Mr Smith's mood doesn't improve much. Today's rant was about the airport being snowed up; not because he had a wonderful surprise Christmas holiday booked for us, I hasten to add. His brother is off to Turkey for Christmas to play golf but of course he isn't actually as he is at Heathrow under a bit of silver foil with everyone else, trying to rebook his tee-off time. Oh how my mother-in-law will be fretting. She will also by now be quite worn to a frazzle by her sleepless nights worrying if she will make it down Sowf to stay with us. Our Christmas ham hasn't arrived; I'll give her that to worry about too whilst I trudge through the snow to perform physical jerks at the gym and release endorphins and smile all day without a care in the world.
The Apprentice is unwell; he has a chill. I like the term "a chill" as opposed to flu or a cold - it sounds more Jane Austen with a slight hint of gravity if you are very poor or old. With Benylin and lemsip he'll soldier through. And, if things go according to plan, the Student will come home today then I will feel like a proper mother with both her boys safely in the nest. I'll make mince pies and sing carols loudly and out of tune and then walk the dog in the snow whilst the boys regress to 5 and 8 years old and have a snowball fight followed by an evening of rubbish telly.
I absolutely love Christmas.
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