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I am sitting at home on my own, briefly resting between bouts of frenzied tidying, waiting for Eric to finish work so that we can go to her parents’, pick up Joseph and come back here again on Christmas day. Our usual flustered, panicked holiday season awaits us, every glorious insane minute of it.
But though our Christmas tree is small, its lights twinkle in the gathering dusk. Though it’s not even on the ground, presents are piled underneath it anyway. And though we are still far apart for now, tomorrow we’ll be together, a family around our Christmas tree unwrapping presents while the snow clings to the frozen ground outside.
No bloody Cliff Richard though. I ain’t going that far.