Bue skies and PJs.

In an ideal world I would have jumped out of bed at 8am, been out the door at 9 and be in the park photographing squirrels by 10, having finished all my Christmas shopping and with a full fridge.

In reality I overslept till 10am, have barely scratched the surface of Christmas shopping, Tesco has no delivery slots till after Christmas and I won't be at the park before 2.
On the plus side, my orderbook is clear, the tree has half its baubles and the sky is blue.

Today I wave goodbye to the courier till after Christmas.
No more odd shaped parcels, pink mailing sacks or wrestling to get boxes within the courier size restrictions.
No more packaging at midnight, cellotape wars or dodgy addresses that don't exist on Google.
Suki objects to the noise of the cellotape.
She gets that ''don't mess with me'' glint in her eyes.

I've seen more of the courier than my own son, who is working such nocturnal hours that the only time I've seen him this week he's been horizontal.
But I always hear the door when he rolls in at 4am.