It has been a strange Christmas. I was hit by a bad virus on Christmas Eve Eve, with a temperature that had me climbing the walls (and tall mountains - and did you know I can fly, well...) and three nights in a row I have been in bed before nine - I know University people say this happens to us at this time of year but I have only had one sick day in twenty years and this is this first time this has ever hit me - I sigh. But it was a huge team effort on the food (I am the only cook in the house) and we managed to drink one bottle of champagne out of the fifteen we have (its been a big year for birthdays in our house) and I saw Dr Who before I turned in with I Will Be Frank With You, a novel I am looking forward to reading - last night I failed. This morning, Diane, Abbi and Daniel are going off to the annual Preston Park Run (I am not even on the subs bench) and if I am honest I have no idea how the day will pan out. But before this degenerates into a Christmas Letter (the dreaded). I started writing a Twelve Days of Christmas story when I was bed-bound and wondered if I should share - now trust me this is as hard as it gets, writing it and putting it straight out there daily, without edits and really knowing where each of the 12 sections is going. But there is a tradition in oral storytelling that this comes from, which I will try to replicate - and remember, contrary to popular belief, the twelve days of Christmas begin on Christmas Day - where this story starts. But here goes, its just an idea going around in my head and I have committed to it and I will try to write it for around twenty minutes every morning - so this post is just a warning that will be going on - you should get out while you can. As a young man I was always taken by the sentiment of this song, Happy Christmas, war is over - I wish:
