Happy New Year

I'd be pushing the optimistic thing a little too far if I didn't admit that 2006 has hardly been vintage. We realised that William would be unlikely to make it into adulthood. I got run over. My flat was flooded. And I start 2007 with the knowledge that the 2nd Jan will herald a raft of bounced direct debits, and a round of further demands for cash, whilst those who owe me money will be taking their own sweet time about it. The joy of all of this, of course, is that it will take a peculiar series of disasters to make 2007 a worse year. A nuclear conflict, perhaps. A freak air crash over Tooting. An outbreak of the plague. So perhaps optimism isn't a bad idea after all.

Christmas has been all about the boy, although he now seems to be suffering from seasonal overload. He has gradually got the idea, and is now fully in command of all things festive, to the degree that he is throwing the Christmas tree baubles around in an expression of pure joy. Or is it vandalism? Father Christmas left him a little cold - he was rather surprised to see presents in his cot, and once he had unwrapped the Thomas DVD North Pole special edition, ignored the other parcels completely. However, he now seems to expect to find a 'Dadoot pwesent' - Thomas present - every morning, so Santa did make an impression. He also starred in the Christmas morning church play, not because his role - a shepherd - was particularly central, but because he brought a freshness and originality to the part that is rarely seen. I sincerely doubt that many other Nazarene shepherds chose to illuminate their roles by throwing stuffed sheep around and singing the 'coloured houses song' from Balamory. His performance had started with the line 'Bye-bye shepherd' and a casting aside of his tea towel headdress, so we could have guessed that we were in for something special. As he processed along the aisle waving the stuffed toy sheep and shouting "Daddy Sheep!", however, I did worry about my already low moral reputation amongst the congregation. Still, I have rarely been so entertained in church, and I'm sure it was better than whatever schmaltzy cartoon they were choosing to show on BBC1 at the time. William remains my hero.

My leg has remained steadfastly the same throughout the festive period. Having to use two crutches again has radically affected my ability to walk and drink at the same time, so doubtless my liver is in good shape this Christmas, at least. I waved goodbye to my physio, Mo, the other day, which was sad, as he has been both friendly and effective. He is 'rotating' apparently. This is something that physios do, and is probably possible because of the amount of stretching involved in their job. Before Mo, I couldn't even get out of bed without physically lifting my own leg manually, and now I am about as fit as I can be, given the limitations of a cast and not being allowed to fully weight bear. In fact, we decided that there was little point in any further sessions with his replacement until my next session with my consultant. He will be missed. And it is a little depressing, actually. Now my recovery is out of my hands again, apart from trying not to overstress my leg. Frustrating, but at least I know that I have been doing everything I can to get better, and I shall just have to wait until mid-January to see if I'm going to be progressing, or looking at another round of 'interventions'. I won't be posting up my next set of x-rays, though, as it will cost me another £25, and I suspect the differences will only be clear to the trained eye. I've struggled to see the difference between my last lot and the ones taken on day one...

Our overnight respite nurse Margaret gave us the great Christmas present last night of arriving early and babysitting all three children - technically against the rules - so that Sarah and I could go out for a meal. By lucky coincidence I had been paid a cash gig the night before at a pub in rural Wiltshire, so I didn't need to suffer the indignity of being unable to pay for the first time we've been out together since last winter. I had octopus for a starter too, so I must have been feeling particularly adventurous. Tonight, however, will be a quiet one. My old friend, colleague and now Eton housemaster Roland had offered for us all to go to his - a lot of free beds in a boarding house(!) - but without being able to drive and on a cold and wet night, it wasn't really a starter. Maybe we'll try another time, as I'm sure the girls would love to live out their Hogwarts/Malory Towers fantasies. And I'd like to get drunk with impunity. Until now, I've been seeing out 2006 by trying to keep a tired and emotional two-year-old, and taking out my frustrations on defenceless cyber animals, so as the evening progresses, we might at least be able to improve on that.