Heseltine's moment of truth and a Christmas social media miracle | John Crace

A pair of Conservative old stagers are at odds over Brexit while Twitter momentarily restores my faith in humanityTwenty-five years ago, when our daughter was just six months old, my wife and I and another family rented a miserable house on a noisy main road for Christmas – it was before the internet and the owner had assured us over the phone that it was in the heart of the Yorkshire Dales – and we only managed to cook the turkey by force-feeding the electricity meter with 50 pence pieces. It was so cold that we stayed in bed to open our stockings and to ease my wife’s pain I had slipped a half bottle of scotch into the bottom of hers. Ever since, the tradition has stuck and even though our children are now adults – we live in terror that every Christmas will be our last as a family and that they will next year want to go elsewhere with their friends – they troop into our bedroom with their stockings and climb into our bed. Along with the dog. It’s one of the more uncomfortable, if treasured, moments of the year. And what goes around comes around. I now find myself loading alcohol into my children’s stockings as well as my wife’s. Continue reading…
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