I would say it had been a joyous year, but it hasn’t. I mean, not especially. I would say that it has been an eventful year, but it hasn’t. I would say that it has been an annus horribilis, but it hasn’t been that either.
It’s just been one of those years that goes from one month to the next. I have spent it mostly wiping down an Ikea highchair, opening the door to the Ocado man and marvelling at that thing where you spend 20 minutes tidying the kitchen only for it to still look like a fucking bombsite.
And it’s been a year of TV suppers, eating off our knees in our 1.5 hour telly and dinner watching slot before our eyes glaze over and we can’t concentrate and we simply must, must, must go to bed before we fall down. I have slumped entirely out of the habit of cooking for more than two people. We spent months and thousands on a kitchen extension only for us to have 3 dinner parties in 7 months. But Kitty likes it.
What of Kitty? She is a child now, almost no longer a toddler – though still toddlerish to her destructive habits, lack of reason, lack of responsiveness to bribery but she is at least old enough to sit quietly on the sofa watching Peppa Pig for nine hours.
So Merry Christmas, then. See you in the New Year. I’ve got a bread and butter pudding to tell you about and also a chicken, pork and apricot raised pie – if it works out.
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