The good thing about having no social life is that you can spend New Year's Eve on the sofa with a laptop, redesigning your blog, without fear of being invited out to a party. Suffice it to say, it's been a productive evening.

In fact, the whole day's been quite fruitful. My parents have a pole with a hook (which reminds me of Lech Walesa in the shipyards) which they use to open the living room curtains. They don't have high ceilings, they just can't get within six feet of the window without a fork lift truck and a hand from Kim & Aggie. So having dragged myself out of bed this morning, I handed the pole to Amelie, told her to draw the curtains, and successfully photographed her being a shepherd...

She's even got the Bo Peep ringlets.

Coincidentally, that photo pretty much sums up my life at my parents' house: remote control, laptop, bass guitar, Pringles, and a pin cushion with a picture of Amelie. It's the acceptable face of voodoo.

As it happens, Lisa had a bad night last night. She kept being woken up by Amelie singing. So she's spent a lot of today catching up on sleep while I mind our three-year-old vocalist. And I minded her quite a lot, if I'm honest. My Mum and I took her to the park this afternoon, where she successfully intimidated a small boy off the swings just by humphing and stamping her feet, after which she informed me that she's the most special girl in the world. I agreed with her just to avoid an argument.

Back home, she and I spent a good three hours (it felt more like six) playing games together on my laptop, the highlight of which was our discovery of Bus Driver Gold, a public transport simulation from the Czech Republic. No, really. As this fantastically written entry on Wikipedia states, "Despite being a Czech game, many of the bus stop names are named after insignificant places in Greater London, England, such as Debden, Collier Row, Feltham, Potters Bar and the terminus Westminster". You can't get more insignificant than Westminster. It's where a lot of great journeys come to an end.

Now, admittedly I'm not living my life at the cutting edge of modern video gaming, and to me, 'Call of Duty' is just the task of taking Amelie to the toilet, but I have to say that I love Bus Driver Gold. You can download a time-limited free trial from the internet, after which you either have to pay through the nose for the full version, or do a thirty-second search on Google and download it illegally for free. I'm not saying which of those I did, but it was Amelie who talked me into it.

She and I spent an hour and a half playing it this evening, and we haven't laughed so much in ages. Basically you get points for driving safely, signalling correctly and arriving at your destination on time, while you lose points for speeding the wrong way down a dual carriageway, making your passengers scream in terror, and smashing into cars, lamp-posts and bus shelters. We finished one game with a score of minus 4,850. I had to abandon another after Amelie dragged a telegraph pole across country and grounded our bus on a mountain.

But despite that, it's enormous fun. In fact, if I dared to leave my co-driver for more than a minute, this is the treatment I got...


She's like Blakey from 'On the Buses'.

Amelie turned to me yesterday afternoon and said "Daddy, why are we living at Grandma & Grandad's house?". It's a fair question. Personally I'm not leaving until the food runs out. I'm eating a tube of Pringles a day, and there are still three left, so we're looking at a departure date of Sunday. I need to make sure I get my washing done before we go too. In fact, if we could move in with my parents for a week every month, I could probably pay all my bills. Although I'd need bariatric surgery within a year.

Anyhoo, the lack of a blog post yesterday wasn't so much a result of all the important things I had to do, it was more down to the fact that I've discovered Monopoly on the iPad. I bought it for 69p at the end of September, but it's taken me three months to get the iPad off Amelie. It's only now she's distracted by Christmas presents that I've had a chance to try it.

Unfortunately I've become slightly obsessed since Boxing Day. You could almost say it's monopolising my time. I've spent the past four days wiping the floor with a range of highly skilled opponents (and Lisa) on my way to the top of the property tree. Admittedly, some of the computer-controlled players have the artificial intelligence of a Speak & Spell, and will happily offer you the Old Kent Road in return for Park Lane, but that aside, it's a very good game. And it cost less than a cuddly antelope in a dress, which is always a sign of good value.

In addition to being a ruthless real estate magnate, I also walked into St Leonards yesterday, where I discovered a shop called iKandi which sold glasses. That was enough to make my day.

It's also a year now since I revamped my main website, so I spent some time yesterday intending to do the same with my blog. I've had this design since 30th May 2010, and I'm getting a bit bored, so I'm tempted to rearrange the furniture for the new year. Unfortunately, having spent two hours last night tinkering behind the scenes, I decided I didn't like the results, and scrapped all the changes. But I wouldn't rule out the possibility of a transformation in the next couple of days. I need something to do while I'm eating the Pringles.

