In the Twelfth month of the year, often near the Twelfth day, a semi-secret event relating to the number Twelve takes place in, on, and around the sleepy town of Reigate. Food and drink are consumed, witticisms exchanged, and there are hardly any knife fights these days.

Later in the evening, fiery death is launched from a great height to annoy the households in the valley below The Hill. These may be accompanied by libations in the High Spaces, and have hardly ever involved police helicopter investigations in recent years.

In other words, this weekend saw the annual Maidments shenanigans known as Douze. In preparation for it, Lady M declined to go to her own work Christmas party – in part because of the ribbing she got last year when she turned up still hung over. This year she went to a football match instead, having been invited to a work-related event in one of the Executive Boxes at the Emirates Stadium.

We agreed to meet at the party instead, and had an enjoyable time – though not as wild as we’ve had in a while because of tiredness and just enjoying the chance to sit and catch up with friends and family rather than scramble around in the more surreal entertainment organised by The Brother Demonic.

Sunday saw us continuing the Christmas party mood with an unofficial gathering of some of the #Tuesday group for lunch. 

We started quietly in deference to the number of people who didn’t know us and the lack of a band to abuse, but before long Lady M was on the verge of an asthma attack through laughing, the Charleesi was launching barbed observations, and the staff had a haunted flinch developing every time they served another course. 

All in all, this weekend can be summed up as “Good Times”, and it has been well needed. Both events blended fine repasts with teasing on all sides with no fear or favour, mixed with truth telling and steam emissions to relieve pressure. 

Now it’s back to work to recover.