Family routine, Christmas Eve. Girls go get hair done at some ridiculously early hour. We drive through to Durham, pretending to the kids that we're not going to the panto that we've been to every Xmas Eve for the past six years. They pretend to be fooled. We sit in the front row, and this year get covered with shaving foam, and repeatedly harrassed by a man dressed as an elderly woman (my son, grasping for the correct panto terminology of dame, simply described her as 'the ladyboy'), and have a great time. Then we go to the same Italian restaurant we've been to every year, eat big, late, lunch, marvel that it's actually Xmas Eve already, and where the hell did December go anyway? Then drive back home, sort things out, settle down. Which is what I'm about to do now. Things are done. Things are sorted. I am knackered. We are all knackered. But things are ready.
So that's me done. See you on the other side, thank you to everyone who reads this, and I hope you all have a great one.