Driving Home For Christmas

Merry happy gang! I write from the back seat of a pleasant little motorveichle, winding its silver way rough some drizzly Welsh hills, on route to Dyffryn Nantlle, the valley I spent some of my single digit years amidst. We lead a two car convoy of blood relatives and their female betters. Less than a day into the great male Narkiewicz reunion, we've already lost two of our party, but Chris Rea is on the radio, and my flu is retreating fearfully. I sweated most of it out the other night. Apologies to my girl for ruining our bed. In sickness and in health, eh? Quite.

What would Christmas be without deeply upsetting family drama? Enjoyable, perhaps. Ho ho. Anyway, it has only just begun, and anything could yet happen. Tonight we're going for dinner with my auntie - this will be odd for my girl, to whom Auntie Lexy is better known as Madame Brain, her GCSE French teacher. Ho ho ho! Passe moi la baguette, sil vous plais! Boulangerie!

Wow, we just went through Penygroes. To the left, grotesque council terraces prickling with satellite dishes. To the right, a gut-stomping Middle Earthian expanse of mountain, slate, and sullen, brooding sky. I wonder if they get broadband out here.

Regarding that Advent entry, I have no idea where it went. I'll investigate, and post more goodies as soon as I find a decent internment conneshun. Pax!