Hedgehog hotel

The Christmas tunes blare bizarrely in time to the flashing lights on the tree. Little P lies motionless on the sofa, drifting in and out of sleep, having her once-a-year-Christmas illness. My other daughter, the big one, wraps her sisters presents in her beautiful messy fashion, scribbling Seasons Greetings onto yet another colouring book.

And I feed the hedgehogs for the fifth time today. Yes, that's right - I somehow have got saddled with hand-rearing baby hedgehogs over the Christmas and New Year period. That's every 3 hours, mixing kitten formula and sterilising tiny little bottles even in the middle of the night. It's just a tiny bit harder waking for hedgehogs than your baby, my body does not want to stir, the thought of mixing formula at 2 o'clock in the morning does not make me want to rescue these little blighters at all. But I do it, as they squeak.

And they are goddamn cute.

They keep trying to die - which would be handy as the festive season approaches - but they hang in there as I feed them fennel and chamomile tea to cure their bloated tummies.

It's a different kind of busy this year, with not a commercial or Christmas cracker in sight.

A very Merry, prickly Christmas to you all !