I am in that lull between real Christmas and my Christmas as all my descendants are on their way to visit. Still trying to work out how to fit seven people into one large bedroom and two tiny bedrooms (one of which has no bed in). I think I will be evicted to either the conservatory (a little bracing at this time of year) or the living room. The downside of the latter is that I will have to go to bed last, not something that I normally do even when in good health and inevitably, as it is Christmas, I am not.
Having had a vague sort of sore throat for about a week, on Christmas night it developed into a full blow agonising sore throat/ear ache/swollen glands but weirdly on one side only. I made the mistake of looking it up on the internet – well you do don’t you? One of the options was ‘potentially fatal’ so then came the task of accessing a doctor on Boxing Day. Having no voice that could comfortably be used I assigned the task of ringing 111 (for the benefit of overseas readers, in the UK, this is for non-life threatening problems) to my partner in crime. I needn’t have worried about having no voice, after half an hour of ‘we are experiencing heavy demand’ there was still no one to talk to, so we gave up and headed to the local minor injuries unit. Two hours and three health professionals later I was told it was ‘probably viral’ and rest and fluids were prescribed. I was hoping for something a bit more conclusive like ‘this definitely isn’t the thing with the long name that leads to your throat closing up and you being unable to breathe.’ Heigh ho. I ask if it is still sensible for two small children to be in the vicinity of my germs, it seems it is fine. I promise not to lick their faces.
I am blaming ill health for one of my senior moments before Christmas. We were trying to exit the local multi-story car park, not something we do very often. ‘Insert your ticket here’ it says, so I do … several times. It keeps asking me to insert my ticket. I let a couple of other people try – they have no problem. I then realise that I am inserting, not my parking ticket, but a business card that I have just been given by a travel agent.
Yes, travel agent – our trip to Canada for 2015 is now official. We will be combining a DIY tour with a package, seriously spending the descendants’ inheritance here. Trying to organise the camper van has not been without incident. I have spent a long time engaged in online ‘chat’ with ‘Vlad’ from the hire firm, whose avatar bizarrely is that of a young female. Peculiarly, it is cheaper to hire a five berth van than it is a two berth. When I asked Vlad why, he replied that it was demand. I decided I wouldn’t ask why they didn’t just buy more smaller vans!!
Then there was the incident with the washing machine. There it was spinning merrily when suddenly all its lights were flashing and it ground to a halt. I turned it off and on again as recommended. I was just wondering if I should be ignoring the smell of burning rubber when it stopped again. Unusually, I was able to open the door to let the washing out, inevitably this also let out gallons of water in an uncontrollable whoosh. Typical, just as I am about to have all the post visitor bedding to cope with. I am reassured because it is under guarantee – regular readers may remember the washing machine saga from earlier in the year. This turns out not to be much of a bonus as the call out fee is £110 and if I turn out to have committed the sin of neglecting to un-block the filter then I am in deep trouble. Errr unblocked the filter mmm (searches frantically for manual).
My poor Christmas tree has not held it’s needles well, to be honest it hasn’t held its needles at all. Every time someone breathes a deluge of needles patter on the presents below and if you inadvertently sneeze there is a positive tsunami. Nonetheless I am sure Santa won’t mind and we will have a wonderful second Christmas Day.