My young one came for Christmas for just a few days. Too few alas. Everyone has their commitments and endless appointments and so on. The young more so than us. True I had just been with her in London but it’s never enough. The day she arrived there was too much happening at the same time and the chaos in Heathrow did not help but her plane finally landed safely. We had a little tiff as she was supposed to have messaged me as soon as she was boarding but didn’t. Her phone needed recharging but that is no excuse to me. I was worried as my messages were not being acknowledged and I could not phone her on her mobile as I was at work and had a deadline to meet. Anyway, an hour later and all was forgiven.

We went to watch the Spiteri Lucas Entertainment production Jingle Jangle@Christmastime at St James Theatre together. Once in our crowded city I dropped her to collect the tickets while I went off in search of a parking place. At last I found one and took gigantic steps, as it was late, to get to St James. Mark Spiteri Lucas had called me to see what had happened to me and in view of the parking situation said he would wait until I arrived to start the performance. Where else on earth would this happen I ask you? I finally arrived pretending not to be puffing at all and we found our seats.

I do so admire the energy and talent of these young people and enjoy supporting them whenever possible. It was full house at St James apart from a few seats upstairs. There were mostly families but also a few group ups who simply wanted to enjoy an evening away from the pressures of everyday life.

Julie James is brilliant and is blessed with a beautiful voice. Ivan Spiteri Lucas played Santa Claus and he is an excellent crooner but hardly recognizable behind all that white beard. His wife Phyllis told me they would be doing another show of ‘60s and ’70 music around March.

Leontine is completely at ease on the stage and sings well. I especially enjoyed the three elves played by Anthony Busuttil, Mario ‘Snits’ Spiteri who is incredibly nimble and Neville Refalo whose Ninu Ninu tal-Milied was thoroughly enjoyed by all.

The four children were excellent but I particularly liked young Daniel Testa of Chiswick House school, who has been a winner in many a singing festival according to the programme. We shall hear much more about him in the future. And thank goodness he doesn’t sport one of these absurd ‘out of bed’ hairstyles. How can you take someone who has porcupine hair seriously? Who ever invented these styles? And while I am whining, whoever invented these ‘gel’ nails? They are hideous. Anyway, one loves the familiar songs and Julie was very good at involving the audience, especially the children.

There was a game for grownups and this is when I blush in embarrassment. I was one of those selected to participate. I did my best to escape but there was no escaping. Anthony Busuttil was determined that it was me who was going to make a fool of myself and not my young one. So four couples were placed in the four corners of the theatre-in-the-round. Three couples were partnered – married or whatever. I was coupled up with a gentle guy who happened to be sitting in the audience with a couple of male friends.

This was going to be a quiz and the idea was for the man to sit on a chair while the woman dashed to grab a balloon from Mario Snits, sitting in the middle with sacks of blown balloon, then to put the balloon on the man’s lap and sit on it and burst it. The first couple to answer the quiz question and burst the balloon got a point.

I was determined not to let my newspaper down by our team scoring least points so according to my girl who sat there with tears streaming down her eyes with laughter, and taking a ‘video’ on her mobile of her mother making a fool of herself, I broke every rule in the book. Apparently I looked frantic and out of control – as if an elephant was following me in the jungle and even sat on the hand of my partner at one time. He really should have screamed but didn’t. Well Herman Bonaci and his wife won but we didn’t come last. I think we tied second with another couple. So at least my newspaper was not shamed.

But that was not the end of the game. On Christmas day that video was shown to every brother, sister, nephew and niece at the luncheon table and my young one is going to keep it to show to my first grandson who if all goes well, will be born in the middle of next month. What a way to start a relationship with a grandson. What will he think about this granny? Anyway, it will be some years before he can look at the video and understand what it is about. I will be in his good books by then and he will merely laugh at my antics.

One has to let the child inside loose occasionally and I find nothing wrong in making a fool of oneself now and then. We are deadly serious most of the time, too serious perhaps. I am determined that life is not going to make mincemeat out of me. I like to laugh at it whenever I can and slap it in the face as often as I get the chance.

That was a good show though I do wish to apologise to the long-suffering gentleman who did not know what he was in for when he was chosen to quietly sit on that chair. But at least, rules or not, we did not come last.

A most enjoyable evening was spent at Mary Darmanin who had friends and relatives to drinks and lovely canapés. I received a message on my mobile from her while in London and nothing was said about dressing up for the occasion. So I put on a pair of comfortable trousers as at Mary’s the food and drink are always excellent and you cannot sit there wearing something which is too tight. She looked stunning in red with a silk Nara Camicia shirt and fairly high heels which, unlike me, she rarely wears. Martha too, looked very pretty and was on her way out with friends and took the photo on this page before she left. Everything on that dining room table was homemade and delicious. Alfred Sant was constantly in conversation so I waved to him and never got round to talking to him for he was too much in demand. I had not read our paper that morning when he was interviewed briefly and said he doesn’t find the time to read fiction. I was to read our newspaper in bed later on but he did comment at the party that he doesn’t understand how people find the time to read fiction. I agree with him. I read all sorts of things but can rarely find time to finish a novel. In his case it is not so serious as at least he gets down to writing them. I have a title for a future book but I have got no further than that. Anyway, I hope he will become prime minister next time round as that bottle of good champagne cannot be kept for much longer. I did get a lovely present of a Veuve Cliquot this Christmas to perhaps I shall consume the other one when my grandson is born and keep this fresher one to celebrate a Labour Party victory if I am still alive by then.

So back to my trip to London. The main purpose of being there was my young one’s graduation which took place at the Peacock Theatre in Portugal Street. Former White House intern Monica Lewinsky, whose sexual relationship with U.S. President Bill Clinton led to his impeachment, graduated from the London School of Economics with my young one, an event which was reported by Reuters. She completed a thesis entitled “In Search of the Impartial Juror: An exploration of the third person effect and pre-trial publicity.”

Lewinsky, who was 21 when she became involved with Clinton, is interviewing for jobs in Britain, publicist Barbara Hutson said. She is now 32 and when she went up on the stage of the Peacock theatre to receive her Masters of Science degree in Social Psychology the audience of students and parents erupted in spontaneous applause. The graduation ceremony during which the director gave a witty and short speech was brief and efficient and was followed by a reception. Champagne flowed and there were plenty of little tables with very fresh salmon sandwiches and the most delicious mince pies I have ever eaten. I slathered them with as much double cream as was decently possible when my daughters were not looking.

Monica was there with her blonde mother and no one hassled her. I did so want to take a picture of her but was sternly forbidden by my daughters, although if one has a publicist I don’t think she would have minded a photo on my diary page. But maybe she pays her publicist to keep her out of the news. I had to put my camera away as I did not want to spoil a very enjoyable occasion where I had a chance to meet some of the fellow students with whom my young one had spent the year. Let me tell you that it is not surprising that the majority were either Chinese or Indian. Europeans are lagging behind in almost every faculty.

May Monica settle down with a nice guy and never again become tabloid fodder. Whose knows what the whole truth is after all. Here’s a round of cigars dear reader. My the coming year treat all of us, including Monica, with kindness.