Sadly, Big Sis had to return to Wiltshire yesterday to watch some grass grow and dream of living within fifty miles of an Asda. She left a lasting impression on Amelie though. Or she would have done if the wind had changed.

My brother and his family stayed another night, but they too departed this morning, leaving Lisa, Amelie and me as the only house guests still outstaying our welcome. Fortunately, however, we managed a family game of charades before everyone fled, the highlight of which was when my Dad attempted to convey a two-word film by simply pointing at Lisa. I immediately shouted "Desperate Housewives!", only to be told it was 'Pretty Woman'. I don't think I came out of that very well.

But the good news is that since leaving us yesterday afternoon, Big Sis has had a change of heart, and decided that I can post the video of her dancing. Even though she looks fat. (Those are her words, not mine). Unfortunately for her, I've had a change of heart too, and I don't really want to. I can be awkward like that. But for the sake of family unity, I've decided to compromise, and publish a short excerpt which makes both her and Amelie look good. Amelie, because it showcases her finest dance step, and Sis, because she's not really in it.

This was actually filmed during an encore performance on Boxing Day, and features my niece just out of shot on the left. She also threatened me with violence if I publish the whole thing, so I'm treading a fine line here. Much like Amelie on the dance floor...


It gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'foot-tapping music'. I'd also like to congratulate my parents on doing their bit for healthy eating by disguising the seven tubes of Pringles with a fruit bowl.

As it happens, I'm going to need Amelie's talents as a dancer to start paying the bills pretty soon. My car had its annual service and MOT today, and needed £600 worth of work done. At least, that's what they told me. To be honest, it felt exactly the same when I drove it home as when I drove it there, so I think they just parked it outside for six hours and topped up my screenwash. Admittedly, with the cost of printer ink these days, that MOT certificate can't have come cheap, but I do wonder if my daughter's not the only one leading me a merry dance.

The day after Boxing Day, and half of us are on the floor...


To be honest, it's a miracle we're still speaking to each other. We had our annual Christmas Quiz last night, a family bonding ritual which is now in its third glorious year. It started in 2009, when my then-10-year-old niece spent the week leading up to Christmas preparing five pages of questions for us all to answer, little knowing that by Boxing Day we'd all be at death's door, and barely able to answer the phone to a doctor, never mind a question on the history of Manga.

Despite that, it proved to be the highlight of the festive season (narrowly beating the moment that Lisa threw up in a bin), so we repeated it under slightly better circumstances last year. It's now on the verge of becoming a family tradition, and the main reason we all meet up at Christmas.

Last night's quiz featured five rounds, for which we were divided into two equally-matched teams (we gave them Amelie in return for a tin of biscuits), and the whole thing was scored out of 64. Now, you might think that questions set by a 12-year-old would be simple. And they were. But not as simple as the contestants. My parents' team scored 36. Which I thought was pretty poor. Until we scored 29.

I think the lowlight for me was when my sister-in-law suggested that Kilimanjaro was the highest mountain in the world. And was promptly believed by my sister. I had to point out to them that it's been climbed by Chris Moyles and Denise Van Outen. And even then, they weren't convinced. Fortunately things picked up when I spectacularly named the singer who wrote 'Party in the USA' by Miley Cyrus, after which we attempted some sophisticated sabotage by sending Amelie into the opposing camp with instructions to tell them that Cheryl Cole's aged fifty.

I saw red when my niece asked us to "Name the band in the picture below"...


... but our biggest failing was in the round which appears every year without fail: an entire section of questions about my niece. To ensure fairness, my team included her mother, while the opposition had her father. The round was scored out of 17, and featured questions about her likes, dislikes, friends and hobbies. Naturally, with insider information from her Mum, I was expecting maximum points for our team.

We ended up with 8. They got 4. And she's not even adopted. Admittedly, no one could have guessed that her favourite food is something she hasn't eaten for two months, but when it came to naming her first high school, I think we could have done better. My sister-in-law walked her to the gates, and she still got it wrong.

It's Amelie on Christmas Day!


Those beautiful wooden letters were given to her by Lisa's friend, Dot. They're useful because they allow me to label her when she's having a tantrum.

Not that you should label children, obviously. Unless you're sending them through the post.

Anyhoo, that was Amelie having the time of her life yesterday. To be honest, when you've started your day with a cuddly antelope in a dress, things can only go downhill. And sure enough, Christmas Day at Gardner Towers didn't quite go according to plan. Big Sis had arrived for the festive season on Friday, with Lisa, Amelie and myself getting here on Saturday. That just left the Essex wing of the family, who were due to arrive at 1pm yesterday in time for Christmas dinner.

Unfortunately, my brother phoned at twelve-thirty to say they hadn't left yet. Apparently my sister-in-law had been out for an Asian meal on Christmas Eve, and her stomach was Thai'd up in knots. Having pulled everything out of the oven, and become the first people ever to extend the concept of par-baking to turkey, we anxiously awaited news, and were delighted to receive a text message at 3pm to say they were leaving.

And slightly less delighted to get another one at 3:45 to say they'd turned back. Needless to say, some people couldn't wait any longer for their lunch...


That's Amelie saying grace, and praying that her Aunt & Uncle will arrive safely with presents. She's the only person in Britain who eats salad cream with her Christmas dinner. Apart from Lisa's Mum.

The most tragic part of this tale is that my brother and sister-in-law were bringing the desserts. I'm not saying I don't value their company on Christmas Day, but when they're in possession of a Crème Brûlée Cheesecake and a Raspberry & Mascarpone Roulade, I do feel the loss more keenly.

Sadly, however, we had no choice but to soldier on without them. Big Sis and Amelie did their best to lift our spirits by performing a dance routine to 'Reach' by S Club 7. I have the whole thing on video, but sadly I've been threatened with violence if I publish it on the web. Which is bizarre for someone who's happy for the world to see this.

In addition, Amelie dipped into her wide repertoire of jokes, including her current favourite "Where do fish keep their money? In a cave." and "What's white and goes up? A dead snowball.", before moving on to her famous range of impressions...


When it came to presents, Amelie was particularly pleased with Buckaroo, plus a pair of puppies called Max and Mitzi which come with their own stethoscope. She spent most of the day telling us how ill they were. Big Sis, meanwhile, did her bit for the sisterhood by giving her niece a vacuum cleaner.

As for me, there was only one thing I wanted, and that was a new camera. My parents, brother and sister had all agreed to club together, pool their resources and contribute as much as they could afford. So I was expecting a Kodak Fun Flash. As it transpired, however, I received the one I wanted, and spent the evening having a ball with my Canon. The photos on this blog should improve from tomorrow.

The even better news is that my brother's family finally arrived at six-thirty looking like a scene from a Christmas carol. Well, his wife looked like Jacob Marley's ghost. We just had time to wish her a Merry Christmas before she retired to her sick bed with a festive bucket. We had to swap the After Eight mints for Bisodol. But still, things could be worse. This could be Christmas 2009.

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.

It was my last working day of the year yesterday, so now I'm on holiday for the festive season, I've got plenty of time to watch some of those classic old black & white films they always show at Christmas...


Christmas is obviously a time to spend with the ones you love, so whilst packing Lisa's bags last night, I turned to Amelie, who was bouncing on the bed at the time, and asked her which member of the family she thinks I love the most. She pondered the question for a moment, and then said "Chloe!".

Obviously she was right first time, but Lisa was in the room, so for appearance's sake, I asked her to guess again. Whereupon she pointed at me and said "You!".

Yep, I love Chloe and myself. She's pretty much got me bang to rights there.

I mentioned two weeks ago that Lisa's mother was riding a wave of good fortune all the way to an offshore account in Millionaire's Row. And I wasn't wrong. It's just a shame I've knocked her off before she got there.

As it happens, my mother-in-law matched four numbers on the lottery on Wednesday night, netting her £85. Which is £75 more than I've ever won. So buoyed by her success, convinced of her lucky streak, and with some considerable cash to flash, she phoned us up at noon yesterday on the offchance that I might have popped home for lunch. I hadn't. If I had, she'd have asked me to invest some of her winnings on a horse.

The horse she wanted to back was Sycho Fred, running in the 1:20 race at Sedgefield. She was attracted to the name because she'd just been to visit Lisa's uncle. I was in Mile Oak at the time, with an NHS computer that doesn't allow access to betting sites. Lisa was at home, but with no idea how to operate my Betfair account. And Amelie's too young to gamble. So Lisa told her we couldn't help.

As a result, she didn't put the bet on. And the wave of good fortune came crashing down around her. Sycho Fred won at odds of 40-1. I could have got 50-1 on the internet. Frankly I'd have made more money if I'd taken a day's unpaid leave and gone down the bookies.

But on a brighter note, I popped around there after work this afternoon to commiserate with my mother-in-law, offer my apologies, and ask to borrow a fiver, and she gave me a copy of yesterday's Argus. It featured a review of the Numberjacks show we saw on Sunday. I'm not sure what took them so long - I published mine on Monday and I'm not even being paid. But it's nice to see they agree with me...


I said "a cross between a ninja and a serial killer". They said the Milk Tray man in a gimp mask. It amounts to the same thing.

Before I went to bed last night, I noticed that Amelie's wooden sheep stool, which normally resides next to the sofa in the living room, had somehow found its way out to the hallway. I asked Lisa who had moved it, and she told me that Amelie had left it there that morning.

Naturally I asked her why, and the explanation came with a roll of the eyes:

"I put the Mingles on a higher shelf."

You have to admire the girl's ingenuity. I'd send her to the naughty step, but she'd probably just use it to reach chocolates.

As it happens, I was standing next to that sheep stool in the hallway at 7:30 this morning, packing my work bag with bananas, when someone started banging on the front door. We do actually have a doorbell, so I took it as a sign of aggression and assumed it was someone coming to accuse us of industrial drilling at midnight. As a result, I almost didn't open it. But in the spirit of Christmas and goodwill to all men, I decided to bite the bullet, load it into my shotgun, and meet the visitor head on.

And I'm glad I did. It turned out to be a swarthy looking temp from Royal Mail, with a festive special delivery. Having scribbled on his machine with the kind of signature that makes Amelie's pictures look legible, he handed me a box containing this:


Yes, it's another bespoke Christmas card from the man who brought us 'Chlo-Chlo On Your Head', the artist formally known as Mr Cheshire. He's moved on from Fidel Castro to Heston Blumenthal, and produced another turkey.

But not only did the box contain my favourite Christmas card so far (with apologies to everyone else who's sent me one), it also featured a photo of Mick Kitson with all his own teeth, a bag of chocolate Christmas trees for Amelie (I'll put them on the shelf and let her help herself), and the following CD album...


Not everyone's aware that Cary Grant played Aspley Guise Village Hall in December 1990. In fact, some people think he was dead. But for connoisseurs like myself, the music lives on, and now I can listen to it any time I like, thanks to this rediscovered and digitally remastered live recording.

Unfortunately I'm writing this during my lunch break at the Mile Oak Medical Centre, where the only sound system belongs to the audiology department, so I haven't actually heard it yet. But I just know it's gonna be good. The word on the street is that it's the best thing Cary Grant did, post 1986.

It's the annual Burning of the Clocks in Brighton tonight, which is the only time of the year when you can see faces light up on the seafront without the use of ice cream. I last went three years ago, in the days when I still had the energy to walk out of the door after 7pm on a work night. A lot's changed since then. Suffice it to say that if you plot the graph of my lethargy against Amelie's age, you get a 45 degree line.

So I'm not going tonight either. Frankly I can barely make it to the sofa. But as it happens, this year's festival has proved entertaining without me even leaving the flat. The Argus are reporting today that the organisers, Same Sky, have been contacted by the Sussex Wildlife Trust, to warn them about the dangers of releasing sky lanterns during the procession. It's resulted in this immortal headline:

SKY LANTERN BLAMED FOR OWL DEATH
And the following informative article:

"People are being warned about using sky lanterns after a barn owl was burnt and killed.

Sussex Wildlife Trust (SWT) sent out an e-newsletter warning people that the lanterns are a danger to wildlife following the injuries to the owl.

It's not clear how the lantern injured the owl."

When it comes to night-flying, nothing can hold a candle to a barn owl. Apart from a sky lantern.

I wrapped up all of Amelie's Christmas presents last night, and I'll say one thing for charity shop gifts - you'd never know they were cheap once you've covered them in Smart Price paper. They look gorgeous. She'll never guess that most of them cost less than a pound.

To be honest though, she doesn't deserve any presents. Lisa's got a festive box of Mingles, which are basically After Eights for the working classes, and she's keeping them on a shelf in the hall. About an hour ago, I was sitting at the computer in the living room, and I noticed the door being gently pulled shut. I assumed it was Lisa trying to save on the heating bills, but when I got up two minutes later, I found the doors to both bedrooms closed, Lisa napping on the bed, and Amelie nowhere to be found.

