Christmas kicked ass. Seriously.
Pavlova. Makes dogs drool, or something. Me too.
We had such a good time zooming around the city to the various places we had to make appearances, with pretty clear roads, which is luxurious in this usually congested city.
A sample of the many many many pressies.
As well as the incredible haul of wonderful gifts (the house is now literally full of boxes of cool new things, I’m standing outside, reaching in the window to type this, we’re quite worried – not knowing where we’ll sleep, what with all the MP3 players, digital cameras, and milkshake makers, not to mention the), we had a great dinner at my mother’s place, same as last year, only even better. Claire thinks the improvement was down to the cranberry sauce with the turkey, I’m not so sure.
I’m told you shouldn’t take photos at this angle. Don’t care.
George was well behaved, if a little gassy (and it was truly horrific blister-your-skin sort of gas, thanks to Callum feeding him about a kilo of ham) and entertained the party by trying to learn a new trick – jumping through a hoop. He did it a few times as well,not bad for an old dog (okay, only 19 months, but that’s like 25,000 in fruitfly years).
George plays a game of "I could bite your arm right-
off, if I felt like it."
Anyway, we’re stuffed, and busy playing with our toys, so I’m cutting this off right n–.