Day 242: Parakeets

Liz and J just gone to bed, exhausted from hosting. Mum is back in her hotel. I'm sat up under the Christmas tree, last of my green tea cooling in the mug, heater element clicking down to silence. Arya and Rey are having manic minutes chasing scrunched balls of wrapping paper about the room, before they slink round the door and into bed with their snoring humans.

It's been a good Christmas Day. I'm coming down with a cold, it's making my head swim, my joints ache, my throat burn. But I've pumped myself with vitamins - Jamie insisted I eat a peeled lemon with him, he swears by it - and I'm powering through the best I can.

We went walking through St James's Park once we were all showered, held out crushed nuts to the parakeets, felt thrills as they swept down and clamped feet around fingers, ate off our hands. We came home past the £20-million apartments, all deserted, and opened simple presents of books and mugs and new pants. I got an old charity shop collection of haiku by Basho, a new maroon shirt to replace last year's shirt, some aftershave, the weight of the parakeets on my arm, a peeled lemon, a mother and sister and brother-in-law (soon-to-be), two kittens chasing wild circuits around the room.

Jamie's parents and sister came by for the evening meal, with Liz sweating and stressing about coordinating the food, the conversation, the night. She needn't have worried; it all was beautiful. We ate and chatted about the episodes of Holby City and Doctor Who Jamie's father had directed, posed for a group photo perfectly ruined by leaping cats.

J's family left, and we sat fatigued on the sofas. I read the Welcome to Night Vale novel my friend Mike got me, ate mince pies, played with the cats.

Falling asleep now. Got tomorrow here to do nothing, gorgeous, sprawling nothing, at most a cryptic crossword with J while Liz and Mum go wedding dress viewing, and then back up north on Thursday, and back to work. Before that, though, decorations glinting in candlelight, homemade food, mugs of tea, kittens, sofas, sleep.

Lots and lots of sleep. Merry Christmas x