The children woke at seven and have been disembowelling presents ever since, to quote my favourite dark man of literature, Mr Rochester.
The dog is beginning to look a little taut: he has sat through the whole present-opening shenanigans and feels the need of a walk. The cat has given up ambushing the dog and is stationed in his favourite post, half way up the stairs.
Santa has brought many good things. His fingers are sore from wrapping.
Later, we will all repair to Big Al’s for Christmas dinner, all the trimmings. Though Al will be having jelly, just for the record. The Christmas pudding is made by Phil, the Belgian chocolate cheesecakes by Aldi.
I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for calling in, sitting down at the Shrewsday table and joining in the chat of the day. What I write very much reflects what we talk about here in this real house on the edge of Windsor Forest, over mugs of tea.
I am grateful to each person who comes to read, and everyone who leaves a contribution to the glittering comment stream daily. I am often told people read as much for the comments as for the post. You make our year: have a wonderful festive season.
Lots of love,
Kate, Phil, Maddie, Felix, Al and the Princesses, Macaulay the Dog….
…and our latest addition, Clive Bond.