THE Advent Calendar now sits in a corner with all the windows open, giving the children the excuse they finally need to run around shouting "He’s coming, He’s coming!"
The open windows signify to me one thing – I have finally run out of time.
Most of the shops are actually closed, although I’m sure I could find a garage open for a last minute Terry’s Chocolate Orange to give to an Aunty.
When we lived in London it was still possible on Christmas Day to find a corner shop selling last minute bread sauce or gravy granules but I have learnt that in these rural parts it is essential to be more prepared.
But what’s the problem? It’s not as though Christmas hasn’t been well advertised. In fact I have had 12 months to prepare for it and shops have been telling me that this day would come since September.
The bird is ready and this evening I shall scrape the mud from my allotment parsnips, carrots and artichokes.
Meanwhile, husband will attempt to calm down the children by tickling them and wrestling them to the ground (well that always works!) He will also try to convince them that Father Christmas really prefers Guinness to sherry. "But how do you know that?" they will ask. "I know everything," he will say and give them his all-knowing look.
One thing that neither he nor I know is how much sleep we will get tonight. Will our son be opening his stocking at 2.30am again or will it be our daughter’s turn this year?
Whatever happens we are both, from past experience, assured of two things in the morning – happy faces and the luxury of spending an entire day with little else to do but have fun. Happy Christmas.
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