I was walking with friends on Saturday morning when we stumbled across a blow-up Santa of epic proportions, which was waving at us from someone’s driveway.
Being sensible, middle-aged women, our initial concern was how much power would be required to keep him inflated 24/7.
My friend Fee has extensive knowledge of such things, as she hosts one of the most impressive Christmas lights displays in her street.
Whereas I am lucky to put up a tree. The youngest forlornly noted last week that we’ve never had Christmas lights. Such a deprived childhood.
We were about to take photos of the giant Santa when I suggested one of us stand in front of it to give an indication of scale.
So scruffy me in my ALDI gym gear jumped into the photo.
And that is how I inadvertently became Santa’s naughty bits.
In other weekend news, I raised a glass with one of my clients, who concluded his campaign to become a local councillor. It’s neck and neck, so the final result won’t be known for a week or two.
Then I went to the skipping club’s annual general meeting … and discovered I had the date wrong – it’s actually next Sunday.
I concluded the festivities by eating oysters and drinking Champagne in my sister’s spa for her birthday. Happy birthday sis!
In between, I drove my children around A LOT. An effing lot. I was really narky about it by the end. Mind you, it’s a very short fuse at the moment, as I’m surviving on 5-6 hours sleep a night.
OK, I’d better get cracking – it’s the first day of my new gig. I’m meeting with my boss at 8am, wish me luck!
How was your weekend?
Song of the day: Wham “Last Christmas”