We must be getting old. Despite getting into bed at a (reasonably) decent hour, we're still well and truly knackered when we awake the following morning.
This is not good.
I haven't written anything truly daft in ages. Although I've had plenty of daft thoughts, I haven't been able to translate them here into anything truly worthy of adding to the Fatboyfat List of Odd Posts.
This, also, is not good. I enjoy writing them. And let's face it, people really don't want to be coming here to hear about Real Life (tm) when there are tales of swimming squirrels to be told.
We could do with a break and a change of scene. So here's how it's going to play out.
Tomorrow morning we are driving down to Wales. We will probably stop at Cardiff Services on the M4 to pay homage to the Burger King. That's a nice vignette for you all, isn't it?
On our arrival in Solva I might have a couple of pints.
The days will be spent wandering around this delightful corner of Pembrokeshire - the bracing air, the sea, the skies clear and blue.
In the evenings I might have a couple of pints.
On Christmas Day itself I shall arise, wraith-like from my slumbers. Putting the Phil Spector Christmas Album through the iPod speakers, we'll set to opening our presents whilst sipping chilled Bucks Fizz. Then to Christmas luncheon - the bird, hopefully with chestnut stuffing and all the traditional trimmings. All washed down by a cheeky young white Burgundy.
I will eat my annual sprout. (Yes, that's 'sprout', singular. One can overdo these things.)
Pudding, mince pies and assorted cheeses may follow, with port. We will scan the TV channels for The Guns of Navarone, or maybe go for a brisk stroll along the Pembrokeshire Coastal Path.
In the evening I may have a couple of pints. Maybe with Laphroaig chasers.
See you all on the 28th. And in the meantime, happy Christmas, Winter Solstice, Hanukkah, Saturnalia, Kwanzaa, Yuletide, etc. Hope it's as good for you as it's shaping up to be for us.