How many times have I started this blog with the word ‘Thank God that’s all over’, often on December 27th?  Now two major unpleasant events are behind me; the operation and the election.

Years of training mean that I have developed a Pavlovian reaction to the latter and find myself incapable of sleeping through it.  I spent the night switching between the ITV and BBC television coverage with Radio 4 on in the background although there should really have been a major spoiler alert when the exit poll was revealed.  The only way back from that, in terms of entertainment, would have been for it to be hopelessly, comedically wrong but it wasn’t.

Cut to six hours of talking heads.  Alan Johnson was a highlight, spilling forth every thought he had ever had about Mr Corbyn and his policies, something he had clearly been longing to do for years.  (There seemed to be no shortage of Labour politicians willing to do that.  Now.).  A welcome sight was Robert Peston, there as the thinking woman’s crumpet in contrast to Andrew Neil who should really, really think about a future in radio.

Whatever you personally think of the result, and I certainly won’t bore you with my thoughts, it lifted the spirits to discover that although our country has changed beyond recognition in the last fifty years, it is still impossible to sell extremism, be it right or left wing, to the Ordinary British.  We remain, it seems, creatures of the central path, don’t mind if I do, it’s turned out nice again, shall I put the kettle on, and thank God for it.  It is what makes us the best place on Earth, except for the weather.  Obvs.

Finally re-joining fashionable society, I was out and about yesterday, lunching with the Humble Little Sisters of Strawberry and at a carol service later, talking to an Italian banker, who one might assume was against Brexit but not a bit of it.  The only thing he was opposed to was the dithering and he was extremely happy that the way forward was now certain.  As is the rest of the world if one can judge by how the pound strengthened in response to the news.  I asked him to comment on a friend’s fears that it was about to go horribly wrong, there would be shortages and  food riots within weeks.  Ever the perfect gentleman he replied in Italian but I think it translated as poppycock or something similar.

So pause for a minute, gentle reader, whether you like it or not we are finally back on terra firma and we can take a moment, or a fortnight, to relax and enjoy the festive season.  I certainly intend to make the most of a festival I came all too close to missing.   Happy, happy Christmas everyone.