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And this morning we have a minor miracle:
Tilda playing with the catnip mouse, after ten months ignoring and disdaining it.
My onions are proto gravy, stuffing is ready to go, bread sauce can be assembled, potatoes have been parboiled, the rest of the veg needs slicing and brussels nipped and tucked. The pheasant is in the fridge. We is almost go.
Last night I ended up in the Carps, as it was Nad in the Doves, and he was in shouty, sweary, nipple rubbing mode. I stuck it as long as I could, then decided that as he was likely to shut before midnight, and I wanted to be somewhere then, I bailed with two others. Yes, we walked to the far end of town in the rain to get away. As a consequence I wasn't as drunk as I could have been, so it all seemed a little pointless. We took a cab home - which was door to door rather than somewhere which would have been as far from home as the Carps
I awoke at 6.30, fed the cat to keep her sweet, went back to sleep, and slept more heavily than the first part of the night. I awoke to here bits of some religious stuff, apparently with Michael Caine choosing music, and managed to catch the final part of the serial about a Maine Coon. (I now have visions of Brisingamen driving around with Nicodemus and Rosa on the back seat of her car).
I have pottered, and prepared, and am probably about an hour behind schedule. But this matters not.
Meanwhile, at this time of the year, my thoughts turn to those, less fortunate than myself, who, through bad luck or bad judgement, are spending Christmas with other people. I feel for them as they fight over the remote, over what and when to eat, and who didn't buy the batteries for the gizmo.
Tilda playing with the catnip mouse, after ten months ignoring and disdaining it.
My onions are proto gravy, stuffing is ready to go, bread sauce can be assembled, potatoes have been parboiled, the rest of the veg needs slicing and brussels nipped and tucked. The pheasant is in the fridge. We is almost go.
Last night I ended up in the Carps, as it was Nad in the Doves, and he was in shouty, sweary, nipple rubbing mode. I stuck it as long as I could, then decided that as he was likely to shut before midnight, and I wanted to be somewhere then, I bailed with two others. Yes, we walked to the far end of town in the rain to get away. As a consequence I wasn't as drunk as I could have been, so it all seemed a little pointless. We took a cab home - which was door to door rather than somewhere which would have been as far from home as the Carps
I awoke at 6.30, fed the cat to keep her sweet, went back to sleep, and slept more heavily than the first part of the night. I awoke to here bits of some religious stuff, apparently with Michael Caine choosing music, and managed to catch the final part of the serial about a Maine Coon. (I now have visions of Brisingamen driving around with Nicodemus and Rosa on the back seat of her car).
I have pottered, and prepared, and am probably about an hour behind schedule. But this matters not.
Meanwhile, at this time of the year, my thoughts turn to those, less fortunate than myself, who, through bad luck or bad judgement, are spending Christmas with other people. I feel for them as they fight over the remote, over what and when to eat, and who didn't buy the batteries for the gizmo.
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