Every Christmas Eve we drive up the hill of the Isle of Ely (all of 23 meters above sea level) to attend the children's crib service at the cathedral. The highlight of the program is not the real, live donkey, but the disruption caused by Auntie Maureen.
Auntie Maureen does not really understand Christmas and has to have some aspect of it explained to her, in front of hundreds of tiny children. It must be embarrassing for her, but she always comes.
I was really disappointed when the Canon explained that she had flown to Corfu for a budget holiday this year, and would not be turning up. He didn't sound too upset, though.
Luckily for us, the snow and ice disrupted all flights from Stanstead (and all the other UK airports) and after a really uncomfortable night in the terminal, she gave up and came to stay with her nephew the Canon, as she always does.
He very patiently listened to her moans about all the expense and inconvenience that she had incurred. Because she hadn't actually checked in at the airline desk, they had refused to give her a hotel room, or a refund. She went on about it extensively. In the end he explained to her that she wasn't the only one whose travel arrangements had been disrupted at Christmas. 'Imagine having to go all the way to the place you were born, just to keep the government happy. Add in an imminent baby and a grumpy old chippy as a husband and then find that all the hotels are full (or possibly still under construction). 'Not the sort of holiday to write "Wish you were here" from, was it?
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