On the first day of advent, Dave and I celebrated the run into Christmas not with a chocolatey treat from a calendar, but with a mission to move a bed out so a hospital bed could be moved in. Masks on - Dave showcasing the latest in the line of high-fashion facial covering while I tried to stop my rubbish one constantly slipping over my eyes and temporarily blinding me - and sanitised up, we set about moving the bed. Luckily it was pretty light and we made it up the stairs with the helpful direction of Mr D with no problem. Minutes later we were outside again in record time, which I think deserves a round of Santapplause. (Sorry).