December was an absolute whirlwind — the kind where your diary looks like a rainbow threw up and your liver quietly files for annual leave. ’Tis the silly season, after all. Every weekend felt double-booked, every weekday ended with “just one drink,” and my sequins-to-pyjamas ratio has never been more cooked. London in December is magic and mayhem mashed together — twinkly lights, freezing wind, festive cheer, and the constant hum of am I having fun or am I just exhausted? Pa