21st December 2008

With Christmas fast approaching, it’s been another eventful week of last-minute wrapping, minor disasters, and the occasional starry-eyed gesture gone slightly awry…

After a slow and slightly wheezy recovery from a bout of pleurisy, Sue is at last almost back to her usual self. She even managed a solo expedition to Worcester to meet Philippa for lunch, a bit of Christmas shopping, and the all-important present swap. It’s lovely to see her upright and functioning again, though the debit card might’ve needed a lie-down afterwards.

Sarah has endured a week of mock exams with the stoicism of someone raised on Air Cadet discipline and Calpol. Despite suffering from a chest cold, she remained cheerful. Quite scandalously, she even had an exam on the last day of term. Is nothing sacred anymore? Christmas used to start the moment the staffroom clock hit midday…

Jamie has been up to his ears in work, but still found time to help me build a new wardrobe in his bedroom, a true test of patience, precision, and father-son diplomacy. Harriet, we’re told, is now officially history. This is unfortunate, as Jamie had rather touchingly bought her a star for Christmas (yes, one of those “name your own star” packages, you don’t get the actual star, sadly). He’s since driven to Thrapston to visit a new girl. We’re quietly hoping her name is also Harriet, or that celestial gift might go to waste orbiting the wrong relationship.

Tuesday tea was interrupted by a call from Rotherham Hospital. Nan, while doing her annual round of festive deliveries in the village, took a tumble. She broke her wrist, bruised her face quite badly, and obliterated her glasses. Thankfully, a neighbour spotted her and called an ambulance.

I got to Rotherham General around 7 pm and was able to take her home by 10 pm. She’d had a strong painkiller jab that held her together until Thursday, when we returned to the hospital to get her wrist set in plaster. Naturally, she picked a rather jolly red cast to match the season. Afterwards, I brought her back to Harborough to convalesce by our wood burner, where she’s now enjoying five-star service and complaining surprisingly little, considering.

Now it’s Charlotte and Suraj’s turn to fall victim to the dreaded chest infection, and from their croaky phone calls, they sound thoroughly miserable. We’re hoping they perk up by Wednesday, when they and Lucas are due to arrive for Christmas. We’ve stocked up on tissues, honey, and festive cheer just in case.

In a moment of festive weakness, I agreed to be Santa Claus at the Farndon Fields School Christmas Fayre. To prepare, I allowed my beard to grow and encouraged it to adopt a snowy hue. Dressed in red and stationed in a glittery grotto with a team of elves, I sat smiling as child after child climbed onto my lap and completely failed to recognise me. A success, I suppose, but not one I’m keen to repeat. The beard itched, the grotto was drafty, and the elves were far too cheerful for my liking.

Thursday night brought the staff Christmas dinner at a local Italian restaurant, and I got invited. The meal was pleasant enough, but I found myself seated next to someone I’d have preferred to avoid, so with the meal finished, I made a quiet exit and popped along to the Christmas buffet at the Catholic Club instead. Far more convivial, and better sausage rolls. Meanwhile, Sue was enjoying her own staff Christmas do at the Angel Hotel. Unlike my Mediterranean menu, she was treated to the full traditional fare: turkey, trimmings, and seasonal smugness.

And finally…
Despite being dangerously full from festive feasting, I somehow managed to referee Harborough Vets on Saturday. The match had a strong whiff of brandy and leftover stuffing about it, but spirits were high and the tackles surprisingly gentle. A jolly way to round off the week.