I envy Santa, you know. I could have really done with a team of flying reindeer and a sleigh tonight, to shift me from London to Glasgow.

Instead, I had a plane, and a not-very-co-operative one, at that. Three and a half hours of waiting at the gate, three hours of waiting, taxiing, waiting, returning to the stand, waiting some more in the plane and then one hour of flying. We arrived four and a half hours late.

I could have herded some reindeer and trained them to fly in the time it took to get to Glasgow.

So, in summary:

I spent much of Saturday on a plane, wondering if we were ever going to take off.

I spent much of Sunday stroking a kitten on my knee while a 7 year olf and a 9 year old painted my finernails Barbie Pink. And then I got on a train for a long journey in the dark in which the old lady on the neighbouring table barfed repeatedly all over the table and herself, and the seat, and her dog. And us. Sort of. If you count splashes - which by the way, I do. Every time she puked, it was like it came as a total surprise to her, and she just let rip all over the table top, over the paper and her magazine and everything. Then she’d mop at her mouth and say quietly “goodness!” while Anna and I passed her tissues to clean up and cones of newspaper to barf into. She’d take the latter gratefully, then unfurl the cone flat onto the table in front of her, and then barf all over it. She was going for maximum coverage.

Then I spent much of Monday on ferries and driving across wee islands, then making four dozen mince pies and five litres of mulled wine in a big kitchen.

Holidays, You’ve got to love them.

Internet and electricity not necessarily forthcoming over the days ahead so have a good one. I will.