Thursday, December 3

It’s beginning to look a lot like…

The tree is up and suitably decorated. Christmas always arrives early at the homestead, and there’s no better excuse to break open a bottle of QC. December has become sacrosanct in the Gudgeon household, the world’s problems count for naught. All can blow themselves to buggery for all I care, I don’t give a shite. A stack of firewood (in receipt of my winter fuel allowance) and a case of hooch and I’m happy bunny. Our neighbours have decamped to their weekend cottage in St Kitts, leaving yours truly holding the fort. The feeling of abandonment is not improved when hiking across the moor – an absence of man or beast. Not that you can see much of anything. This morning mist, the afternoon driving rain, and then darkness – black as a coal hole. Of course everyone is ordering Yuletide gifts and white van man is thick on the ground. Given our location the drivers arrive in darkness having lost all faith in their satnav. I give directions with zero confidence any will arrive at their ultimate destination. It’s cheese on toast for supper, something I can’t recall eating for many a moon. Lea & Perrins sauce…the bottle says best before sometime in a previous century.

No comments: