White Christmas

Reading Misssy's post about Xmas made me go all misty-eyed. Not for the shite Xmasses we get in Scotchland, where you have to light the fire two hours before you get up in order to avoid getting hypothermia whilst preparing Xmas lunch; where you have to shine a torch on the clock face to tell when it's time to turn on the telly for the Queen's Speech, cos it's so frigging dark at three o'clock in the fecking afternoon; where the best present you can hope for is a lump of coal.

No, I'm talking about South Africa, home of Eldest Daughter, Son-In-Law and Youngest Grandson. Ah, black Santas in full costume in the baking hot malls, sweating their arses off because the aircond's on the blink again. Beaches thronging with bathers who need to take a dip in the sea to cool off in the forty-degree heat. Going for a day-trip to see the animals, and I don't mean the in-laws fighting over the turkey. Just being able to go outside without your sporran icing up.

I'd love to go back there. All donations gratefully accepted.

It could be worse, we could be living in the Scottish Highlands.