8th January 2008
The day before New Year’s Eve, I took my mother back to Yorkshire and returned to Harborough the same day. She’d found having a houseful of excited young uns rather tiring, understandably so. She’s used to nodding off in an armchair at will or reading the paper in blessed silence. But with eight people (occasionally more) bustling around the house and a lively one-year-old in the mix, peace was in short supply. She opted for a swift retreat to the North in search of her usual tranquillity.

Back in Harborough, we stayed up late to see in the New Year. There were lots of noisy fireworks in the garden (the neighbours loved that), plenty of bubbly, and much cheering before we stumbled off to bed in good spirits. Jamie missed the family festivities as he was off at a friend’s party. He sent a token text message and eventually rolled in after breakfast the next morning.

On New Year’s Day, Charlotte and Suraj headed to Derbyshire for a bit of rest and recuperation. As a Christmas gift, Sue and I had booked them into a pub in the depths of the Peak District. Naturally, we had an ulterior motive: Lucas stayed with us for a few days, which, truth be told, was the real present (for us). They came back looking refreshed, and Lucas still recognised them, so we considered that a success.

Meanwhile, Harborough was circulating its own festive gift: a rather nasty flu bug, which both Sarah and Sue managed to catch. Not quite what they had in mind, I’m sure.

Saturday brought a classic father-son bonding activity: trawling around local garages in search of a new car for Jamie. Not much caught his eye, but fate clearly had its own plans. That afternoon, at the Rugby Club, after watching the Colts get soundly beaten by Towcester, Sue appeared in the bar with that look that says, “You need to come. Now.”

Jamie had skidded on a muddy field road and collided with a tree. “Only going 15 mph,” he said. Hmm. The car, sadly, was less convincing; it was a write-off. Mercifully, no one else was involved, and Jamie walked away unscathed, though a touch rattled.

Luckily, one of his friends lived half a mile away. I managed to coax the mangled vehicle onto a patch of spare land he owned, just to get it off the road. Jamie stripped it of all things valuable (mainly the stereo), and I brought him home.

Sunday morning saw a much more determined search for a replacement car. Funny how urgency increases when you’ve got no wheels. That afternoon, we trailered the wreck to the local scrap merchant, where Jamie received a generous £50 for it. Every cloud…

With his transport now reduced to a hopeful thumb and a sheepish smile, we’ve seen a lot more of Jamie lately. He’s been surprisingly pleasant, no doubt softened by the embarrassment. His boss is ferrying him to and from work, and the next time he criticises my driving, I may simply remind him about the tree.

In other (more glamorous) news, Charlotte and Suraj have finally decided on their wedding location. After much debate, they’ve chosen, wait for it, Zanzibar. Yes, at an idyllic white sandy beach on an island off the coast of Africa. The honeymoon? The Maldives, naturally. It’s all booked, the ring is bought, and now all I need to do is work out whether we can afford to join them. Whatever happened to a nice little church in Leicestershire, followed by a week in Skegness?