Obviously I could have investigated further by opening Amelie's bedroom door, but frankly if there's one thing I've learnt from three years of fatherhood, it's that if Amelie offers you five minutes of peace and quiet, take it. So I ignored her and went back in the living room.

Five minutes later, I heard her bedroom door open, and Amelie walked in with chocolate around her mouth. I asked her where she'd been, and she said "In my bedroom". So I asked her what she'd been doing. She said "Just playing". Before adding "That's all".

Needless to say, the other thing I've learnt from three years of fatherhood is not to believe a word she says, so I got up, walked into her bedroom, and found a pile of Mingles wrappers on the floor. It was basically Ocean's 3½. And if we'd taught her to wipe her own mouth and use a bin, she'd have gotten away with it.

It's hard to be cross with her though, when she's capable of expressing such heartfelt love through the medium of art. She drew this picture of Lisa yesterday...


Not only has she accurately captured her mother's slinky hips, twinkling eyes and charismatic smile, but she looks a bit unsteady on her pins. It's Lisa to a tee.

The problem with giving Lisa a break by taking Amelie off her hands for twenty-four hours, is that she liked it so much, she now wants a divorce so that I'll have the girl every weekend. The only thing keeping us together is the fact that she can't put the ironing board up on her own.

But while we argue over who gets custody of Chloe, the good news is that we managed to spend one last Sunday as a family, by treating Amelie to an afternoon of culture at the Brighton Theatre Royal yesterday. The show we took her to see was 'Numberjacks', so to be honest there was probably more culture in the bacteria on her fingers, but having enjoyed ninety minutes of maths-based fun, she can now count those fingers with ease.

For anyone not familiar with the Cbeebies Numberjacks show, it's just your average, everyday tale of a group of googly-eyed numbers who live in a sofa and solve problems using their magical Brain Gain, whilst battling a Problem Blob and a Spooky Spoon. We’ve heard it all a thousand times before. The live stage show promised "all the fun, comedy, music and excitement from the TV, and lots lots more!". And it didn’t disappoint. Assuming your expectations were pretty low to start with.

Tickets for this theatrical extravaganza started at £12.50, but fortunately I'm on the mailing list for the Theatre Royal, meaning I was entitled to a special discounted price of just ten pounds a ticket. It meant we were able to purchase three £10 seats for a total of – yes, you've guessed it – forty pounds. I'm not saying they rip you off, but by the time you've paid the booking fee, service charge and 'restoration levy', you feel like calling Trading Standards.

But still, at least they gave Amelie a free booster cushion to sit on...


It's just a shame they charged us £2.50 for that ice cream.

Anyhoo, the show itself featured four enthusiastic young actors who'd probably spent three years at RADA and dreamt of doing Chekhov at the National, only to end up singing songs about numbers to a bunch of four-year-olds. I couldn't fault their performances, but I felt the material they'd been given was a bit thin. As was the production budget. The white stone castle on the right looked good...


... but sadly that was the scenery for Spamalot, which was on in the evening. The Numberjacks set was just stuck in front of it for the afternoon.

The performers gave it their all, and I'm sure the audience enjoyed it, but the production values left something to be desired. In the TV show, Spooky Spoon floats eerily around in the air. In the stage version, someone walks on looking like a cross between a ninja and a serial killer, and waves a pink spoon on a broom handle. It scared the life out of Amelie, who started shouting "Who's that??!" in a terrified voice. When I told her it was Spooky Spoon, she said "No, the scary man in black!".

Anyway, all credit to the actors for doing stirling work with limited resources, but frankly I knew they were in trouble half way through Act II, when Amelie turned to me with a glum expression and said "Daddy, this isn't very good". When three-year-olds start picking holes in the script, you know you've got problems.

All was not lost though. At the end of the show, the actors went offstage, only to return a few moments later wearing Santa hats for a performance of The Twelve Days of Christmas. The sight of the Numbertaker in festive headgear was the highlight of the show for Amelie, and proved that even in pitch darkness, it's always worth pointing a camera at her, on the offchance of comedy gold...


She's like Statler and Waldorf from The Muppets. And before you ask, no, the show wasn't a sell-out.

