I’m all dressed up and ready to go somewhere – a party, actually – which is quite most unusual because we are rather stay at home in the evening people. We’re not going out of the district, thank goodness, so we won’t have far to roll home later on, not that I intend to get drunk – it’s just that I have regained a few pounds over Christmas.

I started off by wearing a black and grey evening gown (bought in Australia last year) – it’s funny how strange my Australian gear looks when I wear it in England. The dress has two glamorous slits up the sides so I had to wear black tights (pantyhose if you live across the pond) to cover my white legs (gone is the tan). I hate wearing tights of any colour but I thought I’d make the effort as we so rarely go out to parties. Chris entered the bedroom, looked at me, and said:

“Is this the first thing you’re trying on?”

“No, this is what I’m wearing,” I answered decisively (for a change), “Why, is anything wrong with it?”

“No, it’s just a bit black,” Chris answered cautiously.

“It’s got grey in it,” I countered.

“Well, okay, black and grey,” Chris made it sound so attractive.

“What else should I wear then?”

“How about a onesie?” he joked.

So now I’m all dressed up in an all-in-one (onesie) sort of jumpsuit with three-quarter length legs. The material is rather pretty – a floral pattern in pink, blue and green on a black background – and I have a pink cardigan over the top (not over the top outrageous, or gorgeous – just normal  worn over the top). The black tights came off (I do so hate wearing tights, especially under onesies, not that I’ve ever done so). The only thing that looks a bit odd about my outfit is the pair of black socks I’m wearing, but I hope that nobody will get that far once I put some bright lipstick on.

“What are we going to do for four hours,” asked Chris.

“Five hours,” I corrected.

Old grumpy boots looked to the sky for some reason.

“Why don’t we bring along a game of Picasso?” I suggested, perking up. (It’s a really good game like charades but you have to draw the clues – particular fun for artists.)

“You don’t take games to parties,” he scorned.

So I’m all dressed up, the pizza I made is in the oven (we will roll home), I’m going to secrete “Picasso” somewhere on my person (whatever that means) and I’m just about to clean my teeth and put on some lipstick before venturing two doors up, to our neighbour’s party. We are the only guests so I can’t see why we shouldn’t play Picasso.

Wherever you may be, whichever way you are choosing to welcome in the new year, I wish you a happy and prosperous new year!

I didn’t have the heart to shut my bedroom door. Jas and Sasha had snuggled together on their big cushion and were already half asleep when I turned off all the main lights; likewise, Malachi, Inca and Yoda had settled on their individual cushions and did not follow me as I walked through the lounge-room towards my bedroom. From my doorway I surveyed the peaceful scene; the small lamp on the kitchen window sill shed a soft and comforting yellow light over that end of the house; and in the middle of the open-plan living area, to the left of a spiral staircase, the lights on the Christmas tree twinkled and winked on and off. No need to hunt for the switch – if it became bothersome during the night I would shut my door.

I changed out of my thick polar bear onesie in preference for a thinner grey one with white spots, still fluffy (but more like a rabbit than a bear), and much more suitable for sleeping in. The big wooden four-poster bed, made to appear less massive and square at each corner by lengths of pastel coloured silk, looked sumptuous; and the red duvet cover was warm and inviting. For some time I just lay in bed and watched the reflection of the fairy lights which lit up the glass doors of the wood fire in the lounge. Although the hour was late sleep evaded me; I closed my eyes, pulled the duvet up around my ears and waited for sleep to come.

Presently, I became aware of padded feet on the floor – perhaps it was the click of nails on the ceramic tiles – and a dark head was at my bedside. In a moment the dog, as black as night, was lying at the end of my bed; quietly, and without great movement, she curved her body against my legs. When I had to move I did so very tentatively, trying not to disturb her; she responded likewise. For perhaps an hour I enjoyed the warmth of her body against me through the duvet; I liked the way she rested her head over my shin; I even liked the sound of her breathing.

