Tom has just come into the steamy, biscuit-filled kitchen, and found me in tears, again, at the Carols from Kings. As regular as the annual Carols from Kings I'm to be found, 3pm GMT on Christmas Eve, half-filled glass of Baileys, wet drips plopping from my nose.  It sums up where I'm not, today. With whom I'm not, today. It evokes deep homesickness, even though my home, for now, is here.



Christmas has so many spliced through experiences, both now and then, multiple layers evoked in…