Happy Christmas you arse

Around 3pm on Boxing Day, every year, I wonder at what point in my life I turned into a pain in the arse. Perhaps I didn't turn - perhaps it's always been this way.

I love Christmas. I like getting dressed in my warmest clothes, wrapping presents and toasting the festivities with big glasses of mulled wine. I love Christmas particularly in Somerset - all long walks, roaring fires and good food. But as soon as it's over (like the minute the clock strikes 12) I go into a very early January sulk. Nothing's good anymore - and quite frankly, if Quality Street and mince pies aren't readily available, at any point in the day, what's the sodding point?

Almost

Forgot I had this blog. Which probably means my two dear readers (that's you Emily and Katy) will have forgotten it too.

Might try to do a bit more of this blogging lark. After all, apparently we're living in a digital generation, and we all have a voice.