It's Welsh for the obvious. The only other bit of Welsh I remember is a very unpleasant chat-up line so thank the Lord that it wasn't the title.

This is a brief interlude before I set off to do six hours with la famille, just to wish you a Joyeux Noel.

So, Feliz Navidad mes petit chamignons, and a Fröhe Weinachten.

I'm so multi-lingual. I speak English and Wiganese.

All the best to everyone. Hope Father Bug Whiskers brought your every hope and dream. Enjoy.

The good news is that one of my favoritest people is back from Australia for a few weeks. The original Ali Bongo is in town. The bad news is that she's had to come back for her dad's funeral.

Ali Bongo, Evil Albert and I used to knock around back in our Visionware days. In fact we were inseparable since we both worked and socialized together. I haven't seen her in well over ten years. Rather than suffer in South Wales until she goes back to Oz, she's going walkabout 'Oop Norf. The plan is that she's coming to Wigan on the 30th and we're going to head out into Wigan and then head up to les Alberts for New Year.

It's horrible for her to be here under such circumstance but I think this will do us all a world of good. None of us are particularly at one with the world so getting the old crowd back together will be a tonic we could all use. I might go so far as to say that the unexpected arrival of Ali has made my day (with the obvious caveats). Some things change, but just ten minutes on the phone proves that some things do not. You'd think we had been in daily contact for the last ten years.

Roll on the 30th. I can't wait to see ya Ali. Hell, I might even vacuum.

I have sat here all day, squirming in discomfort, waiting for my deliveries. I got up a bit late so did not get time to shower so have sat paranoid in case they turn up while I am in the bathroom and return the goods to bloody Wapping or wherever. I'll be buggered if I am going driving somewhere remote tomorrow to pick them up.

The good news is that all except two have turned up. The bad news is that one of those is the Gogglebot's main present. All I can do is sit watching the Spooks finale this evening, while stinking and then spend tomorrow wrapping with all my extremities crossed, again while probably stinking.

In the meantime, I am spending an awful lot of time fielding and declining invitations to parties. As far as I'm concerned, my obligations are the parentals' on Christmas Day and les Alberts' for New Year. I have no interest in anything else other than a bit of peace.

I want Friday over with so I can get back on with my life.

Yours, Scrooge.

The older I get, the less inclined I am to join in with it. When it snows, I feel even less inclined. I should have gone out yesterday or today to pick up a couple of things but I think my time in Minnesota has scarred me permanently. Maybe tomorrow. In the immortal words of the Waaart, it is too cold to even fart. If it's not snowing, it is hailing.

I sat down this morning to do my Xmas shopping. What the hell did we do before t'interweb? Amazon is just the best shopping mall on the planet. I had some ideas about what to get my niece, the Gogglebot. There was one that I was pretty sure I could get from Amazon. I was a tad concerned that I wouldn't be able to get the other but the loves at Amazon came up trumps. Both her presents are sure to irritate my brother in that it will take some work for him and that it will be noise pollution. That said, what I have bought for him will annoy the Flip-flop. And likewise, what I have bought for the Flip-flop will enrage Kidder. I'm all about peace on earth -- my actions speak louder than words.

I have procrastinated wildly since I finished for the holidays on Friday. Given the previous few weeks, I think two days downtime is not unreasonable. I can hit the store and clean the house tomorrow.

That is about as entertaining as it gets around here at the moment. Oh, Rebecca came around the other night and I forgot to take advantage of her mad spidey-skillz to deal with all things wattage and luminary. Actually, the Vanquisher and I hit a fine Chinese before the freeze kicked in. I think it was called The New Palace on Market Street in Wigan. They were only doing the buffet since it was early evening, but if the buffet is anything to go by, I highly recommend it.

Ho ho ho. The highlight of my Xmas thus far: I have just received spam touting "Christmas prices on meds!". It's a small price to pay to hit the delete button when it means you can avoid the great unwashed and the not so great weather.

I've stuck another Diving With Andy track up just for Mrs Albert and because I am currently sat bopping along to it.

PS -- Buggering Nora. I thought I would be able to stay inside today but the cigarette situation is not looking good. It looks like my extremeties are going to come under attack from mother nature. This is the stuff of horror movies: guy sets out for smokes in a blizzard and the ghost of Kylie past, present and future descends. I cannot continue for nausea...

I said I would be quiet for most of December. It's strange how your gut feel transcends any plan. I was hoodwinked last week by some work things that I thought would not happen until new year. My gut told me it was going to happen but my brain said that it would be lunacy. Gut wins again.

I have a few things to impart.

I will be silent until at least Saturday after tonight. I will be traveling for the next few days. Remember the days when I used to get up and do a day trip from Minneapolis to Chicago, starting at 04:00 and ending at 11:00 or 2 day trips to Asia? Well, I have decided that I am too old for that kind of thing. International travel is one thing because the adrenalin rush was sweet but training or driving around the UK is a pain in the proverbial.

I have not even started my Xmas shopping yet, thanks to work commitments. I am half tempted to just buy everyone an iTunes card and a lottery ticket. My family and I have been in contact re presents. I have no idea what they want. They all have everything they need, as do I. As far as I am concerned, all I really want is an iPhone programming manual, an electronic shaver that actually works and a Bösenedorfer piano. The latter runs at at £10k+ for a second hand one so I guess I'm SOL there.

