I like Xmas, and I like calling it that. For my reasons, go back a year and read this.
The week, and today, has been rather busy. Which is like saying the solar surface is rather warm. Entertainment, and work to keep in order the pool and what is left of the garden after all the depredations of various building operations, were a challenge. Then we did the nightmare run to our white elephant … er, the Shing Kaka Airport … to fetch the Capetowned-out contingent. I have written a thirteen-stanza epic on the subject of road rules as practised in South Africa …
It seems that daughter and the granddaughters had a ball down there. We were not popular that one of the budgies had unexpectedly keeled over while in our sole care. I got accusing looks – most unfairly because I carried out all the feeding and watering and cleaning chores devotedly.
Today was more gardening and preparation and last-minute shopping and all that jazz. Unlike last year, when we had barely moved in, the house is now unsuitable for Xmas dinner entertainment – that’s progress! – so we will foregather at the home of Br-and-Sr-I-L.
Much Better Half was not impressed today. Turkey and stuffing are her contribution to the feast, and she is really proud of her stuffing. She made a large batch just in time to go into the turkey to be roasted, and after taking her eyes off it for a moment found that Toby, one of the sheepdogs, had snaffled it from the counter top and scoffed the lot.
He still had the nerve to demand supper, later, in spite of being stuffed with stuffing made of bread and onions and all the other mystery ingredients not recommended for a doggy diet.