Christmas Eve and all the build up is complete. Presents are wrapped and propped up against the tree trunk. The lights flash and we are hypnotised: by them and whatever is on TV.

The really bad/sad news is that we've not had a drink apart from tea this evening; we supped today's rations between 1 and 6 and then had to retire to bed to recover. We are now wide awake!

The good news? The turkey is resting in the back fridge (aka the beer fridge) and there are enough vegetables to five-a-day for at least a week.

And - the major bonus - we are both feeling well, unlike this time last year.

Tonight's poem was inspired partly by Shakespeare lyrical words, as heard tonight in a programme remembering the actor Paul Schofield, and partly by an experience that is now seven days old.

The worn path

Words transport the spirit
Thoughts riding on the breath
Bringing enlightened messages
From a future way beyond death

A concept so simple
As it was, ever thus
Treading the worn path to wisdom
Letting love overshadow us