Having ended the performance on a high, we made our way outside to suffer the considerable low of a sleet downpour and a fifteen minute wait for the bus home. It gave Amelie just enough time to persuade me to spend five quid on a Mickey Mouse balloon from a street trader, after which she began a series of mini-tantrums at everything from our choice of bus seats to our audacity at daring to touch her balloon string. By the time we got home, I was soaked, Lisa was frozen, and Amelie had dissolved into tears. I thought things couldn't get any worse until I got up this morning and found that the £5 balloon had deflated overnight. I had to play the video above at full volume, just to give voice to my despair.

With the death of Christopher Hitchens, there's clearly a gap in the market for someone who can explain the evolution of animals after the big bang in a simple, visual style...


The big girly scream from an unseen source was actually God quaking in his boots.

But enough about my heavenly father, the real star of this Christmas is my holy mother, whose birth we celebrated yesterday...


I'm not sure the Alvin Stardust impression is really working, but other than that, she looks good. For her age. Although if there's one thing she's missing, it's a balloon hat and a badge saying '3 Today'...

As it happens, Amelie was three yesterday. And is again today. As she will be, right up until October 2nd next year. She's getting her money's worth out of that badge.

Anyhoo, our day with the birthday girl yesterday was actually very nice. I'm not saying that Lisa brings out the worst in her daughter, but Amelie couldn't have been better behaved. Having warned my parents that she's going through a challenging phase and can be a bit of a nightmare, she was nothing but a little dream all day. Apart from the mini-tantrum she threw when she realised we'd forgotten the iPad.

Admittedly, she gave the game away by handing a carefully wrapped present to my Mum with the words "This is a jigsaw puzzle", but other than that, she behaved beautifully. Our second present is visible at the end of the video above. It's not the piano, it's the set of coasters featuring a picture of us at Blackpool Tower. They're only four inches square, but each coaster has room for three ugly mugs.

With the gifts presented, we asked the birthday girl what she wanted to do on her special day. And then ignored it, and went to the park instead...


Amelie's so like her mother.

On the way to the playground, my Mum told me the sad news that her next door neighbour had died, which produced a shocked response from Amelie, who mis-heard the information and wanted to know why her Grandma's daughter was dead. I think she was worried it might affect her haul of Christmas presents.

Having established the truth of the situation, Amelie was able to relax and enjoy an hour or so at the park, mingling with the natives of St Leonards. All of whom appeared to be from Eastern Europe, and unable to speak English. It's a shame we couldn't stay longer, as I was on the verge of getting us back into the EU treaty, but unfortunately Amelie's services were required back at my parents' bungalow...


Not only is she a veteran Christmas tree decorator, but she's also getting pretty damn good at climbing onto rickety chairs and over-reaching with a glass bauble in each hand and nothing but a few electrical cables to hold on to. It's a skill you can't teach. Well, not legally.

Having berated my parents for not having a star at the top of their tree (if that's not rectified by next week, there'll be trouble), Amelie selflessly agreed to share my Mum's birthday tea, and successfully polished off a Happy Meal followed by two bowls of fruit salad and ice cream. She then grabbed her party bag, filled it with a collection of stones, twigs and acorns, and the two of us headed home wearing big smiles. And balloon hats. The inflatable Chloe was a bonus.

Lisa and I are on a break at the moment. Well, Lisa's on a break. From Amelie. For a day. It's been a tough week for Lisa. Not only has she been tirelessly spreading her germs around, but her mother refused to see her on Tuesday on the grounds that it was too windy. In addition to that, Amelie's dictionary is currently missing the word 'reasonable', and she'd test the patience of a Saint Bernard. Frankly, even I wouldn't rescue her from the snow.

So I've decided to give Lisa a break by taking Amelie off her hands for twenty-four hours. Obviously when you're on a break, you're allowed to see other people, so I'm taking her to visit her grandparents. It's actually my Mum's birthday. As of today, she's passed the Bible's official projection of longevity, so every day's a bonus, and she's lucky to be alive. Although she might not think so once Amelie starts playing up.

We're currently wrapping her present (I'm typing this while I wait for Am to come back with the sellotape), and in addition to the one we spent good money on, Amelie has just informed me that she'd like to wrap up one of her toys to give to her Grandma. She's chosen a small cuddly doll I bought her from a charity shop. It might seem like a selfless act of love, but in reality she's never liked it.

I received two early Christmas presents today. The first was a bespoke, hand-decorated festive box which Amelie made for me at her playgroup Christmas party...


And the second was a stinking cold, given to me by Lisa. That's not holly on the box, it's snot.