And so I'm back...

...not from outer space, though. From Castle Rhino, the windswept beaches of southern England, and a thoroughly British Christmas. Now when I say "thoroughly British Christmas," I know some of you instantly imagine some sort of Dickensian feast, all roaring fires, garlands of holly, mahogany sideboards groaning under the weight of candied fruits, chestnuts, crippled chimney sweeps, a huge goose, knee-deep snow and Rhino75 wearing a muff. Mmm, sounds rather nice, doesn't it? Particularly that last one. But of course what I actually mean is a "thoroughly MODERN British Christmas". You know, Top of the Pops, a Doctor Who special (with Catherine Tate??!) and a heartwarming film about how a golden retriever finally enabled a mother and father (the sexy Ben Miles) to communicate with their autistic child - altogether now, aaaaahhh. Plus, naturally, industrial quantities of (M&S apricot and cranberry) stuffing, mincemeat, and Quality Street. Basically, we watched pointless tv (Casualty - how unlucky can one hospital be for chrissake?), drank gallons of tea and ate rubbish for four days without a break. Apart from the traditional Christmas Eve at the Cuckoo, singing along to Wind of Change by the Scorpions (when will they get a new dj?) with sis and Su. Star pressies? A gorgeous knitted green hoodie that has hardly been off my back, Season 2 of Desperate Housewives, and a lovely edition of "The Wind in the Willows" (one of my favourite books, to be savoured while munching hot buttered toast and Battenberg Cake). And the usual socks and undies. Everything a boy needs to face a new year. Talking of which, resolutions or no resolutions? I'm still in two minds.