The Festive Confessional

It would be difficult to pick the highlight of this Christmas Day.

The four course breakfast? Nah.
The early-morning Catholic church ceremony, which begged the question: is this the origin of pay-per-view?
Nah.
The brief stop into a newsagents, where we were greeted by the sight of Mrs Claus buying a pack of cigarettes, a pint of milk and some lottery tickets? Close...
The realisation that I'd left my damn hat in the church when d told me to take it off as a mark of respect, and the subsequent realisation that the church was now closed indefinitely? Big no.
The seven course Christmas lunch at the Ty Newydd hotel, including a trio of desserts, Christmas pudding and mince pies?
Well, it was a big thing in the day, but not the highlight of the day, no.
The three mile walk with both Ma and d to try and work up some breathing room after the seven courses?
Hmm - contender. Walking with d is always fun, and it was nice to share with her.
The Who Christmas Special? Another contender this year, with a new companion, and a team in good strong form.
The weird couple of hours doing a pub quiz based on food, and winning, thanks mainly to d's knowledge? Meh...fun to do, but by the time it was done, we'd done so many taste tests of things I certainly shouldn't taste it was all rather "Must...stop...eating...now..."

Or was the highlight of the day, possibly Trish?
Hmm...
d had gone up, and I was keeping Ma company down in the bar when Trish came over to us. Trish is what's known as a "Valleys Character" - someone with a good heart and a lot of energy and who, while entirely intending to talk about anything else, somehow manages to turn conversations to how good she is. This is entirely unintentional, and one is left in no doubt that she really is as good as she says she is, but it's something of a force of conversational nature in which to get swept up.

"Anyway," said Trish as a conversational side-gambit, "what are you, husband and wife?"
Ma blinked at her.
I blinked at her too.
"Nono," said Ma, grinning ever so slightly. "That's my son..."
"Get away!" said Trish. "Wellllll I never...I would never have said that..."
"Gee...ta," I said. It's not the first time that there have been mix-ups like this. Ma is something of a force of nature herself, and neither looks, acts, nor, as we confirmed earlier today, feels her 62 years. In the last couple of years, since beginning the Disappearing Man Experiment, I've clawed back a level of fitness where I can do things she can't, but before that, there was every likelihood I'd be dead and buried before she broke her first bone. But if ever there was a marker of the need to get a move on with this re-Disappearing, a moment like this with a character like Trish'll do it.

"I don't wanna hear any self-loathing on Thursday," said d when I got back to our room. "You've indulged beyond the point of madness since yesterday."
She's right, I have, and I knew what I was doing, so as with Kilworth House, there's every likelihood that my last weigh in of 2012 will see me tip the scales at over 18 stone for the first time in over a year. But plans are being drawn up in my head already, and they will be put into action, starting on January 2nd.
Now - to sleep off this sugar-hangover.