Today Twin 1 said wistfully, "Have we already had Christmas, Mummy?" and I had to tell her that yes, we had, and she'd have to wait a whole 365 sleeps for another one (I don't think they make advent calendars that big). She was a bit sad. And I thought that sums up Boxing Day really, that anti-climatic deflated feeling you get when you wake up with a gasp and realise that all the fun happened yesterday.
Luckily, however, there are a few biscuits left in the Victoria selection tin and mulled wine in the jug. This is a good thing because by 8.30 Hubby was already in bed and asleep. So any thoughts of cuddling up in front of a DVD have been dashed (and anything else too, which is a shame, what with me being the foxiest wife this side of the Gurkha camp - oh, alright then, everyone else is away on holiday, so there is no competiton).
Not sure if this is a sad indictment on the state of our marriage, or just evidence that we are in semi-hibernation at the moment. For twenty one hours in the day we are holed up in the house, scurrying between gas fires, closing doors, curtains and adding layers of cashmere. Then, between 11.30 and 2.30 we go out, the sun is high and it's like a good British summer's day. However, once the sun gets down beyond a certain point, all of a sudden it's blooming freezing again and we have to race indoors to find pashminas and sources of heat. It's a bit wierd. Nepal is on the same latitude as Florida, so it should be pretty balmy all year round, but I think because we're up in the clouds, it's really not.
It takes such a huge amount of effort to get out of bed into the freezing cold in the morning - reminds me of being back at boarding school (the difference is that I no longer spend my evenings planning to shimmy down the fire escape with my dorm mates for a midnight walk - minus H, who was risk averse when it came to possible conflicts with authority - or eating drinking chocolate granules from my tuck box. Perhaps these are things I should think about, to spice up my otherwise not-very-interesting mid-life existence? Wonder what Hubby would say if I suggested raiding the tuck box and legging it out of the window? It probably wouldn't meet with much enthusiasm as we have a) no fire escape, and b) no chocolate granules.)
Next Great Novel is totally stalled, due to endless Christmas hols. However, at least it has stopped at a good point, as my heroine is just about to go to Pokhara in search of her estranged father (will she find him? Of course she will! But will that be a good thing or will he turn out to be a big fat life altering disappointment? Hmmm....). She has ended up going with this man she's only just met, and guess what, he's just split up from his cheating wife (do they secretly fancy each other? Course they do! Will I make them wait until halfway through the book before realising this? You betcha! But can both of them overcome their emotional baggage to make it work? Oh, give me a chance, I'm only on chapter five!).
Right, well, I'm going on Amazon now to buy a cheese slicer. Yes, really. Because that's what I do when Hubby is asleep and I'm not, I shop for tedious things online.
Merry Christmas! xxx
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