So, you want to know what my Christmas was like? Remember that film, where Jeff Goldblum, as a mad scientist, inadvertently crosses himself with a fly? In the end, he is half fly, half human and begging his wife to put him out of his misery. Well, imagine me like that – except I am 70 per cent Quality Street, 30 per cent Prosecco. That’s all I’ll say about it.
Except – if you didn’t get one of Boots No 7 Christmas bargain boxes, for £32, rush and see if they’ve got any left. Face creams, bath products, lipgloss, mascara …. truly, Santa was spoiling us. And, if you’re terminally bored now all the seasonal telly is over, see Jeeves and Wooster at the Duke of York’s Theatre. What a breathtaking show. Brilliant from start to finish, even if you don’t like Wodehouse. Our first attempt to see it was thwarted when Stephen Mangan (Wooster) got pneumonia. Barely a week later, there he was, back on stage and doing a performance six times a week which would have killed me if I tried it once. Just fab.
The girls are back at school, with Child One two terms away from leaving for good. I still remember her first day at nursery, attached to my leg like a barnacle on a tugboat. All that time, and it seems like the click of my fingers. Child Two is grappling with GCSEs, changing schools and the general hell of her age/my age/Child One’s age. A lovely friend, hearing me rant on recently, said sagely, ‘ah, you’re at a difficult age.’
I think I should have a sign made to hang above our front door. ‘Caution, inhabitants are at a Difficult Age’.