However much the Church of England or Church of Wales infuriates me and tests my faith I have always attended Midnight Mass at Christmas. “Yea Lord we Greet You born this happy morning” I sing loudly and walk out into the cold night air filled with optimism and with my weak faith replenished. Gradually my own failings and the miserable state of the world weaken all those positive feelings and then it is Christmas again. This year I did not leave after the last carol I stormed out and I hope that our sparky new vicar understands why.

First, over mince pies (bought in) and home made brandy butter or cream plus mulled wine, potent and made with my special recipe, the 24 of us practised with “Away in a manger”. Then we headed off up the lane to see an elderly and, this year, bereaved, neighbour.

Before our Christmas Carol party my friend C took his chainsaws to the pear tree felled by storm Darragh. I had a play with smaller saw and have now bought myself one on Amazon allowing me to start work tomorrow on creating logs to dry for next winter.

The hideously ugly, modernist, hugely expensive cat box the Mrs bought from Ikea is still being spurned. She moves it around the house to wherever the cats are resting but to no avail. It needs to go on facebook marketplace on aesthetic grounds and because it can be sold as unused. Instead..

If the Mrs and kids had their way the Christmas tree would go up sometime in September. Having explained that a live tree should only be inside for a short as possible period to give it any chance of survival I relented and yesterday it came in. We have a carol singing party here at the weekend so I could not hold on much longer. At the top is an angel made by daughter Olaf 19 years ago when she was just four. It has survived.