It was a choice between 17.15 on Friday (and possibly missing glögi and gingerbread, courtesy of my benevolent workplace) and 7.40 on Saturday (and possibly missing my alarm clock and then the plane). I chose 7.40, had more than my share of glögi, gingerbread and (interestingly) green cheese, and more than managed to wake up in time for my flight on Saturday. My ability to wake up owes no small debt to my parental wake-up call (benevolent, just like my workplace) which negated the need for my army of alarm clocks (four in total). Shortly after arriving in London, and making one or two choice Christmas sale purchases pour petit moi, I met Madeleine and we had a fantastic and super premium meal at the Gilbert Scott in St. Prancas. I considered taking one or two photographs of the wonderfully-restored Victorian architecture that engirdled us while we ate our three-course dinner. But then somewhere in my sub-conscious I am still hoping to become a successful – and very rich – lawyer and taking such photographs would certainly not be consonant with this future me. The real beauty was when I arrived home and saw the tree that my mother had decorated.
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