Christmas this year had the potential to be really sad. I’d spent the run-up imagining what folk might have
been saying about my family and I: the
‘sheesh-what-a-Christmas-they’ll-be-having’ conversations and the
‘cor-it’ll-be-a-difficult-one-for-them-this-year’ observations. And those
imaginary folk might well have been right, were it not for my family’s laudable
ability to make good – no, to
been saying about my family and I: the
‘sheesh-what-a-Christmas-they’ll-be-having’ conversations and the
‘cor-it’ll-be-a-difficult-one-for-them-this-year’ observations. And those
imaginary folk might well have been right, were it not for my family’s laudable
ability to make good – no, to
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