What's another year...

And so endeth another year...

Like most of you, I have ended 2022 older, fatter and poorer despite various resolutions last year which, if kept, would have meant that my wrinkles, hips and finances would have been in a far better state today.  But you know, what are elasticated trousers and an overdraft for anyway?  I've taken to wearing my facemask at every opportunity now.  But that doesn't cover your wrinkles, I hear you say.  No, but at least no one knows who the raddled old bag is under the aforementioned now-acceptable disguise.

It's been a funny old year.  There have been wonderful highs such as daughter number two's wedding and son number two's engagement, but there have been tricky times too.  

The Mother is in the process of diagnosis for Fairy Dust Syndrome...

I know that lots of you will have experience of the dreaded 'A' word, but I prefer referring it to FDS.  It seems that sometime over the past three years, she has been sprinkled with something twinkly which has removed all cares and worries.  No more does she have to worry about bills, remember birthdays, be concerned as to whether there is milk in the fridge or what time it is.  Life seems to be an endless stream of love, laughter, and sugar-covered doughnuts for her now.  Miss R and I are having a lot of fun with her, trawling her around various events to give her as many smiley days as we can.  

As I write, she's just returning back from a week away with her partner Mr G with the Devon branch of the family, having had a wonderful week of walks, Uno, beer, dancing and card games.  Who needs real life, when that's on offer?  I should point out that FDS is not to be confused with DFS as you could end up with a sofa rather than having stickers on your drawers to tell you where your knickers are.

I know that some of you will think that I shouldn't joke about this - underneath my humour, the whole thing is hideous - but while we laugh and smile, our mum does too, so that has to be a good thing, doesn't it?  

But life goes on...  Christmas officially left the building yesterday courtesy of a chainsaw.  The Christmas tree which has taken up 68% of the available space in my hall for the past three weeks was taken down to the tune of 'Timbeeeeerrrrr' from the Husband.  This is an annual event, and I am generous enough to laugh at this every time as I know it's important to make your other half feel like he's valued and is still able to make you giggle, even when you have two square metres of pine needles in your face and a bare branch pushing into your derriere as you try to manoeuvre the tree through the front door.  After several rounds with the Dyson (involving two empties, one filter change, two unblockings and copious amounts of swearing) the hall is now needle free, which is more than I can say about my doorstep.

All I need is a wardrobe and a large lion, and they could film the next Narnia film there...