I must admit that Christmas has gone by in a blur.
I did some great things in December, including watching a perfect showing of Elf at The Tivoli Cinema in Cheltenham with no one else there, and then having what might be one of the very best cooked breakfasts I’ve ever had, at The Curious Café, on Cheltenhams Bath Road, early on Friday 23rd December.
What unfolded very quickly in the 24hours that followed wasn’t particularly pleasant. But the end part of the pathway of destiny for close relatives for the others involved never really is.
I’ve joked with my kids about their Grandma being a drama Queen and going out with a final flourish on Christmas Eve. But as I sit here in the ‘between’ period and waiting for all the final details to be confirmed, I’m sat wrestling with the same old annual debate about whether the 5th or the 6th of January is actually Twelfth Night.
Either way, sat in the pub, with a beer in my hand and a very wry smile on my face, I’m thinking that as my Dad went in the early hours of the 6th in 2006, these two gits have done a great way of helping us all to remember the whole Christmas period, and like some dreadful Baldrick tale of of complete parody, has somehow found itself wedged in between…