It's Christmas Eve and we can no longer put off the inevitability of Christmas so we are cleaning. I have latrine duty. When don't I? There are parts of our house that only get an annual cleaning - these gets bigger and bigger until we simply close the door and leave that room for another year. Bathrooms gleam, showers shine, loos sparkle and we are all bursting. Well, we can't use our nice clean facilities.
For some barking reason that escapes me (one does odd things at this time of year) I decided to master panettone. This is supposed to be light and fluffy not ammunition - oh! I want to rush to a shop and buy some, rip all the paper off and pretend I made it. I would but I'm a bit fatigued from all that loo cleaning.
The dog inspects all the presents under the tree and is so pissed off there aren't any for him tears off the labels. Hint: don't leave them chewed up in your basket, this is a dead giveaway. Why don't you just pop them into Mr Smith's golf bag, we'd recognise his teeth marks anywhere.
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