I travelled to Manchester to fly to Stockholm on Friday, thanking my good luck that I’d have missed the Gatwick chaos. It turned out that I didn’t, entirely. My flight was three hours late, having been held up by the reorganisation of flight schedules that the Gatwick event had necessitated. We landed at Arlanda after 2 a.m. Never underestimate knock-on effects. Luckily airport security missed the drone I had packed in my suitcase: a Christmas present for one of my ‘bonus’ grandchildren. I hope she keeps it away from Arlanda.

Now for my Swedish Christmas (tomorrow – they have it early). Smoked cold mutton, raw herring, and ‘Johnssons Delight’: sliced potatoes au gratin without the gratin, cooked in cream with anchovies. I’ve promised Kajsa and myself a proper Christmas dinner afterwards: kalkon with all the trimmings, if I can find them, followed by plum pudding and drunken stupors. It’s what built the Empire.

God jul, everyone.

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