One word, two syllables.

I was chatting to a Twitter friend earlier this year and she made the observation that for someone who posts everyday, I play my cards close to my chest. And, as your good friends can, she set me thinking about myself and what I write.

And I realised that while I'm very happy to write about myself, I'm cautious when that writing involves other people, especially other people's feelings and also situations where other people's perspective and interpretation of what happened might differ quite wildly from mine!

Last year I managed to move out of my family home and adapt to life living alone without ever really writing about what had gone on. That not only suits me but, I think, everyone else who was involved. (Although I still find reading parts of my blog around that time quite painful.)

I'm telling you all that because I don't really want to go into the mechanics of our Christmas Day, although it was a very happy one. We played charades, we drank several glasses of a delicious sparkling wine cocktail, we opened presents - which all proved to be imaginative and created a lot of excitement and delight - and Hannelie cooked the best Christmas lunch that any of us can remember.

In the evening I went back down to the cottage with my older girls and we watched 'Man Of Steel', which was great (apart from the conversations about how hot Henry Cavill is) and I felt happy and grateful that we could still have such a happy Christmas.