Sunday, December 26, 2004

Well I think we've just confirmed that Rupert Everett is god. Or rather a god considering the time of year. Sherlock Holmes was fantastic tonight - obviously I didn't have a clue what was going on as I have all the deductive dkills of a potato, but even I twigged there was a twin involved. Rock!

The belt has been loosened due to the influx of Stilton, turkey, chocolate and television - satsumas are doing no job whatsoever of counterbalancing seasonal fatness so sod it. Was marginally horrified at Christmas lunch yesterday to discover my seven eyar old cousin has developed a dripping sarcasm to rival mine in the last year and owns the Franz Ferdinand album. Suddenly I feel dramatically outclassed. Got mildly pissed, went home, got less mildly pissed and had a musical interlude with Dad while the Boy read and mum did her fiendish jigsaw. Genius.

Happy Christmas one and all. No relatives were harmed in the making of this season.

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