Cold sweat...

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So here's a question for you...

What springs to mind when you think of New Year's Eve?  Probably fancy frock, fizz and fireworks, with a good helping of frolicking and friends.

You'll notice the frequent use of 'F' words, and I can confirm that I have my own particular 'F' word when thinking about my New Year's Eve.

As you know, for the third Christmas running, the husband has been ill with a cold (I may see if we can celebrate Christmas at a different time of the year to prevent this becoming a habit).  Up until this year, I have managed to avoid his germs, by sleeping elsewhere (still in the house before you imagine me shacked up in the car with a sleeping bag), OCD hand washing and imagining a 2 metre radius around him which shouldn't be crossed at any time.

This year however, he has been more than generous with his germs, inflicting it on daughter number one, his sister Mrs W and brother in law Mr W. I was the last to succumb, waiting until New Year's Eve to come down with it (just in time for my return to Binland tomorrow). So our 'F' ing New Year's Eve ended around 10.00 last night, after two episodes of a new box set and a medicinal Baileys with a paracetamol chaser.

I'd managed to stay upright in the morning, just so that we could take the Christmas tree down.  At 16' tall, this is always an event, and the husband actually let me have the saw to cut the branches off before we removed the tree - normally, I am banned from anything which may be construed as 'A Tool', but as he couldn't move it on his own, he gave me the job which I love most.  

Anyway, I'm in the tree, sawing away, happy as a pig in s*it (and feeling like one too) and eventually the de-branched trunk is shifted out to the drive, and I'm given the next job of getting the hall back to normal.  This meant that I could use my new vacuum, so yet again, I wasn't grumbling.

I have to confess, that while he was at the tip, disposing of said tree, I got a little carried away with the vacuum, and the whole house got the de-needling treatment - they were bloody everywhere and it was lovely to see the carpet again.  In fact, there were that many needles on the hall floor that it had been resembling something out of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe for the last two days.

Finishing the vacuuming coincided with the husband's return, and coming into the back-to-normal house, he took one look at me, sweating and sneezing, and said, 'Why don't you go and put something comfy on and we'll have a sit down and a nice cup of tea'.

Strangely, I did as I was told (must have been feeling rough) and standing in my bathroom, I took off my jeans and sweater and wandered out to the wardrobe to pull out some comfy leggings.

Shutting the wardrobe door and heading back into the bathroom, I was greeted with a lovely sight.  About a quarter of a tree's worth of needles were scattered across my recently vacuumed bathroom floor, released from the confines of my clothes.  

Oh joy...


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