Alright, in fairness to Amit (the remarkably bendy and unreasonably cheerful man in the photo below), we collapsed in peels of laughter. The tears, mind you, were of genuine pain.
Husband posed in front of the camera and pleaded with me to show you his best attempt at this pose but…ah, no…I feel he might regret it and you have imagination enough to fill the gap. Suffice to say, we are making efforts to get bendier in 2017.
Christmas was brilliant. I believe we may claim to have kept it well. My favourite moment of Christmas is always the lighting of the candle on Christmas Eve. As a child I was told that the candle was to light the way for the Holy Family. More recently, President Mary Robinson revived and enriched the tradition as a beacon for the Irish Diaspora. In our house it is a moment of quiet nostalgia, a lull in the mayhem, a deep peaceful breath.
You know it’s a good Christmas when you eat Baked Alaska…
That sloe (left) and damson (right) gin were SO worth making! There’s little to choose between them really. The pure sloe version has a bit more zing to it but both are delicious and make fantastic G&Ts.
All that gin meant that only the least taxing of crochet projects could be attempted so I whiled away a couple of movies making little cotton facecloths. I never quite understood why people bothered crocheting facecloths but it was a most relaxing and oddly satisfying occupation. It gave me that feeling that I could survive as a pioneer in the wilderness. Just give me a hook and some yarn and I might cobble together a whole home.
Of course, there were many lovely and thoughtful gifts.
My Small Girl made this flower for me and wrapped it up herself in a massive wad of sellotape which significantly delayed the Christmas breakfast.
Middle Girl had this stunning bookmark made for me. Yes, I cried.
Teenage Daughter created our family, including the dog (!), as Lego people! We are all even wearing our favourite outfits! Husband’s Nasa t-shirt is perfect! Are you flabbergasted? I was.
Teenage Son is one of the few people I can rely on to buy me a book. Naturally, he bought a book which he was eager to read himself. He was literally breathing down my neck as I finished the last page and took it from my hands before I closed the cover. The Girl who Saved the King of Sweden by Jonas Jonasson is just as quirky and daft as The Hundred Year Old Man.
Santa may also have been guilty of delivering books which he was eager to read for himself. Mistletoe and Murder by Robin Stevens was in Middle Girl’s stocking and we both enjoyed it very much. It’s sort of a British Nancy Drew; very retro and sweet.
Oh, this one… A Boy Called Christmas by Matt Haig…deep contented sigh. It’s a perfect book and one I’m certain will become a Christmas classic.
Stuffed full of Baked Alaska, we eventually left the house and walked off a gin or two.The beach always seems to be the perfect antidote to the massive lethargy that builds over Christmas.
I thought, before Christmas, that I had run out of energy. I felt that I was spinning too many plates and not getting anything done properly. I was disappointed with my efforts.
I have taken a good, long rest. I have devoted the last couple of weeks to being a Mammy.
I am itching to write again but…
but, but, but… I have run out of gumption. I’ve known all along that if I stopped writing, even for a short while, I would be overtaken by nerves. I’m afeared (spellcheck doesn’t like that word but I do) that I’m making a holy show of myself and afeared that I am exposing myself and my family to ridicule. I’m filled with collywobblish trepidation and, at the same time, filled with the urge to carry on. The only cure, I suppose, is to fake it and see what happens. I should breathe deeply. Those were Amit’s last words just before I keeled over sideways.
Onwards, to a very bendy New Year!