WXE!!

So I wake up on Xmas day... Its cold. Very cold. We've been without heating for 2 years now, and I should be used to it, but I'm not. Wifey is working and we are collecting her at 8:20 for a 3-4 hour run up the lovely British motorway system before lunch with the family, a visit to my mum's nursing home, and a chance of a beer.
Number One Son is not a morning person and snarls at me when I wake him. I wash and dress, he stalks about and decides he needs to iron clothes at 7:55... I'm already stressed at the prospect of driving, visits and a sister who hasn't spoken to me in over a month despite repeated attempts to contact her. Soon he's nearly ready. I ask him to throw me some deodorant that is near him. He does. With force. And he throws it low. The impact doesn't quite leave me doubled up, but its close. The pain is excruciating and he realises not only that he hit me harder than he meant to, but I know he meant to hit me. He scuttles away and stays out of my way.
An errand is run and we arrive about 5 minutes late to collect Wifey.
I needn't have worried. She's nowhere near ready, and though she says she's getting ready, I see no sign of it. A bonus is a kiss, no two kisses, from Pandora, who I fancy greatly...
Eventually we get on the road, at about 8:55... I'm worried about the weather, traffic and everything else.
For once the roads are relatively clear and we arrive without much problem, there are a few slow spots, but mostly its OK.

Except that Dad isn't there. He's gone to younger sisters. We run over, coffee and bacon sandwiches, shaking hands, kisses all round, cooing over the baby... Dad vanishes off to see mum. We arrange to swap cars. Dad's pretty wound up, even for him. He's not going to blow, but I can't see him making it through the day intact.
We dive home to change shower, unload the car, sort the pressies. And just as we are about to leave he comes in. "We're going to see mum, we are eating at 3pm, so we'll be back at 2pm. OK? Be ready and we can get straight off." I say - its a simple plan, what can go wrong?
Nothing from our end. I see my mum, its awful and upsetting, but she seems fine. I go to get some cash... I'm about £150 down on where I think I should be. Fuck. My stomach is flipping. Well - nothing I can do now. I get cash from another stash and we are off again. We arrive back at Dad's place. "I'm meditating. I wont be long."
So its Xmas day, I'm dying for a pint and something to eat, we're supposed to be arriving at 2:15 to walk up to the restaurant... instead I'm sat in a front room, stressing, the telly isn't working, and it's 2:40.
Five minutes later we are moving again. Straight to the restaurant, skip the family walk, no time. No chance of an early beer. In the restaurant they are really nice. Tell me I can leave the car, where to lock it... and supply beer and food. At last and at least I can start my Xmas.
Except that Dad decides to have a panic attack in the middle of dinner and leaves. The full horror hits us a bit later, when we realise he hasn't paid the bill, like he said he was going to. The little cash I have takes a pasting. (I later find out we should have called him, he was going to pay over the phone, but brother-in-law said that wasn't the case and convinced us we'd have to pay. I'm pretty annoyed, because we are the only ones who couldn't afford the food -the others are OK for cash... Fuck it. Too late now.) The food is OK. Annoying sister talks to me, mostly. We leave feeling better.
Back to my sister's house for swapping of presents, which all goes OK.
Well - it goes OK until my present from Wifey is handed to me.
I'm stunned as I open it. 2 Tickets, Royal Albert Hall, Cirque de Solei, January... "Its that weekend I told you to book!" she squeals with delight.
I say the only thing I could say... "I tried. I can't get that weekend off. Someone else is on holiday." I feel like the earth has opened up and I'm falling.
"I thought you got it sorted" She says.
"I told you I tried, but it was taken" I reply. I want to cry. Its a lovely present. And an expensive one. Nearly £200. And its useless.
"Just throw a sickie" someone suggests, helpfully.
"I'm on a warning for attendance, I'll get fired." I mutter.

Its about now that Dad has another panic attack and heads home, leaving us with Baby Sister. Middle sister, the annoying one, leaves a few minutes after Dad decides to go.
We have a few more beers then Bro-in-Law decides he wants to watch a film. He goes on about it so much that we give in. And, of course, its crap. I mean, really crap. Another 2 hours of my life I don't get back.

We order a taxi and go home.

All this time I feel sick as a dog. Not physically, but emotionally. The falling feeling that started when I saw the tickets hasn't gone away. I can't even look Wifey in the eye. I want to leave, but thankfully I'm too drunk to drive.

I know its all minor irritations, in reality, but it was the Worst Xmas Ever.