“So, what do you want for Christmas this year?” asked the current Mrs Masher.
I gave my stock answer: “World Peace… and socks.”
She did her best, but apparently, Ban Ki Moon wouldn’t take her calls.
So, whilst the Middle East is still a hotbed of tension, and war and bloodshed continue in the region unabated, I have a drawer full of Marks & Spencer’s finest male hosiery.
Swings and roundabouts.
Amelia and Harry – of course – didn’t want socks for Christmas. They wanted Xboxes and tellies and all manner of stupidly expensive items.
They must have been good kids this year though, as Santa seems to have got them just about everything they wanted…. and more.
Stupid Santa. (S)he never learns.
And, between us, we have eaten enough food to feed a small African village for a week. It’s obscene, really. I’d send them our leftovers, but I’m guessing that half a tub of Twiglets, three dry sausage rolls and a partially used jar of horseradish sauce is probably not what they really want.
But, we have been far luckier with the Christmas storms than many. Following the heavy overnight winds, I opened the curtains on Christmas morning and was amazed at the scene of carnage that greeted me: next door’s bin had blown over and two empty crisp packets were dancing round the garden.
We’ll embark on a clean-up operation as soon as the weather calms down a bit.
Here’s hoping your celebration of the birth of the baby Jesus, was as meaningful as ours.