So it turns out a Santa in a neighbouring grotto did some naughty things at the weekend - told the children to fuck off, ripped off his beard etc. Naturally, a few people thought it was me, especially as I was so angry about the whole dog/photo thing the other day. I woke up to a load of messages from concerned friends asking what happened, am I okay, am I stressed...I had to put a post on Facebook announcing that it wasn't me. Madness. Utter madness. Not every day has to be an episode of a sitcom, does it?
Still, apart from that I had a nice morning. Popped into town to buy trainers and a new Christmas jumper, cleaned and tidied the bit of the house that is my responsibility, did a bit of work on a new script and then taught four brilliant lessons with four brilliant private students. Maybe teaching is my calling, I'm not sure. It works, either way.
Got back, started booking tour dates for next year because my head is buzzing full of ideas.
My Christmas jumper lights up and I am honestly thrilled about this.
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