I love the whole kit and caboodle of our traditional Christmas. The build-up, decorating the tree and the house, the endless shopping, both in the supermarket and on Amazon. The ding-dong merrily on high carol singers, entertaining family and friends and generally spending an inordinate amount of money to run yourself ragged to ensure that your Christmas is merry and bright.
This year, we all had the virus from Hell, then I was stricken with sciatica. But still, you have to soldier on. The show, AKA the Christmas Day meal, has to go on.
So I apologize if I sound a little bar humbug on New Year’s Eve but, having survived the rigours of another Christmas, I am now lying prostrate and drowsy on a heat pad, having taken painkillers to help me cope with the ******* sciatica. I have been fantasising… no … positively drooling over the potential of spending Christmas 2018 under a palm tree.
But … I do have one big problem … although she is only small. I don’t think I can look Cassie the Blog Dog in the eyes and tell her we will be leaving her for Christmas 2018. How I would love to be able to take her in my cabin bag.