Thank god for Matthew and Mary..

Home is truly where the heart is.. dog poo and all.

As we arrived back from our New Forest Xmas pilgrimage to our customary little 'gift pile' right on our doorstep which we then all duly trod in, even then my spirits couldn't be dampened.

Never have I been so glad to smell the poo on my feet, taste the chlorine in my mouth, collect the fox strewn litter from the garden, even see the local drug dealer who live two doors down.. No it was all manna from heaven, music to my ears, a joy to behold. Because, it was home.

Christmas was great. Ok it wasn't great.

It was exhausting, noisy, crowded, hysterical, annoying, boozy, hectic and over the top. In hindsight I loved it. It's amazing how when you get home all the crappy bits fade from memory and you remember the bits that were actually quite good fun.

But a combination of being ill, having a sore butt, having a tantrumming toddler sleeping in your room, being in a house with paper thin walls, a whining dog, an octogenarian father with sciatica, an octagenarian mother in law who.. well.. just was, a frazzled mother who needed looking after, a stressed fresh off the train husband who needed to go to bed, rounds and rounds of family, meals, cooking, clearing up, drinking and very little sleep - does not a great Christmas make.

As my mother pointed out, this probably describes most peoples' Christmas across the land.

The best bit without doubt was Matthew and Lady Mary kissing in the snow. Thank you Julian.

I bet they don't have dog poo on their front step at Downton.