It really is a Christmas miracle. I woke up on Boxing Day with a top lip that looked a bit blistered and ever so slightly coldsore-y, but I soldiered on through the Selfridges sale ignoring the swelling and avoiding my reflection in the overstimulating mirrors as I tried on various polka-dotted flamenco dresses and stilettoes heels and then, yesterday, discovered that it was, in fact, a case of herpes simplex which had decided to RUIN MY CHRISTMAS LOOK. (This Christmas Look included a new violette_fr glossy lip stain which was obviously terrible timing). Anyway, not to be deterred from my relentless Christmas social gatherings though ashamed of my lip which was by then quite fat and germy, I went to our first Cleveland Square Christmas BBQ and hoped for the darkness to descend, expecting the full blistering scab to be revealed in the morning.

Note the sad eyes and hidden sore:

Reader, it has healed. The scab has (mostly) gone. Was it the cold? Was it the cremant? The cheese pie overload? Who knows, but I have never been gifted such a bodily miracle as this. Even chatgpt was convinced it would be another ten days of unsightly infectious rupture. So I am entering this end of year reflective, only slightly scarred, and ready for many more outings where I can prance around in dresses and not feel too awkward about my swollen scabby germy face.

Which brings me neatly to a roundup of all the happenings since last time. I went to New Zealand – no small thing, quite the trip – to check in on mum and dad, and ended up helping them rehome a kitten. That turned out to be the greatest thing for them, probably second only to their children coming back to live in the same country as they do which is never gonna happen, so a cat is has to be.

Here’s me and Cath after the flight (that flight! I would much rather go through 24 hours of labour.) Note the tired eyes and fragile self:

So Cath picked me up from the airport and took me into town and we had lunch in a lovely place and discussed all of the serious things we must discuss and then she took me back to the airport so I could catch a flight back up north. Thank you Cath, for being a jolly good pal.

Then it was ten days of spending time with my parents, and sorting out the wifi and the accounts that dad had paid too much money into, and power of attorney stuff and bank stuff and doctor stuff and a bit of surreptitious fridge clearing (I tried, Reader, I tried), and even one day of sunbathing resulting in under-the-boob blisters.

A photo essay, if you will

Me and dad, back seat of the car. He’s never gonna drive again which is very frustrating for him but erm, probably a good idea for the general public:

A walk around the back of the library which brought back memories for them of when the river was dammed and there were public swimming pools and changing sheds there. No trace of them now, just some concrete foundations.

A tamarillo. I missed the feijoa season so had to make do with daily feijoa and apple juices. And daily pies:

Pohutakawa, New Zealand’s Christmas tree:

The Falls, just a quick walk from my old house and my old high school. Never took any notice of them except for the carpark being useful for making out:

Goldie, the 9 month old rescue cat. She has kept my parents animated, excited, exasperated, active, and bewitched. A cat might not be just for Christmas but seems very good for lonely elderly parents with no kids or grandchildren who ever visit:

My mum’s paintings from a bunch on the walls. A mere selection – my mother has been a prolific painter of things she finds beautiful:

And at the end, a wonderful day spent with Amber who picked me up from the airport, took me home, talked about all the important things we need to discuss, fed and watered me, and then dropped me off for my huge flight back home. Thank you Amber, for being my precious friend.

So I got back and it was a messy catchup at work until things got even more messy and pre-Christmassy and unravelling. I kind of think you sleep when you are dead and so try to say yes to everything, which meant a day trip there and back to Manchester for a conference a few days after I returned (delirium is the word here), and big nights out and endless parties and lots of work until, I guess, a cold sore arrived.

Here’s our annual Muppets Christmas Carol sing-a-long outing where for the first time the kids won the best dressed prize for their hand sewn jumpers:

A Monday night gig (!?! who even am I ?) – Brixton Academy for The Last Dinner Party with Chris:

And finally, a really brilliant time was had by all at a Harvey Nicks shopping thing where I am sampling (and now own) a Wales Bonner wool suit which is something I have wanted since the Ally McBeal “should I go to law school so I can wear a suit?” days. Mission accomplished, fellas. Mission accomplished. I plan to be all very brilliant and bossy at work this year as I strut the Canary Wharf corridors in my corporate gear, saying a lot of stuff about ROI.

And some Christmas stuff:

Merry Christmas to you all. Here’s to more frequent updating (that’ll never happen), and strong immune systems for us all.