Except I aren’t feeling in the least bit merry, as I’ve now had the lurgy for five days. I’m pulling up the drawbridge at Chez Tennant and keeping myself to myself, as I don’t want to risk infecting anyone else and simply don’t have the energy to fake jollity or pretend that I’m genuinely interested in the soap operas my sister gets to inflict on me at this time of year in return for a slap up meal.
Next year I’m converting to Buddhism and will give all this nonsense a miss. Instead I’ll sit around eating bean stalks and bamboo shoots.
Or is that pandas?
But my bad mood needn’t affect anyone else, so wishing a very Happy Christmas to whoever is reading this, and to mark the day here’s a little something from Dutch maestro Andre Rieu that’s as sickly and sentimental as a sugar plum fairy dosed up on crack cocaine:-