Christmas update

My faith in humanity has been restored. Obviously, this is partly due to the season of good will to all men. But mostly because a box of delivered chocolates has sat outside the front door of my sodden flat for at least two weeks, and nobody has pinched it. It was under plain cover, I suppose, but even so I am impressed. Exactly twelve months ago, the locals were looting my living room.

The most regular chocolate thieves are both away at the moment anyway. Hope is with her dad, and Sarah is still incarcerated in Chelsea. And there is enough chocolate in a children’s ward at Christmas to ensure a localised obesity epidemic. In fact, on Christmas Day, there was apparently something of a surfeit of Santas too. Not three hours after a Santa with a slight limp and suspiciously high-pitched Ho Ho Ho was strong-armed into doing the rounds, than he was superseded by a member of the London Fire Brigade in a similarly unconvincing costume. I am informed by an entirely unbiased source that the earlier incarnation was far superior. Though not, I suspect, as far as some of the young mums were concerned. Photos will doubtless follow.

William was delighted with Father Christmas, especially when he finally remembered to deliver the ‘Gordon book’. And that was the favourite present. According to the back, a bargain at £2.50 in elf currency. I’m hoping that his tastes will maintain such affordable levels. No doubt Father Christmas was pretty chuffed too. William was also in sparkling form for Christmas day, which was an enormous relief. He had been pretty uncomfortable for a couple of days before, and his doctors had even threatened to remove his line on Christmas Eve, which would have meant sticking in temporary peripheral lines for at least a week. Not very festive. But now Thursday seems to be D-day, when he will have the op that will hopefully relieve the pressure in his tummy and settle things down enough to start planning for coming home. William has already started planning his return, as he is demanding that his favourite cuddly toys – his ‘friends’ – are sent home in his stead. They are seen here sharing the bed with William in his 'boys are smelly' pyjamas. For the meantime, all is on hold. William is on his drip more-or-less 24 hours a day, is windy and often sore, but is otherwise as entertaining as ever. This currently means that we are all part of an enormous Thomas role-play. William is generally Gordon, the express engine. So when he is not joining the rest of us in the great festive television slob, he hurtles around the ward at high speed, with me following and doing my very best to ensure that he doesn’t yank out his central line. I am Harvey the crane – performing the necessary role of rescuer when he falls ‘off the lines’. Everybody has a part to play. The ward sister is Trevor the tractor. William is doing his best to ensure an early release.