Season Of Ill Will

Carole’s ill.

Sore throats, sneezing and generally feeling bobbins.

I know she’s ill because she’s doing the now traditional claim that death is imminent.

But I’m not sure that some of it, at least a small portion, is part of a cunning angle she’s working to open her presents early.

She has form in this area.

Several years ago, she had her car broken into outside her parents house not long before Christmas and was quite gloomy about it, as you might imagine. In a bid to cheer her up I offered to let her open a present early – on that occasion she declined.

But we have a regular discussion, every Christmas Eve, about whether she should be allowed to open a present in the evening. I know in some places it’s the tradition because you get some, say, pyjamas that you can then wear for that evening’s sleep and into Christmas morning, or in some country or other you get a book to read. Or something like that. I might have made that up.

Carole doesn’t work by those rules. She just wants to open a present.

And now she’s bringing illness into it.

Earlier today she decided she should probably open all her presents now as it’s unlikely she’ll make it to Christmas Day, so she should be given time to enjoy all I have bought her. Whereas my view on that is, should she not make it to Christmas, I can just send all the stuff back untouched and that’s easier I the long run.

I mean, just to make it clear, she’s going to make it to Christmas.

Probably, anyway.

I mean, if she keeps whining about being ill it might be touch-and-go and I might have to smother her with a pillow.

But chances are she’ll make it.

More pigs in blankets for me if she doesn’t, though!