Greetings campers, I trust I find you well.
And Merry Christmas while I'm at it.
Yes, the festive season is upon us - or upon me at the very least. In fact, it's currently jumping up and down on my head and stomach and I'm beginning to feel a bit queasy. But sure that's all part of the fun.
Our Christmas is set to be a little different this year as, for the first time as a foursome, the Whites are due to spend it in Northern Ireland.
We did try this before, six years ago, whilst still a three-piece outfit. But sadly it snowed heavily in Leeds and our plane spent Christmas in Yorkshire with the rest of us.
This time we are a touch more optimistic about completing the journey, helped by the fact that we've chosen to set off the day before Christmas Eve rather than Christmas Eve itself.
There has been one other rather important logistical challenge to be overcome too. We're staying at my mum's and there's been no great difficulty with asking Santa Claus to deliver Jamie and Charlotte's presents there instead (should they have been good enough). But getting them back will be a little less easy. So we've reached a compromise: Santa's going to do two drop-offs.
A handful of easily transported gifts will make their way down my mum's chimney in Portstewart. And the big man will then deposit the remainder at our house in Guiseley (he has his own key) ready for "Christmas to continue" (as Jamie puts it) when we return a few days later.
All good. Just as long as our plane takes off. And Father Christmas doesn't forget the arrangement.
And I don't get too carried away in Johnstons Bar on Christmas Eve. I'll maybe see you in there.