As I'm pootling up to Parentville for Yoolfest, Leonard and I had to reschedule our Christmas celebrations to this morning. We exchanged gifts (pats from me, wafty clumps of allergenic fur from her), gorged ourselves on lashings of traditional Whiskas (don't tell the neighbours), and played Ye Olde Festive parlour game, wherein Leonard crouches stockstill in the paper bag from Readings for five minutes, and as soon as I click the button on ye olde festive photograph-machine, she starts pirouetting like a hashish-crazed dervish. Ho ho ho.
On that note, comma-rades, hertzliche Glückwunsch for your holidays. Hope they're grouse.