Jeremy absolutely refused to throw up this year. Each time the third of December rolled around, an invitation would drop on his parents’ doorstep and everyone was buddle into the car. The uncles all pulled together and paid for a private ferry, cramming every last distant relative into the dam boat before setting off on the ‘scenic’ way to Great Aunt Edie’s house somewhere off the coast of Scotland.
The sea sickness struck ten minutes in, turning Jeremy a not-so-festive shade of green.
“Feeling alright love?” asked his grandmother, stitching hankies with robins. “Feeling queasy?”
“Oh well.” she said. “We all have our Christmas traditions.”