I’m a last-minute woman when it comes to Christmas, normally. I always think it’ll be more fun that way. Sometimes, I’m even right. But I have to acknowledge that it puts me under more pressure than taking a more sensible approach.
This year has been rather different, because I had to be ready early. Even so, it was a rush this morning and I was slightly late leaving – not that it mattered, except for later traffic.
Things went agley on the M11 because, I found out, there had been a five car pile up, one having overturned. When that happens, you mostly have to be sorry for those involved and grateful you weren’t. But it really scuppered my plans, I just sat there with Eloise yowling plaintively in her cat carrier. Later, I thought I’d arrive an hour and a half later than planned, but hadn’t taken into account Reading’s evening traffic. It took 55 minutes to travel 3.2 miles.
Eloise came out of her carrier and started to explore. She’s checked out Tim’s entire house, eaten a lot of food, asked to go out (no, sunshine, in your dreams) and is perfectly relaxed. So no problems there. And I’ve been delightfully wined and dined by LT, as his blog name seems likely to be, and life is looking pretty good.