My warm house

The second of the Christmas parties is our house-warming. I spend the afternoon buying and putting up decorations (discovering that if you haven't got a tree, then you're pretty much reduced to having lots of tinsel), and Squonky spends the afternoon cooking and making mulled wine.

Only 15 minutes have passed when the first of the red wine is spilt onto the brand new carpet. Luckily it only happens the once.

All the guests are work people, except for associated boyfriends and girlfriends, and Squonky's ex-next-door neighbour.

Squonky cooks too much food, only about a quarter of it gets eaten. It's a shame because it's all pretty nice stuff.

We have to put a note on the bathroom door, warning people that it won't shut. Halfway through the evening I add a note saying that my flatmate is a sex-pest who 'forgets' to knock when he knows women are in there. For a wonder, it stays on the door all night.

The kitchen stinks of mulled wine the next morning. There's a purple stain on the living room carpet.