As I was saying, every Christmas is different, and one of this year’s differences is- we went and gone and got compewterised. Of course, the children grow up with them at school, these days, so our two are quite computer literate. Valerie is…put it this way; if the computer were a musical instrument, she could take bookings for Masonics, Caledonians and the like, whereas I am not allowed on it without supervision.
he other difference is Phoebe O’Hooligan. She’s black and shiny. She came to us in April at 10 wks old with a bag of frozen tripe and a pedigree longer than mine. She’s a Labrador and she’s a delight. She takes Valerie and the children to dog training one night a week, and she has already brought home one certificate. Now there are three of them at it.
have to tell you that last year’s Christmas came to an end on Dec 29th. Mom left us sooner than expected. Her handsome trooper must have wanted her for a New Year re-union. She had had a lovely Christmas, as we were determined she would, and then it was quickly over. Then after a brief period of empty aimlessness, we were in the thick of life again, with two growing children to keep up with.
ohn is within an inch of my height; his shoes are a size bigger. He is currently negotiating for a French Exchange for next spring. This year he experienced a summer camp type holiday on the Isle of Wight, through school, and found that he can trust others to feed him adequately. Likewise Miriam came home from Brownie Pack holiday (in the Thetford Forest area) having booked for next year in Ireland. I won’t turn this letter into a catalogue of travel and academic triumph- suffice it to say that Valerie and I are alternately filled with pride and terror- in their progress and their temerity.
brief word about trade: The season was rubbish but the autumn exhibition was the best ever. There can’t be many painters who can boast of taking money from their bank manager and their tax inspector on the same evening!
Today I took delivery of, and stacked in the shed, the load of firewood to complete the forthcoming winter’s supply. I know where the holly (variegated this year!) and the ivy are coming from. I have my own blue Cedar(there’s posh!) I’ve yet to stake out one or two small branches of Pine. We’ve all started Christmas shopping. Valerie has dusted off certain cook books. I have treated the puddings with embalming fluid, and the wine barrels are constantly programmed for adequate supplies of Barneybeejolais.
alerie’s parents will be with us for Christmas. I must let the ‘ould feller’ know that, as they will be sleeping in the lounge, he ought to use the dining room chimbley- the port and cake will be on the dining table, and the stockings can hang on the cupboard door. (Everyone in our house gets one)
It is inevitable that we will all separately be aware of the missing stocking, and in all the jolifickating and carousing there will be the odd bitter sip of ‘it was this time last year’, but it will soon be washed down with draughts of ‘do you remember the Christmas when’ and ‘I’ll never forget the time…’
he happy ghosts will murmur and sing in the chimney corners, and the gossip and rustle in the evergreens will be just as benign and comforting as always, and in each evenings last musing hour of glowing, sparking embers, cracking nuts and-‘well just a half-glass’, if you listen to them carefully, what heart-warming, rollicking outrageous Christmases they will tell to you, from your shared memory sacks, all dripping with candlewax and goose fat and communion wine, salt tears of joy, brandy butter and the tinkling of bells.
the best bit is this; we will soon have the chance to write another one. Merry Christmas, Everybody!
