Red squirrels, roast wombat and pancakes

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year, dear readers. I hope there will be some peace and joy to look forward to in 2025. But first, a recap on what I’ve been up to since I last wrote…

December 20th: Guns and carols

Walking the dog around the country lanes at dusk, I saw a man carrying a shotgun by his side coming towards me. What was the right greeting, I wondered. “Hello,” I said, as I passed. “Hello,” he replied. I went home, put the kettle on and thought how very British I’d been.

Probably working for a farmer, picking off rabbits, I thought, but it was a first. On the local community Facebook page I spotted a post from someone wondering who was out shooting animals and scaring their nervous dog witless. Next time I looked, the post had been removed by the moderator.

I sang carols with choir that night at a café. Almost didn’t go as I was feeling frayed, worrying about vulnerable members of my extended family, young and old, their various hearts and heads. We were on the mezzanine, audible but barely visible to the customers dining below, and I deliberately stood at the back, partly shielded by the Christmas tree. One line into beautiful, poignant, Coventry Carol – “Lully lullay, thou little tiny child” – my voice cracked. I ducked behind the tree, fully hidden, and quietly sobbed. Then I wiped my eyes and joined in with (ironically) Underneath the Tree, a much jollier number.

December 22nd: “It’s a den!”

I’d been focused on tidying up the house, but within thirty minutes of visitors arriving, this was the state of the living room. “It’s a den!” came a muffled voice from inside.

The four grandchildren have infinite energy and bounce off each other, sometimes literally. We had to shelve any plans to play board games or watch anything adult-orientated on TV.

What films can you safely watch with children? Pick the wrong one and everyone’s in for a sleepless night. We opted on Christmas Eve for A Muppet Christmas Carol. Surely you can’t go wrong with Muppets? But we’d forgotten about The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.

The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come from A Muppet Christmas Carol (Screenshot)

Who can blame my seven-year old granddaughter for having nightmares afterwards? Even the two-year olds were pointing at the screen and asking, “What is THAT?!” Is there anything more disturbing than facelessness?

December 25th, 4am: ‘Twas the night before Christmas

and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a… Oh!

This uninvited Christmas visitor was snapped by a son-in-law at 4am. He left the bathroom door open and it scurried towards the kitchen.

At 8am I was peeling potatoes when the two oldest grandchildren, who were sharing bunk beds, emerged blinking and distraught.

“Wendy, our stockings have disappeared. They aren’t there anywhere,” sobbed the seven-year old.

I’d gone to bed before anyone else the night before, so was clueless but tried not to escalate the panic. The little one’s dad emerged and suggested they think about where Santa might have exited the house. They ran to the chimney and there were the stockings, hanging by the fireplace. Phew.

First (non-stocking) present to be confiscated for causing a fight? The jellybean dispenser. My son’s bright idea to give them that. I later found it hidden in a high cupboard by my stash of 90% Lindt chocolate.

Biggest present: a toy kitchen for my three-year old grandson from his parents. He’s a Big Cook, Little Cook addict. It took nearly as long to construct as our actual fitted kitchen did and is almost as impressive. It has a light up hob and oven (he seemed disappointed that it doesn’t actually get hot), and a fridge with a pretend ice dispenser. I haven’t even got an ice dispenser. We’re not sure how they’re going to get it home in the car.

Grandson spent the next hour “cooking”, professionally attired in his apron and oven glove, taking our orders for pizzas and scrambled eggs and yelling, “Do you want some POTATOES with that?” and, “What do you want after your coffee? Do you want some LETTUCE?”

The new cuddly toy from his Christmas stocking appeared inside the toy oven and he said it was “roast wombat”. Sign the lad up for a bushtucker trial.

Best shared children’s present: four walkie talkies (Ian’s idea). Seven-year old insisted on walking the dog with me to test out the range, bellowing, “ARE YOU READING ME?!” the whole way round, and giving no one back at the house any peace. The range is remarkable, turns out.

Best decision to cut down on expense and waste? Grown-ups don’t give each other presents. We all contribute to the food instead.

December 27^th : Wannabe Slow Horses

The other adults spent the afternoon doing the GCHQ Christmas Challenge. I overheard something about British landmarks but managed to avoid any major spoilers, hoping I’d get to it myself the next day. I put this sudden enthusiasm for nerdy spy ciphers down to us all secretly wishing we could be like the characters in Slow Horses on TV (I’d probably be Kristin Scott Thomas rather than Gary Oldman). Or Black Doves, starring Keira Knightley, which is apparently excellent but which I haven’t got to watch yet, because: grandchildren.

