In the true spirit of Christmas, Lisa and I travelled back to the town of my birth yesterday to spend the festive season surrounded by wise men and angels. We didn't make the journey on a donkey, but I was sitting on my ass. We even had Shepherds Pie on arrival. Frankly it couldn't have been more like the nativity unless Lisa had given birth in the shed. Which she refused to do for health & safety reasons.

The good news, however, is that despite doing a runner across Sussex, Father Christmas successfully tracked us down overnight, and delivered a sockful of gifts for Amelie this morning. We own the only child in Britain who slept right through the night and had to be physically woken up at nine-thirty this morning, but having forced her reluctantly out of bed and insisted that she join in the festive fun, she received the kind of gift that most kids can only dream of...


75p from a charity shop. Santa is such a thrifty shopper.

Anyhoo, despite Amelie's assertion that it's a goat, the horned beast above is actually an Arabian Oryx. In a flowery dress. It's the closest she'll get to Dubai until she's eighteen and marries a footballer.