Well. I'm away for Christmas at last.
I've been having fun with my twin seven-year-old cousins over the past two days. We've played a lot of hide and seek (it's not really fair: I'm at the double disadvantage of not knowing any good hiding places in their house, and being about four times as big as they are). We've been to the park, where I kicked chunks of ice off the playground floor for them to pick up and smash, a form of entertainment which would perhaps have lasted for hours (days, even?) had not one of them, to my relief, needed the toilet, providing a worthy excuse to go home. Some homework has been done (theirs, not mine!) and some television has been watched. Although I was quite astonished yesterday when I went into the lounge to tell them they could watch TV. "No thanks," they said, "we're too busy reading the Bible." I heard the television go on about a minute afterwards.
Grandad and me have been employed by my aunt to laminate about a million leaflets for the NHS. I've also been given the unenviable task of sorting out a rota for cooking and washing up over Christmas. This I blithely agreed to do, before suddenly realising that it meant I had to assign people to do work on Christmas Day. You love washing up, right, Dad? Anyway, there can't be any swaps or complaining now: I don't know whether all that laminating made me a bit giddy but somehow, amongst all those leaflets, the rota went through as well.
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