News-wise, I have not had chance to analyze. To explain how awful the last week or so has been I have neither read Bryony's column nor spent any more than 15 mins on the crossword. It must be at least two weeks since I finished the paper and the crossword. Sadly for me, I did pick up on the fact the he who shall not be named but who resembles a donkey armed with a banjo has recently scored a hat-trick and that there is talk of putting him into the England squad for the World Cup. Once again Kenny's gut feel is proven correct. I hope I never see the day. The bloke is an idiot.

The good news is that I now know what I'm doing on New Year's Eve. I shall be in York chez les Alberts. Thankfully this year I will not be dressed as Amy Winehouse. I can be happy Uncle Kenny until the kids have retired whence the J-Meister (Evil Albert) and I can spend the rest of the night lamenting the sorry state of British industry.

In the meantime, I have stuff to do and travels to be traveled.

Oh yes, and I still have mousicide to commit. There is only one left and he's smarter than gubbins; hasn't even nibbled the delicious poison I have put down for him.

I promise next time you hear from me, I will be back on form and not so bushed. Please, all of you, don't photocopy your ass at the Xmas party. Okay, unless your name is Bryony.

As if I was not stressed enough by work, a need to book an appointment with a notary public so Nski does not get medieval on my ass, numerous docs appointments and all my various phobias, my worst nightmare is back. Okay not quite the worst, but damned close. I do not have a Kylie infestation, but after a couple of weeks of peace, just as I was having a Sunday afternoon doze, there was something of the moving variety detected on the wooden floor. I snapped to attention and screamed like the lass from Just William. Given I was snoozing, I soon convinced myself that I was dreaming it.

Ten minutes later a little black mousoid thing legged it from under my sofa, all of two feet, to under the other, which is where I keep the majority of my weapons of mouse destruction.

I am baffled. The poison has been all around the house for weeks, yet this little bastardo turns up suddenly, without so much as a Tesco voucher as a gift. I'm sure if the git had been in the house for the last couple of weeks, I would have spotted something. All I can think of is that when I went to take the trash out earlier and I left the back door open for the whole 40 seconds that it took me to get to the garbage can and back, the fecker must have spotted his chance. I understand how they might think heat is a good thing, but slap my ass and call me Elvis, where on earth do they expect to get water from? I have been through the house with a fine tooth comb looking for entrances that a mouse might be able to get into. The only one I can spot is the letter box (which is way too close to ground level for my liking) when the paper boy doesn't push it through far enough and leaves a gap. Apart from that, you could switch on the taps with me locked inside this house and I would drown in a matter of hours. It is hermetically sealed.

I think it is time to get a professional in. I am not spending my holidays with rodents. I'm beyond Miss Marple poisonings now. I want brute force and ignorance. I want to be awoken by the snap of a small creature's back. They may well be more afraid of me than I am of them, but I'm pretty sure mice don't have phobias like I do which kind of negates the argument. They need to be dispatched, swiftly and with style.

Anyone thinking of buying me a Xmas present, a Rentokil voucher would be ace.

And the first person who mentions how cute mice are or that I should have a cat, will be condemned to the inner rings for all eternity. Either that or they will make "The List".

That is not a reference to the number of ideas I have.

You will recall when Rebecca came around one night and we ended up with her on a chair on top of a table with a screwdriver, changing the light-bulbs? Well I have an issue -- one went again tonight so I am sat with with 60W of light. Very cozy. Unfortunately I have neither a Becca or a bulb to replace the two duff ones, and I think I threw the last one that blew out so I have no idea what kind of bulb it is.

I can feel you all feeling for me at this point. Not.

Well the good news is that the Vanquisher, Becca, one of her friends and I are all going watching Regina Spektor live at Manchester Apollo tomorrow night, so she will have to come round. Gotcha mi'dear! She can take out the duff ones in the front room and the kitchen and I will pootle to Home Depot on Friday to purchase said articles in droves. I will clear them out. I must now work on a plan to get her round here on Friday night to do the business with the bulbs.

I jest but vertigo is quite a phobia. I'd love not to have it, but like most phobias, it is irrational. If I am stood on something without anything to hold on to, I freak. Hate it. I panic myself to the point where my balance goes. I guess most phobias are just over-thinking about a situation. That might explain why I have so many of them.

Thank the little dust bunnies to the left of me (really should vacuum tomorrow) that I have a Rebecca down the road.

In other news, my Mandelbrot gasket has been replaced and the car is now legal again. You should all get some serious lascivious wassailing done in its honor. It cost a frickin' mint. Speaking of mints, that is what everyone is getting for Xmas this year due to budgetary constraints. A single polo mint. Oh hell, go on then. A full pack each. That is how much I love you all.

As of tomorrow afternoon, I will have concluded my 18 straight days of work (okay it was 17 but last weekend was squashed into Sunday because I was a bit lazy on Saturday). Friday is a day off, with the exception of a conference call. In the immortal words of our favorite Scottish Gertrude, GET IN!

I suppose I should use that free time to order some polo mints from Amazon. I'm informed by a certain gnomophile that polo mints are great when you have Emma Freuds.