Alex and her husband had a night away in a hotel to give them a break from their seven- and two-year old, which meant I put the two-year old to bed for the first time, without her mum’s boobs being close by. I was told singing and rocking works. Cue the longest ever rendition of Old Macdonald Had A Farm. She finally nodded off at 11pm and slept till seven. Hurrah. I snuck out of the room at 3am for a wee. No mouse, thank God.

Next morning, she walked around carrying a plastic toy lizard, whisper-singing a song that I couldn’t quite catch. I wasn’t sure whether she was repeating it for my benefit or as a request to the Google assistant in the kitchen.

“What’s that again?” I ask.

“I’m a little lizard standing on a rock. It’s the Nick Cope Popcast,” she sang, to clarify.

Five minutes later, for the first time since they arrived, all four grandchildren were sitting alongside me on the sofa, quietly mesmerised by Nick Cope on CBeebies making up songs about an octopus, dinosaurs and an eco one about a plastic bag floating in the ocean. Plus a little lizard standing on a rock, of course.

Nick Cope looked familiar. I googled him. Turns out this children’s entertainer was originally in Britpop band The Candyskins. Here he is with them singing Submarine Song in 1991.

December 28th: I am spy material, maybe

I completed the GCHQ Christmas Challenge in between wrangling grandchildren and catering for 13 people. Do I get extra points for that? Surely logistics counts for something? (My son had to give me a couple of hints about the number cipher one though.)

December 29th: Red squirrels and The Sound of Music

Becky woke at 3am, got up to do some writing and spotted the mouse sitting in her daughter’s pushchair. I am still calling it “the mouse”, refusing to believe that there might be more than one. It scurried into a corner cupboard, so we now know where its base is. Once visitors have left I’ll put down humane traps, which involve releasing any mouse caught three miles away so they don’t find their way back. What a pain.

Alex spotted a red squirrel in the trees at the back of our house. The first sighting on our own patch. The Isle of Wight is one of the few places in the country where red squirrels thrive, protected by the stretch of water between us and the mainland. Almost everywhere else, greys dominate. Later, she saw two of them chasing each other through the treetops, so we have a family.

I visited Ian’s mum, J, in the nursing home. She was watching The Sound of Music on TV and smiling broadly. A lovely sight.

She remembered seeing the movie at the cinema when it first came out (1965), with Ian’s dad. I said that, as I get older, I’m increasingly sympathetic towards the Baroness, who looks genuinely heartbroken when Captain von Trapp breaks off their engagement so he can marry fun young governess Maria. J was having none of it. She’s team Maria all the way.

December 31st: Giant pancake

Status today? Began very much like the aftermath of the dream I woke from this morning. I was cooking pancakes for the family. It was my birthday. I’d made nice neat pancakes for everyone else, then one of my son-in-laws poured the rest of the hot fat and the pancake mix into the pan and said “This one’s for you” and happy birthday [NB it’s not actually my birthday]. The pancake covers the entire dining room table, which has become a giant hob. It’s spilling over the edges like a tablecloth. I’m trying to manoeuvre it with spatulas so that it cooks, but the grandchildren are playing underneath it, the dog is lying down on the edges, which are touching the floor. Ian’s dad asks how it’s going. I say I want to cook at least part of the pancake properly.

I woke up. Busy morning IRL as visitors rounded up all they could carry and left the rest for next time (the ‘for next time’ drawer is very full).

Daughters and grandchildren have now all departed and I’m here with the menfolk: Ian, plus our 23-year old son and 29-year old nephew. Son drove visitors to the ferry; self-confessed neat-freak nephew helped Ian and I put the house straight. Proof that children do eventually grow up and it really is all a phase. Might even get to eat my pancake today.

New Year’s Day 2025

Last night me and Ian played two rounds of Code Names and watched three episodes of Black Doves. Back to being grown-ups. Then switched over for the fireworks at midnight. As my son said: good fireworks, shame about the DJ!

And now I’m writing this! Happy New Year! How was it for you? Just another day, or a celebration? Please do comment below if you’re able.

Thanks to everyone who read, liked and/or shared my pre-holiday piece, Hold the Front Page, about cringe-making errors at work. There were some corking tales of typos and cock-ups shared in the comments.

At the moment, nothing on Wendy’s World is behind a paywall. I really appreciate some of you taking out a paid subscription to support my writing, or popping something in the tip jar. Free or paid, though, I’m delighted to be sharing my writing with so many people. Thank you for reading!

Until next time!

© Wendy Varley 2025