The Runaway
So, after agonising over my decision to stay in alone on New Years Eve, I decided at 11.15, that very night, that actually no, I don't want to do this. I don't want to REALLY, PROPERLY, ACTUALLY, lead the life of a lonely spinster, even though, it is soo bloody obvious, that that is exactly what I am, only minus the 12 cats of course, which to be perfectly honest is only because I have a hair phobia and not because I don't actually want 12 cats, because I soo would!
I was invited to a party, but I wasn't informed until 5pm and by that time I was already sat curled up, in pj's, with cocoa, fluffy slippers and the thought of finding something to wear that actually fits after 124,978 mince pies in 7 days was too much to bear, so I graciously lied declined the offer.
Oh, that and the party consisted of only couples and my large, round, green, hairy suit is still in the dry cleaners. Humph.
So, as I was saying, at 11.15 after getting an ear bashing from an older and wiser msn buddy, I realised that New Years Eve just was notthe time to be alone, because quite frankly, you just don't know what will happen in the next year. Starbucks may go bust in November, Brad Pitt may wake up ugly in the middle of March, Tim Henman might win Wimbledon in August. (Shut up. He will do it one day I tell you!)
I decided I should be with my parents at midnight. I grabbed my fresh cup of coffee and drove the 2 miles to my parent's home. They were incredibly pleased to see me and found it highly amusing that I turned up in tartan pyjamas, (quite fitting for Ale Lang Syne I thought).
We drank, sang, danced and heckled the neighbours out on the street until we were all happied out.
I'm so very glad I went, but not so very glad I witnessed a teenager, puking on his dog, in the middle of the road, whilst driving home.
* * * * *
My brother and his family came over on Thursday to exchange presents. I had bought my sister-in-law a book about autopsies. Yes, she is sick and weird.
I bought the book because I knew it would delight her and not at all because we share the same sick fascinations and I want to borrow it.
We absolutely do not surf crime, murder and forensic evidence websites when we get together, neither do we like to look at real photos of murder scenes and play detectives. No, not us.
My parents gave my 7-year-old niece a Barbie suitcase to take to Disney World next year. Her reaction...
"Oh look, look mum, wow, this is so cool, now I can really run away!".
When will they learn that the streets of London are not paved with gold? Tusk.
Tomorrow I am being tortured into seeing the movie, 'Phantom of the Opera', please pray for me. Thank you.
The Runaway 
