Boxing Day ...

Well … it’s a box. I’m so tired I can hardly think, and it fits the bill nicely because I’ve put it on a table in the hall, underneath the window sill with the nativity scene on it, and every time I walk past I can pop a few pieces together.

I had forgotten how much food my sons can put away. We had a reprise of yesterday’s meal, except with cold gammon instead of hot (we didn’t have a turkey this year). Any hopes we had of heating up leftover vegetables were quickly dashed (where do they put it all?) so Smithers and I made another dish of roasties and another dozen Yorkshire puddings.

Our son and his wife arrived here exhausted, having been up for hours in the night with two excited little girls who wouldn’t settle, so after lunch we sent Mum and Dad off to another room to crash out on the sofas. Meanwhile, we kept the girls entertained –  "Uncle Bean" (aka The Traveller) took H outside to run up and down our sloping lawn to wear her out, and L sat on Granny's lap and played games on Granny’s iPad. Hopefully we will all sleep like logs tonight. 

Apologies for lack of comments for the past couple of days. I will catch up with everyone’s journals just as soon as I’ve recovered from all this unaccustomed activity.