6 more sleeps...

Another hive-like household this week, with much buzzing, toing and froing. I spent Monday behaving badly in London at the kind of long, boozy lunch I haven't enjoyed for years. We sat down at 1.30pm and staggered out around 6 ( or was it 7?) to a nearby pub. I won't go into the details of the naughtiness (that remains locked in the cone of silence) other than to say Champagne and wine bottles littered the table shared by Ruth, Ed, Richard Krupp, David and I. The train journey home also seemed a lot shorter than the one going there so I'm wondering if I may have become one of those drunks who nod off sitting up.  On Tuesday, I had to sprint from the hairdresser's chair to school to catch Flo's stint as narrator at her year's Christmas play. It goes without saying she was brilliant in every way and Rob and I felt embarassed for the other parents. Wednesday I went out for the school mums' Christmas drinks. A bunch of us met up beside the fire of a local pub, while hailstones battered the street outside. Fantastic fun. Another late, silly one with at least one mum (not I) failing to make it to the playground for the drop off the next day, not mentioning any names.
Thursday was Scarlett's turn on the school stage as part of the choir that accompanied the main play. It was wonderful and I cried.

On Saturday we drove to London to Giles and Lucy's house in Wimbledon. After a couple of bottles of Champagne we popped in a cab to Putney for a brilliant Christmas dinner with the old Wimbledon crowd. Suzy and Steve were there, but most of the blokes had married and had children while we were living in Sydney so it was a real treat to catch up with Jim, Joe, Michael-John and Tim and to meet their fab-u-lous wives. We stayed the night with the Iveys and limped home yesterday so Rob could go to work. While he was away the girls and I had  Sunday lunch with Maria and Lol. Not happy to just provide a gorgeous roast lamb lunch,  Maria thought she'd liven up the proceedings by slipping on a rug, whacking her head on the edge of a metal cabinet on the way down. The poor thing was left with two nasty gashes on her forehead, visible only once we had wiped away all the blood, as well as getting a horrible shock. Matron has insisted on bedrest and matron always gets what she wants.

Finally this morning the girls and I attempted our first gingerbread houses. Unfortunately one turned out  like an Australian home after bushfire season. A liberal dusting of magic dust (aka icing sugar) saved the day, elevating mood and returning Christmas cheer to our home.