Heard the one about spending Christmas in a Scottish Castle and falling for the handsome, rich recluse who’s grumpy but good with his hands?

Your girl is living the dream.

Except I have no friends because they’re stranded a hundred miles away. No power because a storm very rudely toppled the lines. No clothes because I’m accidentally in possession of the wrong suitcase.

And the owner? The handsome, rich recluse who’s grumpy but good with his hands?

He may or may not have sabo...
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Heard the one about spending Christmas in a Scottish Castle and falling for the handsome, rich recluse who’s grumpy but good with his hands?

Your girl is living the dream.

Except I have no friends because they’re stranded a hundred miles away. No power because a storm very rudely toppled the lines. No clothes because I’m accidentally in possession of the wrong suitcase.

And the owner? The handsome, rich recluse who’s grumpy but good with his hands?

He may or may not have sabotaged the boiler as payback for an unfortunate Christmas Eve ten years ago. More on that later.

I would tell you my story is worth it for the dog, because that’s always the way of these things. Hated the heroine, loved the dog.

Nay nay. Don't be fooled.

The dog thinks the sun shines out of his arse. The dog thinks he’s the best thing since sliced roast beef. The dog is one-hundred percent Team Lewis, and if he keeps walking around the way he’s walking around, I’m afraid that come Boxing Day, I’ll be under the same damn spell.

So don’t read for the dog, or the scenery, or the pointless Scottish sayings you will never use in daily life.

Read because Lewis Dixon and his Flannel Shirts Are Ruining My Christmas, complicating my life, and leading me to temptation… and if there is one thing I need — except food and heat and clothes and The Pogues — it’s moral support.

Which is a rather long and complicated way of saying: help.
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