is now
pulsating and generating a quiet beep at the back of my head. Of course, I know
this is a reaction of my chimp brain. My rational human brain is reassuring me
that they won’t let the plane take off if the weather is so bad, or that
statistically flying is still one of the safest ways to travel. Beep, beep.
There’s a good chance we’ll see a whole bunch of Alex’s
friends before she arrives home. We’ve organised a festive drinks do for
tomorrow night – a further opportunity for me to share my special gift this
Christmas. We’ve also allowed our 15-year old son, Dominic, to invite a few
friends. The extra time I had today with Dom gave us time for a helpful chat
about what ‘a few’ means. In my head it is 4 or 5. His interpretation was
several more. Beep, beep, beep.
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