Then it all went a bit downhill. A general strike in Brussels meant that I could not get to Brussels from Paris as planned on 22 December. I had meetings set up all over the place that needed rapid cancellation/rescheduling. Fortunately, I was just outside the minimum cancellation period for the hotel so wasn't charged for that.
Never mind. I made it safely to the Paris train. And then got ill. I never get ill. It is full-blown tubercular coughing disease fever and has lasted over the entire festive period. A cocktail of nurofen and Cremant de Borgogne or Bailey's has helped me through. The coughing is of the variety designed to empty one's body of spare organs. I think my spleen is still attached.
I'm not sure if it's the fever or the drink but last night I dreamed that Beyoncé gave birth to an elephant. Only it wasn't actually her - she had a surrogate elephant birthgiver. All very suspicious.
We have been playing a lot of games when I haven't been too feverish - and the phrase of the week has been "If you get this right, I'll show my tits to your neighbours". My daughter has a large window, you see, overlooking many flats. So far I have not had to do it. They have witnessed me dancing like Tom Jones though, so nothing will probably surprise them.
Now, is it too early for fizzy booze?