Hello, I'm an owl

Well, Christmas Day was lovely. I had a lie in and had accumulated all my presents to unwrap under the tree on Christmas morning. A couple of interesting looking envelopes turned out to be tickets for the home games of next year's Six Nations, which, given the way Scotland have been playing lately, is equal parts thoughtful gift and cruel taunt. My mother also left me an owl onesie, which at the age of nearly thirty, I may never take off.

My sister managed to get out of work in time for dinner - she hasn't explained how, I have visions of some poor bugger left lying on an operating table - which I ate in my owl onesie. If you ever see a photograph floating about of a giant owl eating a sea bass, then hello, hi! It also means the steak I got for if I was going to be eating alone will do for tonight with last of the whisky cocktail we made.

Then we cracked open a bottle of vino verde and watched Doctor Who. I have a theory about the Christmas Doctor Whos, that it's hard to judge them on their own merits, because it all gets a bit tied up in what kind of holiday you're having. For example, last year's DW special could have been a staggering work of heartbreaking genius (although I really don't think that it was) and I still wouldn't have enjoyed it because I was having such a thoroughly awful time.

I very much enjoyed this year's, and I don't think it was just because I was slightly drunk and having a lovely day.

( The Snowmen )

And now it's Boxing Day and I'm drinking tea and eating brie and chocolate, which is better hangover food than you think it is.

Hope all of you had a lovely Christmas/Doctor Who Day/Tuesday.