Things start to get busy over the days leading up to Christmas. For a start, tomorrow, I have to have my boobs squashed flat as a pancake in one of those medieval torture-chamber mammogram machines. It's a routine three-yearly check-up that we poor old fifty-somethings have to go through and I don't much relish it. It always hurts and the whole procedure can only have been invented by a man. If men had to have their genitalia pincered paper-thin in a similar fashion, they would have invented an alternative pretty damn quickly.
Snow permitting (and we have had a fair bit of sleet/snow in London today) I hope to collect my mother by car after the weekend and bring her back to the alcoholic daze madhouse for the Christmas period. She did say she wouldn't mind if she spent Christmas on her own. I was not sure whether that was code for "please don't make me endure yet another Christmas with Greg" or whether she was just being considerate, trying to spare me the drive in both directions, as she hates to see me chasing my tail, which I invariably do. Anyhow, I have said there is no way I would see her spend Christmas on her own with a solitary chicken leg for her lunch, so she will be with us, whether she likes it or not. Greg spends most of his time asleep on a dining chair downstairs anyway, so my mum, Kay and I will be separate from him in the lounge upstairs. We'll try our best to eat as much chocolate as we can and fall asleep during the films.
Kay is already back from uni and we have been having lots of girlie chats and catch-up conversations. She seems so mature after just one term and is fascinating to listen to.
I leave you with the following carol to get you in the Christmas mood. Many thanks to all of you who over the past year have offered advice, a shoulder to cry on, or have just been there for me. I appreciate it very much.
Happy (or should that be merry) Christmas ....from Rosiero