Christmas at Clevenden Cottage

Tess was behind the wheel, driving us to her parent’s cottage in t

f the road ahead even more haphazard. Tess was driving like she was a Raleigh

g this,” I spoke, gripping on

red, weaving the steering w

s not,”

ted, shooting me a

n anything of a ‘tradition’. Now, all of a sudden, this annoying ritual that our parents had conjured up, many moons ago, seemed to have be

istmas songs that were obliviously emanating out of the car r

dering how easy it would be for me to open the car doo

casion, Tess’s phone starting ringing, and I wondered whether it was

umbled, searching for how to answer whi

abbing her phone. “I’ll

he call, I immediately switched it to speakerphone – there w

s Georgina! Is

’m here!” Tes

hristmas Eve! Do me a favour, when you get there, could you

e tree!” she replied, excitedl

se of the thought of set

on!” Georgina called o

lity of, spending Christmas in another person’s holiday cottage, and now I was

ess shouted, clock

ed to couple up for the festive season, because they were such good friends (*fingers down throat*), and I’d always hated it. Having said that, I couldn’t remember much about my time here, because I’d put a menta

incessant questions, or the fact that they insisted I fill them in on every detail of my life. They always asked me questions about my lo

o spend the Christmas period with people who weren’t my

my time off work, I would’ve much rather have vegged out and lounged around

was for the better. My mum was in a whole world of her own, and my dad went along for the ride. Kooky and quirky, yet only seeing to her own needs at the same time, with littl

t our parents had decided to spend Christmas together again this year, at Clevenden Cottage. Tess’s bright idea, was that we would travel up earlier, spend a couple of girly days together, beca