We're having an - um - 'interesting' festive period. So far:
1. It snowed, in an unforecast-type manner. It started on Christmas Eve just an hour or so before we were due to leave to go to some friends in the next-but-one village for an apéro - our sole bit of R'n'R in an otherwise working Yule. We got halfway down the track, and had to turn back as we - or at least the car - were slipping and sliding all over the place. It's been freezing cold ever since - minus 8 when I got up this morning - and we're iced in.
2. The door fell off the oven. Probably terminally.
3. The dishwasher decided, repeatedly, that it was much more fun to empty itself all over the floor than anywhere else. Probably terminally.
4. The fridge clearly felt left out and followed suit. Probably terminally. (Okay, so we inherited them when we moved in and they're all a good 15 years old. But they didn't have to all die at once, did they?).
5. The only tardis I got anywhere near was the one in the 2009 Doctor Who Christmas special, which finally hit the screen here last night (we've not had the merest whiff of the Eleventh Doctor on France 4 yet). Yes, sorry, I'm a Doctor Who fan. You have my permission to yawn ...
6. Nobody changed my sheets.
7. Oh, and John stacked a tonne of books on top of my glasses. Definitely terminally ....
Bonnes fêtes to you too. Bah humbug.
* pun unintended, but satisfying.