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!