We’ve just returned from a few days staying with old mates in Scotland and joining us on our long journey home were a couple of new additions to our household.
Find Wine!
Being married to Mr Christmas (not his real name, obviously) means the tree is up and the Christmas playlist is on repeat.
It was Middle Boy’s first ever nativity play today. As always, we were asked to bring mince pies to be handed out to parents &
Funny how things turn out sometimes. Yesterday, I got a flat tyre on the way to school. I had to kill an hour in town whilst waiting for a lift home: cue blissful time in the local bookshop, followed by a coffee and browse in my very favourite clothes shop, leaving in a pair of age-inappropriate wedge trainers.
I love Christmas. Family, friends, food, wine, laughs, late nights and slight indigestion just about sums up mine. But as much as you hold loved ones close at Christmas, you really miss the ones that aren’t here.
Someone once said – probably Germaine – that beyond a certain age, women become invisible. I’d always assumed that referred to women my mother’s age* but a funny thing happened last week that made me think it might happen sooner than anticipated. As I walked out of Topshop on Oxford Street (see how I’m fighting it?) a young hipster stood with a microphone doing a vox-pop street interview for Radio One. On what, I shall never know.
Someone once said – probably Germaine – that beyond a certain age, women become invisible. I’d always assumed that referred to women my mother’s age* but a funny thing happened last week that made me think it might happen sooner than anticipated. As I walked out of Topshop on Oxford Street (see how I’m fighting it?) a young hipster stood with a microphone doing a vox-pop street interview for Radio One. On what, I shall never know.
Saturday night was fun, if a little wierd. I returned from eldest son’s School Ball with a splinter in my foot from shoes-off dancing.
