Christmas Panto & Prosecco

...which somehow turned into a tradition. Third time in a row Emma is directing a Christmas pantomime at the British Home and Hospital for Incurables, raising money for the hospice, and hopefully tiring a screaming bunch of toddlers in the process, so that the parents can peacefully fall asleep watching molting spider crabs on Blue Planet tonight, instead of Paw Patrol.

After My Fair Lady and Mary Poppins, she tackled another classic this year - The Sound of Music - with none other than our Kathryn as a lead, and regardless her swearing up and down this one had been her swan song, I'm hoping she'd keep her directing hat on, so we can continue this little West Norwood Christmas tradition.

Once again we couldn't really hear much (although the 'brexit' joke did not go amiss), and once again we hoovered a bottle of prosecco beforehand and had to deal with squirming mess of a hyperactivity that Alfie (STILL) is, but as a reward got some buffet after (admittedly I got into a bit of a munchies-frenzy and might have stolen a tub of hummus), and got a lift up north as she was delivering another of her magical cakey creations - this time around a galactic cake for a party celebrating a girl, who just got accepted to an astronomy school.

No matter how short, it felt heartwarming and homey to be back checking up on these two, and it's very reassuring to find out that in this ever-changing world of 2017, Alfie's obsession with bums remains an unwavering constant.

Another one is our little time off by the car park: having a cheeky smoke and few moments just for each other and our future (of course surrounded by roughly trillion snotty red-flushed crying little gremlins, you do necessarily ponder your own readiness for stomping out the fire of your own ego and fully commit to parenting).

We agreed to pay a festive visit to Emma's - to check the newly refurbed kitchen, cathcup on some bad TV, that on Queen Mary Road we always hilariously turn into drinking games, split some of the guilt of super fatty boom boom traditional Czech Christmas cookies that my mum is shipping to us in a care package, and

most importantly keep the connections within this very unlikely, and very hilarious little family alive.