The sea of presents (mostly for the baby*) spreads out from the tree like a dragon hoard (without the superheated fire). There are vast quantities of food, there are ten new Wimseyfics in Yuletide, and best of all my room is next to the baby and he is not waking me. It is raining, but you can't have everything. As my sister and I put it the other day:
I'm dreaming of a wet Christmas Just like the ones of childhood fame. Where the puddles glisten And we all listen To hear the splashing of the rain.
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas With every Christmas card I get. May your Christmas be the best yet For we know it surely will be wet