It’s good job I love Christmas.
I don’t think there’s been a single job I’ve done this week that hasn’t involved the C-word; from keeping on top of all the sample requests coming in for The Handmade Christmas Co, writing a festive interiors column for a regional glossy and helping John with his attempt to get a Guinness World Record registered on behalf of another client (we can’t say too much yet but it does involve Christmas), the festive season has most definitely arrived at jwc HQ.
Add to that a five-year-old whose Christmas list might also be considered by some to be record-breaking in length and the fact I have agreed to help organise his school’s Christmas Fair; there really is no hiding from it.
As I said, it’s a good job I love Christmas.
Completely different C-words have been dominating my week.
I’m talking, of course about the words ‘car’ and ‘criminal’. Why? Well it seems like I have been unwittingly breaking the law.
I had a little bump in the car in Wilmslow Waitrose last week. Someone went into the back of me. Nothing major and no-one hurt but we swapped details and when I reported it to my insurance, they couldn’t find my car on their database.
What they found was that my registration plate belonged to a completely different make and model than I drive.
Cue panic stations as I worry my reg has been cloned. What next my identity? Could someone be taking out credit cards in my name (good luck!).
I called the dealer who told me I’d got my reg plate wrong. I told them I hadn’t. They asked me if I could see the car from where I was I said I could.
They said “oh” hold on a minute then.
Off they popped to return moments later. “Seems we’ve given you the wrong number plate.”
No **** Sherlock.
So now I have to take it in and will receive a courtesy valet.
Got to be honest, I was wondering why I hadn’t heard back re those parking fines.