Christmas past

I'm back.

And exhausted.

Sipping a grande black Starbucks Christmas blend in the vain attempt it will give me the energy I desperately require.

The lift was stuck again this morning, and after several days of gluttonous punishment and no exercise I walked up the five flights of stairs this morning.

Laden with heavy rucksack.

I know now why the Gorgeous always runs over the holidays.

To stop her body groaning under the weight of too many mince pies and turkey dinners the following day.

The mere thought of eating now makes me feel queasy. It is always the same whenever I head down to Wales. Add the Christmas tag and I was defeated.

Far too much turkey (ick!) wine (yum!), the Queen's speech (a bit rubbish) and Christmas pudding (divine!). 3 days of unwrapping presents (thank you Santa, you old dear for my darling new Vivienne).

Bubble and squeak, Boxing Day buffets, games of Brag over Glenfiddich Ancient Reserve 18 Year Old single malt, a pantomime and ice skating in Cardiff city centre.

My god daughter running in at 7am Christmas morning to tell me Santa had been.

I think I was far too busy, too tired, too full, too preoccupied to miss my family back home for long. And now I'm back at my desk, a change from last year when I was watching the news from my desk, keeping a frantic eye on the wires and reading every blog I could, now sat tying up loose ends from the year, enjoying the peace and quiet in the office and watching and waiting for snow...