Neither of us slept. I wondered which of the three larger dogs she was. I didn’t think it was Jas – Jas is old and not so nimble as the younger ones; it had to be Malachi or Inca. Inca is the youngest and awfully bouncy at times, she is apt to jump and barge for attention. No, I thought it was Malachi, my favourite (if I was forced to own to it). Malachi is patient, responsible and caring; like a sensible older sister, she watches over all whilst joining in for the fun too. I had to know if I was right. I reached down to pat the head at my left knee. She was awake; she lifted her head as my hand searched – her hair was straight and sleek… it was Inca! Not at all boisterous now.

My legs needed a change of position. I moved to the left and Inca went to the right; she was lying beside me with her head in the crook of my arm. Very gently, she nudged a paw against my side and I held her paw in my hand. Inca was so happy that her throat made sweet little noises; I was so happy that I shed a tear.

More nails clicking on the tiled floor – it was Malachi. Did she want to join us on the big four-poster? The more, the merrier. No, she wanted to tell me that Yoda needed to go out for a minute. As it happened, Jas and Sasha decided to join Yoda (you know what we females are like – we rarely like to miss an opportunity). We all went back to our respective beds, except for Inca, who hadn’t left her spot.

“Move over a bit,” I whispered as I slid under the red duvet.

I held her paw again to reassure her and she fell asleep with my fingers going through her silky hair; I knew she was asleep at last because she made little sucking noises like a baby. And sleep came to me… but not for long (at least it didn’t seem very long). Soon it was dawn and the whole troupe burst excitedly through my bedroom door.

As I was getting into the car to leave Inca came bounding over and licked my face. Strangely enough, I didn’t mind a bit.

“We’ll try to get down to you by midday on Boxing Day, Mum,” said James (alias Jimbo or Jim) over the telephone on Christmas Eve.

“Don’t worry about having to be here for a specific time for lunch,” I replied, “We’re going to have a running buffet so that anyone can drop in at anytime.”

“I hope it won’t be a banana and a drink of water from a plastic cup,” Jimbo joked.

I was still smiling when I put down the receiver. I was thinking back to an earlier time when he was my little Jim, barely more than a toddler…

“Goodnight sunshine,” I whispered, kissing him at bedtime.

“Goodnight Mumshine,” he responded as quick as a flash.

James and Jaimy are on their way from Brighton. They should be here within two hours. I haven’t seen them since their wedding in April – I’m so excited. I wonder if I have any plastic cups – just for a joke, of course.

Well we’ve had a lovely Christmas Day so far. Chris regaled me with his comic song while I was having my cup of tea in bed this morning and later, after a delicious turkey crown roast dinner, he repeated his performance for my mum and our friend and neighbour, Alan – much more entertaining than PlayStation (Chris’s singing, not Alan, although Alan is certainly very playful and interesting in his own right).

After our delightful guests had left I tried on one of my Christmas presents (which I had bought and wrapped on the behalf of my better half). I was just taking a photograph of myself to show you how cute my present is when the doorbell rang. As Chris opened the front door I could hear it was my friend Catherine and her three girls. Chris came downstairs chuckling.

“Sally, they can’t stay because they’re dashing off to Manchester”, (not ‘through the snow on a one-horse open sleigh’), Chris called,  “You must go up and see them – some of them look like they are related to you.”

Even before I reached the top of the stairs they saw me and I saw them; Catherine (dressed as her normal self), two pretty snowflakes, a slim polar bear and a not so slim polar bear all began to laugh. Catherine and I (and perhaps the whole of Dawlish) had had the same eye for bargains at our local Sainbury’s store and bought up novelty onesies at half price. I love mine and I’m going to keep it on for the rest of the night; it may be a bit hot this far south of the Arctic Circle but  I’m not going to growl about it. I might have to turn off the central heating and, if Chris complains of the cold, I shall have to give him a bear-hug.