Rousse gets stuck on the ceiling

We dropped the habit of recent years of spending New Year’s Eve in Edinburgh. Instead we travelled south to celebrate with A, C, N and S.

S told us that we would be having “something called boeuf bourguignon” for dinner. She kindly started to explain to me what this was until I interrupted and reminded her that I had a degree in French.

Later in the evening one of S and N’s babies, who I discovered lying on his back in his cot, raised his little fists, struck out at my chest, and pushed me upwards. Such was the force that I was sent flying towards the ceiling, where I then got stuck. TPR had to stand on his toes to reach up and pull me back down to the floor again.

By the time that I came back down everyone’s hair had reverted to the colour of their youth.

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