That's because we've amputated your arms.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ok - so first up my alarm didn't go off. Lots of poking inert mop-tops with whispered panic. Violently dragging on socks and jumpers while their eyes were still shut. Trying not to wake up Mr GPants so he wouldn't tell me off for my alarm not going off. But he woke up and did That Face when I told him my alarm didn't go off. AND told me not to race just because we were late - with The Don't Race Face. Then he offered me the de-icer. 'I've got some. That's yours' I called sweetly as I raced - no I didn't... as I fluttered out the door. Squirted mine. Put it back in the boot. Decided I needed more. Boot now jammed shut. Fluttered back to the kitchen and grabbed the other bottle. Squirted more. Replaced it without detection. And away we scooted at last. Not racing. Not at all. Very difficult to race when you can only see out of one clear streak on the windscreen. ......mmmmmmhhhhh..... need more de-icer..... not going back...... just imagine The Face.
20 minutes on our way I don't think my brakes are being brake-y enough. Probably my imagination. Oooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh OK .....Mission Aborted.
Several hours later - and with mighty thanks to Jim Broadbent and his big warm truck, and his sage words about how crap my car is, I'm back home in my courtesy go-kart and coffee'd up at last. All nice and floppy. Mmmn.... It seemed like a good idea to rearrange the living room and get the xmas tree out. It seemed like a good idea to small people anyway.
Several hours later, once I (and I alone) had tidied, hoovered, rearranged the living room, I find myself cackling like an escaped lunatic in our out-house-'barn'-animal-shelter thing where we dump stuff not allowed in the house. Like Xmas. The hysteria inspired by a cacky space where the tree once lived. Until we threw it out last summer on one of our great purges. Not sure why I found this so screamingly funny. Could not stop laughing. Xmas tree denied! Hilarious.
Then our boiler decided we hadn't had enough fun yet. Put its hand to its brow and blanked out. Nice. Just as I thought my hands would never again regain feeling after expertly balancing the recycling box on the steaming tower of landfill bags. Structures that high are built to sway in the wind they are. That's science. If not art.
But all this to the merry tunes of the season. Mr GPants, grumpy about tinsel-time as the best, has (as odd as it may seem) produced another top xmas songs CD. Panic, near-death and brain-freeze all the sounds of Wizzard, Slade, The Pogues and Alma Cogan.