Ah, Christmas. So much stuff to organise – food, presents, plans – and so little time to do it. Now, I can’t help you with the last minute mince pie requests or the sudden call for a star costume (for real, made one out of a wine box earlier this week in ten minutes flat) but I can help you with wine.
I have a terrible poker face. That whole ‘can’t tell what they’re thinking’ thing? Whatever it is, it’s usually written all over mine.
Half term next week. How did that happen? HOW? Summer finished, like, five minutes ago. I’ve only just got my properly chunky jumpers out (not a euphemism).
Just as the change of season requires a change of clothing strategy (so long kaftans, hello jumpers AT LAST) so does the wine rack.
I’m currently 60% rosé, 40% hot dogs and the school holidays haven’t even started yet. I blame the weather. And the football.
I thought I could take it or leave it. You know, dip in and out as and when it suited me.
On Monday, the Husband and I celebrated 30 years since we first started going out. We were fifteen, the year was 1988.
