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Normally I am visited by a great deal of Christmas spirit, and really enjoy decorating the house for the festive season.  For some reason I can’t seem to get going, which is slightly worrying considering I am hosting Christmas day.  Maybe it’s something to do with the fact that everything in said house has taken agin me.  I’ve managed to get the kettle working again by woggling it post-button-depression, but this isn’t a long term solution, given I drink about 428 cups of tea a day.

I was briefly taken by decorating the tree on Sunday, but by the time we’d got it vaguely vertical, albeit balanced on magazines concealed under the rug, I was tired and scratchy. This might have had less to do with the tree than the after-effects of Saturday night’s partying, yet the discovery that I’d bought nowhere near enough tree lights was enough to plunge me into gloom. And the living room into darkness. And although the cat was intrigued, at least she was not in any way as interested as Simon’s cat.

The Other Half has been challenged to provide the vast quantities of AA batteries the new lights I bought yesterday require.  These will be transported here by the wonders of the East Coast Mainline given that he is away in London with work. Rather excessive, yet when you consider I’m spending today working from home (nattily wearing my new Blue Blancmange trews!) and going out involves getting changed, moving the car would start the cheese grater noise going, which in turn alarms my neighbours… meh.  From London, with love, they will be.   

I did, however, manage to fashion a wreath during my Christmas preparations. Getting the front door closed for the next few days is going to be a challenge as a result, always assuming it stays on through the windy week we’re having. I was looking forward to decorating the door this year as it is a) new and a lovely Oxford Blue colour and b) it always makes me feel craftily inclined. Not this year.

Front door wreath

I was distinctly lacking in inspiration but I am assured by neighbours that it’s nice.

Damned by faint praise.

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