Almost. Look; the twenty-third of December. How did that come round so quick? Tomorrow I will be in my late-twenties as opposed to my mid-twenties, which is quite exciting. Twenty-seven has always struck me as a very sexy age to be; I'm feeling due for a prime number. Also, for most of this year I have thought I was twenty-eight for some reason, so I've unexpectedly gained a year - or two, I guess.
I haven't really stolen a slice of cake, but a certain fiendish geezer doctored my picture for blackmail purposes.
We made it to Cambridge on Thursday and had a very nice day indeed. The Sedgewick Museum was really very good. Probably the most boring place in the world if you have no interest in rocks and fossils and I think you'd probably have to apply a fair amount of imagination to enthuse a child on the matter.
Then we went to a pub called the Eagle for lunch. We went to this pub because it was one my folks had been in before, but in fact it turned out to be the pub in which Watson and Crick had got pissed every night, and whose room-swimming had revealed the anti-clockwise orientation of double helix (that's not at all what it said on the plaque on the wall, but I filled in the narrative gaps). We then went to the Art Gallery, which was very nice and we finished up at the Starbucks in Borders, where Jess's husband maybe saw Stephen Hawking (I recounted this almost-anecdote at the time and everyone was very impressed). And I had Gingerbread Coffee, which is weird but very nice, and my folks bought me a book I'd wanted for ages.
So that was all very good. And whilst of course I've been knackered since, I've not entered any kind of major collapse, as I feared I might - it was easily the busiest day I've had since we moved house in February. I'm now looking forward to Christmas, which should be fairly quiet and manageable.
I hope you all have a lovely Christmas and thanks for all very much the support you have given me this year.