The countdown to Christmas for Joshua starts on September 16, his Birthday. That means it is exactly 100 days to Christmas and, almost immediately, we start discussing stockings. Who will get presents and who will be left a lump of coal by Santa? Critically, it has already been agreed that Santa likes to be left a glass of Metaxa and so I guess I need to stock up on a bottle of Greek brandy. Shucks.
It is a given that Joshua has been a good boy and Mummy a good girl as has been Sian the cat. Joshua seems certain that his sister to be, who is to have an Indian name although the Mrs still has unexplianed reservations about Priti, will also be a good girl when she arrives in six weeks. However Joshua is less certain about myself and Quincey the cat. The latter is often mentioned as a recipient of a lump of coal for his sins in biting my toes in bed and bringing in barely living mice.
We have no idea what format Christmas will be this year. Will my mother-in-law and father-in-law be allowed to cross the border into Wales to visit us? Or will First minister, the uber poltroon, Mark Drakeford be ordering the North Wales fuzz to post roadblocks on the bridges across the River Dee so keeping the in-laws out? Will we be able to order a goose or will goose deliverers be locked down by Drakeford as non essential workers? It is all unclear. But as Joshua and I walk up the lane leading from the hovel up into the village I point to a holly tree on the vegetable patch as a sign of Christmas.
Of course. by the time I come to decorate the house, the birds will have devoured the berries but for now it looks splendid.