Clear Sky, 21°C
Christmas is just about over and I’m just about over it. Lunch next door with the in-laws, then my brothers and their families over in the evening.
After a swim in the pool it was present opening time and my giant clumsy niece shatters glass over the floor, then makes a huge mess in the kitchen preparing an inedible pavlova. She thinks she’ll be on Masterchef.
Somebody leaves a plate on the floor and the dog steals food off it. Hopefully not a chicken bone. He growled at me when I told him off.
At least our cooking was good, including my invention of cranberry-cherry-mint baked chicken thighs. But I’m sick of cooking, sick of the mess and the noise.
Alex had enough too, as of course did B.
I’d like a quiet family Christmas one year with just the three of us and the dog.