But wait! That's January 25th! And I'll be in Croydon? Disaster.
So I'm doing tomorrow night twenty-four hours early. As a result, I'm sat here stuffed full of offal and oatmeal and champit tatties and bashed neeps. There's barely enough room on the lap for the laptop. I'll have a wee tot o' malt in a minute.
The stepson took one look and reminded me about his diet. Weakling.