The festive season takes me back to the days when Mummy and Daddy would spend Christmas Eve making sure the day would be perfect for me. They'd be very busy instructing the maids, waiters, cook, chauffeur, gardener, butler, and other sundry employees exactly how they wanted things done.
The venison had to be cooked just right, the Beagles were to have their sirloin steak at 12 O'clock, the hog roast for supper was to have an English apple in its mouth, the champagne and Beluga Caviare served at the right temperature.
And Dick Fynder, my beautician/hairdresser, was not to be the one to come into my bedroom to wake me up, as this took too long, and denied the family of my presence at this special breakfast.
A nice card from Barclay's Offshore Accounts Dept this morning.